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You should see it. So beautiful.
Cooper’s head shot up, and his hand was on the door, but the damn thing wouldn’t open. He yanked on it. “Davis, let me the hell out,” he growled.
“Would you like me to move up, sir?”
“I’d like you to open the goddamn door.” Frustrated and angry, he waited.
The lock clicked, and Cooper shot out of the limo, head cranked around as he searched ahead. The crowd roared, but he heard nothing. He marched down the path between the cars and the barricades, moving past security and that frantic publicist who looked as if she was, in fact, losing her mind. He searched the crowd on the red carpet. Saw his cousins Jack and Beau. Their wives Betty and Donovan. He spied Maverick and his mother off to the side, and Charlie…
His heart, already thumping like a damn drum, kicked up another notch, because his sister-in-law stood beside the most beautiful, engaging, infuriating, lovely, argumentative, and amazing woman he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Cooper pulled up short, his gaze hungrily taking in the long, loose waves that fell down her back. She wore a shade of green that clung to her curves, from the high neck to her hips to her feet. A gauzy wrap caressed bare shoulders, and her eyes… They glistened, shining from the flashes from the cameras that surrounded them.
She took his breath away.
Lips parted, she turned toward him, and he didn’t wait. Christ, the hounds of hell couldn’t keep him away. He strode forward, his long legs eating up that red carpet like a starving man at a banquet, and he didn’t stop until he had her in his arms. Until her warmth was pressed against him. Until her scent was inside him.
He held her for as long as he could, and then his hands slid up to cup her face so that he could see—really see—what was going on in her head. The crowd roared its approval, but he didn’t hear a thing. He was so focused on Morgan that a bucket of firecrackers wouldn’t have moved him.
“Hey,” she said, her voice throaty and more than a little raspy.
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You came.” He spoke roughly and was lucky to get the words out.
She nodded. “I read your book.” She smiled through glittery tears. “Your words…the way you saw me. I can’t explain how it made me feel.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I love you, and I don’t want to hide anymore.”
Cooper bent toward her. He groaned and slid his mouth across hers, his hunger and relief getting the better of him. He kissed her long and thoroughly. Until the crowd began to cheer, their voices and clapping louder than ever. He kissed her until his head spun. Until Morgan clung to him as if he was the only thing holding her up.
He kissed her because he knew, unequivocally, that she was his forever girl. Morgan Campbell was the one. He kissed her until she knew it as well.
When he finally dragged his mouth away, Maverick stood a few feet from him, grinning crazily. “You two keep that up and the damn movie will be done and over before you leave this red carpet.”
Cooper slid his hand over Morgan’s and threaded his fingers into hers. “This is going to be a crazy ride. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “A normal girl would be crazy to even contemplate such a thing.”
“True.”
“You’re lucky, then. Because I’m not normal.”
Cooper Simon walked Morgan Campbell into the theater. He avoided everyone and pulled her into the very back where they could have some modicum of privacy. He held her in his arms, stroked her hair, and nuzzled her neck as his cousin Beau brought alive Soft Hands. A movie about a blind man who, in spite of everything thrown his way, found love and purpose and the ability to see the world through the eyes of his lover. His partner.
His forever girl.
Cooper finally knew what that kind of love felt like, and he was damn well never letting it go.
Epilogue
The house was not far from Cooper River in the French Quarter of Charleston. Beautifully kept, the Greek Revival was impressive, its wide porch welcoming. An iron fence surrounded the property and, once through the gate the path leading to the house was lined with black-eyed Susans, purple daisies, and marigolds. The smell of magnolia blossoms filled the air, and Cooper spotted a few bushes near the porch.
“I’m nervous.”
He glanced down at Morgan, his hand linked with hers, and paused at the edge of the porch.
The media frenzy hadn’t cooled off. The notoriety surrounding Cooper and Morgan, coupled with the massive success of Soft Hands, amped up the interest in the couple to a point where it became impossible to ignore. Paparazzi were everywhere, camped outside Cooper’s homes in Florida and California, the Simon family compound in the Keys, their place on Lake Muskoka. They’d even set up shop in Fisherman’s Landing.
It was a crazy roller coaster of a ride, but by the end of the month, Cooper knew he needed to get Morgan away from it all. His woman was one hell of a trouper, but he could see the fatigue starting. It was hard to ignore the photos and stories in print and online—most
of them respectful—but a handful were salacious and exploitive.
