The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

Her blood stirred more. Kryptonite. It was happening; her body was betraying her, responding to this gorgeous, overly confident, and damn it, too masculine man. “What’s a little snow? Maybe you should go now, before it gets too deep.”


A smile slowly curved his lips. “You’re a funny girl, you know that?” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Sometimes I think you want a friend, and in the next moment, I think you don’t. Sometimes I think you want me to make love to you. But then you talk and ruin the moment. I’m not sure what to make of you.”

“I’m wishy-washy,” she agreed. “But why do you care? Do you want to be my friend? Or do you just want to fuck me?”

Cooper arched a brow with surprise. He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Honestly? I don’t know.” He touched her lip with his thumb again, resting it there.

How startling that Emma hoped it was some of both. She had just skated right out of her rink, and it panicked her. She lightly bit his thumb, hard enough to startle him. When he withdrew his hand, she dipped beneath his arm, putting some space between them, getting away from that heat. She left him standing there and walked back into the dining room with the wine, hoping like hell she wasn’t glowing.

No one looked at her—they were involved in a lively discussion about some work at the ranch Madeline wanted done.

A moment later, Cooper followed, his gaze still firmly fixed on Emma as he took his seat across from her. That man had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he could see every one of her thoughts. And the more he looked, the more lascivious thoughts she seemed to have. There were several strong desires floating around in her head now, thanks to him and those eyes. Damn it, why did he have to come to Pine River? Why him of all the candidates that stupid jackass Carl could have sent? Emma tried not to squirm, but she could feel the schoolgirl flush in her face.

Cooper saw it, too, judging by the hint of the smile on his lips.

Emma tried to concentrate on the talk of Madeline and Luke’s wedding, and then about the current drought’s effect on the ski industry as they finished another bottle of wine. She was grateful when Libby mentioned a movie she had seen.

“I know the director of that film,” Emma said, grateful to have something to talk about. “He’s married to a woman with three kids. But he’s gay.”

“No way,” Libby said, wide-eyed.

“Actually,” Cooper said, “he’s separated. He’s planning on coming out this fall before his next film is released.”

Emma looked curiously at Cooper. “You know Trevor?” she asked incredulously.

“Know him well,” Cooper said. “How about you?”

“Same here,” she said. “I’ve worked a few of his events.” What was that feathery, slightly nauseating swirl Emma was feeling now? That she and Cooper knew more people in common than just Carl and Jill? Emma didn’t have many friends, but those whom she considered to be among her closest circle were people who didn’t judge her. If Cooper knew them, too—knew at least one well, as he’d just said—didn’t that mean in some strange way he must know a little of her, too?

“I just think it’s so cool that we have two people here who know a famous director,” Libby said excitedly. “Emma knows Val Kilmer, too!”

“Met him,” Emma clarified, ignoring Libby’s look of confusion. In Libby’s world, copulation equaled near commitment.

The mention of Val Kilmer prompted a discussion of that actor’s films. Safe ground, especially for Emma, who spent much time in movie theaters hiding from the truth of her life.

It was Libby who returned from the powder room with the news that the snow was falling heavily. They all stood up to have a look, and in doing so, realized the amount of time that had passed since they’d sat down for dinner. It was twenty past eleven.

There began a final clearing of the table, everyone pitching in to carry things into the kitchen, Libby overseeing the dishwashing. Emma volunteered to clean the dining room, and by the time she’d finished and returned to the kitchen, she found it deserted, save Cooper. He was sitting on a stool at the bar, a coin or something in his fingers, which he mindlessly turned over, again and again.

“Where is everyone?” Emma asked.

“They went to bed,” he said. “Except Luke. He’s rounding up a quilt for the couch. Looks like I’ll be bunking there.”

Emma’s heart began to race. She glanced at the coin. “So what, I’m supposed to entertain you?” she asked crossly.

“I don’t need to be entertained.” He turned the coin over again, and she recognized the St. Christopher medal he’d shown her that night in Beverly Hills. “Don’t feel as if you need to keep me company—I’m used to making my own way. You know . . . like you.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “How could you possibly know what I am?” she asked, without rancor, but from a genuine desire to know.