The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“I didn’t sleep with Reggie. I just let him pretend he had a chance.” That much was true. Emma had let him beg like the dog he was, had even allowed him to kiss her. And then she’d turned him down, had made him get a car to send her home . . . with his tie clip in her purse. Stupid bastard—as if she’d ever get mixed up with a married man whose daughter was an over-indulged twat.

“Women don’t get in limos of rich and powerful men just to tease them.” Cooper’s hand went around her waist, drawing her closer.

“How would you know?” she asked. “Why would I sleep with someone like Reggie when I had someone like you practically begging for it?” She rose up on her toes, her mouth now directly below Cooper’s. Her heart was suddenly galloping; she could smell his cologne, could almost feel his lips on hers.

“Who’s begging now?” Cooper muttered.

He had her there. Emma touched her mouth to his.

She was instantly consumed by a conflagration of emotion and intense desire. She touched her tongue to the seam of his lips, pushing past them, into his mouth. He pulled her closer, opening his mouth to her assault. He cupped her face and nibbled at her lip, moving his free hand from her waist to her hip. He pushed her into his body, hard and solid, all the right angles and planes.

Cooper Jessup kissed Emma as thoroughly as she was kissing him, his tongue tangling with hers, his arm holding her steady, his body pressed against hers so that there was nothing left to her imagination. She had never kissed like this, never! She was always a disinterested partner, wishing for it to be over. But with Cooper, she felt molten, her body melting into his, ready to give in to whatever he would do to her. Eager for it.

Then Cooper suddenly put his hands on her arms and lifted his head. He firmly set her back a step or two.

For a few moments, Emma was confused by that. She should be fumbling to remove her clothes just now, and she ran her little finger over her bottom lip as she stared uncertainly at him.

Cooper’s smile was confident. He casually swept hair from her cheek, like he knew her, like he had the right to touch her that way. “That may work on every man you’ve ever met . . . but it won’t work on me.”

What did he mean it wouldn’t work? It had worked, judging by the bulge she’d felt in his pants and the way he’d kissed her. “You liked it,” she pointed out.

“Of course I liked it. I’m a man. But I’m not Reggie. And I’m not Carl. I don’t fall at the feet of a beautiful woman just because she kisses me. Like I told you earlier—I know when I’m being played. You think I will give up on the medal if you let me have a few liberties. But I don’t take from women like that, Emma. With me, it’s an equal proposition.”

Emma recoiled from the truth about her intentions. “You’re such an ass,” she said, and tried to turn away, but Cooper pulled her back around to face him, locking her in place with both hands on her arms.

“Furthermore, the only thing you’ve done here tonight with that kiss is succeed in making yourself look guilty as hell.”

She pulled free and pushed him back with both hands. She opened her car door, reached in, and honked the horn. And then she climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut.

Cooper squatted down beside her before she could start the car and raise the window, his eyes eerily luminous in the light of the streetlamp. “I’ll see you around, Emma.” He was smiling as he spoke, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was a hot, devilish smile. It was a determined, I-will-win smile.

“The hell you will,” she said, and started her car.

Cooper stood up, gave her car two friendly taps, and then he sauntered off, like he owned this two-bit town.

Emma shouldn’t have even noticed his exit. She should not have given him another look. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen that very exit a million times in a million different films. But none of the film versions of that departure had ever made her feel so floaty.

Emma rolled up the window, then banged both fists several times against the steering wheel.

Jesus, what was she going to do with him?





ELEVEN

Are you keeping count? Only a few more sleeps until I head for an awesome skybox and the Broncos-Patriots game. Dad says I sound like a little kid, and maybe I do—but I’ve been dreaming about a game like this since I picked up my first pigskin when I was six and Mom enrolled me in Pop Warner football. I didn’t even know about football, but Mom said I was like a moose in a china closet because I guess I was clumsy or something. I’ll never forget it. She said, If you need to crash into things so bad, go crash into other boys instead of my house. She was kind of shouting it when she said it.