3 Men and a Body Read online

  “Coop was getting worried,” Wesley corrected. “I told him that you could shop for days, like a camel.”

  Carlotta dropped her beach bag on her brother’s foot. “Sorry I was longer than I’d planned.”

  “How was Neiman’s?” Coop asked.

  She grasped for a logical lie. “Fine, but I didn’t find what I was looking for.” Karen Wells’s address had been bogus, and the phone number disconnected. The references, too, were dead ends—all of them companies that had closed. If her mother had been posing as Karen Wells, she had disappeared again. “So tell me what I missed.”

  “Coop taught me to body surf,” Wesley said.

  “I grew up near the ocean,” Coop explained, lowering himself to the mat and leaving room for her to sit next to him.

  “Really? Where?” She pulled her cover-up over her head. It was much easier to get off than to get on.

  Coop stared up at her, his mouth slightly agape. “I forgot.”

  Wesley rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother. I’m going for a swim.” He tossed down his cards and jogged away.

  She sat down next to Coop and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I might have to go for a swim, too, to keep from embarrassing myself. Nice suit,” he said.

  Carlotta grinned. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself. I’m going to have to retract that ‘understated’ remark.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. It’s all right there. Maybe I haven’t been looking.”

  “Careful—you’ll give a man hope.”

  She put her hand on his. “Let’s just have fun, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “How long until sunset?”

  He checked his watch. “It’s six o’clock now. The sun will probably set around eight.” He smiled. “But something tells me it’ll be worth waiting for.”

  They watched Wesley, laughing at his antics, and talked about Atlanta (the traffic), Hannah (the paradox) and life (the meaning). They walked to the surf and Carlotta waded in the frothy water, protective of her cast, while Coop dived and surfed with Wesley. Carlotta watched them and thought how good the two looked together. It was a shame that Wesley hadn’t had a father around to give him the male attention he so obviously craved.

  While she walked, she compulsively checked the faces of people on the beach, especially couples. She knew the chances of running into her parents on this particular stretch of sand were next to nil, but she couldn’t help it. Carlotta mentally cursed Randolph and Valerie Wren. It had taken her years to stop scanning faces everywhere she went. She didn’t want to start doing that again…start hoping.

  Coop emerged from the water looking like a Greek statue with water sluicing off his lean, muscular body. A jolt of sexual attraction hit her hard and she suddenly wished that Wesley hadn’t come as a stowaway, that she and Coop had the weekend to themselves. That she didn’t have so much emotional baggage weighing her down.

  Coop caught up with her and intertwined their fingers. They walked hand in hand for a long while. It allowed her to try on the idea of being with Coop and, inevitably, to compare him to the other two men in her life. She couldn’t envision Jack holding hands and walking the beach at sunset. She could picture Peter holding hands, but the beach would be the Riviera, and in his other hand would be his iPhone in case the office called.

  “I lied to you earlier,” Coop said suddenly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When you asked how long since I’d been on vacation, I lied.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the last time I was on vacation was when I was in rehab.”

  “Oh.” She stopped. “Coop, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I think you should know that I’m a recovering alcoholic before you fall madly in love with me.”

  She laughed. “Fair enough.”

  He grew solemn. “I’ve been sober for a long time, but I believe in full disclosure. When I drank, I did some pretty irresponsible things, and people were hurt because of it.”

  “Did Wesley ever mention that our mother had a problem with alcohol?”

  “No.”

  “He probably doesn’t remember that she always reeked of either booze or mouthwash. At least she was a happy drunk.”

  “I’m sorry that she wasn’t a better mother to you both.”

  Carlotta shrugged. “I guess it was the best she could do. I’m sure Valerie found a way to convince herself that leaving us was for the best.”

  “Maybe she recognized you would be a better mother to Wesley than she could be.”

  “Or she could have sobered up,” Carlotta said.

  He nodded. “You’re right. But if she wasn’t ready to get sober, thank God Wesley had you.”

  “It still wasn’t fair, to either one of us.” She moistened her lips. “I think I might hate her for it.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he said. “And she probably expects it, as well.”

  “You think she’s still drinking?”

  “My guess is yes, or you would’ve heard from her by now.”

  “I think so, too.”

  He squeezed her hand. “So have I scared you off?”

  Carlotta chuckled. “Considering my family issues, you’re going to have to come up with something better than a measly addiction to get my sympathy.”

  He laughed and they continued walking. She noticed that he seemed lighter, unburdened. His past obviously weighed more heavily on him than she’d assumed. She had the feeling that there was much more to Coop than met the eye, and she hoped that he would someday share it with her.

  They got back to the mat just in time to watch the sun slip out of the pink-and-red sky, on its way to another horizon for another couple to enjoy. The moon took its place, lighting the water and the beach with silvery hues. And the exchange took mere minutes.

  “Beautiful,” Carlotta breathed, completely relaxed for the first time in recent memory.

  “Yes, you are,” Coop said, and when she turned her head, he kissed her.

  His kiss wasn’t hard and possessive like Jack’s, but an utterly romantic one. Carlotta opened her mouth to his, reveling in the taste of him, the way he drew out the kiss with slow strokes of his tongue. Her body came alive, and she pressed into him more urgently in the near darkness.

  “Gawd, get a room,” Wesley said, walking up to shake water all over them.

  They parted and Carlotta shrieked, swatting at her brother. They packed up the mat and, on the short walk back to their hotel, talked about where to go for dinner. She showered and dressed carefully, feeling a little scared about the way things were going with Coop. It all seemed to be happening so fast.

  Over dinner she looked for a way to put the brakes on their mutual attraction, but the spark that had started with the kiss seemed to smolder all evening. Over bowls of fresh shrimp and plates of polenta, their eyes met more and more often as the night wore on. Beneath the table their knees and hands brushed.

  Conversely, Wesley’s mood seemed to worsen. He’d gotten a sunburn in the short time he’d been on the beach, and he kept rubbing his arm.

  “You should change that bandage,” Coop admonished. “It’s not good to have damp fabric against an open wound.”

  “Did I ask for your advice?” he snapped.

  “Hey, watch your tone,” Carlotta said. “Considering how you hijacked your way down here, you don’t need to be rude.”

  “Sorry,” Wesley mumbled to Coop.

  “It’s okay.” Coop exchanged a glance with Carlotta, folded his napkin and excused himself to go to the men’s room.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Carlotta asked when he was out of earshot.

  “I’m tired of watching the two of you making googly eyes at each other.”

  “We’re not making googly—” She stopped. “I thought you liked Coop.”

  “I do, but that doesn’t mean I want you to sleep with him.”

  “Watch your mouth, Wesley.
I don’t have to explain myself to you. Coop and I are adults.”

  “He’s my boss, for chrissake. Besides, what about Peter?”

  She squinted. “What about Peter?”

  “You cried your eyes out over the guy for years. Now he’s available and he wants to marry you and you’re ignoring him!”

  “I’m not ignoring him, but I haven’t made any kind of commitment to Peter. What’s so wrong with getting to know Coop?” She tossed down her napkin, flustered.

  Wesley leaned forward. “Because he’s in love with you, Sis. This wouldn’t be just a fling to Coop. He’s not like Jack Terry.”

  A direct hit. Carlotta bit down on her tongue until her mouth sang with pain. “How about you stay out of my personal life, and I won’t ask you about the woman whose perfume you reek of when you come home?”

  She thought he’d come back with some smart teenage remark. Instead, the fleeting panic on his face set off alarms in her head. What else had Wesley gotten himself into?

  “So,” Coop said with a clap of his hands as he reclaimed his seat, “who has room for dessert?”

  With Wesley’s comment about the man being in love with her reverberating in her head, she conjured up a shaky smile. “I never turn down chocolate.”

  “Chocolate it is,” he said, signaling the waitress.

  He ordered a mud pie sundae and coffees all around, but Wesley didn’t eat. Instead, he merely watched over the rim of his cup, massaging his arm, while they shared the decadent dessert. Coop was animated and made her laugh, parrying his spoon with hers.

  But Carlotta grew more and more edgy, mulling over what Wesley had said. His sudden partiality to Peter was puzzling. And some part of her wondered if his behavior sprang from jealousy of Coop’s attention to her. Still, he’d made a valid point or two. If she slept with Coop, it could change the dynamics for all of them.

  When they got back to the hotel, she and Coop lingered in front of their doors awkwardly. Wesley leaned back and studied his fingernails, making matters worse.

  “Good night, Wesley,” she said pointedly.

  “Good night,” he muttered, then looked at Coop. “You coming?”

  “Later,” Coop said.

  Wesley frowned and disappeared into their room. When the door closed, Carlotta swallowed nervously and looked up at Coop. Everything she’d learned about him on this trip only made her like him more…and want him more. But to what end?

  “I had fun today,” he ventured.

  “Me, too,” she admitted.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am, but in a good way.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “Kiss me again, Coop.”

  He cupped her face with his hands, then he kissed her thoroughly and well. Her limbs grew languid and her body responded, molding to his.

  He lifted his mouth from hers and whispered, “Ask me to come in.”

  “I want to. But, Coop…I can’t make any promises. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He put his finger to her lips. “I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

  She fumbled to unlock the door and they practically fell into the room. Moonlight shone through the open window, and the sound of the ocean crashing set a primitive rhythm for lovemaking. He half carried her to the bed and pulled her down on top of him in the semidarkness.

  “I’ve wanted you since I saw you that first time in your kitchen,” he said thickly.

  She smiled. “I was wearing my pj’s and my hair was absolutely witchy.”

  “You were adorable and sexy. Like now.” He slid his hands down her back to cup her hips against his, leaving her with rigid proof of how much he wanted her.

  Carlotta closed her eyes against the sensations bombarding her, and she had a scary feeling in her stomach that she hadn’t felt in years—that this time the sex would mean something more than just stimulated nerve endings. “You have me at a disadvantage. I’ve never done this with one arm.”

  He rolled her over gently and removed his glasses. “Let me take care of everything.”

  Carlotta sighed. It felt good to be taken care of, to give herself over to pleasure, to submit to his ministrations.

  He unbuttoned her blouse and her front-closure bra to release her breasts into his mouth. She grabbed a fistful of the bedcovers and moaned, arching against his gifted tongue. He sighed against her breasts, sending the oddest sensation of contentment through her though it left her wanting more. She used her good arm to run her hand down his spine, then pull the T-shirt over his head. When his warm skin touched hers, she gasped against the full awareness of what was to come. Once again panic licked at her…but she couldn’t bear to stop.

  She explored the firm muscles of his back, felt the heat left by the sun, slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. He kissed her ribs and stomach, then undid her pants and slid them down her legs, leaving only her red thong panties. Coop groaned in appreciation, then removed them an inch at a time—with his teeth.

  Plus one hundred.

  She succumbed to the feeling of sliding down a slippery slope. She would deal with tomorrow when it came. A shudder of anticipation rolled over her body.

  Coop parted her knees and lowered his head.

  A knock sounded, and through the door Wesley said, “Coop!”

  They looked at each other through her legs and sighed in abject frustration. “Ignore him,” she urged.

  “Good idea.” Coop dipped his head.

  But before he could touch down, another knock sounded, this time more insistent. “Coop! I need to talk to you now! It’s important!”

  “I’m going to make you an only child,” Coop muttered, pushing himself off the bed and grabbing his glasses.

  “Be my guest.” Carlotta snatched her jeans from the floor and struggled into them. Then she turned her back to the door to awkwardly refasten her bra and blouse. She could hear the men arguing in undertones in the hall.

  She turned on the light. “What’s going on?”

  Coop looked back from the door, his face a mask of resigned frustration. “Wesley says his arm is hurting bad. I’m going to take a look at it.”

  Disappointment over the interruption warred with concern for Wesley. “I’ll go with you.”

  Wesley’s face appeared in the doorway. “You don’t have to, Sis. Just go on to bed.”

  She knew that face, knew that tone. He didn’t want her to see what was under the bandage. While Coop pulled on his shirt, she grabbed her key, then followed them to their room.

  “I’m staying,” she told Wesley when he started to protest.

  Coop used a pair of scissors from his toiletry kit to cut off the soiled and soggy bandage. Carlotta gasped at the sight of the red, swollen skin underneath and the ugly slashes in Wesley’s thin arm. “You didn’t get that from a bicycle accident. What happened?”

  But her brother appeared to have gone deaf.

  “They’re knife wounds,” Coop said quietly, looking at Wesley, who was staring at the floor.

  “Knife wounds? Someone stabbed you?”

  “Someone cut him,” Coop said when her brother wouldn’t answer.

  She leaned closer. “Are those…letters? C…A…R? Why would someone cut ‘CAR’ into your arm?” Then she covered her mouth. “The Carver—he cut his name into your arm?”

  “Not his entire name,” Wesley mumbled.

  “He speaks,” Coop said dryly. “Chief, your arm is infected. You need antibiotics, pronto.” He looked up at Carlotta. “We need to take him to an emergency room.”

  “No,” Wesley said. “It’ll cost a lot of money that we don’t have.”

  “I’ll pay for it,” Coop said.

  “No,” he said. “I won’t go.”

  “Wesley, you need medicine,” Carlotta said, her maternal instincts rearing.

  “Can’t you write me a prescription for antibiotics?” he asked Coop. “Maybe give me a shot?”

  Coop hesitated. “I could, but I’d prefer you see a doctor.
”

  “You’re a doctor.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Come on, man. I trust you more than some doctor I don’t even know.”

  Coop looked up at Carlotta.

  “It’s your call,” she said.

  He checked his watch. “Okay, I’ll go get what I need and be back as soon as I can.” He stood and she walked with him to the door.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “So am I,” he said with a sigh. “It might be late by the time I get back, and then I’ll have to redress his arm.” He scrubbed at his face and sighed. “Maybe we can try this again tomorrow?”

  Carlotta smiled and nodded. But as Coop strode way, she couldn’t help feeling that what might have been had just slipped through her fingers.

  14

  E ven with his earbuds in for his iPod, Wesley could feel the silent treatment he was receiving from the pair in the front seat. He knew what he’d interrupted last night between Carlotta and Coop, and he wasn’t sorry. If his sister slept with Coop, the man would become completely pussy-whipped. And Carlotta would be distancing herself further from Peter.

  And he had promised Peter he’d do everything he could to help him win Carlotta back.

  After Peter had forked over the twenty-five grand, Wesley had said he didn’t know how he’d ever repay him.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Peter had said, then smiled. “I do something for you, you do something for me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like put in a good word for me with Carly when you can, and try to keep your boss and that cop away from her.”

  “I can’t be with her all the time,” he’d told the man.

  “I know. Just do what you can.” Peter had clapped him on the back. “I can give Carlotta the life she deserves, Wesley. I love her and I want her back. Do this for me and we’re even.”

  In the rearview mirror Wesley could see the strain on his boss’s face, the anxious glances he shot in Carlotta’s direction, the way he looked at her when he thought no one was watching. The man had it bad for his sister, but he’d get over it.

  Just like he himself would get over E. Jones someday.

  He removed the earbuds and stuck his head between their seats. “How much longer to Boca?”