make it interesting,” Joe suggested, leading her away from the bar. “Let’s play for drinks. Winner buys.”
Lyrical laughter drifted to Cooper as he kept a watchful eye on the bride while pulling a beer from the cooler. For the next hour or two, other than an occasional glance in her direction, he didn’t have time to worry about Carly. She was safe with Benny and Joe. It was Saturday night, and thankfully the bar was somewhat busy for a change. With his waitress off because of a sick kid, he was on his own, and he didn’t have time to baby-sit a hot number in white, even if his gaze kept straying toward her more times than he cared to admit.
By midnight, the bride had disappeared without a word, and he tried to tell himself what he felt wasn’t even remotely close to disappointment, but gratitude. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with a woman when he had more important things to worry about. Like finding a way to hang on to The Wilde Side until his uncle came to his senses again.
By the time he ushered the last customer from the bar, Coop was beat. He emptied the till and started cleaning up rather than putting it off until the next day. Sunday was the only day of the week the bar opened later in the afternoon, and he looked forward to a few extra hours to himself.
As he mopped the floors, his mind drifted to the platinum blonde with the lush body. While he finished cleaning up the men’s room, he wondered if perhaps he should’ve asked her two self-appointed bodyguards where she’d gone.
She was none of his business, he thought grumpily, flipping off the light. He shoved the mop into the metal bucket and wheeled it across the hall to the ladies’ room. It wasn’t as if he’d ever see her again. Or even that he cared.
Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her, wondering if she was all right?
Because he was genetically predisposed. How could he stop thinking about her when his DNA forbade it? He couldn’t, and gave a heartfelt thanks to his guardian angel for taking the Princess out of the equation.
He pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. Miles of dirty white satin spilled from beneath the door of the last stall, tangled around a delicately shaped foot.
Cooper swore colorfully. So much for someone upstairs looking out for him.
“Party’s over, Princess,” he called out as he crossed the asphalt tiles to the last stall.
She didn’t respond.
He pounded on the metal door. “You all right?”
No answer.
Great. Just what he didn’t need. He let out a rough sigh followed by a few more curses and tried the door, but she’d locked it. This wasn’t the first time some drunk had passed out in one of his bathrooms. But she wasn’t some drunk, he reminded himself. She was a runaway bride who’d had too much to drink after an emotionally exhausting day, and no doubt on an empty stomach.
He had two choices, and neither option thrilled him. If he called Chicago’s finest and let them deal with her, they’d toss her delectable backside behind bars. Having spent a few nights of his own in the drunk tank after carousing with his buddies on shore leave, the thought of her spending the night in one left him with a bad taste in his mouth. The other option left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He had no other option, he thought, at least none that would allow him to continue to live in peace with his conscience.
Crouching, he peered under the door. She was sound asleep, curled on her side, using her upper arm for a pillow. He slid his fingers over her slender ankle, ignoring the strong urge to smooth his hand over the rest of her shapely leg.
He tried to shake her awake. “Carly? Come on, Princess. Time to rise and shine,” he said gently.
Nothing. Not even a soft little moan or a flutter of those lashes fanning her pale cheeks. She was out cold.
“So much for not being around when the booze hit,” he complained, then worked to open the stall. Once he had it opened, he moved into the cramped space beside her, trying one last, useless time to wake her.
Carefully, he eased his arms around her and managed to get her and her cumbersome dress out of the stall. She issued a soft little moan when he lifted her into his arms, curling her slender hand against his chest. With the lightweight bundle held securely, he concentrated on getting her upstairs into his apartment without tripping over her dress, and not the way her full breasts brushed against his chest when she sleepily wound her arms around his neck.
He shouldered his way down a short hallway to his old bedroom. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess,” he said, easing her onto the twin mattress. “In a few hours, you’re gonna be feeling like you’ve been run down by a Peterbilt truck at full speed.”
He straightened and looked down at her, not sure what to do next. There were still things in the bar that needed his attention, but he couldn’t very well leave her trussed up in her wedding dress and Lord knew what else for the night. Or could he?
No, he decided against his better judgment. He couldn’t, but the thought of removing all that satin to reveal smooth skin didn’t exactly appeal to him, either. He took that back. It more than appealed to him, and that was the first and foremost reason for him to walk out and leave her be, regardless of how uncomfortable she looked.
Muttering a few more curses, he started with her shoes, then pushed up the heavy satin to reveal the lacy tops of white stockings covering the shapeliest pair of legs he’d ever seen.
He eased out a breath. Very nice.
What the hell was wrong with him? As if he didn’t have enough trouble, here he was borrowing more than he could handle by undressing a woman—an unconscious woman—he didn’t even know. Convinced he was certifiable and just looking to get his butt sued, or worse, he removed her stockings anyway, along with a blue satin and lace garter her groom should have slid from her leg as dictated by tradition.
She sighed, a soft sound that stirred his blood. Ignoring the heat uncurling in his belly, he tugged the satin down to cover her legs, then shifted her weight to expose a long row of pearl buttons running along her spine. Once he had them undone, he eased the dress from her arms and managed to pull the heavy fabric away from her.
Cooper was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the sultry evening and everything to do with the beauty lying in his childhood bed with her legs angled in a seductive pose. Wearing a scant pair of pure white lace panties cut high on her thigh and a matching corset that enhanced the swell of her breasts, she was a vision.
A sensual vision that had his blood pumping fast through his veins.
And a distraction he didn’t need or welcome.
He left the bedroom only to return a few minutes later with one of his T-shirts. Lifting her in his arms again, he pulled the shirt over her head and slipped her limp arms through the sleeves. Once he had her decently covered, he worked the back lacing of the corset, pulled it from around her and firmly tugged the shirt down.
A dreamy little sigh escaped her parted lips when he eased her back onto the bed. “Hmm,” she murmured, turning onto her side. Her hand landed in his lap, dangerously close to his fly.
Her slender fingers flexed.
A flash of heat flared in his gut and spread south.
