Do Not Disturb (20 page)

Beth and Lainey drifted over to offer their tips. With her arms awkwardly raised overhead, Angel's muscles were screaming in agony, but she gamely attempted to follow along until the other three were choking back laughter.

“Thanks a lot,” Angel grumbled, peering at her reflection. “It's not my fault I look like a mutant cross between Pippi Longstocking and Bozo the Clown.”

She grimaced as some snickers escaped. “One of you will have to fix this mess.”

As Katie obligingly moved forward, Angel's eye caught on Judd's and Cooper's reflected images in the mirror. Standing beside the barbecue, they were staring at the group of females. It could be that her hair disaster had snagged their attention, but when Angel glanced around her, she knew it wasn't the bad braid job.

It was the laughter. The lightness of the moment and the brightness in the faces of Lainey, Beth, and Katie.

Something warm waved through Angel, almost pride, almost…well, almost belonging. It was nice.

The mood carried into dinner. At a glass-topped table beneath a market umbrella, Lainey and Beth relived bad-hair experiments of the past and razzed Cooper about the George Michael look he'd affected once upon a time.

Angel drew back in mock horror from the man sitting beside her. “
George Michael?
As in ‘I-will-be-your-preacher-teacher' George Michael?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you're proud of your Madonna phase?”

“How did you—” She caught herself and lifted her chin. Fibbed. “She was
never
my role model.”

“Liar.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering for her ears only. “Which was it? The scruffy street girl, the blond bombshell? Were you
Erotica
or
Like a Virgin
?”

When a sweet little shiver ran down her back, Angel suddenly remembered she'd forgotten about Lainey's misapprehension. She'd also forgotten how dark his greeny-brown eyes turned when he was talking sexy, how his thick lashes made them even more like a deep, hot night in Big Sur. Hot night, hot skin, hot man.

Dragging her mind back, she cleared her throat. “I told you, I never dressed like Madonna.”

“But she dressed as a boy,” Katie piped up. “When she was in third grade she pretended to be a boy.”

The words dropped like an unwelcome blanket over the table. All heads turned toward Angel. All eyes.

The camaraderie of the evening dissolved and Angel felt like the outsider again. The one who didn't belong in the family.

“Maybe Angel doesn't like to talk about that, Katydid,” Cooper put in gently.

“Oh. I…” Katie's face flushed.

Angel jumped into the awkward moment, trying to save the girl from embarrassment. “No, no. It's fine. As a matter of fact, I have the funniest story about my first and only boy sleepover.” She briefly sketched out why she'd impersonated a boy for Lainey, Beth, and Judd, then launched into the account of a backyard sleepover with three other boys that had morphed into a pissing contest.

A real pissing contest.

Beth's mouth dropped. “What did you do?”

It had been panic time then, but Angel could laugh about it now. “I made them all turn around and then I grabbed an almost-full can of soda and slowly let it dribble to the ground.” She tilted her empty hand to demonstrate. “I knew I didn't have a prayer for the distance record, but I won the titles for volume and flow control hands down.”

Instead of laughing, or at the very least smiling, the group around the table sat silent for a moment. Then Lainey stood and directed Katie to start clearing the table. Judd and Beth followed suit. When Angel moved to help, Cooper snagged her hand and held her back.

As the others trailed toward the kitchen, she made a face at Cooper and rose awkwardly to her feet. “Guess I shouldn't leave my day job for a stint as a stand-up comedian.”

Instead of answering, he rose too and pulled her into his arms. “You're killing me, kid.” His voice was gruff. “You're killing me.”

“That's not good,” she said into his shirt. Like Katie, he smelled a little of chlorine too. Angel thought of his strong, sure hands slicing through the water. She felt those hands on her now, strong and sure on her too. Looking into his face, she resisted wrapping her arms around his neck. “
This
probably isn't good either.”

Then movement caught her eye. It was Lainey, coming toward them. In a rush, Angel recalled that wrong-headed matchmaking notion again and pushed off from Cooper's chest, stumbling backward toward the edge of the pool.

“Watch out,” he cautioned sharply.

Angel caught her balance and planted her heels into the flagstone deck. “I'm fine. Fine.”

Lainey continued toward them, glancing over her shoulder as she reached Cooper. “I need to talk to you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Away from Katie.”

Angel instantly started to edge away. “Um, maybe I should—”

Cooper shot her a look. “Don't go anywhere.”

“But—”

“It's okay, Angel,” Lainey said. “I trust you.”

Oh God,
Angel thought, a premonition tickling the back of her neck. But she didn't move.

“It's about…about Stephen. When I was going through his papers, I found something this afternoon.” Lainey hugged herself, rubbing her arms with the palms of her hands. “I'm not certain, but I think…I think he might have had another family.”

“A
what
?” Cooper said.

Angel wanted to run. She wanted to run away, faster and farther than she ever had. She wanted to go back to the day she'd decided to investigate Stephen Whitney and she wanted to decide to let sleeping dogs—dead dogs, she thought hysterically—lie. She inched back.

Lainey tucked her thumbs into the bend of her elbows and sighed. “I don't know. You'll have to look at what I've found. It was in a batch of old papers. It's a half-sheet, divided in the middle.
Stay,
he wrote on one side,
Go
on the other. Stephen often made decisions that way. You know, reasons to do something, reasons not to do something.”

Cooper's voice was quiet. “So?”

“On the
Go
side is written
art
and
freedom.
On the
Stay
side it says
Michelle
and—” She hesitated.

“And?” Cooper prodded.

Angel held her breath.

Lainey took one, hesitated again. “
Our daughter
.”

As the two words aimed for her heart, Angel tried backing away from them. But they pierced her all the same, just as she realized there was nothing beneath her feet. And then there was water.

Over her head.

She instinctively thrashed. The sky was still light and she fought toward it, even as her full skirt wound around her legs like a noose. Her nose cleared the surface, then her mouth. She gulped air and water.

She slid back into the deep water and wished for the hundredth time she'd had a father who'd taught her to swim.

His mood at a boiling point, Cooper dragged Angel down the path from the Whitney house to the retreat. She kept trying to escape his grasp, but he ignored the resistance.

She cleared her throat.

He ignored that as well, too preoccupied with controlling his reaction to what had nearly happened.

“I didn't get the chance to tell Lainey she shouldn't worry,” Angel said.

Her voice was breathless, but he didn't slow down and he still didn't speak.

“About…uh, about there being another wife,” Angel continued between pants. “If that were the case, the press would have sniffed it out years ago.”

At the moment, Cooper didn't care if his late brother-in-law had more wives than the King of Siam.

“But why don't I”—she heaved in a breath—“why don't I look into it for her?”

“Don't bother,” he replied roughly. “I'll get someone at the firm to do it.”

She stopped.

He tugged on her arm, but before she had a chance to start moving again, he swung around to face her. “We were laughing, damn it,” he ground out, unable to contain himself any longer. “We were laughing and waiting for you to come back up.”

“It's not—”

“And then you did, and then you went back under again. I was sure you'd swim to the steps, but instead you…you…Goddamn it, you
floundered
.”

It was nearing dark, but even in the twilight he could see her wince. “I know it wasn't a pretty sight, but—”

“Pretty!” His muscles went rigid. “Damn it, you stopped my heart!”

She winced again. “Hey, I'm sorry.”

Searching for control, he jerked his gaze skyward, staring at the black shadows of the trees and the first stars that were playing hide-and-seek with their branches. His breath was moving in and out of his chest heavily, but it wasn't due to exertion or medical emergency. It was fear.

Fear.

Fuck it.

He released her wrist, only to grab her by the shoulders and give her a little shake. “Life is too precious for a stupid stunt like that.” His voice was hard. “Do you understand?”

“You know it wasn't a ‘stunt,'” she said quietly. “I told you once you pulled me out. I can't swim.”

Once he pulled her out
. Closing his eyes, he relived the moments all over again. Standing on the pool deck, chuckling with Lainey. Watching Angel rise up, suck air, sink back down.

He hadn't worried right away, though she hadn't swum toward the edge right away and she didn't resurface. A couple of moments passed. Then it had hit him, a sucker punch that had cramped his stomach into a knot of icy, shocking fear.
Drown
—

—
ing
. Before the thought was complete, he was in the pool. From there it was memory flashes. His hand wrapped around her braid. Her pale face breaking the surface of the water. That first gasp of her breath. Water streaming from his forearms and her sodden skirt as he carried her up the steps and out of the pool.

Lainey had rushed over with towels. He'd wrapped Angel in them even as she'd coughed. He'd held her on his lap until she'd subsided to wheezing and then to normal breathing.

Five minutes after that, he'd pulled her toward Tranquility at a near run.

“God.” He shook her again, mad at her, mad at himself, outraged at fate in a way that he hadn't been in months. Cupping her face with his palms, he tilted her gaze to his. “Why didn't you tell me you can't swim?”

“It never came up in conversation.”

The answer was reasonable.

No, damn it, it wasn't. In a perfect world, he was supposed to know those kinds of things about her. It was unexplainable, unsayable, but he knew,
knew,
that he was
supposed to know that Angel couldn't swim. He was the one she should tell that to. Her weaknesses, her fears, her scars—from scraped knees to wounded feelings—were for him to catalog and for him to console.

He dropped his hands and spun away from her. “You were in the hot tub that night. It was dangerous for you to be there alone.”

“But I wasn't alone. You were there too.”

She was trying to be reasonable again, when the time for reason was long past. Instead of arguing with her, though, he took her hand, gently this time, gently, and led her the rest of the way through the trees to his cottage.

At the door, he stopped. His hand brushed over her head, down the braid that was still wet to the touch. The night was so warm that she'd insisted on wearing home her damp skirt. It clung to her thighs, then frothed outward at the hem where it had already dried. She looked like a mermaid, he thought.

He almost laughed at himself. A mermaid. An angel.

At turns, she was either a siren beckoning him to his destruction or the one who would greet him once that destruction was wrought.

Sighing, he gave up the internal struggle that he'd been waging since the morning he'd opened his eyes to find her gone from his bed.

“I can't let you go.” At her little start of surprise, he smiled, then amended his statement. “I can't let you go tonight. You know that, don't you?”

The dark had completely descended now, but he could clearly see her face in the glow of the small light fixture beside his door. She was still pale, and the milky light leeched the color from her eyes too.

“I don't think that's a—”

“For God's sake, it was never a good idea.” But he had to touch her, hold her, assure himself her skin was warm all night long. “We both know that too, right?”

Closing her eyes, she nodded. Her long lashes were a smudge of darkness against her cheeks and he wanted to run his tongue along their tickly edge.

He thought she swayed toward him, or he told himself she did. Bowing to strong impulse again, he swung her into his arms, carrying her into his cottage just as he'd carried her out of the pool.

She laid her head against his shoulder like a tired child—he remembered Katie doing the same—and protectiveness, tenderness welled up inside him. This was the same, tough, wannabe boy who'd held her own with other third graders. This was the same woman who'd braved the spartan retreat and tofu three meals a day for the sake of a story. This was the same sexy beauty who had given him another taste of life.

He strode into his bedroom and sat them both on the edge of his bed, then reached for her braid, unwrapping the band and then unweaving her hair. He combed his fingers through the wet length, spreading it across her shoulders.

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

“Worried.” She glanced at the glowing bedside lamp. “Will you turn off the light?”

Reaching over, he thumbed it off, then found her face in the dark. He didn't want her to worry, damn it, he wanted her warmth, he wanted her close. So he kissed her cheek, her temple, the top of her head, his chest
aching as it hadn't since the surgery that had split open his ribs.

“It's only sex,” he said against her ear, knowing the words would ease her mind. “Nothing a material girl like yourself should be concerned about.”

She laughed, her stiff shoulders easing. “I don't know, George. I've always been a bit hazy on which way you batted….”

At that, he pushed her onto the bed and followed her down. She spread her legs to make a place for him and he rubbed himself against her. “Speaking of bats…”

She groaned. “You flatter yourself, buddy.”

He grinned down at her. “That's me, your buddy.” His mouth found hers and he kissed her, soft and gentle. Persuasive. When he lifted his head he heard the little catch in her breath.

He wanted as much as he could get from her in the time they had left. “Tell your buddy your secrets, Angel.”

Beneath him, she stiffened for an instant, then relaxed. “I don't have any secrets.”

He brushed her hair away from her forehead. “Yes, you do. But I don't mind finding them out for myself.”

His mouth trailed down her neck, and he licked across the pulse at her throat. He tasted warmth, building desire, the clean tang of pool water that made his heart slam for a moment before he shoved the memory, the fear, away.

She was here with him now. Safe in his arms.

“Your secrets, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Last chance.”

Beneath him, she moved sinuously. “Why don't you get naked?”

“I don't need to be naked for what I want,” he replied. If he got naked too soon, he might not find out the answers he was after.

She went very still. “What's that? What do you want?”

“What I want”—he rose onto his elbows—“is you.” His hands cupped her face, and he followed the curve of her bottom lashes with his thumbs. “Tell me, Angel. Did someone hurt you during sex?”

She stiffened again. “Of course not. No one could hurt me.”

He rolled his eyes at her knee-jerk denial. “What was I thinking? Who could hurt
you
, of all people?” But he believed her. It wasn't sex that had hurt her, not when she could flame in his arms.

“Then what happened?” he asked, distracting her by outlining her pretty mouth with his forefinger. “Why did you stop expecting to find pleasure in bed?”

“You make me sound…”

“Like a pessimist?”

Instead of answering, she pulled his head down to hers. Then she kissed him, slanting her mouth to make it deep. He drew away quickly, though, needing to know how her mind worked before he lost his. “Why, Angel? Why did you give up on being satisfied in bed?”

She frowned at him. “I've never been able to get the timing right, okay? And it hurt—” Breaking off, she shook her head. “Not hurt, just left me wanting when I tried so hard to get there and couldn't.”

“So you stopped wanting.”

“I want you.” Her hands sank into his hair and she
brought him to her again. Their mouths met, and this time she made it hot and wild before he could stop her.

Cooper wrenched back, breathing hard. She was so beautiful, with her lips reddened from his. “How could any man do that? Leave you unsatisfied?”

She huffed out a sigh, obviously frustrated with his persistence. “I don't think they ever knew,” she said. “I faked it.”

“Angel…” He didn't know who to commiserate with, the poor bastards who hadn't seen through her pretense, or Angel, who'd sacrificed her sexuality to save their egos.

“It's the timing,” she murmured, her forehead pleating. “You know, it happened with you too.”

He stilled. “‘It'? You didn't fake it with me.”

She smiled. “No. But I still didn't get it exactly right. Not the way it's supposed to be, anyhow. I can't get the timing for that man-on-top, woman on bottom dual explosion.”

“The way it's supposed to be,” he repeated. It was suddenly clear to him. She might be twenty-seven years old, but he guessed her partners had been few, far between, and
young
. Christ, any man with a little experience under his belt knew—

“Let me kiss you again, Cooper.” She tried pulling his head down, and when that didn't work, she lifted her mouth toward his. “Let me kiss you.”

He pushed her back against the pillows. “Sex isn't supposed to be a certain way, Angel.”

“I read
Esquire
and
Maxim,
” she said defensively. “I know there's more than missionary, but—”

“Then let me show you where the missionaries and the ‘dual explosion' contingent have it all wrong.”

He didn't think she was listening to him. Her hands speared through his hair again, tugged. “Kiss me.”

He hesitated, staring at her face, at the delicate construction of her bones, at the froth of gilt hair spilling over the pillow. Young men would have been careful with an angel. Cautious. Afraid of shocking someone who looked so innocent.

They wouldn't have pushed her past her comfort zone to be truly intimate with her.

God, he was thirty-five years old and he'd had her panting and demanding and
he'd
never completely undressed her either.

She pouted. “Kiss me.”

“Oh, I will,” he promised.

Then he rolled off her to slowly unbutton her sleeveless top and peel it off. Her breath caught when he released the catch on her bra, so he put his mouth on hers to divert her attention as he pushed both garments away.

Then he slid down her body, kissing the spot between her breasts, below her breasts. The skirt had a drawstring at the waist. One pull and the full fabric slid easily down her legs. He sat up and tugged her sandals off, then looked at her pale body spread across his bed.

“Pretty,” he said.

She seemed frozen by her near nudity. When he reached for her panties, she made a little sound of protest, but he ignored it, drawing the silky fabric past the light curls at the apex of her thighs.

“Shh.” He dropped them over the side of the bed.

Staring down at her nakedness, he slowly moved his hand to stroke her nearest flank. “Last chance, sweetheart. Your secrets.”

“I told you.” She flinched as his finger trailed across the sensitive skin at the inside of her hipbone. “I don't
have
any secrets.”

He let his fingers wander closer to the triangle created by her tightly clenched thighs.

She was trembling at his touch. “What are you doing?”

His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. Between her legs, her soft curls were so pale that they couldn't hide the contours of the flesh they covered. It made it easy to place his forefinger directly at the high point of the line that separated her skin.

She jumped. Then her body settled again, her thighs an inch apart. “Cooper…”

He smiled, pressed deeper into the opening so that his fingertip was wedged between the twin, hot softness of her flesh. Just below the pad of his forefinger, her clitoris was rising to meet his touch.