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“Movie?” he asked.
She shrugged but after a few seconds spoke. “Sure.” Morgan pulled up the blanket and settled her head against the back of the sofa, turning slightly toward him as she got comfortable.
There wasn’t much choice, but he did stumble across an old comedy starring Hugh Grant. It was a harmless piece of fluff and would fill the time, so he clicked on the channel and put up his feet. About halfway through the movie, he realized he’d moved closer to Morgan, and by the time the credits rolled across the screen, she was fast asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. She’d not spoken one word the entire time. A glance at his watch told him it was past midnight.
“Morgan,” he whispered, but his only answer was a soft sigh as she burrowed deeper against him.
Cooper knew he could do one of two things. Wake Morgan and make the drive back to town, or gather her up and put her to bed here. He glanced down at her. She looked so damn peaceful and relaxed, he didn’t have the heart to wake her. So Cooper scooped her up, smiling to himself when she mumbled a bunch of nothing, and made his way upstairs. He put her in his bed, and she rolled over immediately, grabbing one of his pillows and burying her face in its softness.
Her long hair splayed out around her head and shoulders, a dark inky weave of silk that drew his gaze. She looked so fragile and delicate—which was an absolute contradiction to the woman he’d come to know. Morgan Campbell had strength and backbone, and she probably didn’t know it.
Carefully, he tucked her in, and after a few moments left her in silence. He was glad he’d been there for her tonight. Glad he’d managed to take some of the edge off what had been a stressful situation for Morgan. He wondered about Nathan and Christy. About Morgan’s past and what had happened to alter her future.
He thought of her eyes. Of the way her mouth puckered when she was mad, or how she twirled the end of her hair when concentrating. He thought of her scars—the ones he’d seen and the others, the ones hidden beneath her clothes and skin.
And he thought of their kiss.
It was late. He’d had a long day, and yet he was wired as all hell and wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. What to do? He couldn’t lie on the sofa and think about Morgan Campbell all night. About how much he wanted another kiss. Another touch. And maybe more.
“Shit,” he muttered, heading down the stairs. He shouldn’t be thinking about any of this stuff. He shouldn’t be entertaining any kind of notion that involved him and Morgan and kissing and touching. First off, she obviously had some serious issues stemming from a past that had scarred her inside and out. Secondly, he didn’t want to be the one responsible for ripping those scars open.
Thirdly? Once his novel was done, he was leaving Fisherman’s Landing. This wasn’t where his life was. He’d leave and head back to California, where he’d lose himself in women who didn’t matter and a public persona that, at best, left a lot to be desired.
Morgan deserved something better than what he had to offer.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced back toward the welcoming light from his family room. Running his hands over the stubble along his chin, Cooper slipped his feet into his boots and headed out back to his shop.
He needed to work and hoped his restless mind was up to the task. Because if not, it was going to be one hell of a long night.
18
Morgan woke up slowly, sleep-heavy eyes drifting open as she turned over in bed. The steel-blue comforter was soft, and she pulled it up under her chin, blinking to clear Sandman from her hazy brain as she gazed at the window. Sunlight streamed inside, shimmery beams that shot across the room to land on the large trunk at the end of the bed.
Feeling lazy, she melted deeper into the bedding, inhaling an unfamiliar scent that was pleasing. Masculine. Sandalwood, maybe?
A bird flew past the window. A bark echoed in the distance. She rose onto her elbows, her brain finally catching up to her what she was seeing, and panic rifled through her as she jerked her head to the left and then to the right.
Books piled on the trunk.
Red-and-white-plaid blanket strewn across the edge of the bed.
Armoire to her right.
Door directly across.
A suitcase propped near an old desk that also held three stacks of hardbacks.
Sitting up now, she glanced down and realized she was still in the clothes she’d worn to dinner. Dinner she’d had with Cooper. Dinner at La Spagatt.
Dinner that had been interrupted by Nathan and Christy. Her stomach recoiled at the thought of those two, and she whipped back the covers and slipped her legs over the edge of the bed.
It was then she realized she was in Cooper’s room. That she’d slept in Cooper’s bed. Now fully awake, she remembered coming back to his place. Watching some silly movie that did nothing to ease her sadness. After that, things got hazy, but she must have fallen asleep, and he’d opted to let her stay over rather than drive her home.
Something buzzed, and she realized it was coming from her purse, which lay on top of the old desk near the window. Her phone.
Quickly she crossed the room, wincing a bit because her leg was stiff. She should be used to it by now but there were still times when she woke up and forgot that she had limitations. That she wasn’t whole and perfect and fast and agile. That the old Morgan had disappeared along with a past that should best be forgotten.
Agitated, she reached into her bag, retrieved the phone, and noticed a few things. A) It was well after nine in the morning, so she’d slept longer than normal, and B) there were several missed calls from her sister. One from Hank.
