Head Over Heels (14 page)

And the next. And then to the one after that. Until the front halves of her top slid apart, and Coop pushed up on one elbow to better view his handiwork. His vigilance caused a tight ache to form deep between
Veronica's legs. Seeing his sudden stillness as her breasts emerged from the concealing cloth was like having that tightness stroked. Her nipples went taut.

“Here they are,” he whispered and touched a gentle fingertip to the tip of one beaded nipple. “I've spent way too much time thinking about these babies when I should've been concentrating on other things. I kept remembering how they looked, though. How they felt.” He pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and tugged. A smile crooked the corner of his mouth at the little yearning sound that purled out of her throat, but he didn't take his attention away from her soft curves. “How much you liked it when I did this.”

Looking at the top of his down-bent head, she demanded, “Rub against me.”

“What?” He glanced up, his dark brows gathered in perplexity.

“I want to feel this.” She reached out and stroked her hand down his chest and along the solid ridges of his abdomen. “When I walked in and saw you without your shirt, I wanted to rip my top open and rub up against you.”

She didn't have to ask him twice. He fell over her, catching himself on his palms before bending his elbows to lower his chest against her breasts. He slowly stropped himself against her. Up. Down. Side to side. And his dark eyes took in her every reaction. “Like this?”

Veronica's breath hissed in and her eyelids drifted closed. “Yessss. Exactly like that.” She arched her back to maintain contact, then slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. He continued to stroke his chest
against her, staring down at her. She anchored herself by clutching his waist and did her best to move in counterpoint. The rub of smooth skin against smooth skin created drag and friction, making her nipples feel on fire. The ache deep inside intensified, and feeling restless and in need, she arched her pelvis and struggled against his weight to separate her legs. “Oh, God, Cooper. Please.”

He whispered a curse and surged between her thighs, grinding the hard thrust of his sex against the soft notch of hers. Lowering his head, he kissed her roughly.

A moment later, he ripped his mouth free. “I want you naked.” He levered himself off her and shoved to his feet next to the bed. Staring down at her breasts, at the curve of her abdomen where it dipped in at the waist before flowing into hip, he shucked free of his sweats.

Veronica froze in the midst of raising her hips off the mattress to push down her pajama bottoms. “Oh, my.” Her gaze didn't bother to follow the sweatpants' progress once they'd cleared his hips.
Oh, my, oh, my
. Not wanting to appear to be gawking—even if that's exactly what she was doing—she murmured, “You really are a blonde.”

That startled a laugh from him. “Of course I am. What'd you think—?”

“That you dyed your hair.” But she didn't want to talk about that; she simply wanted to gaze, entranced, at his penis.

Forget that it was long and thick—or even that it had been a while since she'd seen such an aggressive
piece of male anatomy in the flesh. Coop's erection rose out of a thatch of sandy blond curls and jutted straight up. Except it
wasn't
straight. You could probably fit an inverted soup bowl between root and tip. “It…curves,” she said faintly.

“The better to reach your G-sp—”

“I mean it really
curves
.” It reminded her of a scimitar—all boldness and flash. Sort of like Coop himself. She stared at his penis so long that it began to bob and weave, bouncing its smooth head off his navel.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around the base to hold it still, eyeing her warily. “I can't figure out if that look on your face is pure admiration—or if you're ready to run for the nearest hammer to pound this into your basic, everyday hard-on.”

“You know, all of a sudden ‘straight' strikes me as kinda boring.” She licked her lips. “Gimme.”

He laughed and dove on top of her. They rolled and wrestled, but the deeper their kisses and the more body moved against body, the less playful their manner became. When Coop's fingertips brushed the hot, wet folds between her thighs, they both stilled. For a moment, the only movement in the room was the minute, circular stroke of his fore and index fingers as they separated the plump furrow and slipped and slid along its length.

When his fingers suddenly scissored around her sweet spot and clamped closed, Veronica's hips arched up off the bed. She groped between them, wanting to touch him in return, but he kept himself just out of reach. “Please,” she panted. “I want…oh, God, Coop, I want—”

He eased his fingers down until just the tips slid inside her. “What do you want?” he demanded, gently massaging the ring of muscle there.

“To touch you. To feel you inside me.”

“Ah, man.” Leaning back, he fumbled in the drawer of the nightstand for a condom. “I planned to show you a little more style than this, to maybe explore that multiple orgasm thing you gals've got going for you, but I don't think I can hold out.” He ripped open the foil packet and rolled the protection on.

“I don't need you to hold out. I don't
want
you to.” The idea that he felt a vestige of performance anxiety and wasn't simply the indefatigable sex machine she'd first taken him to be did something to her. Something she immediately repudiated. This was about sex. That was
all
it was about. “C'mere. You can still show me your style—just make it the short version.”

“You got it.” But when he rolled on top of her, he didn't instantly enter her. Instead he teased. He kissed her. He fondled her breasts. He stroked his erection up and down the slippery folds between her thighs. He even pressed the head of his penis against her opening.

But he didn't enter her.

Veronica's hips instigated an age-old rhythm, and her hands slid down to grasp the hard cheeks of his buttocks. The next time he flirted with penetration, she dug her fingers in, trying to anchor him in place. She burned to feel him inside her, and spread her legs farther apart. Finally she just flat out drew her knees back so he wouldn't miss the target on his next pass. He growled in appreciation. But still he didn't give her what she wanted.

Coop had no idea why he was teasing her this way. His balls felt as if they were turning blue and he wanted nothing so much as to bury himself in her. Yet something held him back. Some crazy need for…he didn't know what.

The next time he thumbed his dick down to tease her opening, though, he feared he'd have to cave. He eased just the head inside her, and knew right away it wasn't one of his brighter moves. She was so hot and wet and—oh, God—
tight,
that he didn't know why the hell he was holding back. He retracted his hips in preparation for the drive home and felt all ten of Ronnie's nails sink into his butt, staying him. Boo had nothing on this woman when it came to the claw department.

“You pull out and tease me one more time and you're a dead man.” Her cheeks were flushed, her shiny hair mussed, and her eyes flashed fire. “I want it deep, and I want it
now
!”

Laughing, he planted his palms flat on the mattress, tensed his buttocks, and thrust his hips forward, sinking into her.

She started coming before he bottomed out, and Coop's laughter stopped up in his throat. “Ah, man.” He felt her contracting around him, heard her breathy moans spiraling several octaves higher, and pure satisfaction exploded through him. Holding himself deep, he ground against her as he felt her climax go on and on. Maybe
this
was what he'd been waiting for. All he knew for certain was the feel of her coming apart beneath him was the biggest rush he'd felt since leaving Company C.

When her orgasm tapered off he began to move,
pumping steadily in smooth, hard strokes. Ronnie wrapped her legs around his hips and moved in concert with him, and he sucked in a breath. He picked up his tempo, digging his toes into the mattress for leverage. He was close—God, so close.

Then Veronica's breath began to hitch, and realizing she was building again, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to alter his pace to keep from going over the edge. “You really took that multiple-orgasm crack to heart, didn't you?”

“Oh, God, Cooper.” She stared up at him with glazed eyes. “I can't…believe…I'm so close…again,” she panted, unwittingly echoing his thoughts. Clearly reading the strain on his face, she added politely, “You needn't wait for me, though.”

The temptation to take her at her word was sweeter than honey, but he resisted it. He slid a hand between their bodies and delved into the wet, slick heat between her legs. Locating his primary target near the top of her cleft, he feathered the little pearl of nerve endings with a light touch. “Ladies first,” he insisted. He just hoped to hell his eyes didn't look as crossed as they felt.

But all his good intentions went up in smoke as his orgasm began to build just beneath the point where she sheathed him so tightly. Involuntarily, his thrusts picked up speed. “I'm sorry, Ronnie,” he panted. “I don't think I can hold back.”

It didn't matter, because a low whine began to unfurl in her throat and he felt her contract around him once again. Her climax unleashed the tight rein he'd been holding on himself, and he pounded into her with mindless ferocity. He could feel paradise beckon
ing, and with a roar he slammed deep one last time and came.

And came.

In blinding, white-hot pulsation after white-hot pulsation.

Moments later, shuddering with satisfaction, he eased down on top of her. He scooped his arms beneath Veronica to hold her to him and rolled to his side, careful to stay connected. He felt the little after-shocks of her orgasm pulse around him, and was suddenly filled with a ferocious possessiveness.

It made him uneasy, for that wasn't an emotion he'd expected to feel. Since she had virtually assured him it would be a cold day in hell before she'd have sex with him, he'd automatically assumed that a big part of his wanting her stemmed from that. He'd also assumed that once he had her, one time would be enough.

But as he stroked a hand down her hair and cuddled her to him, he had a sinking feeling he'd been wrong on both counts.

I
T WAS ALMOST NOON WHEN
V
ERONICA AWOKE IN A
tangle of limbs with Cooper. Whispering a curse, she eased his long fingers off her hip, unwrapped his arm from around her, and after extracting her thigh from between his, silently rolled out of bed. Oh, man. What had she done?

Shivering, she searched for her pajamas. A relationship with Coop had about zero chance of progressing, and she never should have allowed it to get this far. Things might start out all hunky-dory, but she had too many issues with unambitious men to believe great sex could suddenly make those problems no longer matter.

But, oh. Boy. She paused with her pajama top half on and looked over at Coop sprawled out in the mid
dle of the bed.
Great
didn't even begin to cover it. He'd joked about multiple orgasms, but she'd never dreamed she was actually capable of having them. Last night she'd lost count of how many he'd helped her to. Twice during the early morning hours Coop had pulled her out of sleep for slow, lazy bouts of curl-your-toes sex, and she was so relaxed now it was a wonder she could move at all. If she didn't know better, she'd suspect a thief had snuck in and stolen all her bones.

She straightened guiltily. But that was hardly the point. Never mind that he kept drawing her like a compass needle to magnetic north; she had to walk away before Cooper Blackstock started to matter too much.

She'd just as soon not do it bare-assed, though. Where the heck were her pajama bottoms?

She eyed the bed consideringly. They were no doubt at the bottom of it, between the sheets where she'd kicked them off. Did she leave them where they were and steal down to her room wearing only her jammie top, or did she try to retrieve them? The former would be the prudent thing to do if she wanted to avoid talking to Coop this morning.

But that was too chickenhearted. She knelt at the side of the bed and lifted the covers enough to slide her arm under, sweeping the sheets for the lost article. When her fingertips suddenly brushed Coop's warm calf and the side of his knee, she stilled for a moment. Then, drawing a calming breath, she determinedly swept another quadrant.

“That's flattering, Princess.” Coop's morning voice
was a hoarse rumble. “But as well endowed as I am, you're still several inches south of the good stuff.”

Freezing with her arm buried to the shoulder beneath the blankets, she slowly turned her head to look at him. Stubble shadowed his jaw and his hair was smashed flat on one side while sticking up like a rooster comb on the other. Even with those Godiva-dark eyes of his looking all sleepy and satisfied, he wasn't exactly Mr. Allure first thing in the morning. So how come she had to steel herself against his appeal? “Are we talking about your ego, Blackstock? That seems to be the most sizable organ around here.”

“Ouch.” His teeth shone white in the pale winter sunshine that filtered through the window. “Not nice, sweetheart. But I forgive you, 'cause I know you're not a morning person.”

Before she had a chance to reply, he tossed aside the covers and sat up, leaning forward to slide his hands beneath her armpits. As if she weighed next to nothing, he plucked her up and laid back down with her. “Come cuddle with me for a few minutes.”

“I don't have time. The interview—”

“Isn't until one.” He settled her to his satisfaction and pulled up the covers. Rolling onto his side, he propped his head on his palm, reached out to gently smooth her hair behind her ear, and gave her a slow, killer smile. “Good morning.”

It was pointless to struggle, she assured herself, pretending that her decision had nothing to do with the fact that being with him felt so wonderful. So…right. “Mornin', yourself.”

“You look mighty fine first thing in the morning.” A skeptical sound escaped her, but he blithely ignored it.
“I especially like that bottomless thing you've got going there. In fact—”

He slithered beneath the covers, and the warm brush of his body against hers as he snaked his way toward the bottom of the bed brought Veronica up onto her elbows. A moment later, Coop's hands eased her legs apart and she felt the press of his mouth high against her inner thigh.

“I really like this bottomless thing a lot,” his muffled voice said. Then he proceeded to show her how much.

“Oh…my…gaaw—” Why not take what was offered and simply enjoy it? Obviously she'd grown fond of Coop, but it wasn't as if she were in danger of falling in
love
with him or anything. So really. Why not just appreciate this for what it was?

He did something devastating with his tongue and her elbows melted out from under her.

It was, after all, just a tiny moment out of time.

 

An hour and a half later, when Veronica let herself back into the house after the waitress interview, she found Cooper sitting at the kitchen table. Except for a lack of shoes, he was his usual spit-shined self again, his hair damp and spiky, his cheeks and jaw gleaming with that special sheen only babies' bottoms and the freshly shaven seem to achieve.

Looking up, he gave her an intimate smile and shut down a laptop computer she hadn't known he owned. Before she finished closing the door behind her, he'd risen to his feet. “How'd the interview go?”

“Wonderful—her name is Barbara, and she's start
ing tonight.” Veronica executed a little dance step. “Which means I don't have to work.”

“Sandy could probably use a day off, too.”

“I know. She told me once that she wanted the hours, but I don't think ten-hour shifts, five days a week, were exactly what she had in mind. When you've got a free minute, we'll have to sit down and look at the Tonk's profits. She's been so great about putting in the overtime without complaint that we oughtta be able to manage a small bonus for her next paycheck. I also plan to be there tonight to work out a schedule for the three of us. I'd like to reduce my role to fill-in waitress if it's agreeable with Sandy and Barbara. I need to get back to my own career.”

Hands in his jeans pockets, Coop rocked back on his wool-stocking-clad heels and studied her. The look in his eyes made Veronica's heart pick up its beat. Disconcerted, she glanced over at the coffee brewing on the stove, glad for the excuse to look away.

She didn't hear Coop cross the floor, but as she reached for a mug on the second shelf, his arms wrapped around her and she felt him, solid and warm, against her back.

“Ever made love on a kitchen counter before?” he murmured.

Veronica felt her body begin to prepare itself for him, but she managed to sound reasonably cool when she replied, “No, and I don't intend this to be the afternoon that changes.” His hands came up to cup her breasts and she sucked in a breath. “Lizzy's probably going to come barreling through that door at any minute.” Even so, she leaned back against him.

Coop raised his left hand from her breast long
enough to turn his wrist and peer at the face of his watch. “Damn. You're right. Marissa called to say the timing was off for the matinee at the King and she'd be dropping Lizzy off between one-thirty and two.” He bent his knees and rubbed his pelvis against her bottom. “Wanna see what I can do in ten minutes?”

She really did, and that scared her. “Tempting as the prospect sounds, I think I'll pass.”

He pressed a kiss against the side of her neck. “Are you sure? Speedy doesn't necessarily have to mean we sacrifice quality. It can still be fun—”

The front door banged open and the house was suddenly filled with the sound of children's voices.

“Then again, it could be tough trying to explain what my pants are doing down around my ankles,” he said dryly and stepped back.

Veronica laughed. “Not to mention what Aunt Ronnie's doing with juice can rings on her butt. Obviously you didn't check out the state of the countertop before you made your proposition.”

“Yeah, right.” He gave her a get-real look. “A white-glove inspection was not real high on my list of priorities.” He stepped over to the table and fit his laptop in its leather case, then zipped it up. Plucking it off the table, he came back and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “Just so you know, I'm not packing up my marbles because I was denied the opportunity for sex.”

“But you're taking them home anyhow?” She ought to be relieved, but part of her mourned seeing him go.

“It's either that or give an anatomy lesson that Marissa might object to her kiddies learning. Not to mention what my bro—”

He cut himself off, and the odd look that crossed his
face piqued Veronica's curiosity. She didn't have an opportunity to satisfy it, however, for Lizzy, Dessa, and Riley clattered into the kitchen with Marissa not far behind, and when she turned back from greeting them Coop was disappearing up the back stairs.

Chaos reigned for a while after that, but eventually all the news concerning the children's sleepover had been rehashed and reenacted, and Marissa packed up her brood and left for home. Lizzy went upstairs, and a short while later, Veronica girded her loins and set out after her. She'd put off discussing Lizzy's situation far too long already, and in good conscience she could procrastinate no longer.

But she sure didn't look forward to it. How did one talk to a little girl about the death of her mother, when the entire town was saying her father was the one responsible for it?

Pausing outside Lizzy's door, Veronica drew a deep breath, blew it out, then tapped for admittance. She half hoped Lizzy had dozed off after her big night out, knowing from experience that sleep wasn't exactly the order of the evening at the annual VFW overnighter.

Her cowardice got exactly what it deserved when Lizzy promptly threw open the door. Exhaustion flew scarlet flags in her cheeks and her eyes looked overbright, but she danced in place with almost manic alertness. “Hi, Aunt Ronnie! I'm playing with my Barbies. You wanna play with me?”

“Sure.” Berating herself for cravenly grabbing the excuse to put off the dreaded talk a few moments longer, Veronica took her time perusing the selection of dolls. “Point me to the Drill Sergeant Barbie. I'm in
the mood to make Ken clean a few latrines.”

“I don't got one of those,” Lizzy said. “But you can play with this one.” She extended a doll that was decked out head to foot in pink. “She's my fave-rit.”

“Aw, Lizzy. Have I told you lately what a sweetheart you are?” Accepting the proffered doll, Veronica sat cross-legged on the bed and spent a few minutes divesting Barbie of her pink apparel, then dressing her in a gossamer dress and searching for the proper accessories to trick her out. Eventually, though, she'd fluffed the doll's skirt and settled her in her pink Barbie-mobile. Drawing a calming breath, she looked at her niece.

“I owe you an apology.”

The little girl looked up with bright interest. “You do? What for?”

“For putting off talking to you about your mama and daddy for so long.”

Lizzy stilled and the brightness left her eyes. “I don't wanna talk about Mama.”

Veronica didn't blame her. But she had to wonder if her niece had talked to anyone about Crystal's murder. “Losing a mother is terrible for anyone,” she said, slowly feeling her way. “But I imagine it must've been doubly tough for you because you lost your daddy at the same time, and I'd like to talk a little about how you're doing.”

Lizzy looked away. “Doin' fine.” Her tone was patently unencouraging.

“I'm glad to hear that. It must make you sad, though.”

“Uh-huh. But not alla time. Sometimes Mama…” Lizzy's voice trailed off, and her narrow little shoulder
hitched with faux indifference. The look she shot Veronica seemed to be equal parts unhappiness, defiance, and apprehension.

“Sometimes your mama could be really hard to live with,” Veronica supplied gently.

Lizzy nodded.

“Yet she was still your mama, and you loved her and didn't want anything bad to happen to her.”

“Yes.”
Nodding harder, Lizzy inched closer.

Veronica reached out and hugged Lizzy to her side. “It's okay to miss her one minute and be almost glad she's gone the next. There are no right or wrong emotions in a situation like this. I grew up with your mama, and I have those mixed up feelings myself.” She held her niece tightly and rubbed her cheek against the top of Lizzy's head. “I bet some of the kids at school say mean things to you about it.”

Lizzy raised her head. “They say my daddy killed my mama,” she said indignantly. “Daddy didn't do that! He'd
never
do sumpin' like that.”

“The police think he did, Lizagator.”

“They're wrong! My daddy
told
me he didn't do it. He swored on the
Bible
.”

Veronica didn't know what to say to such conviction, so she simply snuggled Lizzy closer. A single conversation wasn't going to change or improve Lizzy's situation, but she was glad they were having it. All in all, it was going better than she'd dared hope. The hardest part—broaching the subject of Crystal's death with her niece—was done. Now she and Lizzy merely had to discuss the future, and that was a cakewalk in comparison. “You realize we're eventually going to have to leave Fossil, don't you?”

“No!”
Lizzy ripped herself free and turned wild eyes on Veronica. “We can't leave—we have to be here!”

Veronica blinked at the panic-edged vehemence in her niece's voice, then pulled herself together in order to assemble an explanation Lizzy'd understand. “I'm not talking about immediately,” she said soothingly. “But sooner or later we'll have to move to Seattle. My work—”

Lizzy leaped to her feet and faced Veronica with her little hands fisted at her sides. “You can do your work
here
. We can't leave.”