6. Cooper
CHAPTER SIX
cooper
The expression on Sam’s face when she snaps toward him is priceless. It takes all of Cooper’s effort to hold back a shit-eating grin.
“Great!” Nina says, too quickly for the fuming woman in his arms to mount any sort of defense. He could honestly kiss her—the producer…obviously. “We leave in about twenty. Go get changed into bathing suits and I’ll tell Trish and Fred to grab you from your bungalow on their way. There’s food and drinks on board, so just bring yourselves. Oh, and Em, your flip-flop is over there if you need it, you know, as another projectile missile. Just don’t throw it at me this time.” She grins. “Later!”
As soon as Nina is out of earshot, Sam shoves Cooper away and rounds on him.
“We were supposed to be going to breakfast,” she seethes. “We had a deal.”
“We are going to breakfast.” He grins. “Breakfast on a yacht.”
She throws her hands in the air. “I need to get my computer. I have work to do.”
“According to you, your boss is already pissed. What’s a few more hours?”
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“I improvised.”
“Look,” she says and jabs her pointer in the center of his chest. “Other girls may fall all over this alpha-male thing you’re doing right now, but I’m not one of them. I’m a grown-ass woman and I make my own decisions. I don’t need a man to do it for me. And when I make a deal with someone, I expect them to make good on their end of the bargain. Got it?”
His chest immediately deflates, the fun seeping away like the air from a popped balloon. That’s not what this was about, and he doesn’t want her to see him like that. He might have had some trouble following the rules in his past, might have spread his wild oats a bit, but he hates the sort of man she’s talking about—the sort that believes a woman is just an accessory on his arm, and not a living, breathing human in her own right, with her own hopes and dreams outside of his needs. If this push and pull they’ve been doing is giving her the wrong impression, he’d rather fold than raise the stakes.
“I wasn’t trying to force you. You don’t have to come,” he answers honestly. “If you think it’ll cause big trouble with work, go get your laptop and do what you have to do. I can make an excuse with Nina. But I’d like to go, if you don’t mind. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve only seen the ocean twice in my life, and the first time was six weeks ago from the mansion in LA when we started this whole thing. Life on the ranch doesn’t leave much room for travel, or maybe that’s just my father, but if I don’t jump on this opportunity now, it might never come again. That’s why I said we’d go, but you’re right. I shouldn’t have answered for you.”
The ire in her honey eyes cools.
A curious little flicker shifts her features—one he recognizes, a little glimpse that reminds him of her sister. They do have the same face after all, and after six weeks with Emily, he likes to think he knows a bit about how to read it. But he doesn’t know which part of what he said has Sam intrigued. The mention of his father? Of the ranch? Of his somewhat sheltered life?
She doesn’t elaborate.
A beat of silence passes while she studies him, and this quiet, pensive version of her has him spooked. He’s not sure what she sees in his eyes, but whatever it is, it’s hitting a little too close to home.
So in an exaggerated drawl, he adds, “Of course, it would be a little odd for a newly engaged couple with their first taste of camera-free freedom to separate at the first chance they got. So what do you say? Want to come with me?”
She rolls her eyes with a scowl. “You’re insufferable.”
“Some might call me charming.”
“Who?” she scoffs. “The cows?”
Cooper snorts. Got me there.
Sam smiles triumphantly. He can practically see her add a tally to her side of the invisible scoreboard. Then she loops their arms together.
“I guess we should go get changed.”
When they get back to their bungalow, she disappears inside the bedroom while he hastily dons board shorts and slides. Right as he’s settling a University of Nebraska baseball cap on his head— Go, Huskers! —a gentle click draws his eye. Sam steps out in barely-there cutoffs and a faded pink T-shirt. His breath catches at the sight of her toned legs and the glimpse of two rounded cheeks as she leans to the side to grab her sunglasses. He swallows, his throat suddenly tight. Oblivious, she reaches up to twist her hair into a bun, revealing two thin blue straps tied behind her neck. He knows a tiny string bikini when he sees one, and damn if he isn’t curious what’s hiding beneath that shapeless cotton shirt.
“Would you look at that,” Sam says as she takes him in. “A bathing suit.”
Her snarky comment snaps him from the daze. “Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you in front of the others, Cuj. I know how distracting you find my other choice of swimwear.”
She glares at him.
“That’s not a denial.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Still not—”
A knock cuts him off. They share a knowing glance. Cooper offers his hand in a silent truce, and she takes it before yanking open the door. Trish offers a firm nod and Fred a warm grin, their opposite personalities on display. During filming, Cooper heard some of the assistants refer to her as the Ice Queen, and he can’t help but think the name fits. Her platinum hair is pulled back in a tight bun, her features are inscrutable, and her white button-up dress is cinched all the way through the collar, not giving an inch. Oversized sunglasses hide her eyes, but he just knows that frigid blue would make him shiver. By her side, Fred is like the perfect foil, his white teeth on brilliant display against his dark skin, his eyes soft and welcoming. His cutoff T-shirt screams relaxation, and his voice is unfalteringly sincere as he says, “So glad you two could join us!”
While they exchange some small talk— How was your night? How’s your room? Isn’t this weather great? Have you ever seen water so beautiful? —Cooper loops his arm over Sam’s shoulders to draw her close. They are, after all, supposed to be engaged. But that doesn’t explain why his fingers keep brushing up and down her arm of their own accord, drawing long soothing strokes across her skin. Or why his thumb hooks under the edge of her sleeve, just to feel more of her. Or why his face turns ever so slightly to the side so he can smell the coconut shampoo in her hair. He’s itching to slide his palm into the back pocket of those cutoff shorts and feel the supple curve of the perky ass she teased him with the night before.
When Trish and Fred pull slightly ahead, lost in some argument about edits for the show, he can’t seem to stop his hand from finding her hip, then gliding lower, and lower, until—
“Rules!” Sam suddenly blurts.
He jerks his wayward fingers back to her shoulder. The hell, man? Control yourself. “Rules?”
Her chest expands as she draws in a deep, uneven breath. He may or may not drop his gaze to look, may or may not study the electric-blue strings disappearing beneath pink cotton, may or may not find himself fantasizing about what it might be like to draw that shirt over her head and find out what’s hiding underneath…
Come on!
He snaps his face forward.
“Rules,” she repeats, her voice stronger this time. “For this. For us . I know I’m supposed to be Emily and we’re supposed to be engaged, but I’m Sam, and we’re not. I don’t know anything about you. You don’t know anything about me. We need to set some boundaries or the next five days could get…blurry.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says innocently, as if he weren’t just picturing her naked and didn’t almost grab her ass in broad daylight.
She arches a brow pointedly in his direction, then sighs. “You and my sister just faked an entire relationship for a TV show. What did you guys do?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “When the cameras were up, we made out and held hands and did all that stuff. Then when they went down, we just didn’t. It wasn’t that complicated. There was no fire between us.”
Like there is between us .
“Yeah…no,” Sam murmurs, as if hearing the unspoken implication. “That’s not going to work.”
She drums her fingers on her mouth for a moment, drawing his gaze to her pink lips, then folds the plump lower edge between her teeth.
Christ.
He snaps his face forward again. “Rules might not be a bad idea.”
She gasps in mock shock and covers her heart with her palm. “Did you just agree with me?”
“Don’t let it get to your head, Cuj.”
“Too late.” She grins, then holds her hand up and sticks out her thumb. “Rule one. No kissing.”
He rolls his eyes. “We’re supposed to be engaged. And big as it is, I don’t think that rock alone will convince them.”
She shifts her hand, providing them both a better glimpse at the engagement ring on her fourth finger. The two-carat cushion-cut diamond is nearly blinding in this sunlight, encircled by a row of smaller diamonds and set on a platinum band. When he first saw it, he thought it was a bit gaudy. But then he suddenly flashed back to this moment with his mom. They’d been sitting next to each other on the couch—him watching football, her flipping through a magazine—when he glanced over to find her studying a jewelry ad.
If I was going to pick out a ring, which one do you think?
For that girl you’re seeing now? she’d murmured without even glancing up. None of them.
He’d snorted. But inside, an urgency had tightened his gut, because she was there and lucid and he didn’t know how many more nights like that he had left. So instead of letting it go, he’d pressed. Humor me.
She’d sighed and shifted on the couch, something serious passing over her expression before she paused and tapped a diamond. This one, so everyone within a mile radius will always be able to see she’s yours.
He’d completely forgotten about the memory until he sat down with the jeweler in front of the cameras, the scene a formality, just another romantic moment bought and paid for by the show. He hadn’t even been thinking about Emily when he picked it, since he knew she was planning to turn the proposal down before he even had time to drop to one knee. He’d been thinking of his mom. Looking at it now, he can’t deny the woman had good taste. The ring, so similar to the one she once picked, looks stunning on Sam’s elegant finger.
“Gorgeous as it is…” Sam sighs. “You’re right. How about no kissing on the lips, then?”
“Done. Forehead okay?”
“Sure.”
“Hand?”
“Yup.”
“Shoulder?”
She swallows. “Okay.”
“Neck?”
“Too intimate,” she murmurs as a flush creeps up her pale cheeks. Damn if he doesn’t like the sight. “Okay, so, rule one—no kissing unless it’s on my forehead, hand, and shoulder.”
“Or mine,” he cuts in teasingly.
“Or yours.”
“And rule two?”
“No touching my boobs or butt.”
“Likewise.”
She ignores him. “Rule three. We’ll follow through on everything in the itinerary to maintain the ruse, but the bungalow is our safe space. In there, we’re just two strangers who happen to be sharing a room. No pretending. We’ll keep that to public places.”
“Makes sense.”
“Rule four.” She’s on a roll now. “Nothing too personal.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t need to know your deep dark secrets and you sure as hell don’t need to know mine. We keep it surface for the next few days. Let’s just agree to have fun.”
“Okay…”
“And rule five.” She stops walking and turns to look up at him. They’re about ten feet from the yacht. The others are already on board. “When these five days are up, we never see or hear from each other again. You and Emily will coordinate your breakup for the live show, and you’ll leave me out of it.”
He frowns. “That seems extreme.”
“Those are my terms. It’s the best way to make sure my sister’s business isn’t affected by my mistake, and the best way for you to get what you want for the ranch.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” The smile she gives is sharp enough to cut. Suddenly all he sees is a shrewd businesswoman with steel in her veins. But rather than scare him off, it just makes him curious to know why she has an iron shield so at the ready.
“Okay, Cuj,” he says somewhat reluctantly, but what choice does he have? “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
She holds out her hand.
He takes it.
An uncomfortable pang reverberates around his chest as they shake on it, but the deed is done. She drops his fingers as if they’re on fire and leans down to slip off her shoes. Cooper follows. They place them in the provided basket and then turn together toward the pristine white yacht towering overhead. It’s three stories tall and almost obnoxiously large for five people.
“There’s one more thing I have to know,” she whispers.
“Shoot.”
Sam looks up at him and narrows her eyes. “What the hell happened with my sister in the dream suite?”
It’s the last thing he’s expecting, and a laugh barrels up his chest before he can stop it.
Nothing.
Nothing happened in the dream suite. But Emily sure wanted to make it look as though something had, so they spent half an hour throwing stuff on the floor and gasping as loudly as they could for the cameras all while trying not to crack. The result had been a veritable crime scene—something he knows the producers lapped up the following morning, which is probably why they keep bringing it up.
And he could explain this to Sam.
He could be honest.
But he won’t be.
Because what’s the fun in that?
“Oh, Cuj,” he murmurs as he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her tightly to his side. “You’re not ready for that story yet.”