of twenty-four years, that’s not saying much.” He shifted his coffee mug to his left hand, then grasped hers in a firm grip that sent a series of tingles shooting up her arm to settle in the tips of her breasts.
“Cooper Wilde.”
She slowly pulled her hand from his. The tingling didn’t stop. “I don’t know whether to say it’s been a pleasure or not.”
A half grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “No, I don’t suppose you would. Coffee?”
“Any chance you might have some tea handy?” she asked, telling herself she was not affected by his lopsided grin. She’d heard him laugh the night before and seemed to remember the sound had made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He really was quite attractive, frowns and all. If a girl went for all those angled lines and rough edges.
He shot her a look that said I think not.
“Coffee works for me.”
She followed him into a small, compact kitchen, tugging on the hem of the T-shirt. He pulled a mug from the cabinet and filled it. “Black?”
Why not? she thought, and nodded. After what she’d consumed previously, black coffee would be a definite improvement.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, taking the mug from him before following him out of the room to a small square dining table beneath a pair of windows. “But, exactly where am I and how did I get here?”
He sat in a chair and leaned back. “I found you passed out in the ladies’ room after closing.”
She set her mug on the table and dropped into another vinyl padded chair. “Oh sweet Mary,” she muttered, dropping her head into her hands. Now she knew what had been cool and smelled of bleach and disinfectant. The bathroom floor!
He lifted his mug to his lips, his bittersweet gaze regarding her over the rim, revealing nothing other than perhaps mild interest. “It was either bring you up here or call the cops.”
“Thank you.” She could just imagine what her family would have to say about a visit on the wrong side of the divider at the local Gray Bar Hotel. Hi Dad, it’s Carly. Just calling you from my jail cell to tell you I’m fine.
She frowned and looked over at Cooper. “‘Up here?’” she asked, taking a sip of much-needed caffeine. The cat purred and dropped onto his side, stretching his large furry body beneath a sunbeam streaming through the open window.
“I live above the bar,” Cooper said.
Made sense, she thought. It was convenient. That thought made her frown deepen, wondering if he often brought home stray women. No, she decided. The single toothbrush told the truth. Cooper Wilde was extremely single and excessively neat. Even his hair was neat, cut in a short cropped style. No stray locks of sable brushing that forehead. Everything had a place and everything was in its place. No doubt he viewed her as a disruption to his neat and orderly lifestyle.
Well, now what was she going to do? She had no clothes since they were locked in her car, and she couldn’t very well prance around the city of Chicago in his T-shirt or her filthy wedding gown looking for a place to live.
Her car!
“Did the tow truck ever show up last night?” she asked him.
He turned to look out the window. “Either that or your car’s been stolen.”
“My purse. Do you have my purse?” If the driver had shown up, he would have given her a business card, or had her sign a receipt of some sort. Something to tell her the whereabouts of her vehicle, a change of clothes and her own toothbrush.
He stood and walked across the small dining area to a built-in cabinet. Opening a long center drawer, he pulled out her satin bag. “I found it when I went back down to finish closing the bar last night. You’re lucky it was there.”
She ignored the censure in his voice and opened the purse to riffle through the meager contents. Everything was there, except two twenties, which she’d no doubt spent last night in the bar. Unfortunately, no business card or receipt from the tow company. “Do you have a phone book?” she asked before he sat.
He retrieved the phone book and a cordless phone and set them in front of her, then disappeared into the kitchen. The cat promptly followed.
She scanned the pages until she found the name of the first tow company that sounded familiar. After a quick call to the dispatcher, she learned her car had indeed been towed to a local Ford dealership. The subsequent call was useless, however, since it was Sunday and the dealership was closed.
“You want to call someone to pick you up?” He placed a small plate with dry toast in front of her, and sat. Obviously he’d had experience with hangover remedies.
“Thank you,” she said, and nibbled on the toast. She could call any one of her sisters and they’d come to her rescue as quickly as humanly possible. She could even call her parents. Except Carly was tired of being rescued. And she was fed up with doing what everyone always expected of her.
As the youngest daughter, she’d been expected to stay close to home. She’d been expected to finish college and return to the family fold. She’d done that.
Everyone expected her to teach at the local high school, just like her older sister Wendy. She’d accepted a position. As expected.
Everyone—her family, friends, and the majority of the population of Homer, Illinois—had expected her to marry Dean Langley, the only guy she’d ever dated. They started going out in high school, so of course everyone just assumed they’d marry when they continued their courtship through her years at college. She’d even agreed, as expected, she thought with a hefty dose of cynicism, but as the wedding drew closer, she knew she couldn’t go through with it for one very simple reason—they weren’t in love.
The day before the wedding, she’d asked Dean if he was in love with her. His response hadn’t broken her heart, but had merely made her face the truth they’d both managed to avoid for months. Too many people had worked hard to make the wedding happen. Did she really want to disappoint them?
That was no reason to get married, as far as she was concerned, but Dean had countered her arguments with a diagnosis of prenuptial anxiety.
Anxiety about spending the rest of her life with a man she loved, rather than one she was in love with, she couldn’t argue.
Yesterday she’d taken the first step. A faulty one, considering she’d given in to her case of cold feet, ended up in a bar, passed out and woke up in the apartment of a strange but very sexy man with warm brown eyes and a body she couldn’t ignore without being a discredit to her gender.
She couldn’t go back. If she did, she’d no doubt end up married to a man she didn’t love, working in a job she didn’t want and living the rest of her life wondering what if.
She shifted her gaze back to Cooper. “There’s no one.”
He leaned forward and braced his tanned forearms on the table. “I probably shouldn’t bother, but considering you passed out in my bar and slept in my bed, I think that gives me some small right to ask…. Where are you from, Princess?”
Carly considered lying,
