by Cindy Gerard
He worked his jaw, then turned his attention back to his papers. “I appreciate the concern, but—”
“For God’s sake, Cooper,” she interrupted him. “What good are you going to be to Eva or the investigation if you end up in the hospital? Quit being such a Rambo and let me redress those wounds. Or would you rather I tell Mike that you were hit and have him put you on the disabled list?”
That got his full attention. And his anger. “You’d do that?”
“You don’t want to test me.” She held his stormy glare for a long moment.
Then, muttering under his breath, he stood and started tugging his black T-shirt out of the waist of his pants.
She gave him some time, but when he struggled to get the shirt off, she couldn’t stand there anymore and do nothing. “Oh, the hell with it. Let me help. How did you even get this on?” she sputtered, working the soft cotton over his head. Then, careful of his left shoulder, she peeled it down his arm. “You can’t even move your arm.”
“It’s stiffened up a little, that’s all,” he admitted grudgingly.
“It’s also bleeding.” She showed him his shirt.
The large circle of blood that had seeped through his bandage was barely visible on the dark knit.
“Good thing you wore black, or the guys might have actually seen that you’re not invincible. Hope you’ve got a change of clothes.”
“In the top drawer of the file cabinet,” he said grumpily.
“You want to do this standing up or sitting down?” she asked, going for all-business but working like hell to keep from looking at all that sculpted bare skin.
With no luck at all.
He rose from his chair and hitched a hip up on the corner of his desk, supporting his weight on his right leg.
And she simply couldn’t stop herself. His skin was the color of buttered caramel. His chest was free of hair, and she wondered if he was that smooth and his muscles that taut all over.
The rumble-strip abs, the biceps he’d call guns, the sculpted chest and shoulders pretty much said that it was. And that mouth—
“Rhonda?”
“What?” She startled when he barked her name.
“Are you going to do this or what?”
She was going to do this. As soon as her heart started pumping blood back to her brain.
Then she looked at him and, because they were now at eye level, ended up staring straight into his eyes—where she saw way more than dark chocolate irises framed by absurdly thick lashes. That alone was enough to make her breath catch. But the rest—the physical pain she saw there, the impatience, and a sexual awareness that rivaled what she was feeling—sent her heart racing.
She felt the moment his thoughts drifted back to last night, when they’d kissed in celebration of the life they’d almost lost.
His gaze shifted to her lips. Lingered there.
He leaned toward her, and she so wanted to meet him halfway. To see if that kiss was as amazing as she remembered. To see if they could repeat the sensation.
The sound of footsteps passing by his closed door broke through the cocoon of sexual longing and snapped her back to her senses. She pulled back.
Reluctantly, so did he. His eyes were sober now, and the silence that filled the office weighed down on her like all the bad decisions she’d ever made in her life.
“Let’s get that bandage off and see what’s going on under there,” she said, working hard to keep her voice steady. But her hands trembled as she started to carefully peel the gauze away. “This is going to hurt, I’m afraid. The blood is dried in places, so it’s going to stick to the wound.”
“Just rip it off,” he said, his jaw tightening in anticipation.
“Not a good idea. It might cause more bleeding.”
“And you got your nursing degree when?”
Last night. Thank you, Google. “I know enough to change this dressing. Hang in there.”
In the end, she had to use alcohol to loosen the gauze. It amounted to a lot of touching, a lot of heat, and a lot of remembering what a bad idea he was.
A fine sheen of perspiration broke out across his brow and dampened his shoulders as the alcohol bit into his raw flesh. His jaw bunched tightly, and he gripped the edge of his desk as she worked to get the bandage free.
He didn’t make a sound during what had to be an excruciating experience. But the curses flew out of his mouth like beer at a bar brawl after she’d finally peeled the matted gauze completely off.
One look at the depth and severity of the wounds, and she felt light-headed.
“Breathe deep,” he said when she swayed.
His hand gripped her arm, her hip touched his thigh. Heat melting into heat. For a moment, it didn’t seem so wrong.
Then she looked at his shoulder again. “Cooper. It’s horrible.”
“Looks worse than it is.”
She hoped so, because between the stitches and the torn skin, it looked as if he’d been run through a meat grinder.
“You sure you’re up to finishing this?” he asked.
“Absolutely not.” She forced a tight smile. “But one way or the other, it’s going to get done. Let me know if I hurt you.”
He grunted. “That ship has already sailed.”
Because there was a hint of a smile in his voice, she relaxed a little, swallowed back her queasiness, and went to work.
Another heavy silence settled between them. The longer it stretched, the more difficult it was to break it, and the more aware she became of the intimacy and all the tactile sensations.
Did he feel them, too? Did he feel the way his skin heated everywhere she touched him? The slight tremble when his heat tingled though her fingertips? The rise and fall of their breath that inexplicably matched in rhythm?
She was very close to him now. And very glad she was behind him, so he couldn’t see her staring. Couldn’t see her gaze fix on the strong column of his neck, the softness of his hair, which was a little too long to be neat but fell perfectly against that tender skin behind his ear.
He sucked in a sharp breath, and she realized she must have hurt him.
“Sorry.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “You’re doing fine.”
She quickly pulled her gaze away from those intense brown eyes and concentrated on her work again.
After carefully cleaning the wounds, she covered the area with a large gauze pad, then secured it with surgical tape. Finished.
Except for his leg.
Just wanting to be done and out of here, she dropped down onto her knees in front of him.
“Seriously?”
His exasperated tone brought her head up, right in line with the V of his crotch.
Oh. That was why there was gravel in his voice.
She was a smart woman, so why wasn’t she using her head? Why hadn’t she thought about the sexual undertones of kneeling directly in front of him?
Because she’d been too busy thinking about sex with him.
“Um . . . maybe you could—”
“Redress the leg myself,” he interrupted firmly. “Get off your knees, Buttercup.” He held out his right hand and helped her to her feet. “Never thought I’d say that to a woman.”
Upright again, she straightened her skirt, searching for something to say, something that didn’t make her look like a bigger fool.
“You want to grab a shirt for me?” he asked quietly.
“Sure.” Glad to put distance between them, she practically sprinted to the file cabinet, opened it, and pulled out another black T-shirt.
He held out a hand, but she hung on to the shirt. Back under control now, she meant to show him that she wasn’t a blushing schoolgirl falling prey to hormones.
“Let’s not do that whole ‘I don’t need help’ thing, okay?�
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That actually got a sheepish grin out of him. And made her breathe a little easier. And made her knees a little weaker when he said, “Let’s do this.”
He lifted his right arm so she could slide the sleeve over it. But when his hand popped through the shirt sleeve, it connected firmly with her left breast.
They both pulled back as if they’d been zapped by an electric fence.
“Sorry,” he said. The wild look in his eyes told her he really was. It had been an accident.
“My fault,” she said, trying to act as if his touch hadn’t affected her. But her suddenly taut nipples said she lied. “Let’s just get this over your head, and I’ll get out of your hair.” And back to a place called sanity.
Somehow, they got him into the shirt without further mishap. Then she hurriedly gathered up the leftover supplies and headed for the door.
“Why’d you do this?” he asked, stopping her from leaving.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t take care of it,” she said evasively.
“You could have sent someone else.”
“Yup. But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you sweat.”
She had to get away from him before she blurted out something stupid, like I did it because I was concerned about you. I did it because yesterday made me realize that you’re not the Neanderthal creep I want you to be. I did it because I couldn’t not do it.
She had her hand on the doorknob and was about to swing it open, when he said her name.
His soft, tentative tone stopped her cold. And the look on his face when she looked over her shoulder at him almost melted her.
“Thank you.”
He actually looked humble and sincere, and she wondered if she was getting her first glimpse of the real Jamie Cooper.
“You’re welcome,” she said shakily, and let herself out the door, not liking what she was thinking.
Why did you do this?
Because maybe she felt something for this man that she hadn’t let herself feel in a very long time.
And that scared her half to death.
• • •
“What? Wait. No . . . no. That was scheduled for next week.” Coop tried to contain his annoyance when Nate called him into his office later that day. He hadn’t yet recovered from the Bombshell’s “house call,” where the scent of her perfume and her hands on his bare skin had made him crazy. And now Nate dropped this bomb.
“The time table’s been stepped up. NSA picked up some cyber-chatter this afternoon. It could be nothing, it could be something, but we need to make sure these particular bases are air-tight secure.”
With his jaw clenched to keep from saying something he’d regret, Coop picked up the file folder Nate slid across his desk. He flipped it open and scanned the operation orders for routine security checks in Colorado and Utah, then tossed it back onto the desk. “I’m ass-deep in the investigation. You don’t need me for this. Any one of the guys—”
“Could do it,” Nate agreed, cutting him off. “But any one of the guys’ names didn’t come up on the rotation. Isn’t that how you all decided to resolve undesirable assignments? Your name comes up, you go. No substitutions. No bitching.”
He was right—but damn. “Nate. Come on. You know I need to be working the investigation.”
“Look, I know what’s on the line here. And I know where your heart is. I’m sorry, Coop, it’s out of my hands. But I’ll personally handle things in your absence. You shouldn’t be on the road more than three days—four, tops, if you find problems.”
Not seeing any way out, he walked stiffly toward the door, cursing his bad luck.
“Remember, you’re to take Burns with you.”
He spun around in panic. No. Please, God, no.
“How about I take B.J. instead?” He tried to sound as if his sanity didn’t depend on getting Burns off the detail. After that little Florence Nightingale session an hour ago, he knew he’d end up over his head if he was alone with her. “She’s always done the cyber-threat analysis part of the check.”
“B.J. needs a break from the travel. Besides, it’s time Burns completes her first field assignment.”
“If I’ve got to do this now, I’d really prefer to take B.J.,” he tried again.
Nate sat back in his chair, regarding him thoughtfully. “Is there a problem with you and Burns that I need to know about?”
Shit. If he told Nate there was a problem, he’d assume that Coop didn’t think Rhonda was up to the task, which was not the case and wouldn’t be fair to her. She’d aced every assignment she’d been given.
“No,” he lied. “There’s no problem.”
“Okay, then. Go let her know. Wheels up at five a.m.”
It took a conscious effort to keep from slamming the door behind him.
He thought about her hands on his back today. About how gentle and careful she’d been, trying not to hurt him. About how freaking bad he’d wanted to kiss her. Again.
Things had gotten way too complicated between them.
By the time he reached her office door, his mood was as black as tar.
Wednesday
There is a difference between giving up and knowing when you’ve had enough.
—Unknown
14
12:40 p.m., Colorado Springs, Colorado
“So unbelievably awkward,” Rhonda muttered, tossing her suitcase onto the bed.
Cooper had turned into a first-class asshat the moment he’d shown up in her office with Nate Black’s orders. That was late yesterday afternoon, and he hadn’t taken the damn hat off since. She did not need the drama. Now she wished she’d never gone to his office and changed his bandage. His shoulder could fall off, for all she cared.
She dug into her purse for her cosmetics bag and went into the bathroom to freshen up her makeup. She’d looked forward to her first field assignment so eagerly. It was a rite of passage, a vote of confidence. It meant that when her probation period ended next month, she’d be a full-fledged member of the team.
And Cooper was single-handedly wringing all the joy and sense of accomplishment out of the experience.
She knew he was worried about Eva and that he was upset about being pulled off the investigation. But it was pretty clear that there was more to it than that. He was upset about being paired up with her. She knew it had nothing to do with her abilities; she did good work. So that meant this was about that stupid kiss. She had hoped he’d be able to put it behind him and move on.
Even though she hadn’t been able to, either.
She braced her palms on the bathroom counter and glared at her reflection. Even surly, rock-jawed, and silent, Jamie Cooper was impossibly gorgeous. Sitting beside him on the cramped commercial flight this morning, she’d felt the undercurrent of his sexuality radiate from his body, which did things to her body, regardless of how hard she tried to ignore him.
She’d even dreamed about him last night, even though she knew she’d never get involved with him. The vibes he’d been giving off, however, suggested that he might think she should.
Not happening. She dug a hair pick out of her bag and went to work. She wasn’t opposed to good, healthy sex, although you’d never know it from her recent dating history. Or her not-so-recent history, for that matter. Sex was one thing; a conquest was another, and that’s what a man like Cooper would consider it.
That might be a little harsh, but she told herself it was the truth. She had never been and would never be some man’s spoils of war, even if it was simply a war of the sexes.
But oh, she did wonder what a night in a bed with him would be like.
She tossed the pick down in disgust. She was as guilty as he was.
But she had no desire to let someone like Cooper interfere in her life. Or get too close. Which was why it bothered her that she kept thinking about what
he’d said at the briefing yesterday: “Mike and Eva went in posing as UWD devotees, hoping to find information to clear the three of us from false court-martial charges.”
How horrible it must have been for them. If he’d been halfway communicative on the flight this morning, she’d have asked him about the charges. But her sympathy had disappeared when he’d gone Surly Sam on her.
They would need to have that talk after all, she decided. She had to cowgirl up and let him know he was wasting his time and hers.
A sharp knock drew her out of the bathroom and to the door. It must be Cooper, but she looked through the peephole to confirm it. Then she stepped back and swung the door open to reveal Asshat Man in all his pissed-off glory.
Arms folded belligerently over his chest, fingers tucked under his armpits, feet planted wide apart, he looked as gorgeous as ever and as combative as a submachine gun.
Oh, brother.
When he saw her, his expression of grim resolution slowly turned to disgust, and her plan to have that “talk” collapsed like a pup tent in a strong wind. She wasn’t up to dealing with his hostility right now.
Irked with him for being such a dick, and with herself for not making him own up to it, she turned away. “Let me grab my coat, then I’m ready.”
“For what? Speed dating?”
His clipped, judgmental words had her turning back to him with narrowed eyes. “What exactly does that mean?”
“We’re going to a military facility, for God’s sake, not a photo shoot. Must you always be camera-ready?”
Rhonda knew she sometimes pushed the acceptable limits of professional attire. It was who she was, and she didn’t intend to change for anyone. She’d worn the black sweater, black skirt, and black heels because she’d needed to feel powerful enough to match whatever crap Cooper sent her way.
Apparently, he planned on sending plenty, and she was now officially pissed. “What are you, the fashion police?”
He gave her another contemptuous once-over. “Forget it. I want to get to the base and get a few hours under my belt today. Let’s just go.”