Page 7

His eyes softened and one side of his mouth tipped up in a grin. “Good girl.”

He rewarded her with another of his all-consuming kisses, and it was several minutes before Macie could rouse herself from the sheer passion of it to take stock of her surroundings. When they had started kissing, they’d been standing next to the table. Now, she was across the room, her back pressed up against the wall with Coop’s lips on hers and his crotch rubbing against her, leaving no question in her mind that he hadn’t lied earlier.

Hank Cooper wanted her. Sexually.

And maybe intellectually, as he’d promised. Not that she gave a shit about that part at the moment.

She ran her hands around his waist, tugging his shirttail from his jeans so she could stroke his bare chest with her fingers. She discovered silk over steel and the slightest smattering of hair.

Coop’s hands gripped her ass cheeks, pulling her more tightly against him.

Her head was swimming when he finally broke the kiss.

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight, Whiskey. But you are going to come for me.”

Macie blinked, trying to make sense of his words. In her mind, they were already naked in bed and getting busy. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t put out on the first date.

Not that this felt like a first date.

This was Coop…Hank…shit. It was her friend. The one who’d lost his wife a little more than a year ago.

She opened her mouth to blast him for arrogantly assuming she’d have sex with him, then maybe she’d cuss him out for denying her said sex, and move on to persuading him to change his mind about the no fucking part. That seemed like a hasty decision to make at a time like this.

Of course, what came out was none of that.

“Whiskey?” Since when did he have a pet name for her?

“You sure that’s the part you want to question?”

She bit her lip to try to hide the big-ass grin fighting to take over her face. Macie didn’t want to encourage his cockiness. She nodded, and then figured it was a wasted question because she really did reek of alcohol from that damn drink she’d spilled on herself at the bar.

“It’s those pretty brown eyes of yours. Remind me of a smooth bourbon whiskey. Man could fall into them as easy as a bottle of the stuff. And believe me, he wouldn’t mind spending a good long time getting drunk on them.”

Dear God Almighty. Hank Cooper was a romantic. Who would have believed it? His words had her going all gooey inside.

Even so, a large part of her still couldn’t believe he was talking to her like this.

She cleared her throat, searching for something nice to say back. She failed miserably. “You know, most cowboys just use darlin’ or sugar.”

“I’ve used those before. But I won’t with you.”

His sincerity, the seriousness in his face, had her heart beating harder. Then, her humor faded as a new anxiety surfaced. “Have you had sex with anyone since Sharon died?”

He’d hit her with the kid question, so she figured he owed her the answer to at least one personal question.

“No.”

She wasn’t sure if his response made her feel better or worse.

She opened her mouth to ask him “why me?” but Coop kissed her before the words could form.

When he released her, he cupped her cheek. “I can see all those questions lining up inside that busy head of yours. Put ’em away for now, Whiskey.”

“But—”

“Asking and answering them won’t change what’s gonna happen here. Tonight, tomorrow, or next week.”

“It won’t?”