The airport is busy, but Cooper navigates us through swiftly. As we walk through the baggage claim area, I spot a uniformed man holding a sign that reads Montgomery.
“I guess that’s us?” I say, but Cooper doesn’t hear me. He’s preoccupied looking off in another direction.
“Cooper?” He still doesn’t respond, so I trace his line of sight. I don’t see anything unusual. Mostly it’s just a group of tourists in Hawaiian shirts and straw hats anxious to get their luggage. Then I notice a man in the group who stands out. He’s grabbing a bag from the conveyor belt, but that’s not what makes him different. Dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and pants—head to toe in black, his bald head is the only thing that shines from his otherwise dark façade.
“Cooper?” I call again. “Do you see someone you know?”
“Hmm?” He turns to me, having heard my voice, but still not hearing my words.
“I asked if you saw someone you knew. You seemed distracted.”
“Actually … give me a minute, I’ll be right back.” He deposits me next to the man holding the Montgomery sign and takes off in the direction of the baggage claim he was staring at. The man I thought he was looking at is already gone, but I watch as Cooper surveys the surrounding area.
“Everything okay?” I ask wearily when he returns.
“Fine,” he responds and we walk to the waiting limousine. “I thought I saw someone I knew, but my mind must be playing tricks on me since you robbed me from the nap I was planning on taking.” He kisses me chastely, then waves off the driver so he can open the door for me himself.
A woman is waiting at the top of the driveway when we pull up to the house—if you would call where we arrive at a house. Mansion, estate, perhaps just paradise might most deftly describe the vision that looms in front of me.
Up until now, everything about Cooper Montgomery seemed to match the man—a sleek penthouse suite, expensive-yet-old classic car. His assets are clearly luxurious, yet they have an understated quality about them. Like he doesn’t need to show off the grandness to appreciate its value. But this—there is no mistaking the brazen grandeur of this home.
Flooded in white except for the massive dark-wood double front doors, the home stretches out far and wide amid lush tropical plantings.
“Welcome home, Mr. Montgomery, Ms. Monroe. Sugar Rose is ready for your arrival.” The woman greets us with a thick island accent and broad smile.
“Thank you, Marguerite. It’s good to see you.” I hear Cooper have a short conversation with the woman, but I’m too busy looking around in awe to pay much attention.
“You like it?”
“It’s stunning. I can’t believe how big it is.”
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard you say that,” he leans downs and whispers to me as we walk to the entrance with Marguerite in tow.
I shake my head. Before me is the man I first met—smiling, playful and full of himself. It’s nice to have him back.
As Cooper talks to Marguerite, I walk slowly through the spacious home. The massive two-story living room is framed with a wall of glass that leads out to an equally impressive manicured yard. An oversized infinity pool makes it difficult to tell where the yard ends and the ocean beyond it begins.
A warm ocean breeze blows on my skin as I walk outside, bringing the smell and taste of the ocean to my lips.
“What do you think?” Cooper comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“It’s paradise.”
He kisses my shoulder. “I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s amazing. Although it’s not what I expected.”
“Is that good or bad?” His lips at the nape of my neck vibrate against the skin.
“Actually, I don’t think it’s either. It’s beautiful. It just doesn’t seem like your style.”
“It’s not. My father built it for my mother.” He kisses his way up to my ear. “Sugar Rose. My mother was Rose, but my father called her Sugar.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Inside or outside?” he asks.
“What I like better?”
“No, where you want me to fuck you first.”
“No beating around the bush with you, is there?”
“Not when it comes to you, love.” His hand tugs at my skirt to lift it. I’m lightheaded from the feel of him hardening against me from behind, but it’s the way he just called me love that makes my knees weak.
“What about Marguerite?”
“Gone. No one for miles except for me and you.”
I turn and face him. He wastes no time in taking my mouth. There’s a hunger in his kiss that would never reveal he’d just been inside me only a few hours ago on the plane.