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“No, I’m…I’m good.”
Something flickered in her eyes, and it was something he didn’t want to see ever again. Cooper reached for her towel and tugged it down, exposing her breasts and upper body.
She gasped and then glared at him. He ignored it and leaned forward.
“Don’t hide from me, Morgan. Not ever. There is not one part of you that should ever be hidden.” The air between them crackled, charged with emotion-fueled electricity. Goose bumps rolled across his skin, and he held her gaze until her anger disappeared. Until her chest rose and fell and the color in her face deepened to a pink flush.
His mouth dropped to her chest, to the rosy tips begging for his touch, and he kissed them tenderly, his hands cupping them and kneading them gently as he suckled and tugged. He trailed a line of kisses upward, his mouth sliding across smooth skin and skin that was rough and damaged. She was trembling, and when he finally reached her mouth, the taste of salt stopped him cold so that he drew back just enough to see her properly.
Her eyes shimmered with tears, and she looked so damn fragile, it killed him. Chest tight, heart beating a slow, heavy beat, he leaned forward and kissed the corners of each one before sliding across her cheeks and back to her mouth.
“Stay with me the week. Don’t go home.”
She blew out a long breath. “Aren’t you working?”
“I’m done.”
Her head dropped, and her bottom lip quivered. “Doesn’t that mean you’re leaving?”
Cooper shook his head. “No.” His answer should have surprised him, but it didn’t. He kissed her again. “Stay with me?”
He waited, unsure of her reply and more than a little rattled by the fact that he wanted her to say yes so badly, it hurt.
“What are we going to do for an entire week out here?” she asked, a bit of the devil returning to her voice.
Cooper smiled wickedly, his hands tugging the towel off her completely. His hot gaze moved down her body, and he reached for her knees, opening them wide. He forgot about the omelets. Hell, he forgot about pretty much everything except the woman in front of him. He pulled her to the edge of the counter, his blood boiling because he could see she was already wet. And swollen. And so damn ready for him.
It made him feel like a king.
What are we going to do?
He smiled savagely, eyes on the prize. “We’re going to eat.”
28
October 30, 1951
We did it. I can’t believe I’m really a woman now, but I am. WE DID IT. I’ve wanted to for so long, but I was scared. Why, just last week, one of the Colter girls, Evelyn, according to my mother, got herself in the family way. It’s quite the scandal around these parts, and she’s already been sent to her auntie in North Carolina. I feel bad for her because her reputation is ruined. At church service, I heard Moxie Daniels wonder how on earth she’d be able to show her face in town again.
Honestly, it makes me a little mad. Everyone knows it was Biff Chamberlain who ruined her. And he’s already got two other girls in the family way. Why does he get off scot-free?
But Thomas and I were careful, and he promised me he’d never put me in that position. We’ve done it three times, and it’s not so bad. Can’t lie, the first time hurt, but I could tell he felt real good. Last night was much better, and I think I’m starting to see what some of the fuss is about. I felt funny and hot, and now it’s all I can think about.
I’ve never felt so close to a person before. It’s like when Thomas was inside me, we were one person. It was so weird and beautiful and scary. And he kept telling me he loved me and that one day we’re going to get married.
Gosh, can you imagine? Mrs. Thomas McLaren?
V.P.
Morgan smiled, tracing the little hearts drawn all over this latest journal entry.
“What’s that?” Cooper came up behind her and dropped a kiss to her neck. Never failed. Instant reaction. Shivering, Morgan closed the book, wanting more. She was sprawled on the sofa in front of the fireplace and turned over onto her back, watching Cooper as he squatted beside her. God, he smelled good. With his hair damp from the shower and curling around his collar, she wanted nothing more than to sink her hands into the waves and kiss him until they ended up naked.
Again.
He tapped the journal in her hands, and she glanced down at the book.
“It’s like a diary. I found it in the attic when I first came here. I think it belongs to Thomas McLaren’s wife. Or at least someone he was involved with in the fifties.”
