Kiss Me If You Can (18 page)

Then he reached over and yanked open his drawer, pulling out a condom and barely getting it on, his hands were shaking so badly.

Lexie lay sprawled on the bed, eyes partially closed, legs spread wide. “Hurry,” she whispered.

He leaned over her and thrust hard, fast and deep inside her wet sheath, knowing it wouldn't take much for him to come.

What he didn't expect was for her to join him.

But the minute he slid inside her, the union of their bodies woke hers up again. He met her gaze. Eyes wide, she watched him as he slid out, feeling every slick inch of her passage, then pressed deep once more.

Lexie bent her knees. “Again,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his.

He slid out, all the way this time, and her eyes reflected her objection.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He silenced her with a kiss, a hard, demanding, taking-everything kind of kiss. Then he spread her with his hands, positioned himself and again took possession of her body.

She cried out and he pushed deeper, wanting them
joined as tightly as possible. Never wanting to leave her again. He levered himself up with one hand and began a steady pumping of his hips, possessing her. Owning her. As he moved deep inside, as his body curled tighter, release beckoning ever closer, Coop realized this was sex like he'd never had before.

This woman wasn't like any he'd ever had before.

Because he loved her.

Dammit. He thought he'd protected himself. Tried.

But as she met him thrust for thrust, giving of herself, all of herself, thought escaped him and a hot wave sent him over the edge, mind and body exploding, lost inside her.

And from the sounds she made beneath him, she'd done the same.

T
HEY'D HAD FANTASTIC SEX
. Amazing sex. Sex like Lexie had never experienced before. She and Coop connected on so many levels, she actually
felt
the bond between them in bed as well as out. Half-dressed—she wearing one of his old T-shirts, he clad only in his boxers—they'd eaten the Chinese food and cleaned up the kitchen together.

They now found themselves back in his bed.

Coop leaned against the pillows, allowing Lexie to admire his tanned and muscular chest and the sprinkling of hair she'd felt against her skin. God, he was sexy.

He propped an arm behind his head. “I really need to get a full set of dishes,” he said, completely unaware of the effect he had on her.

Lexie laughed. “I certainly can't criticize. I don't own any dishes at all.”

“Good point.” He set his jaw and his good mood evaporated, the smile leaving his face at the reminder of her vagabond lifestyle.

While she was in the mood-ruining business, she decided she might as well launch into the discussion she'd been dreading. “So what are we going to do about my grandmother?”

Coop exhaled slowly. “You realize we need to find out the truth, right?”

Swallowing over the lump in her throat, she nodded. “I know.” She'd already accepted that fact and had been preparing herself.

“I was thinking we ought to confront her directly.” He raised a hand before she could object. “Wait.
Confront
is the wrong word. I think we should sit down with her, tell her what we know and ask her for the truth. No more dancing around the subject. I'm sure it'll be easier for her once everything's out in the open.”

Lexie raised an eyebrow. “Really? This is a woman who's been keeping this secret over fifty years. I think she's a pro at hiding things by now. Revealing it will probably be the tough part.”

Coop reached out and grabbed Lexie's hand. “Who are you more worried about hurting? Your grandmother? Or yourself?” he asked gently.

Lexie hated the question mostly because she already knew the answer. “Probably both,” she admitted. “If my grandmother really did this—” and in Lexie's heart, she already knew Charlotte had stolen the necklace “—then where does that leave me?”

She asked the question that had been haunting her since the revelation in the police station basement. If Charlotte wasn't the person Lexie had always believed her to be, then what did Lexie have to hang on to?

Coop squeezed her hand tighter. “I think it leaves you as yourself—and that's someone you aren't yet comfortable with. That's why you've spent your life thinking that as long as you could model yourself after your grandmother, you could justify your choices and decisions,” he finally said, summing her up pretty accurately.

His words pierced her heart and caused a painful ache in her chest. “Are you sure you're not a shrink?” she asked, laughing, so she wouldn't cry.

He grinned. “Minored in psychology in college. But that's not how I figured you out. I know it because I know
you
.” He held on to her hand, imparting strength in his touch. “I met your parents, Lexie, and though you're very different from them, those differences don't make you a bad person.”

“Really?” she asked, grabbing on to his words like a beacon of hope.

He nodded. “Hey, you inherited some good things from your parents.”

“Such as?” she asked wryly.

His brows furrowed in thought. But not for too long. “Your work ethic for one,” he said pretty
quickly. “You worked hard at your Web-design business and made it a success, right?”

“Right.”

“And you're innately honest. So are they—even if you don't always like what they have to say or the way they express themselves.”

She nodded slowly. He did have a point.

“And maybe you can look at things from your father's point of view. It couldn't have been easy being as uptight as he is and growing up with Charlotte as his mother.”

Lexie blinked, letting Coop's insightful words sink in. “I never thought about it like that.” Never looked at the world from her father's perspective. “He probably felt as out of place with his mother as I do with him,” she murmured.

“Common ground,” Coop said, sounding pleased.

“Wow. Who'd have thunk it?” she asked, and her world spun a little bit on its axis.

“Hey. No matter how much you idolize your grandmother or want to view yourself as just like her, whatever she did fifty-odd years ago has no reflection on the woman you are today.” He placed his hand beneath her chin and tilted her head upwards. “Promise me you'll think about that?”

How could she deny him anything? “Promise.”

He smiled, satisfied. “While you're thinking, remember this. You are also a successful Web
designer and a fantastic person regardless of how different you are from the rest of your family.”

Warmth spread over her like sunshine on her skin. “Sounds as if you like me,” she said, teasing him.

He met her gaze, his gorgeous eyes drinking her in. “I more than like you, Lexie,” he said, his voice gruff with raw emotion.

Panic washed over her at the depth of feeling she both saw and heard. “So we're going to confront my grandmother. That's the plan?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

A flicker of disappointment flashed across his face before he quickly masked it. “Yes, that's the plan.”

She nodded. “Good. So let's shower and do this.” She slid out of bed.

Away from Coop, his touch and the feelings she didn't want to face.

 

“I
DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU
, but I'm getting tired of hanging out on the street corner like a common hooker,” Charlotte said to Sylvia.

Charlotte peered across the street at the Vintage Jewelers. It was early morning and if they didn't see Ricky soon, Charlotte and her aching feet might have to call it quits. She wasn't as young as she used to be.

“I agree. It's hard to believe we haven't been
propositioned yet. Kinda hard on the old ego.” Sylvia adjusted her big-rimmed sunglasses.

“I think it's because nobody can see our faces behind the glasses and the scarves. On a good hair day, I'd have men lining up for a smooch.” Charlotte glanced at her friend. “So would you,” she added, trying to be nice.

Sylvia had never had Charlotte's looks. What she did have was a personality and a big heart. It was too bad she and Frank had never had kids. At least then she'd have a Lexie in her life, Charlotte thought.

“Look! That's him!” Sylvia pulled on Charlotte's blouse. “The fat, balding man sneaking around the corner!”

He didn't go into the store entrance. Instead, he appeared to be sneaking around the side.

“That bastard. Is there a back entrance we missed?” Charlotte asked.

“I don't know. But at least we know he's back.”

Charlotte nodded. “Now all we have to do is wait for his daughter to leave and we can ambush him!”

When the woman stepped out of the store at noon, Charlotte and Sylvia glanced at each other, locked gazes, nodded once and strode across the street, two women on a mission.

 

I
F
L
EXIE DIDN'T WANT
to discuss anything serious, then fine. Coop wouldn't discuss anything serious.
But that didn't mean the revelation he'd had earlier wasn't bouncing around inside him. And damn if he knew what to do about it.

After all, he'd gone and done the one thing he'd promised himself he'd never do again. He'd fallen in love with a woman who couldn't love him back or stay in town long enough to let life and love develop. What were the freaking chances he'd fuck up twice?

Pretty darn good, apparently.

At least he hadn't outright told her how he felt. He still had some dignity intact.

They showered—separately—and headed over to her grandmother's apartment. Coop drove. His mood permeated the car and neither one of them spoke on the way there.

Once at her grandmother's, Charlotte wasn't home.

“I swear the woman has radar,” Lexie muttered, to herself. “Come. Let's check Sylvia's place.”

He followed Lexie down the hall and waited as she banged on the other woman's door. Nobody answered.

“Of course not,” Lexie said, her voice thick with frustration.

“Let's go back to your grandmother's.” He took the lead and she followed behind him.

They sat at the kitchen table, staring at each other in silence. As a reporter, Coop had been in this
position before, unable to find a person from whom he needed information, and asked himself what he'd do if Charlotte were any other source.

“We need to draw her out,” he said, answering his own question.

Intrigued, Lexie leaned across the table, chin against her hand. “How?”

He tried to ignore the inquisitive furrow between her brows, but found the tiny wrinkles cute. So were the freckles on her nose.

Damn.

He closed his eyes and attempted to focus. “We need her to want to talk to us.”

“What if…” Lexie's voice trailed off.

Coop opened his eyes. “What? Say it.” The only way they'd figure this out was to bounce ideas off each other.

She pursed her glossed lips. “Okay, I don't like this. But what if we take the necklace and leave a note in its place?”

“Then she'd have no choice but to come looking for us. It's brilliant! You're brilliant!” Coop said, excited with the idea.

At the compliment, pleasure flashed across her face and Coop rose from his chair to kiss her, but as reality dawned, self-preservation kicked in and he quickly lowered himself back to his seat.

She visibly flinched from his withdrawal. “Let
me go see if I can find the necklace. Hopefully, she's not hiding it,” Lexie said, dashing from the room. She returned seconds later with the necklace dangling from her hand.
“Ta da!”

“Perfect. Now the note,” Coop instructed.

She handed him the necklace, pulled paper and pen from a drawer and wrote her grandmother a ransom letter, propping it up against the fake fruit centerpiece on the table.

“Now what?” she asked.

“We head to my place and wait her out.” Which Coop figured would be easier said than done.

If he and Lexie weren't having easy conversation, they certainly wouldn't be killing time by having sex. Which meant that until Charlotte showed up, they were in for an awkward, uncomfortable stretch of time.

 

R
ICKY COULDN'T BELIEVE
the two old biddies had tied him to his chair with scarves they'd brought with them. They'd trussed him up with knots tighter than a Boy Scout's.

“What do you want?” he asked.

They exchanged incredulous glances.

Charlotte had propped her sunglasses on top of her scarf-covered head and he was able to look into her determined gaze. “I want my wedding ring. The one I gave you that night at the Lancasters so nobody
would realize one of us had on a ring or any kind of outstanding clue,” Charlotte said.

As if he needed the reminder. That had been his rule. One she'd forgotten during their last hurrah, so he'd pocketed the ring.

“And I want the bracelet!” Sylvia had lowered the glasses to the tip of her nose, looking at him over the rims like a librarian. “I'm sure you remember it. The one that matches her necklace from the Lancaster job. You were supposed to meet up with us and divide the loot and you never showed. Sneaky, no-good, lying bastard.” Sylvia kicked his shin with an orthopedic shoe.

“Ouch! Dammit, settle down,” Ricky yelled at her. “Let me go before someone comes into the store and finds you two idiots.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Sylvia, you start there.” She pointed to a set of drawers. “I'll look here.” She sat down at his desk.

Together they began ransacking the back room and his private drawers and stashes in a futile search for their missing items.

He leaned back in his chair, relaxed despite the circumstances, because they wouldn't find what they were looking for. Ricky might have kept things like a hoarder, but the two items they'd come looking for, those he'd hidden in a safe place.

“Hey! I recognize this.” Sylvia held up a brooch from one of their first heists. “I thought we agreed we'd only take enough so that we each ended up with one piece. To keep or sell if we needed the money.”

Charlotte rose from the chair. “You mean to tell me you took other things from those jobs?”

Ricky remained stubbornly silent. He wasn't engaging these two lunatics in an argument and when he didn't reply, they went back to work, poring through every nook and cranny they could find.

Ten minutes later, they'd pretty well covered everything.

“Not here,” Sylvia said, sounding defeated.

“I can't find them, either.” Charlotte perched her hands on her slim hips—Ricky'd always had a thing for her slim hips—and strode over. “I want my wedding ring back and I want it now.”

Sylvia reared her leg back for another kick.

“Whoa! No more kicking me, you old battle-ax!”

“Then tell us where our things are,” Sylvia said.

Ricky shook his head. “How about a deal instead?”

“What kind of deal? And talk fast,” Charlotte said, obviously realizing they might be running out of time before his daughter returned.

“You get my ring back from that nosy reporter
and
you make sure he and his lady friend back off their investigation of the ring. And of me. My daughter told me they've been snooping around,
asking questions. Then we'll exchange goods.” He smiled, knowing he still had the upper hand.

Sylvia glanced at Charlotte. “Think we can manage that?”

Charlotte muttered under her breath.