Sour Cherry(8)

Cooper stepped into the room, all six feet three inches of him towering over me when he stopped. “Yes.”

I stood my ground, my gaze steady on his. “Are you going to explain further?”

He chuckled. His sweet breath drifted across my face, and despite people breathing on me being my biggest pet peeve, I didn’t flinch. “Tell you what,” he said as he pressed himself against me, “for every minute you let me watch, I’ll give up a piece of information.”

“Watch what?”

“You.”

My mouth nearly dropped to the floor. I knew what he meant, but I wanted to claim ignorance. “What makes you think I didn’t finish?”

A close-lipped smile is all he gave me for a series of breaths. “Did you?”

I notched my chin up just a bit further. “Yes.”

Without warning, Cooper gave me a quick peck on the lips, avoiding my nose thankfully. “Too bad.” He stepped away and out into the hallway.

I couldn’t move. For treating me like a pariah earlier, he certainly didn’t mind kissing me now. I imagined the change had been recent. As in, I’d-been-caught-with-my-hand-down-my-pants recent. I brushed the tingling sensation from my lips with the back of my hand.

He came back with loaded bags and placed them on the floor. “Here.”

“What’s this?” I reached for one of the colorful bags, a blue one, and pulled out something soft.

“You needed clothes.”

Shock overcame every sense in my body and mind. “Did you buy the whole damn store?” Six bags sat in front of me, each with a different designer label and each completely full.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he said. Cooper stared down at the bags as he ran a hand through his hair. “So I got a little bit of everything.”

Add another item to Column B.

This was weird. Very, very weird.

****

My first night in the safe house turned out to be a disaster.

One twin-sized bed.

Two people.

One of which couldn’t keep her damn hands to herself.

That would be me.

When I woke, I found myself draped over the exact place I’d found my number one lay of all history. Apparently even in my sleep I was a whore.

I slowly tried to maneuver out of the bed without waking Cooper. After all, I’m sure I kept him up all night. First, I removed my hand from his groin. Second, my legs from the top of his. Then I tried to climb over him. In the end, my strength failed me.

Just as Cooper opened his eyes, my whole body plastered itself onto his.

I wrenched myself off him so fast, I landed on the floor.

Hard.

Carpet was a bitch to land on when the padding had been removed out from under it. I remained motionless on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The throbbing in my face increased and I tried to will the pain away

Unsuccessfully.

“If that was your attempt to seduce me, it sucked.” Cooper smiled down at me from the bed with an awful, but charming, crooked smile.

My eyes fluttered toward the camera. “Who’s watching those?”

“Nobody. I review the footage from the day every night.”

“Does that mean you’ll be watching this later?” His laugh made me grind my teeth and throw my arms over my eyes.

“Over and over.”

I groaned and uncovered my eyes, still gazing at the ceiling. I couldn’t look at him right now. Not after what he’d just seen. “And yesterday, too?”

Cooper got out of the bed, naked from the waist up. He bent over, that damn smile still in place. “I already watched it. Do you want to know how many times?”

Another groan escaped my throat. “No.”

He offered me a hand. “Come on, Filatova. Let’s get some food in you to bring back some of your color.”

I didn’t miss the gymnast jab as I took his hand. When I made it upright, I rubbed my eyes clear of sleep. “You watch gymnastics?” I asked from behind my hands.

“Of course I do. Those women are hot.”

I followed Cooper into the kitchen, my eyes glued to his backside. Even with clothes on, he still managed to make my heart race. And wasn’t that just perfect? My conversation with Trish replayed in my head.

He’s off limits.

Ha. Wonder what she’d say now considering I’d technically defected. Not to another side. Just defected. I scooted onto the only barstool at the counter. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Omelet.”

An unwelcome laugh shot through my nose then turned into a whimper. I cradled either side of my nose with both hands. “Oh, God. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

I worked to control my laughter while still imagining this lean, scruffy-looking man crack a delicate egg. It seemed impossible.