Cooper (The Family Simon Book 6) (12 page)

M
organ Campbell had lived
most of her life in the state of Maine and had never visited a lighthouse. It was a bit of an oddity considering they were everywhere, it seemed, and in fact, her home state was known for them. Several of the lighthouses that called this particular stretch of coastline home were famous. Some for their historical value. Others for their beauty. And some, like the current one she stared up at, because of the stories.

Haunted stories.

Crest Island Lighthouse sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Atlantic. Built in the mid-1800s, it was Victorian in design and elegantly crafted, and considering its age, the darn thing had held up well. Cooper had arranged a helicopter lift to the 7000-acre island, and the view from above as they flew over had taken her breath away. It was desolate and beautiful and dangerous and exhilarating. She’d found herself leaning forward, hands and face against the glass so that she could see better.

It was something she’d remember. She glanced at Cooper. Something she’d keep for herself and cherish.

He was chatting with the groundskeeper, an elderly gentleman sporting a red-and-black-plaid scarf that nearly dwarfed his small frame. A smart-looking gray flat cap covered his head, though she could see thick, wiry hair curling madly around his ears. An old pea-green jacket fell to just above his knees, and dark gray rubber boots completed his outfit. The man’s hands moved—he was quite animated when he talked—and Cooper nodded at whatever it was he was saying.

They’d just finished the amazing lunch he’d picked up from Jess. Hot chowder. Fresh biscuits. Fish and chips with coleslaw. And all of it to enjoy near the edge of the bluff with the warm sun on their faces and the fresh air in their lungs. As they munched their way through the food, she’d settled back and squealed in delight when she’d spotted a pod of whales a few miles off the coast.

In that moment, she felt as if she could close her eyes and go back in time, to a place where nothing bad had happened to her.

If only, she thought as sea salt rode the wind that had picked up and whipped over the bluff to tug at her hair. She decided not to think about any of that and to just be content for once. To revel in the simple pleasure of being, well, happy. A foreign concept in her world these days, but right now, she’d damn well take it.

“Hey.”

Startled, Morgan jumped as Cooper came up behind her. He stood a few inches away, yet his scent drifted on the breeze, and she swore she could feel the heat of his body. Shivering, she hid the shudder that rolled over her body, inhaling another shot of air and taking him deeper into her lungs. Dressed in jeans and leather, with a hint of a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw and dark mirrored aviators, Cooper Simon looked dangerously hot.

He slid the glasses off his nose, and the breath caught in the back of her throat—because the look in his eyes was doing all kinds of weird things to her.

Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips. “I…” God. Wait for it.
Here comes the word vomit.

“Did the groundskeeper—Mr. Delaney, I think is his name—did he tell you about the ghost that haunts this particular lighthouse? Because it’s a pretty interesting story. I mean, I suppose most ghost stories are, interesting, that is—”

Oh God, stop babbling.

“But this one, well, this one is particularly gory.”

She paused, drawing in a big gulp of air while a slow smile curved Cooper’s lip. And was that a… How in hell had she never noticed that particular dimple?

“He never said a thing.” Cooper’s voice was low and warm, and a fresh crop of goose bumps rolled across her flesh.

Mouth dry, she could barely continue. “Yes, well, supposedly there was a couple that lived here, in the groundskeeper’s house. The woman was from a well-to-do family in Boston, and they didn’t approve of the match. They cut her out of their lives and declared her dead to the family, and though it hurt her, she moved out to this island with her husband, thinking that love was enough.”

A dark cloud passed overhead, taking with it the sun, and she grabbed at the edge of her jacket, pulling it tighter.

“As it turns out, love wasn’t enough. She had a miscarriage that first winter.” Morgan’s gaze sought his. “Can you imagine? All alone out here in the dead of a New England winter, losing your child with no one to help you except your husband. She would have been so afraid of dying. Afraid of the pain, and I’m sure she wanted her mother.” Throat suddenly tight, she had to pause a few seconds before continuing. “By springtime, the young wife was pregnant again, but this time, she didn’t want to stay here. She didn’t want to be alone and afraid. She wanted to go back to her family. Her mother. Her husband refused, and they argued, and fearing for her safety, she fled to the bluff.” Morgan glanced to the edge. “Her husband followed her out, and in a fit of rage, he pushed her over the edge and she fell onto the rocks below.”

If Cooper was shocked by her story, he didn’t show it. Instead, he inched closer. So close she could see his thick, sooty lashes, the subtle flair of his nostrils. That damn dimple that had appeared from nowhere.

“Later that night, unable to live with what he’d just done, the killing of his wife and unborn child, he climbed to the top of the lighthouse and, by the light of the moon, shot himself in the head. They say some nights you can see his ghost wandering the edge of the bluff, searching for his wife and child. Others claim to have seen a headless man near the lighthouse. Always searching for his wife and never finding her.”

Cooper was silent, and Morgan stared up at him for several long seconds. His pupils were dilated, those gorgeous eyes of his all the more intense because of it.

“You have a knack for storytelling.”

She licked her dry lips. “Apparently, so do you.” She frowned, thinking back to their previous conversation. He hadn’t told her anything about his writing career, not really. There was still so much about this man she didn’t know. She opened her mouth, intent on asking for more details but he edged even closer. So close now, she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

She froze, all senses on high alert because the look on his face made her insides quake.

“Don’t.” One simple word, yet the tone in his voice was anything but. It was edged with something dark and sinful and wicked.

“Don’t what?” she managed to get out.

“No more talking.”

Her skin felt electrified, as if the sun was sending down little shock waves that sparked against her flesh.

“I thought you liked talking,” she replied, tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

“I do,” he said roughly, planting himself firmly in front of her. “But right now there’re other things on my mind. Other things I like doing a hell of a lot more than talking.”

She knew where they were headed, and God help her, at the moment she so didn’t care. Morgan might be starting down a dangerous road, and chances were it would come back and bite her in the ass, but right now all she could focus on was how good it felt to be responsible for the look on Cooper Simon’s face.

“Other things.” She swallowed, dragging her gaze from his mouth.

He held her gaze a heartbeat longer and then bent lower. “Things I’ve been thinking about all morning.”

His hands slid into the hair on either side of her head, and he cradled her there. For one heartbeat, their eyes met and held, and then with a groan, he slid his warm mouth across hers. The electricity in the air was potent and she swore she heard it sizzle as currents rolled over her. Around her. In her. She ignored everything including the groundskeeper. There was only Cooper.

She tilted her head and opened her mouth, welcoming the hot thrust of his tongue as he tasted her. He pulled her closer, so close she felt his beating heart against her fingertips. So close his hardness pressed into her and an ache bloomed between her legs. Like an old friend, desire swept over her, and she groaned, clutching Cooper as he trailed a line of fire down her throat and back up until he claimed her mouth once more.

Good God, but the man could kiss. He used his tongue and lips, at first gently, and then growing more aggressive.

And his hands… They were everywhere, stroking her butt, cradling her there and pressing himself into her. She was drowning. Spiraling. Awash in sensations long forgotten. And she didn’t give a damn.

The kiss went on forever. No more than the touching of lips, hands—the melting of bodies. No more, and yet so much more. Her skin was on fire, that pulse between her legs burning. And for the first time in forever, she wanted nothing between her and this man. Cotton and denim be damned.

She moved her hips impatiently, and with a curse, Cooper stilled.

“You’ve got to stop that,” he whispered against her mouth. He rested his forehead against hers, and Morgan drew in several ragged breaths until she finally managed to calm her heart.

The two of them stood together for several quiet moments, and then Morgan spoke. Was it her subconscious talking? Did it matter?

“Why are you doing this?” She swallowed hard. “I mean, with me.”

Did she want to hear his answer?

Throat tight, she fought a multitude of emotions that made her knees buckle, and if not for Cooper, she would have fallen on her butt.

She felt his hand on her chin slowly forcing her head up so that she had no option but to look into his eyes. What she saw there scared her. It scared her because
something
inside her jumped in response. Something that had long been dead.

“Is it so inconceivable for me to want you?”

Was that even a question? The man was part of a family known throughout America. There was a reason they were referred to as the Southern Kennedys. The Simon name spoke of dynasty and privilege. Of Miami Beach, LA, and New York City. Fisherman’s Landing was only a pit stop for Cooper. He didn’t belong here any more than she belonged at some fancy political party or gala or whatever the heck it was people like him passed their time with.

And aside from all that, there was the obvious. She thought of the images and articles she saw when she’d googled him.

“I’m nothing like the women you’ve been with.”

He was silent for a few moments as if considering her words. “I know,” he said softly. His voice was like an intimate caress, and he bent close to her ear. “You’re a whole new kind of adventure. Come back to my place tonight.” A pause. “Stay with me.”

Just then, her phone pinged in her pocket. And then
again
. It might have been a cowardly move, but Morgan jumped at the chance for some space. She needed to think. Needed to know if she was insane for even considering Cooper’s request. How could a night with him
not
end in disaster?

“I should get this.”

Cooper swept one last kiss across her mouth and stepped back. “I’ve got to touch base with the pilot, but we can head back to the mainland when you’re ready. We can hang out here for as long as you want. We can take things slow.” His face darkened—dangerously so—and his voice was low. Sexy. “Think about tonight.”

She watched him walk away from her and, with trembling fingers, retrieved her cell phone. A glance down showed two bars and her sister’s number. Fingering the device for a few more seconds, she hesitated and then, before she could change her mind, held her cell to her ear and walked a few more paces toward the bluff.

“Hey,” she said, watching an abnormally large seagull with wings the color of charcoal. It dove toward the frothy waves and disappeared beneath the water.

“About time.” Sara sounded out of breath and more than a little annoyed. “I’ve been calling you for the last four hours.”

“I texted you and told you I was fine and would be home later.”

“Yeah, well, I just came from Dad’s. He’s pissed.”

The seagull rose into the air and circled, calling out to his cohorts, crying again as an entire horde of the birds descended. Morgan followed its path, absently tucking back a strand of hair off her face.

“Good,” she murmured, turning as the gull changed course. She needed to focus on something other than the imprint of Cooper’s kiss against her mouth. The feel of him at her neck.

“Good? He’s, like, really pissed. He said you poured water over him.”

Absently, she nodded. “I did. An entire jug straight out of the fridge.”

“Well, why in hell did you do that?”

“He was passed out cold, and I…” Morgan straightened her shoulders as if facing off with her sister in person. “I lost it.”

A low whistle sounded in her ear. “You lost it.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t lie. I kinda wish I was there to see it. He’s been such a bear lately, I’m sure he deserved it.”

A small smile tugged at Morgan’s mouth, though it disappeared just as quick. “He just… I just got…tired of everything.”

“He said you didn’t come home last night. He seemed worried.”

“Apparently not worried enough to call me.”

Silence filled her ear. It stretched for the longest time, but Morgan didn’t have much else to say. She took another step toward the bluff. Where was her seagull?

“Are you really with Cooper Simon?”

She froze and bit her lip, glancing back at the man in question. He was still chatting with the groundskeeper and hadn’t made it over to the chopper.

“Who told you that?”

“I was at the bakery this morning, and Melinda told me that Mrs. Delmonte saw the two of you in Dunn Harbor.”

“We went to La Spagatt.”

“And that you guys ran into Nathan and Christy.”

Tight-lipped, mood decidedly not as happy as a few minutes earlier, Morgan gripped her cell. “We did.”

A few moments passed.

“Good,” Sara replied, her voice soft. “I’m glad Mr. Hot-as-hell Cooper Simon was with you. I bet Christy’s freaking eyes nearly fell out of her head.” That was said with relish. After Nathan and Morgan broke up, Sara’s feelings toward Morgan’s former best friend were frosty to say the least.

Morgan expelled a long, hard breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding in and winced as a wave of dizziness rolled over her.