Page 84 of The Love Lie
“What?” He turns to her. “You said to land this fucking thing.”
“I didn’t mean right here,” she says, looking around in panic as they sink below his roofline. “Isn’t this— I mean, don’t you—” They touch down. “We’re in your front yard.”
“So?”
“You can’t just land a helicopter in your front yard.”
“Why not?” He shrugs and unclips his seat belt. “It’s my house, and my helicopter, and my yard. I can do what I damn well please. And right now, what I damn well please is getting you inside that house as quickly as I can. I’ll take it back to the landing pad tomorrow.”
With that, he hops out of the side. She’s still frozen with shock as he rounds the helicopter and opens her door.
“You coming? Or do I have to haul you out?”
“I don’t—”
He takes her hand and pulls her through the door so she lands over his shoulder. With a little shuffle he wraps an armacross the backs of her legs, braces her weight, and spins them toward the house. It’s possibly the least romantic carrying style ever, yet butterflies swarm across her stomach as he marches confidently for the door.
“Oh my god, I can walk.”
“Not fast enough for my liking.”
“This is not how I envisioned you carrying me over the threshold.”
He smacks her ass. “Tough shit.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, cowboy. You really know how to seduce a woman.”
“I got you out here, didn’t I?”
“I’m pretty sure Nina and a hefty dose of blackmail got me out here.”
“Keep telling yourself that. I like a challenge.”
He swings open the door and steps inside. She arches around, trying to get a look at the place, then finally pinches the small of his back. He jumps and puts her down, grumbling something she doesn’t quite hear, but it doesn’t matter. All of her attention is immediately snagged by the view waiting on the other side. A wall of glass spills onto a sweeping stone veranda, and beyond that is a scene of brilliant, bursting color. The sun has just started to drop beneath the hills, the sky like a painting as the dying rays scatter through the clouds. The lake, though small from above, seems to stretch as far as the eye can see from this vantage inside the house, the still surface reflecting everything above.
Sam’s breath literally catches in her throat.
“I chose this spot for its sunsets,” Cooper explains, his voice drifting in from behind. Soft footsteps thud as he walks closer. “I used to ride out here as a kid just to watch them from the hill. It’s always been my favorite view.”
“I can see why,” she says, awed.
“It’s never looked as beautiful as it does right now.”
She glances over her shoulder, already aware he’s watching her, but it does nothing to lessen the blow. Those green eyes pierce like a blade right to her heart, pleasure and pain a heady mix as her desire and her fear flare. He closes the last foot between them, molding his front to her back, and gently takes her by the hands. But he doesn’t swing her around as she expects. Instead, he takes three steps forward, forcing her to go with him, until her hips hit the edge of the kitchen island. His lips find her neck as he reaches for her lapels and slides her jacket off. He loosens the first button on her blouse, then another, and another, working his mouth over to her shoulder as her shirt falls open. Between the silk and his hands, her skin turns to flame. A sudden brush of cool air only fans the inferno as her shirt drops away.
“Fuck, Sam,” he groans against her spine.
She smirks. “You said black.”
Calloused fingers toy with the edges of her lace bra. No space between them, she can feel his passion growing, but he takes his time, pulling one strap over her shoulder, then the other, kissing along the path his fingers create, as if every inch of her deserves to be touched, caressed, worshipped. It’s overwhelming. It’s maddening. It’s driving her insane.
But right as she’s about to turn herself around, he braces her hands on the counter and orders, “Not yet.”
He slides his hands down her sides, over her hips, to the edges of her skirt. Then he sinks, dragging his mouth down her spine as he goes. She stands there, exposed, waiting, already on the edge. He takes it slow, torturously slow, as he lifts the hem, inch by inch, over her hips, and kisses his way up the backs of her thighs until her legs tremble.
“Tell me you missed me,” he murmurs as he stands and slides his palm down her front, so close to the place she desperately needs it.
“No.”
