He'd take it.
She climbed the front steps, then turned back, her face level with his. "What was her name?" she asked. Her eyes were illuminated in the porch light, compassionate and steady. "The woman who hurt you like this?"
"What makes you think someone hurt me?" Cooper shot back, even as a knot twisted in his gut.
Poppy smiled ruefully. "I like to think you weren't always such an ass," she said. "Although, now that I think about it . . ."
Cooper laughed, hollow. He shouldn't have said anything, but there was something about the way she was looking at him, like somehow she understood the disillusionment that had carved its way deep into his chest.
"Laura." Her name stuck in his throat. "We were . . . going to get married. Start a family. Then she made other plans."
"I'm sorry." Poppy reached out and rested her hand on his arm for a moment. "Some things aren't meant to be."
Her touch was light, gentle on his, and despite everything, her words slipped past his defenses. For a moment, Cooper could almost believe her. That it wasn't his fault. That he hadn't destroyed his own chances of happiness.
That somehow, this was all part of a bigger story, instead of the same ending he was doomed to repeat.
Cooper reached for her. He didn't understand it, the instinct that suddenly surged through him. His body moved on its own, bypassing every rational thought as he stepped closer and reached to take her face between his hands.
Poppy's mouth fell open in surprise, but she didn't make a sound.
He kissed her.
Her lips were soft, already parted, and damn, so sweet it was like a rush of pure sugar flooding his system, drowning out the darkness for one glorious moment as he reveled in the taste of her mouth, the soft touch against his hands, and the way her body swayed against him, closer, all heat and warm curves.
It felt right. Even as his brain caught up with him, it felt too good to be holding her in his arms. She let out a breathy sound against his mouth, and then she was kissing him back-as lost to the moment as he was, as their tongues intertwined in a sensual dance and he felt every last synapse in his body come screaming to life.
Wanting her. Wanting more.
What the hell was he doing?
He stepped back. Poppy looked dazed, her skin flushed and her eyes still half-closed. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
"I, uh," Cooper coughed. Poppy Somerville wasn't for kissing-or anything else. She'd already made it clear what she thought of him, and "incompatible" didn't even begin to cover it. "I'm sorry," he said gruffly. "That was . . . I don't even know. Sorry. Forget it even happened."
He turned on his heel and left, before he took leave of his senses and did anything stupid.
Like taking her to bed.
8
Five days later, Poppy could swear she still felt his lips on hers. It was like a dream. A weird, confusing "fallen asleep in front of the TV after eating too much Thai food" dream: one minute, she'd been arguing with him like usual, and the next?
She'd been deep in the most sensual, bone-melting kiss of her life.
With Cooper Nicholson.
Poppy shook her head, trying to shift those hot, toe-curling memories. It didn't make sense. Was it a joke? A game? Or maybe she should just chalk it up to temporary insanity-for the both of them. Cooper had made it clear he was as baffled as she was over what had just happened, and since he'd left her on the doorstep that night, he'd gone out of his way to steer clear. All week, she'd only seen him from a distance-hurrying straight to the construction site next door in the morning, or speeding past her in his truck as she browsed in town.
She should be relieved. The more space between them, the better. No chance of any more arguments-or heart-stopping kisses, either. But every time her mind wandered, it took her right back to that kiss, and how good it felt to be wrapped in his strong arms, giving in to the burning heat-
Nope. Poppy dragged her attention back to her laptop screen. She didn't have time to obsess over those delicious ten seconds, not when she had thirty chapters waiting to be conjured out of thin air.
Any time now.
Poppy sighed. She'd done everything she could to shift this writer's block-from brainstorms and writing exercises to rereading her older books in the series, hoping the familiar characters would take voice in her mind like they always had before. But the days were passing fast, and she was no closer to having even a hint of a book to send her editor. She was going stir-crazy from staring at her computer screen, but every time she got even a few pages of writing done, she knew in her bones it was all wrong. She hadn't found it yet-the heart of the story, the thing she wanted to say-and until she figured that part out, it was all just empty words.