Читать книгу One-Amazing-Night Baby! - Heidi Rice - Страница 10

COOPER SMITH stopped into the deserted hotel corridor outside a pair of metallic lift doors. He shucked back his shoulders, then considered the stunned package cradled in his arms.

He grinned. ‘I think they enjoyed the show.’

God knows he had. That exit had been the first entirely wild thing he’d done in ages. He’d read somewhere that breaking loose every so often was a tonic for the soul. He had a feeling it could also be highly addictive, which—given his professional knowledge about impulsive behaviour—was probably not a good thing.

She took him in, big green eyes luminous with shock. He was starting to wonder if it might be permanent when she smiled, then began to laugh. Her jiggling body, that infectious sound—he had to chuckle too.

Eyes watery with effort, she finally got her breath. ‘I bet Penny’s jaw is still on the floor.’ She shook her head in astonishment. ‘I can’t believe we just did that.’ Then she frowned. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t warn me.’

‘You’d only have argued.’

She dealt him that haughty look. ‘Maybe not.’

If anything she was consistent.

Consistently disagreeable.

Normally he wouldn’t get involved, but the sight of an attractive woman on her own, a colourful bouquet sitting like a death sentence in her lap, had reeled him in. His heartstrings had tugged him all the way into asking her to dance. That he’d enjoyed their time together was a bonus, even after her stubborn streak had made it crystal-clear she most definitely was not ‘the one’.

She wasn’t an advocate of tradition, marriage or, it seemed, even having a family. Most alarming … she believed a successful union was based on luck. A time bomb waiting to explode. He needed someone who looked at life and love level-headedly.

A person made his own luck.

Still, regardless of their differences, despite the fact there could be nothing between them, he couldn’t regret that kiss. Not that it would happen again.

He inspected the closed lift doors. ‘So, up or down?’

‘To the lobby and a taxi … so, down.’

Adrenaline was pumping through his body, bunching his muscles, firing the synapses over his skin. He wasn’t the least bit tired. They couldn’t go back to work off their energies at the wedding reception, however.

‘It’s too early to go home.’

‘It’s almost eleven.’

Hardly late. ‘Are you tired?’

Her mouth twisted to one side. ‘I thought I was.’

Solution. ‘Join me for coffee.’

‘I don’t drink coffee.’

He raised a brow. How could he forget? If he wanted to walk left, she would insist they go right.

He persisted. ‘Something cool, then?’

‘Tell you what, put me down and I’ll think about it.’

Cooper paused, then cleared his throat. How had that detail slipped his mind?

He lowered her and she brushed off her gown. Her scent lingered—cinnamon and perhaps vanilla, a combination of spicy and sweet that suited her down to the ground.

A spiral of hair spilled across her heart-shaped face as she angled her head to study him. ‘I’ll be honest. I don’t know how to take that invitation.’

On the surface it might look like more pity, or an attempt to slip that notch on his bedpost, or, at best, a waste of time. But it was much simpler than that. Maybe it was seeing his friend happily married, but if she was feeling a little lonely tonight, so was he.

He scooped his hands into his pockets.

Of course, a more rational explanation was that he’d been working too hard for too long. But all that was too much information.

‘We know we’re not suited in a romantic sense, so you needn’t worry that we’ll somehow fall into bed.’ Hurt flooded her eyes and he inwardly cringed. Damn. And he’d thought her friend was tactless. He pushed on. ‘We’d just be two responsible adults, who have mutual friends, sharing a drink and some conversation after a wedding.’

A faint line formed between her brows. She nibbled her lower lip and studied him.

He withdrew his hands from his pockets. ‘Or I can ride with you down to the ground floor and see you get a cab.’

The doubt in her face faded. She had the most exquisitely shaped lips—soft, luscious, made for kissing, not warring. But that was getting off-track.

She tipped her head. ‘There’s a coffee shop off the lobby. Guess I could enjoy one quick hot chocolate on the way out.’

Surprised, but pleased, he thumbed the lift button. ‘One quick one it is.’

An elderly lady appeared and squeezed between them to hit the ‘up’ arrow. ‘That shop closes at ten,’ she told them, rearranging a cerise shawl around a pair of robust shoulders. ‘If you’re after hot chocolate, I recommend Room Service. Best I’ve tasted.’

A lift arrived, and the lady disappeared behind the doors. At the same time the next lift pinged … going down.

Cooper scrubbed his jaw. ‘Guess that does that.’

‘You have something against Room Service?’

He looked at her hard. He must have it wrong. ‘Are you saying you’d come to my room?’

‘Depends. Do you have one?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do.’ Despite his attempt at blasé, surprise must have shown on his face.

‘We’re both over twenty-one,’ she pointed out calmly. ‘Besides, you just finished telling me seduction is the last thing on your mind. In case you’re worried, the same goes for me.’

He grinned at her impudent look. Or was it saucy? If she wasn’t such a pain in the rear end …

But she was right. He had a plan. A list. Now it was set in his mind, nothing would dissuade or distract him. He wouldn’t seduce her, though others might. He constantly cautioned his kid sister to be careful. Guys loved sex. Most would do almost anything to get it. And plenty ran a sprinter’s mile if precautions failed and suddenly baby made three.

A couple of minutes later they arrived at the penthouse floor and he let her into the apartment. She crossed the Italian marble floor to sample the expansive harbour view that featured the Opera House’s majestic shells.

‘You reserved a whole loft apartment for the night?’ she asked, moving to the far wall to inspect his favourite painting—a warm, brightly hued abstract he’d picked up in Hanoi. ‘Must’ve cost a packet.’

He shucked out of his jacket and hung it on the hall stand. ‘I own it.’

‘Oh, you do not.’ Her sceptical face slid. ‘In this hotel?’

Making his way to the expansive black granite wet bar, he nodded.

‘This is the sort of space I imagine movie stars hire,’ she murmured, taking it all in. ‘Do you actually live here?’

He picked up the bar’s phone extension. ‘I have a house in the northern suburbs.’

Making herself at home, she folded into the couch, the emerald of her gown striking against the beige suede cushions. His gaze skimmed her hair.

What would those upswept dark waves look like dancing around her shoulders? Stunning, would be his guess. Long and bouncy.

‘I bet it’s big?’

With a start, his mind skipped back. The line connecting him to Room Service rang in his ear. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Your house,’ she said. ‘I bet it’s big.’

The agent had described it as a mansion, but it was more an investment—like this double-storey loft. ‘It’s comfortable.’

He ordered their drinks, then poured two ice waters.

Her grin was knowing. ‘You look like you come from money.’

He hadn’t thought about it. ‘My parents were well off, but far from rich. When they died, five years ago, I had to provide for my younger sister. So I pumped more energy into my law firm and at the same time invested well. Shares, bonds, property. The usual portfolio.’

‘You must have lucked out on some great choices along the way.’

Luck had had little to do with it. His success was based on good planning.

Frowning, he moved to join her. ‘You have a real thing with superstition, don’t you?’

‘Only about certain things.’

‘For instance?’

‘Spilt salt. You have to throw it back over your left shoulder for good luck.’

‘What about black cats?’

‘They bring good luck. Even better if you stroke their head three times.’

Stopping before her, he laughed. ‘You honestly believe that?’

‘King Charles I of England loved his black cat and had it guarded every minute. The very day after it died he was arrested and later beheaded for treason. Thank you …’ Accepting her water, she tilted her head at him. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

Easing down beside her, he pulled loose his black bow tie. ‘Cooper Smith. Yours?’

She swallowed a mouthful. ‘Sophie will do. I hate my last name.’

‘Couldn’t be any worse than Smith.’

‘That’s a note from heaven compared to mine.’ She heeled off her silver stilettos and wiggled two sets of dainty toes. Painted deep red. Very nice—particularly against her creamy skin. ‘My mother said not to worry because I could dump it when I got married.’

A feat she wasn’t certain of accomplishing now.

He put her toes, and marriage, from his mind and eased back into the cushions. ‘You could change your name by deed poll.’

‘A bit drastic, don’t you think?’

He grunted. Had she agreed with anything he’d said tonight? Pity the poor fool who fell in love with her. She’d have him hopping all over the place.

‘Statistics confirm both men and women are waiting longer to marry.’ He hid a wry grin behind his glass. ‘So you might get lucky yet.’

She smiled sweetly. ‘So might you.’

Like an avalanche, the memory of his mouth covering hers suddenly crashed the cells of his body and his mind. He rubbed his eyes with an index finger and thumb. Obviously he was more tired than he’d thought. He had been up past two last night, going over some briefs for a big court case next week.

Professions. Yes, that was safe subject.

His stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. ‘So, you know I’m a lawyer. What do you do for a living, Sophie Last-name-withheld?’

‘I’m a schoolteacher, and love it.’ She smiled as if she had a secret. ‘Well, most days.’ Hooking an arm behind her over the couch, she sighed at the ceiling. ‘Teenage girls can be so single-minded.’

He raised his brows. Tell him about it. He had one at home, always trying to bend the rules. Not in his house.

‘Half are great with homework and focusing,’ she continued. ‘All the other half think of is playing house and having babies.’

As she spoke, his gaze ran over her … Big green eyes, pert little nose, flawless skin. Feeling every inch like a rippling touch—around her face, up her arm—a bright-tipped wave reeled over him. Tingling.

Hot.

He shifted and sat taller. More residual effects from that kiss. Nothing he couldn’t handle if he put his mind to it. She was attractive—sexy, even—but no one to become romantically involved with. Absolutely not. He had a list, a plan, and someone with Sophie’s traits was exempt.

He cleared the thickness from his throat. ‘Your students … do they come to you for advice?’ He used to have a favourite teacher he’d confided in. Paige, his sister, had mentioned one too.

Sophie nodded. ‘One girl in particular. She’s a darling—sixteen—and I think her boyfriend must be putting the hard word on her.’

Paige was sixteen, but thankfully no boyfriend dominated the scene. Because Cooper knew all about teenage boys—virile, myopic, bursting with testosterone. But honestly, when all was said and done … ‘I guess you can’t blame boys for constantly thinking about …’

Thinking about …

Sex. Dammit, they were thinking about sex. He was thinking about it now. The slope of Sophie’s throat, the rise of her breasts, that silver charm bracelet on her left wrist winking in the light, as if beckoning.

Tensing every muscle, he dropped his focus to the glass he now held tight enough to break.

For God’s sake, Smith, snap out of it! Get your mind out of the bedroom.

Sophie’s raised arm fell onto her lap. ‘I understand that human beings are built that way. Hormones, raging sexual cravings to get close … so close you’re practically living in each other’s skin—’ Her gaze cut back to him and she tipped forward, frowning. ‘Are you all right? You look uncomfortable. Are you hot?’ She flipped a finger at his collar. ‘You should undo that top button.’

With adrenaline pumping a million to one beneath his ribs, his next words came out strangled. ‘I think I’ll leave it fastened.’

Her concerned gaze skated over his brow. ‘You might be coming down with something. A horrible flu ripped through my school last week. One minute you’re fine, the next you’re flat on your back.’

She leant closer and his blood began to sizzle. He didn’t need to hear about anyone being on their back.

‘A cold compress might help.’ She thought for a second, then slid her cool glass over his brow. ‘Better?’

He groaned. Oh, dear Lord, yes.

Closing his eyes, he dissolved against the sensation of hot against cold. Her soft body inches from his hard one. He wondered if she would guess his thoughts … how she’d react … what she’d feel like under that dress.

His eyes sprang open.

Enough, already!

As he jumped back his arm bumped hers, and water splashed a cold patch on his crotch. He sprang to his feet at the same time she sprang to hers.

Automatically she brushed his wet trousers, then realised what she was doing. Not that he minded her hands-on attention—not one bit.

Stepping back, she blinked at him several times as a moment of blinding understanding and awareness flashed between them. His gaze ended on her lips, which she wet nervously before announcing, ‘I should go.’

It was the wedding, the talk about sex, the memory of that sensational kiss. That explained why he felt this kind of attraction—hard, fast, totally unreasonable. It had crept up on him like a cat on a mouse. A lucky black cat with big green eyes.

She moved to leave, but his hand snapped out to grasp her charm braceleted wrist. She turned back slowly, chest rising and falling as if she couldn’t get enough air. Mirrored in her eyes he saw the same desire he felt surging through his veins. Right or wrong—possibly both—he had to act.

‘I don’t want you to go.’ Seemed he’d been saying that all night. This minute he meant it more than ever.

Her slender throat bobbed as she swallowed. ‘Why?’

He ground out, ‘You know why.’

He felt her holding her breath, evaluating the situation, going over their conversations. Her words came out a threadbare whisper. ‘We weren’t going to do this.’

‘I changed my mind.’ He had no other explanation. ‘I think you might have too.’

To test his theory, he skimmed a palm up the silken texture of her arm and those earlier tingles caught light. When she didn’t move, he slid that hand around her waist. She examined the motion, then searched his eyes while her own glistened in the soft light. ‘We’re totally incompatible.’

As if drawn by a magnet, he lowered his head to touch her lips oh-so-softly with his. Physical longing curled like a fist in his stomach. ‘Without a word of a lie, right now I only remember how you taste.’

When his mouth met hers again, she kissed him back. As he pulled away, her eyes drifted open. Her sigh was a sound near surrender. ‘I remember too.’

He tugged her closer and her body melded with his—supple, curvaceous, inviting. Nose touching hers, he murmured against her lips, ‘I want you to know I didn’t intend for this to happen.’

She looked both anxious and decided. ‘This is purely physical, right?’

Yes. ‘Purely physical.’ Overpowering, irresistible. No for ever tied in romantic ribbon here.

‘We’re agreed. We won’t pursue this. I’m not what you want. You’re not what I need. We have no future.’

‘But we can have tonight.’

The next kiss left his breathing ragged and left her clinging to his shirt like a lifebuoy. He went in deep, feeling his pulse rate spike, his energies harden, knowing, regardless of what was said next, there was no turning back.

When he let her surface, she was looking over his shoulder, a little amazed. ‘Cooper, you have a painting of butterflies on the wall.’

Tasting her temple, he carefully released the zip down her back. ‘Do I?’ He couldn’t remember.

‘Three white butterflies together. That’s very good luck.’

‘Have you heard the saying, make love three times before dawn and your life will be long and happy?’

She grinned. ‘Think that’s true?’

‘Only one way to find out.’ For a second time that night, he swept her up into his arms.

Their eyes remained glued as he carried her up to his master bedroom.

‘When I first saw you,’ she murmured, ‘I thought you looked dangerous.’

‘And now?’

She touched his cheek. ‘Now I need to know for sure.’