Do Not Disturb (15 page)

He laughed. “Oh, baby, I am. I do. Every night.”

She ignored him, and the little lick of satisfaction his words gave her. He had a way of disturbing her sleep too.

“You missed dinner tonight,” he said.

“I couldn't face another helping of tofu surprise, so I'm out here playing fantasy take-out instead.” Eyes still closed, she smiled dreamily. “Right now its Der Wienerschnitzel. Two corn dogs, a chili dog with extra onions, a chocolate shake, and a double order of onion rings.”

“That's sick.”

“Well excuse me, Mr. Nutrition.”

“No, it's sick that if you're fantasizing, you'd choose Der Wienerschnitzel over Doc's Dogs.”

Surprised, Angel rolled onto her side and propped her head on her palm to look at him. “You know Doc's? Doc's on Ocean Street? I thought it was a secret shared only by me and the kids at the junior high down the block.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You haven't told anyone else, have you?”

“God, no. And risk losing my chance at the best fast food in the city? If those pigs in the financial district find out about it, they'll be dispatching their assistants there 'round the clock. It'll be lines out the door twenty-four/seven.”

Cooper nodded. “Remember what they did to Stinko's.”

Her lip curling, she sat up. “Arranged for venture capital so the place chained up, then went franchise. I weep,
weep
when I remember how good the cinnamon rolls were before they McDonaldized the process.”

“It's the new name that gets to me. I'm too much a man to step foot into a place called Cinnie's.”

“Hah! I knew it.” Angel looked at him with smug satisfaction. “I got stood up once and I've always told myself it was because I'd picked the restaurant. It was a great place called Ribbons and Rhinestones.”

He grinned. “Believe it. Only a wussy name like that could get between a man and finding you irresistible.” Then his smile died.

Angel looked away. They both knew Cooper had found her quite resistible, of course. To cover the sud
den awkwardness, she gestured toward the dramatic view of orange sky and gray-blue water before them. “Well, uh, I've been wondering…This is nice and everything, but aren't you itching to get back to the city? To Doc's and coffee and cable TV? We have ocean there too, if you recall.”

His ambiguous grunt had her glancing at him.

“Haven't you missed it?” she insisted.

“Yeah.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sure. And—” Breaking off, he pushed his hand through his hair again. “Listen, I came looking for you because I'm not going to be around tomorrow. I'll probably be gone all day, so I wanted to talk with you about—”

“I'm going to be gone most of tomorrow too,” she jumped in, guessing where he would try to take the conversation now. Doc's Dogs fan or no, she didn't want to reveal any more of her private, personal past to him. “I'm heading south to San Luis Obispo for the day.”

“Angel—”

“I have a few things I want to check out there, you see, and—”

“Angel—”

“As a matter of fact…” she babbled on, standing up and brushing off her jeans in a businesslike, you're-dismissed manner, “as a matter of fact, I should probably go back to my cottage, gather my stuff together, and then start packing….”

He spoke right over her. “I want to thank you for what you shared with Katie this morning. She means a lot to me and she…she'll have more to face ahead. I hope she'll remember what you said.”

A fist pressed against the nervous flutter in her belly, Angel turned her back on him to walk toward the surf line, the sand cool beneath her bare feet. “Well, okay, yeah, glad to be of help—”

“And I'm sorry for what you had to go through.”

There it was, too personal
. She shrugged, drawing near to where the waves washed up on the sand. “No biggie, none at all.”

“Jesus, yes, it's a biggie.” All at once he was behind her, his hands gentle on her shoulders. His breath blew warm across her temple. “How long, Angel? For how long did you have to hide?”

Way, way too personal
.

His thumbs worked gently into her tense, resisting muscles. He rested his chin on the top of her head, his fingers kneading, working, persuading. Making her soft.

“How long, honey?”

“Seven years.” Really soft, because she didn't even realize she was saying the words until she heard her own weak whisper. But that wouldn't do. So she said it again, louder. Stronger. “Seven years. Five in the States, the last two in Europe.”

The waves washed in four times before he spoke again. “Were you hurt?” he finally said, his hands still massaging. “Did your mother's husband hurt
you,
Angel?”

“He threatened to. He threatened to kill her and then keep me.” She fought the shiver that wanted to roll down her back beneath her sweatshirt. “And she believed him. That's why we left.”

“But wasn't there someone who—”

“There was no one!” No one who would take her mother's side at the police station. No one, not even Angel's father, Stephen “Artist of the Heart” Whitney, who would help. Her mother had asked him to take Angel, to keep her safe, and he'd refused to be bothered.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “This was twenty years ago, Cooper. Domestic abuse was hushed up all the time. Her husband was rising in the police ranks, becoming more powerful and possessive.”

“So you went underground.”

Angel lifted her hand. “There were people, secret…networks that made it possible. We moved when he got close, or when we thought he was getting close.”

“Then what happened?”

She almost smiled, because she'd covered enough trials to recognize lawyer talk.
Then what happened?
That was an attorney's favorite buzz phrase to elicit more of a witness's story.

“Then one night we got lucky. The bastard dashed to the corner liquor store for his next bottle of scotch. Didn't take the time to bring a weapon with him. He happened to walk in on an armed robbery in progress, tried to stop it, and died a hero.”

Cooper squeezed her shoulders.

But it wasn't enough to calm the bitterness welling up in her. She whirled to face him, unable to keep it inside any longer. “That's what gets to me sometimes. God, a
hero
. And you know the greatest irony? My mom inherited the medal.”

Cooper let a minute go by. “Maybe she should wear it,” he said quietly. “Or you should.”

The words drained her anger. Staring at him, she laughed. “Yeah. You're right. You're absolutely right.”

Leaning close, he cupped her cheek with his hand. “And you're beautiful.”

No, no, no.
She scuttled back, her heels chasing the breaker that was rolling back to the sea. She couldn't afford to let him touch her, not when talking about the past made her so vulnerable.

His gaze stayed fixed on her face. “Are you still planning to leave the day after tomorrow?”

She nodded. God yes, and it wasn't soon enough. “I have to get back.”

“I may stay overnight in Carmel.”

Her stomach sliding low, she put two and two together and took another careful step back. The surf rushed over her bare feet and she hardly noticed. “Oh. Well. This is, uh, this is goodbye, then.”

“Yeah. This is goodbye.”

The words moved like a wave through her, in one fast rush washing away all the emotions of the day to leave her…empty. Though now she was instep-deep in the Pacific, the cold wasn't half as shocking as how the idea of never seeing him again desolated her.

“Of course, there's San Francisco,” she said, trying to smile. “Hey, what do you bet that when you get back we'll meet up with each other doing the Rice-A-Roni run for the last open seat on a cable car?”

“Maybe.” His dubious voice said it was highly unlikely.

“Yeah, maybe,” Angel echoed. When he went back to the city he would go back to a life with a zillion women whom he found more irresistible than Angel.

Not that she cared. Why, at home she had men waiting for her, too. Men like…like…

Tom Jones. Her neighbor's faithless cat.

They stared at each other for another tense, silent moment.

But Angel had never done silent well. So she resurrected that friendly smile and firmly pinned it on her face as she rubbed her right palm on the seat of her jeans. Then she held out her hand to him. “Goodbye, Cooper. Thanks for everything.”

He stared down at her outstretched fingers long enough to make her go jittery again. Just as she retracted her hand, he muttered something under his breath. Then he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to him.

“Wh—” He smothered the rest of the word with his mouth.

Angel tried stepping back, but her feet weren't on the ground. He'd lifted her against him and her toes only found air. She wiggled them helplessly, but then he slanted his head, took the kiss deeper, and she lost any desire to get away.

“This is crazy,” he said, when he lifted his head to kiss a path toward her ear.

“Of course it is,” she assured him, raising her chin so he could follow the goosebumps that were racing down her throat.

“I promised myself to keep away from you.”

“Good idea. I made the exact same promise.” She threw her arms around his neck. “So do it. Keep away. Move away.”

“Me? Why me? Why don't you?”

“Because you're the big strong man.” She moaned
when he licked her pulse. “I'm the fragile, defenseless woman.”

“You're the devil.”

“Angel.”

“Devil.” His lips tickled beneath her ear. “
Move away,
you said. Are you sure you want me to do that?”

She had no idea what he was talking about now, but his warm breath rushing against her ear made her nipples tighten and her stomach jump up and down. “Yes. Do it. Let's, um, do it.”

He groaned. “You
are
a devil. That sounds so good. You don't know how good.”

He found her mouth again, slid his tongue in slowly, so slowly that she felt her pulse hang, waiting for the first touch of tongue to tongue.

And when it happened, her blood gushed hot through her body and liquid heat rushed between her thighs. She pressed closer and he hitched her higher against him. But she had to get closer, closer. His hand slid beneath her sweatshirt, running over her bare skin.

She knew when he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. His hand froze and then he groaned. “Angel…”

He shifted her again, his fingers coming between them to cup her bare breast. Moaning, she made it easier for them both by wrapping her legs around his waist.

Oh. Oh
. He was hard against her, hard
there
, and she pressed down, letting her weight drag against his erection. His harsh groan tasted sweet against her tongue.

They exchanged dozens of kisses, or maybe it counted
as just one, because while the kisses changed—soft, slow, fierce—their mouths never parted.

Finally he tore his lips from hers, looking at her with an expression almost panicky with desire.

“Cooper,” she whispered. “Cooper.”

“Angel.” His voice was guttural, thick. His eyes filled with an emotion she couldn't name.

Then his knees buckled. One minute she was in his arms, plastered against his warmth, and the next she was tumbled onto the cold, damp sand. He was kneeling beside her, looking at her with those strangely lit eyes and that same panicky expression.

“My heart,” he said, falling on his back against the sand. “Oh, fuck. My heart.”

Terror clutched at her insides. “What?”

Then the fear slapped her, taking her from paralyzed alarm to keen alertness. Rolling to her knees, she scooted to his side, grabbed his hand, and looked him in the eye. “You're going to be all right,” she said loudly, swallowing her own panic. “I know CPR.”

With that, she pushed the heel of her right hand to his forehead and used the fingers of her other to tilt up his chin. Then she grabbed both sides of the cotton shirt he wore and ripped it open, buttons popping high into the air. With his airway as unobstructed as possible and nothing between her and evidence that his chest was moving, she bent over Cooper and put her cheek directly above his mouth and nose.

His warm breath brushed against her cheek. In and out. In and out again. The rhythm was a bit accelerated, perhaps, but he was certainly breathing. She lightly
placed her palm on his chest, just to make sure she felt it move too.

“You're breathing,” she said. CPR wasn't necessary unless he wasn't getting oxygen. “You're conscious.”

“No kidding.”

Sarcasm was probably a good sign too, but she kept her position curled over him, her cheek near his mouth, her palm lightly covering his heart. “How are you feeling now?”

“About the same,” he admitted. “My breathing is too fast, too shallow. My heart is pounding so damn hard I think they must have stuck a kettledrum in there during the surgery.”

“Okay, okay.” Angel gently rubbed his skin, hoping to soothe. “Is there any numbness on your left side? Can you make a fist?”

“I'm not numb anywhere. Fists no problem either.”

Angel bit her lip, wondering if she should leave him and run for help, or if it would be safer to stay in case CPR became necessary. “I'd give my life for a cell phone right now,” she muttered.

He managed a short laugh. “Somehow I think that would defeat the purpose.”

She thought laughing was another good sign, but what the heck did she know? “What does your doctor say?” she asked urgently, desperate to find some clue as to what to do next. “What are you supposed to be watching for?”

“He says I'm fine. I lost thirty-five pounds. I'm a vegetarian. I gave up cigarettes. I exercise. He says my heart's good.”