Cooper's Fall (4 page)

She turned her gaze to the band, the dancers, her profile faintly wistful as she watched them.

“I’ve been here several times.” She turned back to him, those wide pale blue eyes stroking over his face. Hell, it was almost a caress.

“I’ve seen you.” He nodded.

She looked down at the shot glass, played with it for a moment, then stared back at the dance floor as the band slid into a rousing dance tune.

Damn, the look on her face. She wanted to be out there. He could see it, feel it. So what the hell was holding her back? Each time she had come into the bar, she had sat at one of the back tables, alone. She had watched, drank a soda or wine cooler or two, and left.

She had never come to the counter. She had never drank his finest whiskey with a curl of pleasure tightening her face. He would have noticed. He always noticed Miss Sarah.

“Miss Sarah . . .”

“Sarah.” Her head swung around, those wild curls feathering over her shoulder, and there was that little dimple again. “I’m not that old, Mr. Cooper.”

“Cooper,” he murmured, his jaw still braced on his palm as he watched her.

“Cooper.” There was the slightest edge of delight in her gaze then. “Please call me Sarah.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled back at her, just to watch her eyes flare in irritation.

She lowered her eyes again, played with the shot glass again, then lifted her gaze back to Jake and indicated another shot.

Cooper almost laughed out loud. Jake gave him a hard, disapproving glance, as though he thought Cooper could keep her from drinking.

And Miss Sarah caught that look. For a moment, Cooper saw a shattered, weary pain flash in her eyes. Then a tight smile twisted her lips.

“Forget it.” She fumbled in her jeans pocket, pulled out a few bills, and slapped them on the bar. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Fuck!

Cooper straightened as she slid off the bar, head held high, and all but ran toward the door. What the hell?

Following her, Cooper felt something tighten in his gut. A strange, almost tender amusement mixed with confusion. Damn it. She looked like she was going to cry when Jake didn’t want to serve her the whiskey. As though somehow, she had been rejected.

“Hey, whoa. Sair. Come on, hold up.” He caught up with her in the graveled parking lot, his fingers curling over an arm so damned soft it felt like heated silk. He had shortened her name. Not Miss Sarah, or Sarah. His Sair.

She jerked away from him, turned on him, her face flushed, eyes glittering. And those
were
tears.

She blinked them back furiously.

“I got the message, Mr. Cooper,” she snapped. “Don’t worry, I won’t come back into your bar again.”

“Whoa. Sair.” He moved in front of her, staring down at her. “What message did you get exactly?”

Sarah stared back at him, battling her tears. “That makes half a dozen times I’ve been in that damned bar.” She swung her arm to it. “The only bar in driving distance, mind you. Each time, I order whiskey. Each time, I get some damned kid’s drink. The last time, I got a soda. Now I have to have your permission to drink whiskey in there? When the hell did you decide to ostracize me from this town?”

He blinked down at her. “When did I decide to do what?”

Cooper decided he was in shock. He hadn’t wanted her ostracized, just protected. Nothing more.

“I walk into that bar and no one asks me to dance,” she informed him frostily. “If anyone seems to be coming close to me, your bouncers waylay them and suddenly no one is speaking. And now your bartender won’t serve me whiskey?” She sniffed.

Ah hell. She couldn’t cry on him here. Not in the damned parking lot.

Cooper rubbed the back of his neck as he stared down at her furious little face. She had guts, he had to give her that.

“That’s not what it is,” he finally said, grimacing.

Her arms were crossed over her breasts, her hip cocked. Damn. He was going to end up fucking her on the hood of a car if she kept this up.

“Then what, Mr. Cooper, is your problem? I’m over twenty-one. I don’t believe I’m a total hag, but last I heard, even ugly women were allowed to drink whiskey.”

“That’s not it.” He hardened his voice. Hell if he wanted to explain this here.

“I just wanted to dance,” she whispered, the moonlight striking her eyes, making them deeper, darker. Damn, he wanted to fuck her. “To have a drink. I just wanted to be a woman, Mr. Cooper. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you.”

She jerked her keys from her jeans pocket and turned to stalk to her car as though it were over. Son of a bitch. He should let it go. He was fucking stupid. Insane.

He caught up to her, slamming his hands against the top of the car as she reached the door, pinning her in, watching her start, feeling her sharp intake of breath as he leaned in close to her.

“This isn’t a nice place,” he told her softly. “This is a bar. The men who come here only want a fuck, Sair. They’re not all nice, and they’re sure as hell not here to share a drink and a dance and go quietly home.”

He could smell the scent of her now. A little spicy, a little sweet. Whatever perfume she was wearing was going to kill him.

“My bouncers have orders. The men in that bar know me, they know what you don’t. I’m a mean fucker, baby. And when I put out the order that they use extreme caution around you, they know what the hell it means.”

“Why would you do that?” Breathless. A little excited, maybe. He didn’t feel any fear and that was too damn bad. She should fear him more than she did anyone in that bar.

He let himself lean closer, let his nose bury in the soft fragrant silk of her hair. “Because I want to fuck you, Miss Sair,” he growled. “I want to fuck you so deep and so hard that neither of us can move for hours later. And I can’t have you, baby, because you sure as hell deserve better. So I’ll be damned if I’m going to watch one of those sorry bastards in there taste what I know they’d never appreciate.
Go home. Find a nice young man who wants forever and babies, and count yourself lucky that the devil was in a good mood tonight.”

A good mood? He was so damn hard, so horny, his cock was like titanium. He could drive spikes into railroad ties with it. And it was so pressed against Sarah’s lower back, the only thing separating it from her flesh was their clothes.

Clothes he wanted out of the way.

“Was he?” There was something in her voice that had the hairs standing on the back of his neck. “I don’t think it was his good mood.” She pulled open the door as he shifted back. “Trust me, Mr. Cooper. There’s no such thing where the devil is concerned.”

He watched her start the car and drive away. And he couldn’t forget the little bit lost, little bit lonely look on her quiet little face. As though she had faced demons, and realized they were stronger than she had ever imagined.

“Fuck!” He propped his hands on his hips, stared after the car, and knew. Hell, he could feel it in his gut. He knew Sarah was going to rock him clear to the soles of his feet.

Before she did, he needed answers. His Sair was too wary, too damned secretive. Striding back into the bar, he made a mental note to have Jake check into exactly who Sarah Fox was.

Sarah had learned not to cry a long time ago. She had learned how little tears helped, and she had learned how miserable they made her feel and that no one else really gave a damn anyway.

Ethan Cooper had warned men away from her at the bar. Had word of that warning gone through town? Was that the reason everyone stayed distant?

She went to the grocery store the next afternoon, as she did every day, to buy dinner for that evening. She wandered through the store, chose a few vegetables, a ripe tomato, though she had no idea what she intended to fix. She checked out a slice of watermelon, passed it by. She picked up an apple, placed it in a clear plastic bag, and laid it in her shopping basket.

She felt disconnected as she moved through the store. She didn’t want steak or pork. She didn’t want another chicken breast. And she
had promised herself years ago that she was never eating another TV dinner in her life.

So what did she want?

She wanted to dance. She wanted to be held. She wanted to be touched. And she didn’t want a stranger. She didn’t want a casual fuck. She wanted something more.

She wanted Ethan Cooper.

She stopped in front of the meat aisle for the second time, frowning down at the variety. They had everything. The problem was, the hunger tearing at her had nothing to do with food and everything to do with something much more instinctive.

“The catfish is fresh.”

She tensed at the sound of Cooper’s voice behind her.

She tucked in a few stray strands of hair that had escaped the twist at the back of her head and stared down at the chicken.

She picked up a single-wrapped chicken breast, laid it in her basket, and moved on. Okay, an apple, a small stalk of celery, a single green pepper. There was lettuce left in the fridge. God, she so didn’t want chicken.

“Are you going to forgive me, Sair?”

“My name is Sarah,” she told him quietly. “Or Miss Fox if you prefer.”

He breathed out heavily behind her. “No one else calls you Sair. It makes a part of you just mine.”

He was close. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him against her back. Close enough that her nipples beaded, her clit grew tight and hard, and her stomach tightened with need.

“You don’t want me, remember?”

Damn him. She didn’t want to want him. Did he think it was voluntary?

“You won’t be served sodas in the bar anymore. I promise.” His
voice was a quiet, dark rasp. There was a hint of amusement. A hint of something darker, deeper. “And I didn’t say I didn’t want you.”

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I won’t be back in your bar, Mr. Cooper.”

She moved through the diary aisle. She could probably use another small carton of milk. Sometimes she drank it, sometimes she didn’t. She placed it in the basket before selecting a small wedge of cheese she liked with the crackers she kept in the cabinet.

“You’re not going to forgive me? Come on, Sair, we’re neighbors. You can’t hold a grudge against me.” There was a tickle of laughter against the top of her head, warming her soul.

Sarah stopped and turned and her nose was nearly buried in his chest. God, he was so close. She lifted her head, stared into his amber-flecked hazel eyes, and felt all the blood rush to her face. And the damp heat of her juices rushing to prepare her vagina, filling it, seeping out to her panties.

“Am I bothering you?” she finally asked him.

His brow arched. “Hell, yeah,” he murmured. “You’re making me hard as rock. And I’m tired of knowing you’re mad at me.”

“Very well.” She turned away and resumed her journey to the checkout stand. “I won’t be angry anymore.”

She wasn’t angry to begin with. She was hurt. She had been trying desperately to make friends in this little town. Knowing Ethan Cooper had been warning everyone against her made her feel more isolated than ever before.

She had been isolated for most of her life. She didn’t want that any longer.

She heard him breathe out roughly behind her again and wanted to turn back to look at him so bad she couldn’t stand it. She loved looking at him. She could spend hours doing it.

But she’d decided it was better not to stare. It just made her want.