by Silver James
She stopped right in front of him. “People have died.” Her voice fell to a husky whisper, the edges still sharpened by anger. And fear. “There’s so much bad out there tonight. Is it wrong that I want something good? That I want to feel strong arms around me? To be kissed? To...” Her voice trailed off, her cheeks no longer pink as reality seeped back into her.
“I’m...scared, okay?”
His hand caught the back of her neck and tugged her against him. “I’m scared too, Britt.” Coop wasn’t sure why he could admit that to a stranger—no, not a stranger. To her. To Britt. She rested her forehead against his chest and her arms circled his waist.
“I’m not crazy. I’m not a... I don’t go pick up random men and proposition them.”
“Shh. Didn’t think you did.”
“Just so you know.” She was nothing if not persistent. Cooper smiled into her hair. Strands of the blond silk caught in his scruff as she tilted her head back to look up at him. “I just want to feel something...real. Something life-affirming.”
Cooper didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. He lowered his head, capturing her mouth. She tasted of grape jelly and peanut butter, and he swore that would be his favorite flavor from now on.
Britt leaned against him, her mouth and body softening. He deepened the kiss, taking her mouth with an urgency that swelled up from deep inside. Keeping one hand on her nape to guide the kiss, he skimmed the other over her back before cupping her rounded curves. He pressed her against his erection and she purred.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I want this. Want you.”
That’s all the permission he needed. He walked her to the bed and eased her down before joining her. He used both hands to touch her, slipping them under the T-shirt—his shirt—to trace her smooth skin before divesting her clothes. As his hands roamed, hers weren’t idle, stripping off the shirt he wore before working on his belt and zipper. He pushed her hands away, and sat up to kick off his boots and jeans. He stretched out beside her, and her hands traced his abs before seeking out more private parts. Tentative fingers gripped him, and he sucked in air.
“Britt.” He needed to slow down, keep his wits.
“Please?” Her whisper teased his skin. “I want this. You want it. We’re alive. Let’s celebrate.”
The wind screamed around the building and the roof rattled, adding an exclamation—and urgency—to her words. The small part of his brain that could still think admitted she could be right. He caressed her breast as she squeezed him. His hips pumped into her hands.
“Britt.” Her name was now a plea. As his free hand sought her core, finding her hot and wet, his conscience jabbed him. Condom. Swiftly, he rolled them over and he fumbled along the floor searching for his jeans and the wallet in his back pocket. He found it and the foil packet tucked inside. She arched against him and his body went on autopilot, reacting to her desire. She moaned, hips pumping against his groin. She was hot and ready for him. Condom on, her body open to him, he slid inside her, catching her soft gasp with a kiss.
Something crashed and the building shook. Britt’s nails dug into his shoulders. “Hurry,” she demanded, as if the end of the world was imminent. Maybe it was, if the racket outside was any indication.
Adrenaline demanded he take this woman hard and fast. The urgent noises she made indicated she wanted the same, but something coiled inside him, holding him back, something that turned the hunger for frenetic sex into a craving to make love. If there was no tomorrow, he wanted to go out surrounded by the sweetness that was Britt Owens.
As if attuned to his thoughts, she gentled beneath him, met his slow thrusts with a whispered, “Yes.”
He touched her, exploring curves and skin, hair and mouth, all while he continued rocking into her, rousing them both to higher levels of passion until they both crested and tumbled into the exhaustion that lurked in the dark.
Cooper pulled Britt into his arms, and they drifted off to sleep, the sound of the howling wind a terrible lullaby.
Two
Coop rolled over expecting a warm body but found only cold sheets. Sitting up, he scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face, thinking hard. The eye of the storm had hit about 3:00 a.m., followed by more rainbands. He vaguely remembered Britt getting up...when? Around dawn, maybe? He fumbled for his phone, read the digital numbers. Seven eleven. Too bad he wasn’t in Vegas on the floor of Barron Crown Casino.
He pushed off the air mattress, found his feet and went in search of his guest. She was gone, but Gilbert Guidry, the senior toolpusher for BarEx’s south Texas operations and Cajun to the soles of his boots, occupied a seat at the table, a cup of hot coffee in front of him.
“You lookin’ for that pretty little fille?”
Cooper nodded.
“She let me in, told me to tell you she had to go be on television, and thanks.” Gil pushed back from the table, fetched a cup of coffee and pressed it into Cooper’s hands. “You look like you need some of this. Drink up.”
Following orders, Coop did just that, wondering why it bothered him so much that Britt bailed on him. It wasn’t like they had a relationship. Or anything. But still.
“You gonna put some clothes on, boss? The boat’s on my truck and we’re gonna be needed to help with the rescues.”
True that.
* * *
A brutal eighteen hours later, Coop and Gil were headed back to the rescue command post set up for this part of town. Exhausted, hungry and desperately craving dry clothes, Coop was lost in his thoughts.
“Hello?”
Was that a voice? He cut the engine and let the boat drift.
“Somebody out there?” Gil called.
“Help! Over here.” A husky—and vaguely familiar—female voice that held only a hint of panic called out.
As the boat floated toward the sound, Coop saw a light waving frantically. “We be comin’, cher!” the toolpusher yelled.
Coop started the engine, easing the throttle. In the dark, they couldn’t see what lay hidden beneath the murky water. He steered gingerly around a corner, hoping there wasn’t a submerged street sign that would take out the propeller, and discovered an extended cab pickup with only six inches of window and roof showing above the rising water. Three women, two children, two dogs and a drenched cat huddled on top.
The woman with the flashlight—and familiar shape—shouted instructions. “My truck is in the middle of the street. To my right, there’s a compact car submerged. My left should have a space clear enough to bring your boat alongside.”
All traces of panic fled as Britt took charge. Coop pressed his lips together to hide his grin. She wore a yellow slicker with reflective tape and as she turned, he caught the emblem and writing on the back. His storm chaser worked for his cousin’s TV station. Her wet hair was pulled back in a ponytail but long tendrils had worked free to plaster against her cheeks. He recognized the jut of her chin, the rounded cheeks and the determined set of her shoulders. He liked women with attitude and Britt had it in spades.
Britt handed her flashlight to a boy of about twelve and dropped to one knee to help guide the boat. Gil helped the children and dogs into the boat, then the women. Only the cat refused to move. While Gil handed out blankets, Coop considered the situation. He was not a cat guy but even he couldn’t leave it to drown. The creature was big, black, with glowing yellow eyes, and it looked like it could take on a gator. He glared at the cat. It glared back.
“I can leave you for gator bait, or you can get in the boat,” he said, challenging the cat. “Your choice.”
His storm chaser snorted. “You really think talking like that to a cat is going to work?”
“You’re more than welcome to reach over and grab the thing, weather girl,” he shot back. “Last chance, cat.” He waited a few seconds then placed his hand on the truck’s r
oof and pushed off. Before he could react, the cat was climbing his arm like it was a tree, then scurrying down his back to settle in the space beneath his seat at the back of the boat.
“Huh,” Britt said. “I’m impressed.”
So was he, even more than the previous night when she’d fallen asleep in his arms.
* * *
After several live broadcasts, Britt jumped in to help with rescuing people and now had resigned herself to spending the night huddled atop her truck with the family she’d rescued. The roof didn’t offer much room for humans or furry critters and it would have been miserable out there. Then she’d heard the growly putt-putt of a small outboard engine. Thank the weather gods for a hot guy who could out-attitude a cat. The cat hadn’t been part of the original rescue. It swam over and climbed aboard after the wall of water washed down the street taking Britt by surprise and they’d all climbed to the roof. It had ignored the fat Corgi and the gentle Lab mix sharing the roof with it.
She didn’t want to consider the thoughts a very hot and sexy Cooper put into her head. His looks hadn’t changed since the last time she’d seen him, asleep on that air mattress barely covered by a rumpled sheet. He was in his mid-thirties, at least six feet tall, hair almost too long hidden beneath a baseball cap, broad shoulders and chest and those long, competent fingers on the boat’s tiller—fingers that had done all sorts of delicious things to her body the previous night. Top it all off with blue eyes, high cheekbones, strong jaw and full lips that showed he laughed. A lot. She liked a man who laughed.
One of the kids started to fuss and Britt reached for the little girl reflexively. Her hand collided with a brawny arm. Cooper scooped up the child and settled her on one thigh. “Can you help me steer, darlin’?”
It was like he’d thrown a switch. The toddler snuggled in, tears and fussing over, as a shy smile wreathed her cherubic face.
“There anybody left back in that neighborhood?” The man who’d introduced himself as Gilbert when she’d let him into the offices that morning gestured behind the boat.
Britt lifted a shoulder in an I’m-not-sure gesture. “I heard a call go out on the scanner about a family of three who were trapped by the rising water. They didn’t have a car. I wasn’t far away and my truck is—” She glanced back over her shoulder. “My truck was four-wheel drive and customized to work in storm areas. I loaded up Becca, the kids and their dog. On the way out, we saw Mrs. Gonzales. I grabbed her and George—” She pointed to the Corgi. “We got about three blocks. I knew the water was rising but I still had clearance and then four feet of water rolled down the street.”
“Yeah, that’s when the levee got breached. Gotta say, cher, didn’t expect to meet you again so soon.”
“Have storm, will travel,” she quipped. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“You’re welcome.” It was Cooper who replied, and he sounded just a bit...miffed. Maybe she should have woken him up to say goodbye but hey...she wasn’t good at those awkward morning afters, especially since she’d been the one to throw herself at the guy.
What had she been thinking? Oh, right. She hadn’t been thinking at all, running strictly on adrenaline and the very real fear that she might not see another day. That was her story and she’d stick to it. No need to mention she was also a little embarrassed by her actions but wow. What a man to fall into bed with, regardless of the circumstances!
The puttering engine filled the silence, but Gilbert was all about asking questions. In the space of the short boat ride, she learned that Becca’s husband was in the National Guard and he’d been activated, thinking they’d be safe. Mrs. Gonzales was a widow, living alone with her chubby Corgi for companionship, her kids spread across Texas. Britt hoped at least a couple of those adult children would come help their mother.
Now that they were almost safe, Britt itched to get to a computer so she could study the storm models and radar. This hurricane was a thousand-year storm. She’d saved her laptop from the flood, but it wasn’t up to the task.
It wasn’t long before they floated around a corner and the water glistened with lights. First responder vehicles, red-and-blue LED lights flickering, the white glare of searchlights, and the sweeping beams of high-powered flashlights lit up the night, reminding her a bit of the Las Vegas Strip. Their appearance was met with cheers.
Cooper cut the boat’s motor as men in chest waders guided them in until the bottom of the boat scraped against the street pavement. Firefighters and EMTs swarmed, picking up the kids and assisting the women. One burly cop scooped up George and followed behind Mrs. Gonzales, assuring her that her dog was fine as the larger Lab waded to higher ground unaided. A game warden offered his hand to help Britt steady herself as she stepped out of the boat.
She scooted out of the way as Gil clambered out and headed toward a big white truck with a boat trailer. Cooper stayed in the boat, conversing with the man Britt guessed was the incident commander.
“No,” she heard Coop say. “Gil and I didn’t find anyone so I doubt anyone is left. Ms. Owens had this group in her truck and got caught in the backwash from the levee break.” He removed his ball cap and scrubbed one hand over his face. His dark stubble glinted with a hint of auburn. He looked tired and she wondered how many rescues he and Gil had made.
The truck backed the trailer into the water and with expertise, Cooper guided the boat onto it. He climbed out, securing boat to trailer, and then walked beside it as Gil pulled away. A frenetic yowl caught everyone’s attention. Malevolent yellow eyes glowered from an ink-black face. Cooper’s gaze fell on her and she held her hands out in a no-clue gesture.
“The thing swam up and climbed on the roof of my truck,” she explained.
Someone growled and she wasn’t sure if it was cat or man. The two ended up in a stare-down. The cat blinked first. Britt was totally impressed. He continued to stare down the cat. “You gonna ride in the dang boat all night?”
She fought a laugh as the cat sprang from the boat, landed on Cooper’s shoulder and hissed at anyone who came close. She knew just how the cat felt. She was even jealous of the darn thing because it was touching him. And yes, she was totally whacked. “Sleep deprivation,” she muttered under her breath. As the men turned to walk away, she called, “Can I hitch a ride?”
Cooper glanced back at her and she had to suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with being wet or cold. Nope. The expression in his eyes warmed her from the inside out and she couldn’t help but remember why she hadn’t slept much the previous night.
“You want a ride?” His voice was like gravel rattling around in a velvet bag and his gaze was so intense she wondered if he had X-ray vision and could see that she’d gone commando that morning. She had to clear her throat before she could reply.
“Uh, yeah. That’s why I asked. My truck’s out of commission.” She gave him a hopeful look. “I can still help. Besides, I don’t have any place to go.”
He’d rescued her more than once, and she felt as much a stray as the cat. Was he willing to offer her shelter again? She caught herself leaning toward him and straightened, which took far more effort than it should have.
“So,” he drawled. “You want to help out?”
Yes, she wanted to help him out—help him out of those wet jeans that molded to his muscular thighs. Memories of their night together flooded her and she wet her lips without considering the consequences—like his gaze turning molten as his eyes fixed on her mouth. A crooked grin quirked the corner of his mouth, right before he deflated her hopes.
“Fine. You can cat sit.” He reached up, peeled the angry feline off his shoulder and placed it in her arms. He strode off, leaving her scrambling to catch up. Gil had the back door of the extended cab F-250 Ford open and he offered her a hand. Even with her long legs, it was a big step up into the back seat.
The cat scrambled out of her arms and settled next to the far door. It then
began to thoroughly lick itself, ignoring the humans. Cooper climbed into the driver’s seat, Gil in the passenger’s. “Where’re we goin’ to, boss?”
“Your house.”
* * *
The drive didn’t take too long despite detours for flooded streets. Cooper kept glancing at Britt through the rearview mirror and smiled when she fell asleep. When they arrived at Gil’s house, he slipped out of the truck with Coop’s whispered instructions. “Get some sleep, Gil.”
The man tossed him a roguish grin. “I be tellin’ you the same thing, boss.” He glanced into the back seat where Britt slept soundly. “You take that little gal home and you go to bed.” Then Gil laughed softly, the sound slightly bawdy like he knew what Coop was thinking. Then he winked and stalked toward his wife, who was waiting for him on the porch.
Coop considered waking Britt enough to move her to the front seat then left her alone. They were both running on fumes and he’d learned that you grabbed sleep whenever and wherever you could in an emergency. Luckily, Gil didn’t live far from Barron Exploration Beaumont. When he pulled up to park at the field office, he was happy to see the large RV parked in the lot. Cord had come through for him by getting the RV delivered. It was far more comfortable than the air mattress in the break room. He climbed out and nudged Britt.
“Let’s go, Girl Wonder.”
Piercing yellow eyes glowered at him from the floorboards. Coop peered at the cat. The animal bared his fangs. “Got the feeling you’re a devil cat. Guess I should call you Lucifer.” The darn thing purred at him, the rumble so deep it sounded like a diesel engine. He laughed, which startled Britt awake.
She stared up at him with bleary eyes. “What’s so funny?”
“Lucifer.”
Her forehead crinkled and she looked so cutely confused, Coop was tempted to drop a kiss between her eyebrows. “Who?”