Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Poppy drove the main highway out to Cooper’s address, her heart racing and her head spinning with doubts. What if she showed up and he laughed right in her face? Or had another woman there? Or, worst of all, made awkward polite excuses until she turned and fled in humiliation?
Relax, she ordered herself. OK, so maybe she wasn’t all that experienced when it came to seducing gorgeous men, but she was a grown, red-blooded woman.
She wasn’t going to get tarred and feathered and marched through town with a scarlet A affixed to her chest just for dropping by a friend’s place unannounced with a bottle of wine.
And cute underwear.
Poppy took a deep breath, and then another.
The turn took her off the highway, out through the woods, and she found herself looking curiously around in the dusk light.
The sun was setting through the trees, and she didn’t know what to expect from Cooper’s residence, but when she pulled up outside an old red barn—weathered with age, with faded white shutters and ironwork curling at the windows—somehow, it made perfect sense.
His truck was out front, and the lights were on inside. No excuses now.
Was she really going to do this?
Poppy thought about heading back to the cottage and spending another evening alone.
She’d curl up with a book, make some more soup, and spend the night warm and perfectly content—just the way she’d passed hundreds of nights before.
Or she could knock on that door and take a risk, leap into the unknown.
She wanted more. She wanted him. And didn’t her books always say you should fight for what you wanted?
Poppy climbed out of her car and marched up to the door. She knocked firmly, before she had a chance to take it back.
“Just a sec!” Cooper’s yell came from inside, and Poppy was almost about to turn on her heel and race back to the safety of her car when the door opened, and there he was.
Her pulse skipped.
Cooper was barefoot, wearing jeans and a faded black T-shirt. He looked scruffy, and relaxed, and devastatingly handsome, and for a moment, Poppy’s mind went blank and her blood ran hot.
She wanted him bad.
“Poppy?” Cooper looked at her with a cautious expression. “Everything OK?”
“Wine,” she managed to blurt, holding out the bottle. Think! “I mean, there was leftover from the book group. I thought we could share a glass.”
And a kiss.
And your bed.
Cooper paused. “Are you sure you don’t have other plans?” he asked slowly. “Like with that ex of yours?”
His gaze searched hers, and Poppy silently groaned. She was right—he’d gotten the wrong idea about her and Owen, and thought something was still going on.
“No plans,” Poppy said firmly. “Owen just needed . . . to talk it out. Tidy up loose ends. But he agrees it’s for the best that it’s over between us.”
Cooper’s lips curled in a smile. “So he didn’t want to stick around?”
“Nope.” Poppy shook her head quickly. “He left last night. He’s probably back in the city by now.”
“Probably for the best.” Cooper grinned.
“For the best,” Poppy echoed, smiling back.
She felt it again, that champagne anticipation that had shivered during their date last night. Her fears and insecurities melted away, and she sent up silent thanks that she hadn’t let Cooper’s misconceptions keep her away.
He wanted her, too.
“Well, come on in.” Cooper stood aside and opened the door wider. “Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting company.”
Poppy stepped inside, and looked around curiously.
It was an old converted barn, with a wide open main living space with double-height ceilings, furnished in a rustic, comfortable style.
There was a galley kitchen along one wall, a huge oak dining table, and a loft-style area up a flight of stairs. His bedroom, she guessed.
“Shall I open the bottle?” Cooper asked, strolling over to the kitchen. “Or did Mackenzie already get you drunk?”
Poppy dragged her attention back from his sleeping arrangements. “You’ve been to book club, then?”
“The first rule of book club . . .” he quipped, and she laughed.
“It was fun. Not that we did much reading.” Poppy drifted after him, taking in the mess of papers covering the table.
She paused, looking more closely. There were blueprints and sketches: construction designs, and artist renderings, too.
They were beautiful and precise, and clearly showed hours of labor.
Cooper returned and handed her a glass of wine. He saw her looking and seemed embarrassed. “Sorry, I was just working on something. I’ll get these out of your way.”
“No, leave them. These sketches are amazing.” Poppy studied them, impressed. The intricate designs, the attention to detail . . . “I didn’t know you were an architect, too.”
Cooper shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just some plans, maybe. I love restoring the older houses, but it would be fun to build from scratch one day.”
“Is this the house you’re working on at the beach?” she asked, pulling out some sheets with the front elevation planned.
“Yup. I was thinking of adding dormer windows here, upstairs,” he pointed out. “And then a balcony area with French doors off the master, so you wake up every morning to that ocean view.”
“That sounds incredible,” she said, envious that someone would get to enjoy all the product of his labors. “Your future buyers are one lucky family.”
He chuckled. “Let’s see if I can get the roof to hold before we talk about how lucky they are. These older houses are tricky, they just don’t make them like this anymore. They can be amazing if they’re restored right, but they come with a lot more baggage.”
“Don’t we all?” Poppy joked, and he laughed.
Poppy took a sip of wine to calm herself and looked around the room again.
Now that she knew what to look for, Cooper’s passion for classic old design came through clearly: the vintage photographs of old Cape Cod buildings, framed blueprints on the wall over the mantel, and the rustic-looking furniture she was sure were antiques.
“This is a great place,” she said admiringly.
“It’s hard to find, but I’m guessing you planned it that way. ”
Cooper gave a boyish grin. “There are advantages to being miles from town. Not so many calls to come fix someone’s roof at the last minute.”
“I don’t know about that,” Poppy said, remembering how Mackenzie had sung his praises. “Mackenzie says you can be counted on in a crisis.”
“Mackenzie says a lot of things,” he replied, with all the exasperation of an old friend. “We go way back,” he explained. “She’s like a kid sister to me, I guess. An annoying, pushy kid sister.” He paused. “Although, she can be right about some things.”
His eyes caught Poppy’s, and she felt herself flush. She had a feeling she knew exactly what he was talking about, but she couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed at Mackenzie’s blatant matchmaking.
She’d been right about them, after all.
Poppy took another sip of wine, her head already spinning in a way that had nothing to do with her drink.
It was finally sinking in that she was alone with Cooper, with nothing to interrupt them this time.
He went to put some music on, and she tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach, but when the slow, sultry strains of a classic Elvis Presley record began to play, and Cooper reappeared in the doorway—his smiling blue eyes fixed steadily on her—Poppy couldn’t stop the heat that rolled through her body, jolting every nerve and synapse with pure desire.
Cooper crossed the room.
Poppy caught her breath. His gaze didn’t waver, that playful smile on the edge of his lips as he came closer, closer, until he was standing right in front of her. Close enough to touch. He plucked her wineglass from her hand and set it on the table, then gently pressed his palm to her cheek.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” he said softly.
His touch rippled through her, electric.
Poppy felt like her body was humming, just to feel the warmth of his skin on hers.
She wanted to reach for him, touch him, take everything she’d been fantasizing about ever since the night they kissed, but somehow she was suspended in the moment, feeling everything in slow-motion as he leaned in and grazed her lips with his.
Poppy shivered against him. Just the softest brush of his mouth was a revelation, and she swayed closer, eager to find his lips again.
This time, the kiss deepened: slow and soft, his mouth exploring hers, tasting.
She slid her hands up over his chest, savoring in the solid muscle as his tongue dipped between her lips, tantalizingly slow.
How could a kiss awaken every last sense like this?
Poppy was overwhelmed by the feelings rushing over her: the heat from his body, the taste of wine on his tongue; the low, spicy scent of his aftershave, and her own heartbeat thundering over the music in the background.
She was wrapped up in the moment, falling deeper into the kiss, and as his fingertips traced the slow outline of her jaw, something inside her let go. Free-fall.
She didn’t care what came next between them. She just wanted more.
Cooper was drunk. He’d only had a sip of wine, but there was no other explanation. Not for the way his head spun to hold her, and his heart pounded in his chest with every touch.
One taste of her, and he was gone. She was the sweetest damn sin he’d ever known.
Poppy let out a breathy sigh against his lips, and Cooper felt a shock of lust barrel through his system. Her body was soft in his arms, pressing closer, and when he surfaced, he’d never seen her look so beautiful: her eyes had drifted shut, her lips parted as if begging for more.
Happy to oblige.