“Well …” I whisper, waiting for him to say something, do something. Anything. The anticipation is killing me, and I think he knows it.
“You can leave anytime you want,” he says roughly.
“I know.” Still, my feet don’t move. My heart beats a barrage against my rib cage. I’m suffocating, but all I want to do is sink deeper into his arms.
I shiver when his thumb lightly caresses my side over the thin fabric of my loose white shirt. Then the light touch becomes strong fingers curling over my hip, and my knees wobble. I’m smoke in his arms. I don’t feel solid.
“What are we doing, Mac?” His deep, dark eyes penetrate me.
“I thought you knew.”
Urgently, his lips cover mine. His fingers bite into my hip as mine snake into his hair and pull him toward me. The kiss is hungry, desperate. When his tongue prods at the seam of my lips, seeking entry, I whimper quietly and give him what he wants. Our tongues meet and I nearly keel over again.
“It’s okay, I got you,” Cooper whispers, and before I know what’s happening, I’m off my feet, legs wrapped around him.
He walks us backward until I’m pressed into the exposed concrete of a cracked wall. He’s hard against me. I can’t fight the wave of insistent arousal that compels me to grind myself against him, seeking the friction that will unleash this knot of repressed longing that’s sat taut inside me for weeks. This isn’t me. I’m not the girl who loses her mind over a guy, who gets tangled up in midafternoon interludes of semi-public, semi-sexual exploits. And yet here we are, mouths fused, bodies straining to get closer.
“Fuck,” he groans. His hands find their way under my shirt, callused fingers dipping beneath the cups of my bra.
The moment he teases my nipples, it’s like someone’s opened the curtains in a pitch-black room. Startling as blinding sunlight pouring through.
“I can’t,” I whisper against his lips.
Right away Cooper pulls back and sets me on my feet. “What’s wrong?”
His lips are wet, swollen. His hair wild. A dozen fantasies rush through my mind as I struggle to slow my breathing. The wall at my back is the only thing keeping me upright.
“I still have a boyfriend,” I say as an apology. Because although I might not be happy with Preston at the moment, we haven’t officially broken up.
“Are you serious?” Cooper storms away before turning to stare at me with exasperation. “Wake up, Mackenzie.” He throws his hands up. “You’re a smart girl. How are you this blind?”
My eyebrows crash together in confusion. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Your boyfriend is cheating on you,” he spits out.
“What?”
“I asked around. For two years, everyone in the Bay has seen that asshole screwing everything that moves.”
An angry scowl twists my mouth. “You’re lying.”
He’s picked the wrong girl if he thinks I’m falling for such an obvious ploy. He’s only saying this because he wants to get in my pants, to make me furious enough at Preston that I’ll give in to the undeniable attraction between us. Well, Cooper doesn’t even know Preston. If he did, he’d understand that Pres is the last one who’d be running around with random hookups.
“You’d love it if I was.” Cooper approaches me, visibly seething. I’m not sure which one of us is more pissed off at this point. “Face it, princess. Your Prince Charming pulls more ass than a barstool.”
Something comes over me.
Blind, hot rage.
I slap him. Hard. So hard my hand stings.
The crack echoes through the empty hotel.
At first he just stares at me. Shocked. Angry.
Then a low, mocking laugh slides out of his throat. “You know what, Mac? Believe me or don’t believe me.” He chuckles again. A raspy, dark warning. “Either way, I’ll be the one watching smugly from the sidelines when you’re finally hit with a dose of reality.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MACKENZIE
Cooper’s accusation against Preston torments me for the next twenty-four hours. It clouds my mind, poisons my thoughts. I don’t pay a lick of attention during my Monday classes. Instead, I run Cooper’s words over and over again in my head, alternating between anger, uneasiness, and doubt.
For two years everyone in the Bay has seen that asshole screwing everything that moves.
Face it, princess. Your Prince Charming pulls more ass than a barstool.
Was he telling the truth? I have no reason to trust him. He could have made the allegation merely to get under my skin. It’s what he’s good at.