The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“It’s hardly romantic,” he said quietly, and impulsively reached out and pulled a tress of her hair from her collar.

She shoved his arm away from her, frantic that he not touch her. “You can’t help, Cooper! What kind of trip are you on? You want to figure me out?” She suddenly shoved both hands against his chest. “I do it—I use men!” She shoved him again. “But don’t get your hopes up, because I don’t always sleep with them. Believe it or not, it’s not a sex thing, it’s anything but a sex thing. You want to know the whole ugly truth? It’s all about my father! It’s all about getting older men to pick me, to choose me,” she said angrily, shoving him again. “It’s about control! Anyone with a brain and a current copy of Psychology Today can see that! So are you satisfied?” she asked, shoving him again, harder still, the fury sparking in her, building, morphing into a monster inside of her. It was fury with herself for ever having allowed this to happen. Fury for ever having believed Grant or Laura, for ever letting their affair screw her up so completely. Emma hated herself for it, despised, loathed, hated herself. “Okay, so you’ve made me say it, you’ve made me humiliate myself even more.” She balled up her fist, hitting him as hard as she could in the chest.

He didn’t move.

She hit him again.

Cooper didn’t even blink.

Why didn’t he move? Why didn’t he speak? She shoved him again with all her might and glared at him, looking for the reaction of disgust.

There was none. “It’s okay,” he said calmly. “I’m strong enough to take it. I’m strong enough for you, Emma Tyler.”

No, no, no one was strong enough for her! No one could endure her, and Emma despised Cooper for thinking he could. She cried out and launched herself at him with both fists, pounding them into his chest. Cooper caught her hands, easily held them. “Is that it?” he asked. “Or is there more?”

“Shut up,” she said, her voice shaking. “Shut up.” She launched again, but this time . . . this time, her lips met his.

Emma did not know how she went from fury to kissing him. It happened so quickly, in the space of a second. She had definitely intended to inflict pain and suffering—but then her arms were around his neck.

Cooper grabbed her up, his arms sliding around her waist to hold her tightly to him. He kissed her with as much fire as she kissed him, their tongues tangling, their hands sliding up and down each other’s bodies. They kissed like long-lost lovers, two people who had been searching for each other all their lives, and Emma would not have been surprised if the house had opened up and rain had poured down on them, just like the movies.

He lifted his head, impulsively kissing the palm of her hand that had somehow found his face. “Where is everyone?” he asked roughly as he nuzzled her neck.

“Town,” she murmured, and pushed her knee in between his legs, against his erection. Cooper grabbed her up again, lifting her off her feet and kissing her, then walked with her and fell onto the couch. He pressed his lips against her cheek, her eyes, and her mouth again. “I’ve been fighting it,” he said breathlessly, his eyes roaming her face. “I’ve been fighting wanting you.”

“Me too,” she admitted, and pulled his head to hers. She dipped her tongue between his lips, into his mouth, and sparked a prurient wave crashing through her, shoving her out onto a churning sea of pure, unadulterated desire. It was fantastically electric.

Cooper rolled onto his back, pulling Emma on top of him, his hands on either side of her head, his mouth on hers, and on her face, her ears and neck. He devoured her lips and her tongue while his hands explored her body, her breasts, the curve of her hip. His hands moved on her body, but there was something different about this. It took Emma a moment to realize what it was. Cooper kept looking into her eyes. He kept looking at her. He wasn’t groaning over her body, he wasn’t rutting on her. He was actually looking at her.

That realization charged Emma even more, and she was now ravenous for him. Their surroundings—the ranch house, the smell of old smoke, the moan of wind in the rafters—began to fade away. Emma was only aware of Cooper, the scent of his skin, the way he held her, touched her, his movement effortless, the tender look in his eyes. She felt nothing but his taut skin, the hardness of his erection, and the damp heat between her legs.

Their clothing came off, piece after piece tossed away until they were naked. Emma gasped in Cooper’s ear as he squeezed her nipple between his fingers, and pressed harder against him, stretching her body the length of his, and it still wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. She had never wanted a man like she wanted him.