by Linda Kage
Oh yeah, she felt that good.
Didn’t even matter if she’d come within six inches of throwing up on his boots ten seconds ago.
“This way.” Rising slowly to his feet, he drew her up with him. Juggling beer and girl in his arms, he led her from the trees. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Dismissing the idea of seeking out Emma Leigh, he led Jo Ellen away from the crowd, wanting to take care of her himself. A part of him, Coop realized, had always wanted to take care of her.
Like a limp rag doll, she lulled her head back so she could look at him. Her face was slick with perspiration, her eyes sunken and glazed. Yet she still remained breathtaking.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice sweet as an angel’s despite how fragile it sounded.
“Hey, it’s no problem.” He slid his arm down so he could support her around the waist. She meekly followed where he led, clinging to him like a baby kitten.
“Who’d you come here with,” he asked, steering her in the direction of his parked truck.
“Em,” she slurred out the name.
He nodded. “Where’s Untermeyer?” he asked again, though he really didn’t care. Pretty Boy could be sun tanning on a Hawaiian beach with gorgeous, topless women serving him cocktails every hour for all it mattered, as long as he wasn’t here and Coop could keep holding Jo Ellen Rawlings just like this.
“Went with his parents to…” She paused to hiccup, “…to the country club for a family dinner.”
He lifted his eyebrows surprised. “Really? Why didn’t you go with him? Aren’t you considered family?” For as long as she’d been dating Travis, he would’ve assumed she’d be an honorary member by now.
“Guess not,” she sounded depressed to report. “I wasn’t...” hiccup, “…invited.” Cynicism reverberated through her words as she stressed invited as if she’d assumed the same thing Coop had.
Keyed up about the likelihood there might be trouble in paradise between her and Pretty Boy, Coop opened his mouth to question her. But she caught her toe in a prairie dog hole and stumbled.
“Whoa there.” She would’ve pitched face-first into the dirt if he hadn’t tightened his grip and pulled her flush against him. She let him hold her close and even buried her face in his chest, wadding a fistful of his shirt in her hand.
He swallowed and tried to ignore how nice her breasts felt mashed to his ribcage.
“You smell good,” she slurred, humming out a delighted sigh.
Cooper stopped walking, and not so prepared for the abrupt halt, Jo Ellen banged her forehead against his chin.
“What did you say?” he strangled out the words.
“Smell good,” she repeated and rubbed at her injured temple before lifting her face to press her nose into his jugular, where she purred her approval.
The vibration tickled him low in his gut while the fall of her balmy, moist breath on his throat had him going instantly hard.
“Lord have mercy.” He caught her shoulder to yank her away, but instead he found himself holding her right where she was. Glancing around to make sure no one saw them, he asked, “You’re totally wasted, aren’t you?”
Her head fell back again so she could look at him; he was surprised she didn’t crack the back of her skull against her spine she looked up so sharply. With a sloppy grin, she answered, “You’re jus’ now figuring tha’ out?”
He muttered a curse under his breath, closed his eyes briefly to pray for self-control, and took her elbow. “Come on. We need to get you home. Now.”
“You don’t smell like Travis,” she continued, stumbling into step with him.
“That’s because I’m not Travis.” Never so glad to see his ride come into view, he veered her left. Being compared to Untermeyer wasn’t something he wanted to suffer through. Ever.
But Jo Ellen surprised the snot out of him when she made a sound of agreement and added, “He always wears a bunch of stinky cologne; but not you. You smell really good. Like a man.”
“Huh?” Cooper jerked to another stop and gaped down at her.
“Yo, Coop,” someone called, interrupting them. He jumped guiltily, though what he had to feel guilty about, he wasn’t sure. He certainly hadn’t forced Jo Ellen Rawlings to admit she preferred his smell to her own boyfriend’s.
“Where’d you get that beer?” the interloper asked.
“Here.” Coop tossed over his unopened can, unable to take his gaze off Jo Ellen’s face. “Take mine.”
His recipient was only too eager to accept as he snagged it from the air. “Hey, thanks.”
Jo Ellen stared right back at him just as intently as he was studying her. It took a great effort for him to concentrate. “If you see Emma Leigh around, tell her I drove her sister home, would you?” he called to whomever.
A pop, fizz, and guzzle, guzzle, guzzle answered him until a satisfied sigh drifted from the dark. “Sure thing, Coop. No problem.”
“Thanks.” Cooper nudged Jo Ellen along. Finally breaking their stare, she lowered her face and snuggled closer to him. He commanded himself not to like the contact, but his body didn’t listen. It delighted in every brush of her warm flesh against his.
Deciding to take up her conversation where she’d left off, she smoothed her hand idly down his arm. “Why do some guys think they have to wear so much cologne?”
Only ten more feet to his passenger side door, Cooper told himself as he distractedly murmured, “I have no idea.”
“Makes my eyes water and nose itch.”
“Mmm.” He grunted, trying desperately to avoid such a dangerous discussion. As he dug his keys from his pocket, he continued to hold her against him with one arm while he opened the door for her. “Here we are, sweetheart. In you go.”
Obligingly, she reached for the door and began to climb up into his four-wheel drive, her perfectly formed ass nearly whacking him in the face during her fumbling. Then she tripped and banged her knee against the frame of the truck. With his hand still on her waist, supporting her, Coop tripped with her and began to fall onto the floorboard on top of her before he caught himself.
Sprawled half inside his truck and half out, Jo Ellen giggled as she rolled onto her back under him. “Ouch.”
“Oh my God, Jo Ellen. Are you okay?” He started to scramble up, but paused when he looked down because he found her staring at him with a dreamy smile.
“You called me sweetheart.”
Though he held most of his weight off her, he remained hovered above. They stared at each other, their faces only inches apart. His pulse rammed against his throat. His breathing turned choppy while heat spread over his skin like a rash.
Her lips parted, and her eyelids went heavy as if she wanted him to kiss her. Coop swallowed, all too ready to indulge. Licking his lips and unable to take his gaze off her ripe mouth, he dipped down.
“Oh God,” she moaned, “Your truck is spinning.”
Coop froze in his descent as he lifted his attention to discover she’d snapped her eyelids closed. Damn. That had been close.
“Open your eyes,” he suggested and pulled back, pausing to clear his head before he tugged her up and set her slumped on his bench seat.
She did as he said and let out a relieved sigh when she looked around the interior of his cab. “Oh, good. Tha’s much better.”
Coop spotted an old Gatorade bottle propped in his dash and grabbed it. It was half empty, but as wasted as she was, she probably wouldn’t worry about drinking after him.
“Here,” he said, screwing off the cap and handing it over. “Swish this around in your mouth and spit it out on the ground.”
Again, she obediently followed his instruction, though he had to hold onto her as she leaned out of his truck to spit. Once she was rinsed clean, she guzzled the rest of the bottle, draining it.
“Better?” he asked, taking the empty from her and tossing it into the bed of his truck.
She nodded, smacking her lips. “Mmm hmm. Much. Thank you.”
Her grip was light and oh-so soft, but he froze as if he’d been caught in a steel vise. She had such an amazing hand, a fine-boned grasp denoting delicacy and bringing out all sorts of protective instincts in him. Yet she didn’t use a limp, placid hold; she put muscle into her action, clinging to his fingers. After years and years of worshiping her from afar, he couldn’t believe she was here in his truck, cleaving to him. It was almost more than he could take.
She smiled. “I mean it. Thank you.” Her voice, weak and slurred, called out to that place inside him that had always responded to her. “Thank you so much for taking care of me…like this.”
“It’s no problem. Honestly.” He shook his head, wanting to snort out an incredulous laugh. Spend time with Jo Ellen Rawlings? Yeah, that definitely wasn’t a problem for him. “I love you.” The explanation bubbled from him before he realized exactly what he was saying.
Jo Ellen blinked, clearly baffled. “What?”
He jerked his hand from hers and cleared his throat. “I…I said, I owe you.”
She frowned, still looking confused. “You do?”
“Sure.” He shrugged, unable to look at her. “Emma Leigh’s driven me home drunk plenty of times.” He lied, but she wouldn’t know that. “This way, I can finally pay her back one.”
His explanation didn’t connect in her head; he could see her trying to rationalize and think it through. The little wrinkle between her eyes was adorable. But she slurred, “Oh, okay then,” letting it go at that. “It’s still really nice of you.”
Cooper couldn’t count the number of times he’d been called nice, but it had never bothered him before; until now. He’d had plenty of selfish, loathsome thoughts in his life. And he was having a couple of them right now. Because despite how nice his actions might be, he delighted at the knowledge he had the next few minutes alone with her, just to talk to her, sit beside her, and breathe in her Jo Ellen-ness.
Nodding, he shut her door and jogged around to the driver’s side before climbing in behind the wheel. As he started the engine, he glanced over to find her passed out cold, her arms lying limply at her sides and her neck arched back as she rested her head on the back of the seat. She looked ripe for the plucking. But she belonged to someone else.
Gnashing his teeth, he shook his head. “I really hate Travis Untermeyer.”
Chapter Two
Cooper called his neck of the world Rawlings Country. Three, fourths of the population in Tommy Creek was either employed by Rawlings Oil or directly related to someone who was. The other twenty-five percent were usually dirt-poor crop farmers like Coop’s family.
He didn’t hold it against Jo Ellen for being part of the mighty Rawlings dynasty. She couldn’t help who her parents were any more than he could help who his were. But that didn’t stop him from grinding his molars in frustration when he pulled his thirty-year-old truck into her long driveway.
The gravel path led down a hundred-yard trail between two rows of white-painted pipe fence until it hit a circle drive in front of the looming three-story mansion. Since his muffler had rusted off years ago, there was no way her family wouldn’t hear him coming. And he didn’t particularly want the mighty Mr. Rawlings to catch him with the man’s daughter drunk and passed out in his cab.
Grateful there was a slight decline, he killed his engine and cut the lights, coasting nearly all the way to the start of the circle. Close enough, he decided, and put ‘er in park before he turned toward a lightly snoring Jo Ellen only to sigh over his next obstacle—how to get the drunk girl inside.
He murmured her name and touched her shoulder.
Smiling, she twisted her head his way yet kept her eyes closed. “Hmm?”
She was so endearing; he had to shiver himself back to the task at hand.
“Wake up, sweetheart,” he urged. “You’re home.” He winced when he realized what he’d just called her. Hoping she didn’t notice his latest term of endearment, he unbuckled her seatbelt and helped her sit up.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
“Let’s sneak you in, okay.”
“’Kay.” All sweetness and compliance, she brought her legs up to her chest and curled her body around to rest her cheek on her upraised knees as if she was fully prepared to camp out right where she was.
Letting out a defeated groan because honestly, he liked her where she was, Coop nudged her arm. “Will the door be locked?”
She nodded, not bothering to lift her head. “Mmm hmm.”
“Do you have a key to get in?”
“’S’in my pocket,” came her muffled answer.
Cooper’s gaze fell to her tight name brand blue jeans, and his mouth went dry. He gulped. “Think you could get it for me? Jo Ellen?”
In answer, she rolled around in order to present her hip to him, where he made out the distinct outline of a single key. “Go ahead,” she mumbled, half-asleep.
Instant, nearly suffocating heat blanketed him. As Cooper stared at the imprint her key made, he was tempted as he’d never been tempted before. But he managed to hold himself back for one more try. “Jo Ellen,” he instructed, trying to sound strict, but his voice was too hoarse to achieve anything above a husky mutter. “Sweetheart, get the key out of your pocket. Okay?”
“Tired,” she slurred.
He growled.
Damn it. He wasn’t going to sit there all night, letting his archenemy’s girlfriend turn him on. Setting his resolve, he gritted his clamped jaw tighter and said, “Don’t take this wrong, all right?”
Her jeans fit so snug he couldn’t slide his entire hand into her pocket, only managed to wiggle a few fingers inside. He closed his eyes and ignored the rising heat gathering against the fabric of his clothes. No way could he ignore the warmth of her thigh coming through the snug denim of her jeans, however, or the way she sighed and arched into his touch.
Concentrating on his task—or rather trying to concentrate but totally failing—he bit his lip and reached an inch deeper. Christ, even thinking the word deeper made his skin buzz with an overdose of awareness.
Just as he secured the key between his two longest fingers, Jo Ellen opened her eyes and looked up at him. Bent over her with his hands in her pants, Cooper froze, his face inches from hers.
“You called me sweetheart again.”
A drop of sweat slithered down his temple.
Her eyelids flickered sleepily before she glanced around the interior of the truck and asked in a thick, yet coherent voice, “What’re we doing in this truck?”
“I…we…I’m bringing you home.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Thank you.” Showing her gratitude, she reached up and cupped his face in her warm palm.
God, there went those soft fingers of hers again, driving him to distraction.
Too afraid to even breathe in fear she might stop, Cooper could only stare. But a second later, she closed her eyes and dropped her wilted hand to her side. His shoulders slumped. Yanking free from her pocket, he clutched the house key in his shaky grip and pulled away from her before he did something infinitely stupid…like kiss the vulnerable, passed-out, drunk girl he’d been crushing on for as long as he could remember.
After shoving himself out of his truck, he closed his eyes and sucked in fresh air, bolstering his resolve, before he raced around to the passenger side and opened her door. Passed out cold, she continued to breathe deeply. Not bothering to try waking her, he pulled her out and situated her in his arms, then carried her to the back entrance, relishing the way her limp head lulled so trustingly on his shoulder. Realizing he couldn’t continue to hold her and unlock the door at the same time, he woke her as he set her feet down and leaned her against the side of the house.
“Jo Ellen, you need to wake up for me and stand here while I unlock the door.”
“’Kay.” Yet she rested agai
nst him instead of the house. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she yawned loudly and snuggled closer.
Her hips pressed firm to the front of his jeans, cradling his erection. He would’ve nudged her back a step, but the friction remained too satisfying to push away. Besides, as out-of-it as she was, he figured she wouldn’t even notice.
He soon learned how wrong he was. Just as he unlocked the door and pulled the key free, a curious hand trailed down his chest and grasped him through his jeans.
“Jesus,” he yelped, dropping her key.
* * * *
Jo Ellen floated on a pleasant high, warm and protected against a chest that was more comfortable than the mattress of her bed, more comfortable except for that hard bulge prodding her hip. She reached down to investigate and immediately realized what she was handling.
An expletive rippled its way from her protector’s throat, vibrating through his chest. His body went taut, yet he didn’t push her away.
Strangely more curious than traumatized about grabbing some guy’s junk, Jo Ellen slid her fingers up and down his length, exploring the size and shape of his distended fly.
“That’s not a toy, darlin’.” Soft and husky, his voice sent chills along her spine.
Grasping her wrist, he gently pried her hand from the front of his trousers. But she wasn’t done with her inspection, so she latched onto him more firmly.
He sucked in a breath, his grip on her wrist tightening, though he stopped trying to pull her away. Her head rested near his throat. It didn’t take much for her to move her face so she could inhale more of the musky, enticing aroma wafting off him.
“Smell so good,” she said.
He groaned. “Jo Ellen.” Tenderly, five fingers slid up the back of her neck, into her hair, and cradled her nape. She liked his touch, liked his smell. Appreciative, she kissed the spot where his pulse pounded out a steady, soothing rhythm.