“Morgan and Hank are over there. Let’s join them.”
Cooper didn’t really have a choice, mostly because of the whole being-a-gentleman thing. But he wasn’t complaining, and he sure as hell wouldn’t do something unless he wanted to. The fact that he was more curious than ever over Morgan Campbell might have given him pause if he actually took the time to think on it. But he didn’t take the time. And maybe it was the beer or the music or the whiskey. Or the fact that Sara’s butt looked damn fine in her skintight jeans.
Whatever it was, he let Sara lead the way and followed her through the crowd.
8
About five seconds after she walked into the fire hall, Morgan knew it had been a mistake to come. Why in God’s name had she let Hank convince her she’d have a good time? It was too loud. There were too many people. Too many glances that lingered, some filled with curiosity, most of them filled with something else. Pity. Sadness. She got it. Hell, she even deserved most of what was thrown her way, but still, it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, within a few moments of walking into the St. Patty’s Day celebration, she spied Cooper Simon chatting up none other than her sister, Sara. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. And then he’d had the nerve to look across the room at her, almost as if issuing a challenge, and, like an idiot, she’d taken the bait. Instead of leaving the dance like she wanted, she’d handed Hank her coat and headed for the tables.
And now here she was, settled into a dark corner, smack dab in the middle of the last place she wanted to be.
“You want me to grab you a drink?” Hank tugged on his beard and smiled down at her. Fingers tense, she threaded them together under the table and nodded. She needed one.
“Anything in particular?”
“Whatever you choose is good.” Her voice was high, thin, and she exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves. I don’t think I can do this.
“Maybe I should just go…”
Her words drifted off when she glanced up and spied the back of Hank’s head. He was already on his way to the bar, and with a certain sort of resignation, Morgan sank back into her chair. The Irish band was getting ready to launch another set and… She cocked her head to the side. Wait. Was that Sara and Cooper making their way over?
Her head whipped around so fast, for a few seconds she saw stars and had to blink to clear them. But there was nowhere to hide. With another shaky exhale, she sat as straight as if she were in church, shoulders so tense, they felt as if they were going to crack. When Cooper and Sara finally made it through the gaggle of couples on the dance floor, she was pretty sure her spine was fused and an earthquake couldn’t get her to budge.
“You came,” Sara said, setting down her wineglass and adjusting the neckline of her slinky green halter top. It made her breasts pop, and any other man would have turned for a look, but Cooper was focused on Morgan. Which was more than a little unsettling.
Damn his eyes. They saw everything. She shrugged and went for nonchalance. “Not sure how long I’m going to stay.”
Sara grabbed her wineglass and took a long swig before smiling down at Morgan. “Either way, it’s a start.”
“I’m glad you came.” Cooper’s voice was low, almost intimate. Morgan looked at him in surprise, while Sara’s eyes widened a bit. Her sister opened her mouth to say something, but then she clamped her mouth shut. The look on her face made Morgan nervous. She followed her sister’s gaze.
Oh. Crap. Josh.
“Unbelievable,” Sara spit out. “He knew I was coming here tonight.”
Sara’s estranged husband stood near the entrance to the fire hall, an easy smile on his face that faltered when he spied his wife across the room. They were separated, but still…
“Let’s dance,” Sara said, grabbing Cooper’s arm.
Morgan winced. Her sister was not the subtle sort.
Cooper easily slid from her grasp. “If you need someone to make your husband jealous, I’m not the guy.”
Sara’s face fell—but only for a moment. She was, if anything, quick on her feet. As the band fell into a popular Irish jig, Hank returned with a couple of drinks. Without missing a beat, Sara set down her glass, grabbed the beers from Hank, nearly dropping them as she put them beside her wine. She practically dragged the big man out to the dance floor.
Which left Morgan alone with Cooper.
Once more her fingers gripped the edge of the table, and though she hated to admit it, Cooper Simon looked more delicious than any man had the right to. His plain green T-shirt showed off defined abs and biceps, while faded jeans emphasized the length of his boot-clad legs. His dirty-blond hair was slightly askew—as if the wind had touched it, or a woman’s fingers.
She swallowed. Probably a woman’s fingers.
She was afraid to look up at him, because, well, she felt him staring, and she was suddenly uncomfortable. Hot and uncomfortable. Two things she hadn’t been in a very, very long time.
Damn inconvenient.
“And then there were two,” Cooper said, sitting across from her, sliding over the large, frosty mug of beer Hank had left behind.