Page 48 of Ruthless Wars

“You’ve wanted to go sailing?” Glancing at her outfit, I link an arm through hers and pull her to our car. The light denim jacket I brought should be enough to keep her from getting too cold out on the water.

“Yes!” Evie’s response is ecstatic and vengeful at the same time. “Ever since Alan got a four-week all-expense-paid sailing getaway in Australia, and I got stuck with Granny Duncan, learning how to fucking crochet.” With a regretful frown, she adds, “I still have that Victorian doily, God rest her soul.”

I shake out the jacket, freeing it of wrinkles, and Evie slips her arms into the sleeves. Her smile’s so big, I’m positive I’ve never seen her this happy. Ever. Something about her dancing eyes and hardly any makeup makes her look different. Lighter somehow.

Maybe Coop’s right. This is a place for freedom from whatever cage we’re desperate to escape.

Before Austin can make it to the driver’s side of their convertible, a practiced whistle flies from Evie’s lips ... the type that’s usually only used on police dogs and New York City cab drivers.

“Not so fast, hotshot. I’m driving,” she says, thumbing at herself adamantly.

Austin lobs the keys over his shoulder, catching them behind his back before winding up for a light underhand toss to Evie.

I breathe a loud sigh of relief when she catches them, her scornful glare hitting me when I do.

“Don’t be so surprised. I may not exactly be a pro athlete, but if I can juggle more balls working for the Longs than a circus performer, I can certainly catch a little pair of keys.”

“That’s you, Evie. Ball-handler extraordinaire.” I use the excuse of a light hug to whisper in her ear. “There’s Dramamine in the pocket if you need some.”

Giving me a light peck on my cheek, she rolls her eyes, saying, “Thanks, Mom,” then scurries to the driver’s side, where the door’s been left open and waiting.

Austin’s ball cap and sunglasses are in place, masking most of his uncomfortable wince when Evie grinds the car into gear.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Margot

Barely a step through the door, Coop cages me against it, the press of his body on mine forcing it shut. His heavenly hazel eyes darken on me just before his lips crash down on mine, melting them apart.

Ravenous, his tongue makes intoxicating long swipes in and out, and when I taste him, my leg decides to wrap around his. I want him, more than I thought I’d ever want anyone. Although I’m not entirely sure why, he makes me want more than his rock-solid body that I can’t get enough of.

I want something else too. Something I don’t want to admit, even to myself in the darkest hours of the night alone in my bed, because it scares the hell out of me.

I’m not done tasting him when he tears away to rid himself of his clothes before moving to mine. My gaze runs over every rippled curve of his chest and abs before it falls to his magnificent rod. I stroke every inch of his rigid smoothness with both hands.

Instantly, he pulls my hands away. “Not yet,” he murmurs tersely, pinning both my hands behind my back with his large one.

His other hand is busy, gently removing the strong elastic holding my hair, and then sliding it down to bind my hands. My jeans are unfastened, loosened just enough for his hand to slip inside. His fingertips grazing back and forth over my swollen lips send me over the edge as he kisses me again, and I purr in his mouth.

“This,” he whispers to my lips, “is mine.” His hot finger presses past my panties, slicing its heat straight into the depth of my core.

Deliriously, I nod, leaning all my weight against the door to stay upright as my legs are about to give out. With the gentlest rhythm, he manages to hit that perfect spot over and over and over again until I’m quaking with need.

“Coop ...” His name comes out like I’m begging, but I’m not exactly sure I know what for.

To stop? Not to stop? To go faster? To make it last for as long as possible exactly like this?

The man is literally fucking me senseless with his skilled tempo and a single finger. God help me, we’re only thirty seconds in and I’m about to come.

“Yes,” he says, like a question and an answer all at once, his tender kisses scorching my neck. His tongue glides down my collar, followed by a softer yes, and his hot mouth fixes on my nipple through my blouse and bra.

And just like that, he sends me over the edge.

Before I can utter another word, the explosion rips through my body, and his arm is locked around my back, holding me against him. I’m gasping for air between his mix of strong and soft kisses against my trembling lips.

A moment later, his finger is gone. I open my heavy lids to watch him sucking it clean with a satisfied growl. Then he tugs my hands free, tossing the scrunchie aside. He’s busy kissing and licking and nibbling my skin as he removes my clothes, not worried where they land.

When Coop scoops me in his arms, I’m not sure where he’s taking me, but I lose myself in admiring the smallest tattoo on his neck, set just below his ear. He’s got several alluring tattoos scattered across his gorgeous body, but I’m locked on this one.

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