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His Secret Son
Brenda Jackson
Three nights with a Texan…and one pregnancy surprise! The Texas rancher and navy SEAL who fathered Bristol Lockett's son died a hero's death…or so she was told. Yet when Laramie "Coop" Cooper strolls into her exhibit at an art gallery three years later, he's very much alive—and still making her pulse zing. The all-consuming chemistry between them is as undeniable now as it was then, but Bristol won't risk her heart—or their son's. Little does Bristol know he's determined to win over his unexpected family at any cost!


Three nights with a Texan...and one pregnancy surprise! Only from New York Times bestselling author Brenda Jackson!
The Texas rancher and navy SEAL who fathered Bristol Lockett’s son died a hero’s death...or so she was told. Yet when Laramie “Coop” Cooper strolls into her exhibit at an art gallery three years later, he’s very much alive—and still making her pulse zing. The all-consuming chemistry between them is as undeniable now as it was then, but Bristol won’t risk her heart—or their son’s. Little does Bristol know he’s determined to win over his unexpected family at any cost!
A sexy smile touched the corners of his lips.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you.”
Bristol drew in a deep breath and stared at him. “I just can’t believe you are alive. Someone in the State Department checked into it and told me you’d died.”
“When was this?”
“A month after I last saw you.”
He nodded. “I was presumed dead, so the person was right. I was rescued just days before Christmas the following year.”
“That was a long time.”
“Yes, it was.” Only his close friends knew about the nightmares he’d had for months following his rescue. Nightmares he still had at times.
“Why were you trying to reach me, Bristol?”
Drawing in another deep breath, she met his gaze and said, “I wanted to let you know I was pregnant.”
* * *
His Secret Son
is part of The Westmoreland Legacy—
Friends and relatives of the legendary
Westmoreland family find love!
His Secret Son
Brenda Jackson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BRENDA JACKSON is a New York Times bestselling author of more than one hundred romance titles. Brenda lives in Jacksonville, Florida, and divides her time between family, writing and traveling.
Email Brenda at authorbrendajackson@gmail.com or visit her on her website at www.brendajackson.net (http://www.brendajackson.net).
To the man who will always and forever have my heart, Gerald Jackson Sr.
To Cozett Mazelin and Tamira K. Butler-Likely. Thanks for your assistance in my research of two-year-olds. Your information was invaluable and I hope I did the character of “Little Laramie” justice! I could tell from your responses that you are great moms!!
To my readers who continue to love my Westmorelands, this book is for you.
For none of us lives for ourselves alone, and none of us dies for ourselves alone.
—Romans 14:7, NIV
Contents
Cover (#ufe9104b7-4aef-53e6-9950-cb42582c18ee)
Back Cover Text (#u9751b497-4243-5407-9745-7274eebef7be)
Introduction (#u825007f5-23e6-5240-8526-4d0b85353003)
Title Page (#u47c4dafe-d024-50b1-8ba9-da9593e4f9a1)
About the Author (#uf898bd7b-e6a4-5833-b185-fa447805c87c)
Dedication (#u009cd277-69ad-5f72-bec2-381064825722)
Epigraph (#uee12a1a0-78a3-5c8f-8fd1-d643d1415a52)
Prologue (#u9b4e102b-6245-5fd4-bacd-6cb5a344270b)
One (#ua962d88e-17d4-5549-9f9d-7aa2b73045fa)
Two (#u5f17bb7e-df20-5b80-8b05-36b0062fbfb6)
Three (#u324c0ed0-6eb7-580c-adf5-90ca67d8103a)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ube58158b-e8a2-5bc9-81e5-8504e7cd5817)
Bristol Lockett hurriedly moved toward her front door, wondering who would be visiting this late in the afternoon. Although it was still light outside, this particular Paris community was on the other side of town from the famous city center, where most people hung out on Friday nights and weekends. Normally, she would be there herself, but her habits had changed in the last couple of months.
She was one of those pregnant women who experienced morning sickness in the morning and at night. Smells alone would send her running to the nearest bathroom. Most morning sickness lasted until the twelfth week of pregnancy. She was in her sixteenth week and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. Her doctor had even placed her on a special diet to make sure she was getting sufficient nutrients into her body for her baby.
A glance out the peephole indicated her visitor was her best friend, Dionne Burcet. She and Dionne had met when Bristol first arrived in Paris four years ago to attend Académie des Beaux-Arts, which was considered one of the most prestigious and influential art schools in all of France. Dionne also attended the art academy and with so much in common, they’d hit it off immediately.
Dionne, who’d been born in Paris, had introduced Bristol to French culture, and Bristol had taken Dionne home with her to America last Christmas to meet her aunt Dolly and to experience New Year’s Eve in New York. A feeling of sadness fell over Bristol whenever she remembered that was the last holiday she and her aunt had spent together. Her aunt, her only relative, had died a few days later in her sleep.
Bristol opened the door smiling. “Dionne! This is a surprise. I thought you were leaving for—”
“I have something to tell you, Bristol.”
Bristol heard the urgency in Dionne’s voice, which resonated in her eyes, as well. “Okay, come on in. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to make a pot.”
“Yes, thanks.”
Bristol wondered about Dionne’s strange demeanor as she led her friend to the kitchen, which wasn’t far from the front door. She loved her studio apartment. It was small but just the right size for her. And it held a lot of memories. Her baby was conceived here, in her bed. She would miss this place when she moved back to the United States next month after graduation.
“Sit and tell me what’s wrong. Did you and Mark have a fight?”
Dionne shook her head as she sat down at the table. “No. It’s not about me, it’s about you.”
“Me?” Bristol said in surprise.
“Yes. You remember what you shared with me last month?”
“Yes. I told you I was pregnant.” Telling Dionne hadn’t been easy but she’d felt the need to confide in someone. The baby’s father was a man she’d met one day at a café. He had been a US navy SEAL out with a few of his friends and he’d flirted with her outrageously. She’d done something she had never done before and flirted back. There had been something about Laramie Cooper that had made her behave like a different person and for the next three days, over the Christmas holidays, they had enjoyed a holiday fling. It was a period in her life she would never forget. Her pregnancy made certain of that.
“Yes, from that guy. The American soldier.”
“Not just a soldier, Dionne. Laramie was a navy SEAL,” Bristol said, smiling proudly.
“Yes, the navy SEAL Laramie Cooper,” Dionne said.
From the time they’d been introduced, Bristol had liked his name and he’d said he liked hers. Laramie had told her very little about his work or even about himself. She knew he was an only child and his parents were still living in the US. He hadn’t said where.
Bristol regretted that Dionne had been away visiting her grandparents in Marseille for the holidays and hadn’t been around to meet Laramie. She believed her friend would have liked him. “What about him?”
“You told me how the two of you spent time together over the holidays and since finding out you were pregnant, you’ve been trying to locate him to let him know.”
Since she’d known very little about Laramie, other than his name and age, she had mailed a letter to him in care of the US Navy. The letter had been returned weeks ago stamped UNABLE TO LOCATE.
“Yes, and like I told you, it doesn’t matter to me that our time together was a no-strings affair, I believe he has a right to know about his child. I refused to do to him what my mother did to my father.”
For years, Bristol never knew her father and, according to her mother, she never told her father about Bristol. It was information her mother had taken with her to the grave. It was only after her mother’s death that Bristol’s aunt Dolly had given her the man’s name. She had met Randall Lockett at sixteen. He had been surprised to find out about her and had welcomed her into his life.
“Yes, I know. That’s why I decided to help you.”
Bristol raised a brow. “Help me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Remember I told you about that guy—an American—I dated years ago? The one who worked at your embassy?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, he was recently reassigned back to the embassy here and I ran into him. I gave him your SEAL’s name and asked if he would try locating him and forwarding him a message to contact you.”
Happiness eased into Bristol and spread to all parts of her body. Although it might have been nothing more than a holiday fling for Laramie Cooper, it had been a lot more for her. She had fallen in love with him. “Was your friend able to find him?”
Dionne slowly nodded her head. “Yes.”
Bristol stared at her friend, knowing there was more. The happiness she felt earlier began dissipating at the sadness she saw in Dionne’s eyes. “What is it, Dionne? What did you find out?”
All sorts of things began rushing through her mind. What if Laramie hadn’t been the single man he’d claimed to be and had a wife and children somewhere? When Dionne didn’t say anything, but looked down at the cup of tea Bristol had placed in front of her, Bristol slouched her shoulders in disappointment. “I think I know why you’re hesitating in telling me.”
Dionne looked back at her. “Do you?”
“Yes. He’s married. Although he told me he wasn’t, you found out differently, didn’t you?”
“Bristol.”
“It doesn’t matter. He has a right to know about his child anyway. If he decides never to be a part of my baby’s life, it will be his decision and—”
“That’s not it, Bristol,” Dionne cut in to say.
Bristol frowned. “Then what is it?”
Dionne took a sip of her tea, hesitating. The dawdling was driving Bristol crazy. “For Pete’s sake, Dionne, will you just get it out and tell me what you found out about Laramie?”
Dionne held her gaze and drew in a deep breath. “Some mission he was on went bad and he was killed. He’s dead, Bristol.”
One (#ube58158b-e8a2-5bc9-81e5-8504e7cd5817)
The Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, San Diego, California, three years later
“Let me get this straight, Lieutenant Cooper. You actually want to give up your holiday leave and remain here and work on base?”
Laramie “Coop” Cooper forced his smile to stay in place while answering his commanding officer’s question. “Yes, sir. I actually want to do that.”
He wouldn’t tell anyone that he’d looked forward to going home for the holidays, because honestly, he hadn’t. The phone call he’d gotten from his parents that they would be jet-setting to London again this year was expected. They’d done so every holiday for as long as he could remember. He doubted they’d even canceled those plans that Christmas three years ago when they’d thought him dead.
At thirty-two, he had stopped letting his parents’ actions affect him. As far as Ryan and Cassandra Cooper were concerned, the universe revolved around them and nobody else. Especially not a son who, at times, they seemed to forget existed. It wasn’t that he thought his parents didn’t love him; he knew they did. They just loved each other more. He had long ago accepted that his parents believed there were different degrees of love, and that the love they shared for each other outweighed the love for their child.
In a way, he should be glad that after thirty-five years of marriage his parents were still that into each other. They shared something special, had this unbreakable bond, and some would even say it was the love of a lifetime. But on the other hand, that love never extended to him in the same degree. He knew their lack of affection had nothing to do with his deciding to become a navy SEAL instead of joining his parents’ multimillion-dollar manufacturing company. His father had understood Laramie’s desire to make his decisions based on what he wanted to do with his life, and he appreciated his dad for accepting that.
More holidays than not, for as far back as Laramie could remember, he’d been packed up and shipped off to his paternal grandparents’ ranch in Laredo. Not that he was complaining. His grandparents had been the best and hadn’t hesitated to show him the degree of love he’d lacked at home. In fact, he would admit to resenting his parents when they did show up at his grandparents’ ranch to get him.
So, here he was volunteering to give up his holiday leave. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t received invitations from his SEAL teammates to join them and their families for the holidays, because he had. Bane Westmoreland—code name Bane—had been the first to invite Laramie to spend the holidays with his family in Denver. But given the fact that Bane’s wife, Crystal, had given birth to triplets six months ago, Laramie didn’t want to get underfoot.
Same thing with Thurston McRoy—code name Mac—with his wife, Teri, and their four kids. Gavin Blake—code name Viper—would be celebrating his first Christmas as a married man so Laramie didn’t want to intrude there, either. The only other single guy in the group was David Holloway—code name Flipper. Flipper came from a huge family of four brothers, who were all SEALs, and a father who’d retired as a SEAL commanding officer. Laramie had spent the holidays with Flipper’s family last year and didn’t want to wear out his welcome.
“I’m denying your request, Lieutenant.”
His commanding officer’s words recaptured Laramie’s attention. He met the man’s gaze and tried to keep a frown off his face. “May I ask why, sir?”
“I think you know the reason. SEAL Team Six, of which you are a vital member, has been pretty damn busy this year. I don’t have to list all the covert operations successfully accomplished with very few casualties. You deserve your holiday leave.”
“Even if I don’t want to take it?”
His commanding officer held his gaze. “Yes, even if you don’t want to take it. Military leave is necessary, especially for a SEAL, to recoup both mentally and physically. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you’ve been pushing yourself. It’s like you’re trying to make up for the time you were a captive in Syria.”
Laramie remembered all eleven months of being held prisoner in that guerilla hellhole. He hadn’t known from one day to the next if he’d survive that day. The bastards had done everything in their power to make him think every day would be his last. They’d even played Russian roulette with him a couple of times.
It was on one of those particular days when he’d been rescued. Leave it to Bane, who was a master sniper, to bring down the four men from a distance of over a hundred feet. Laramie was convinced there was no way he would have survived if his SEAL team hadn’t shown up.
During those eleven months he’d fought hard to stay sane and the one memory that had sustained him was the face of the woman he’d met in Paris just weeks before the mission.
Bristol Lockett.
It had been a three-day holiday affair. Sadly, there was little he knew about her other than sharing her bed had been the best sexual experience of his life.
“However, since I know you’re going to insist,” his commanding officer said, reclaiming Laramie’s thoughts again, “I’ve got an important job that I want you to do. However, it means traveling to New York.”
Laramie raised a brow. “New York?”
“Yes. An important delivery needs to be made to a member of the United Nations Security Council.”
Laramie wondered what kind of delivery. Classified documents no doubt.
He’d heard how beautiful Manhattan was when it was decorated for this time of year. He’d been to the Big Apple a number of times, but never around the holidays. “Once I make the delivery, sir. Then what?”
“That, Lieutenant, is up to you. If you decide to take your holiday leave, then you won’t have to report back here until the end of January as scheduled. However, if you still want to give up your leave, then you’re free to come back here and I’ll find more work for you to do.”
Laramie nodded. He might take a week off to enjoy the sights and sounds of New York, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would be returning to San Diego for more work.
* * *
Bristol glanced around the art gallery. She always felt a sense of pride and accomplishment whenever she saw one of her paintings on display. Especially here at the Jazlyn Art Gallery of New York. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
She had worked so hard for this moment.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?”
She glanced up at her manager, Margie Townsend. “Yes, I have to admit that it does.”
Margie’s tenacious pit bull–like skills had landed Bristol a showing at this gallery, one of the most well-known and highly respected galleries in New York. She and Margie had met last year on the subway and struck up a conversation. When Bristol discovered what Margie did for a living, she felt their chance encounter must have been an omen. She’d invited Margie to her home to see her work, and the excitement reflected in the woman’s eyes had been incredible. Margie promised to change Bristol’s life. She promised that Bristol would get to the point where she could quit her job as an assistant magazine editor and make her living as the artist she was born to be.
Less than eight months later, Margie had sold one of Bristol’s paintings. The buyer had been so taken with her work that he’d also purchased several others. The money had been enough to bring about the change in Bristol’s life Margie had guaranteed. She had turned in her resignation and now painted full-time in her home.
Bristol was happy with the direction of her career. She got to spend more time with her son since she kept him with her every day instead of taking him to day care like she used to do.
Her son.
She smiled when she thought about her rambunctious two-year old—the most important person in her life. He was her life. Every decision she made was done with him in mind. She’d already started a college fund for him and couldn’t wait to share the holidays with him. Last night they had put up their Christmas tree. Correction, she thought, widening her smile. She had put up the tree. Laramie had gotten in the way with his anxiousness to help.
Laramie...
It was hard not to think of Laramie’s father whenever she thought of her son. She had named him after his biological father, Laramie Cooper, who had died way too young, and without knowing about the child they’d created together. Sometimes she wondered what he would have done had he lived and gotten the letter she’d tried to send him.
Would he have been just as happy as she’d been? Or would he have claimed the child wasn’t his? She might not have known Laramie Cooper long, but she wanted to believe he was a man who would have wanted to be a part of his child’s life. The way her father had wanted to be a part of hers. The two years she’d shared with the man who’d fathered her had not been enough.
“Are you ready to go? You have a big day tomorrow and I want you well rested.”
She chuckled as she tightened her coat around her. “And I will be.”
Margie rolled her eyes. “I guess as much as you can be with a two-year-old running around the place.”
She knew what Margie was hinting at. Bristol was spending less and less time painting now that Laramie was in the terrible twos. It was also the get-into-everything twos. The only time she really got to paint was during his nap time or while he slept at night.
“Did you give any more thought to what I said?”
Margie had suggested that she send Laramie to day care two to three days a week. “Yes, but I’m thinking of hiring someone to come to my home instead of me having to take him somewhere.”
“That might work, but he has to start learning to interact with other kids, Bristol.” As they walked toward the waiting private car that was compliments of the gallery, Margie changed the subject. “Have you decided to go out with Steven?”
Bristol shrugged. Steven Culpepper was nice enough, and good-looking, too. However, he was moving too fast. At least, faster than she liked. They’d met a few weeks ago when she’d closed a huge deal for a commissioned piece. He was the corporation’s attorney. He’d asked for her number and, without thinking much about it, she’d given it to him. Since then he’d called constantly, trying to get her to go out with him. So far, she hadn’t. She hated pushy men and Steven, she thought, was one of the pushiest.
“No.”
“I like him.”
Bristol grinned. “You would. You have a thing for wealthy businessmen.” She knew Margie had been married to one. Or two. She was on her third marriage and not even fifty yet. But the one thing all three men had in common was the size of their bank accounts.
“Well, I know you still have a thing for Laramie’s father and—”
“What makes you think that?”
“Bristol, you make it quite obvious that you haven’t gotten over him.”
Did she? The only thing she’d told Margie about Laramie’s father was that he’d been in the military and had died in the line of duty without knowing he’d fathered a son. She’d even fabricated a tale that Laramie had been her deceased husband and not just her lover.
It had been pretty easy. Dionne’s fiancé, Mark, had helped. Mark worked for a judge in Paris and had falsified the papers before Bristol left France. It was a way to make sure her son had his father’s last name without people wondering why her last name was different. It wasn’t as if she was trying to cash in on her son’s father’s military benefits or anything.
“If you ask me, I think you should finally move on...with Steven,” Margie said, interrupting Bristol’s thoughts.
Bristol wanted to say that nobody had asked Margie. But deep down, a part of her knew Margie was right. It was time for Bristol to move on. However, she doubted very seriously that it would be with Steven.
A short while later she was entering her home, a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn that she’d inherited from her aunt Dolly. She loved the place and knew the neighborhood well. She’d come to live here with her aunt ten years ago, when she was fifteen. That had been the year her mother died.
She didn’t want to think sad thoughts, especially after her positive meeting with Maurice Jazlyn, the owner of the gallery. The man was excited about tomorrow night’s showing and expected a huge crowd. He loved all the artworks she would be exhibiting.
“How did things go tonight?”
She turned toward the older woman coming down the stairs to the main floor. Charlotte Kramer lived next door and had been a close friend of her aunt Dolly. With her four kids grown and living in other parts of New York, Ms. Charlotte had thought about moving to a condo not far away, but had decided she’d rather stay put since she’d lived in the area close to forty years and loved her neighbors. Ms. Charlotte said there were a lot of memories of Mr. Kramer stored in that house. He’d passed away eight years ago, a couple of years after Bristol had come to live with her aunt.
Bristol appreciated that Ms. Charlotte loved watching Laramie for her whenever she had meetings to attend. And Ms. Charlotte had offered to watch him again tomorrow night when Bristol attended the exhibition.
“Everything went well. Everyone is excited about tomorrow. Mr. Jazlyn thinks he’ll be able to sell all my paintings.”
A huge smile touched Ms. Charlotte’s lips. “That’s good news. Dolly would be proud. Candace would be, too.”
She doubted the latter. Her mother had never approved of Bristol becoming an artist. It was only after she died that Bristol learned why. Her father had been an artist who’d broken things off with her mother to study in Paris. It was only after he’d left the country that her mother discovered her pregnancy. She’d known how to reach him but refused to let him know about his child. She had resented him for ending things with her to pursue his dream.
Bristol had been sixteen when she’d met her father for the first time. She would not have met him then if it hadn’t been for her aunt’s decision to break the promise she’d made to Bristol’s mother years ago. Aunt Dolly wanted Bristol to know her father and vice versa. When Bristol was given the man’s name, she had been shocked to find that the person whose art she’d admired for years was really her father.
She’d finally gotten the courage to contact him on her sixteenth birthday. Randall Lockett was married with a family when they’d finally met. He had two young sons—ages ten and twelve—with his wife Krista. Bristol was his only daughter and she favored him so much it was uncanny. She was also his only offspring who’d inherited his artistic gift.
When he’d died, he had bequeathed to her full tuition to the school he himself had attended in Paris as well as the vast majority of his paintings. He’d felt she would appreciate them more than anyone, and she had. She’d heard that Krista had remarried and sold off all the artworks that had been left to her and their sons.
Paintings by Randall Lockett were valued in the millions. Art collectors had contacted Bristol on numerous occasions, but she had refused to sell. Instead her father’s paintings were on display at the two largest art museums in the world, New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Orsay Museum in Paris.
A few months before her father had died, they had completed a painting together, which was her most cherished possession. It was so uncanny that when it came to art she and her father had possessed identical preferences. They even held their brushes the same way. On those days when she felt down and out, she would look at the portrait over her fireplace and remember the six weeks they’d spent together on his boat while painting it. That was when they’d noticed all the similarities they shared as artists. She hadn’t known he was dying of cancer until his final days. He hadn’t wanted her to know. He was determined to share every moment he could with her without seeing pity and regret in her eyes.
Forcing those sad thoughts from her mind, she glanced back over at Ms. Charlotte. “Did Laramie behave himself tonight?” she asked, placing her purse on the table.
The older woman chuckled. “Doesn’t he always?”
Bristol smiled. “No, but I know you wouldn’t tell me even if he was a handful.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t. Boys will be boys. I know. I raised four of them.”
Yes, she had, and to this day Ms. Charlotte’s sons looked out for her, making sure she had everything she needed and then some.
After Ms. Charlotte left, Bristol climbed the stairs to her son’s room. He was in his bed, sound asleep. Crossing the bedroom floor, she saw he had put away all his toys. That was a good sign that he was learning to follow instructions.
Approaching the bed, she sat on the edge and gently ran her fingers through the curls on his head. He favored his father. Laramie Cooper’s features were etched in her memory. Whenever Laramie smiled, he displayed his father’s dimples in both cheeks. Then there was the shape of his mouth and the slant of his eyes. Like father, like son. There was no doubt in her mind that one day Laramie would grow up and capture some woman’s heart just as quickly and easily as his father had claimed hers.
As she sat there watching her son sleep, she couldn’t stop her mind from going back to that time in Paris when she’d met US Navy SEAL Laramie Cooper...
Two (#ube58158b-e8a2-5bc9-81e5-8504e7cd5817)
Paris, France, three years ago
Bristol glanced up from her sketch pad when she heard the male voices entering the café. Military men. All five of them. That was easy to deduce, even though they weren’t wearing military attire. They were wearing jeans, shirts and dark leather jackets. The five walked confidently and were in perfect physical condition. Boy, were they ever! She wondered what branch of service they represented. It really didn’t matter. Whichever one branch it was, they were representing it well.
The group took the table not far away from where she sat and one of the men, as if he felt someone staring at him, glanced over at her. Bam! She’d been caught. She hadn’t averted her gaze back to her sketch pad quickly enough. For some reason, she knew without glancing back up that he was still looking at her. She could feel his gaze, just as if it was a physical caress. It made her heart beat faster. It seemed that every single hormone in her body had begun to sizzle. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before.
Okay, Bristol, concentrate on your sketch, she inwardly admonished herself. Her father hadn’t paid her tuition at one of the most prestigious art schools in France for her to get all hot and bothered by a bunch of military men. Although the five were extremely handsome, it was only one of the men who had caught her eye. The one who’d stared back at her.
“Excuse me, miss.”
She glanced up and the man was now standing at her table. Up close he was even more gorgeous. Definitely eye candy of the most delectable kind. Hot. Sexy. You name it and this man could definitely claim it. That had to be the reason intense heat was plowing up her spine.
Bristol swallowed deeply before saying, “Yes?”
“I was wondering if...”
When he didn’t finish but kept looking at her, she asked. “Wondering what?”
“If I could join you?”
She wished he could but unfortunately, he couldn’t. She glanced at her watch then back at him. “Sorry, but I work here and happen to be on my lunch break, which will end in less than five minutes.”
“What time do you get off today?”
She tilted her head to look at him. “Excuse me?”
“I asked what time you get off today. I’ll wait.”
She figured that he had to be kidding, but the look in his eyes showed that he wasn’t. “I get off in four hours.”
“I’ll wait. What’s your name?”
This guy was definitely moving fast. But she couldn’t ignore the scorching hot attraction between them, even if she wanted to. And for some reason, she didn’t want to. She liked it.
“My name is Bristol Lockett.”
“The name Bristol is unusual. It suits you well. I like it.”
And she liked his voice. It was deep and husky. The sound made heat curl inside her. OMG! What on earth was wrong with her? She’d never thought such outlandish things in her life. She might not have always been prim and proper but she’d been pretty close to it. She’d been in Paris close to four years and although she’d dated, most of the time she did not. She preferred curling up with her sketch pad and working on her watercolors than going out with any man. But now this ultrafine specimen was making her rethink that decision.
“Are you American or French?”
She blinked at his question. “I’m American.”
“So am I.”
She smiled. And what a good-looking American he was, with a body to die for. She felt as if she could draw her last breath just from looking at him. This guy was tall, at least six foot two or three. And his skin was the color of lightly roasted almonds. His dark eyes appeared somewhat slanted, and as far as she was concerned his lips were perfectly shaped. His hair was cut low on his head and his ears were just the right size for his face. But what captured her attention more than anything were those dimples in his cheeks. Doing absolutely nothing but standing there, he was arousing something within her that no other man ever had.
“And who are you?” she asked, deciding not to let him ask all the questions.
“I’m Laramie,” he said, stretching out his hand to her.
She took it and immediately a spike of heat seemed to burst from his fingers and hit her dead center between the thighs. And when she stared into his eyes and saw the dark heat in his pupils, she knew he’d felt something, as well.
“Are you married, Laramie?”
“No. I’ve never been married. What about you? I approached you because I didn’t see a ring on your finger.”
At least he didn’t hit on married women. Some men didn’t care. “No, I’m not married, either, and never have been.”
“So, Bristol Lockett, do I have your permission?”
She licked her lips. “For what?”
That sexy smile widened. “To be here when you get off.”
Then what? she wondered but decided not to ask. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”
His chuckle made desire claw at her but it was his next words that sealed her fate. “There are a lot of things I want when it comes to you, Bristol.”
Jeez. If he wasn’t standing there she would close her eyes and moan. This man presented a temptation she shouldn’t even think about yielding to. Too bad her best friend, Dionne, was out of town for the holidays and not around to talk some sense into her.
“What about if we share a drink at one of the pubs first?” she asked, and then frowned. Why had she made it sound as if she would be willing to move to the next stage once they shared a drink?
“That’s fine. I’ll be back in four hours.”
When he walked off she glanced at her watch. Her break was officially over but she knew her encounter with this military man was just beginning.
She hurried behind the counter to put on her apron while watching Mary-Ann, another waitress, head over to the table to serve the five guys. More people entered the café, and Bristol was about to cross the room to serve a couple with a little girl when Mary-Ann stopped her.
“They asked for you,” Mary-Ann said, smiling.
“Who?”
“Those soldiers. I’ve given them menus but they want you to serve their table. That’s fine with me. Then I don’t have to commit a sin by forgetting I’ve been married to Joel almost twenty years. Those five are too much temptation,” she said, fanning herself. “I hope you can handle it.”
Bristol hoped she could handle it as well, as she made her way to the table where all five men sat. Hot and heavy testosterone was thick in the air surrounding them. Drawing in a deep breath she approached them with her notepad in hand. “Have you guys decided what you’re having?”
“Apparently, Coop has,” one of the men said, grinning at her. “We’re still deciding.”
She nodded. “Okay, and who is Coop?”
“I am,” the guy who had introduced himself to her earlier said.
She met his gaze. “I thought your name was Laramie.”
He smiled again and she tried not to feel weak in the knees. “It is. My real name is Laramie Cooper. They call me Coop.”
“Oh.”
“Let me introduce everyone,” Laramie said. “First off, guys, this is Bristol,” he said to his friends.
“Hello, Bristol,” they all said simultaneously as they stood to their feet, showing they had manners.
“Hello.”
“I’m Bane,” one of the men said, extending his hand to her.
She smiled at the very handsome military man as she shook his hand. “Hi, Bane.”
“Is that a New York accent?” Bane asked.
“Yes, you would think after being in France for almost four years it would not be so easily detected.”
Bane’s smile widened. “Some things you can’t get rid of.”
“Apparently,” she said, chuckling.
“I’m Flipper,” another one of the guys said, offering his hand. He was definitely a hottie, with blond hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. The color reminded her of the ocean and she wondered if that was why his nickname was Flipper.
“Nice meeting you, Flipper,” she said, shaking his hand, as well.
“Same here, Bristol.”
“I’m Mac,” another one of the men said, leaning across to take her hand. This man appeared older than the others by at least three or four years.
“Hi, Mac.”
“And I’m Viper.”
She glanced at the man who introduced himself as Viper. He was taller than the others and just as handsome. His eyes seemed sharp and penetrating. “Hi, Viper,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Hi, Bristol,” Viper returned, smiling.
“And you know me,” Laramie said, taking her hand.
And just like before, a spike of heat hit her. “Yes, I know you.” She quickly pulled her hand away. “It’s nice meeting all of you and I like all your nicknames,” she said as the men all sat back down.
Bane chuckled. “They aren’t nicknames. They’re our military code names.”
“Oh. And what branch of the military?”
“We’re navy SEALs,” the one named Flipper said, grinning proudly.
He had every right to feel that way. She’d heard about navy SEALs. Some considered them the American government’s secret weapon against any enemy force.
“So, Laramie, I’ll start with you. What will you have?” she asked, getting ready to write on her notepad.
“For now I’ll take a juicy hamburger, a large order of French fries and a huge malted strawberry shake.”
For now? She wondered what he planned to have later. From the way he was looking at her, she had an idea. And why didn’t realizing this guy evidently thought she was on his menu bother her?
Bristol went around the table and took everyone’s order. Apparently all five were big eaters and she wondered where they would put all that food and how they stayed in such great physical shape. After turning their orders in to the cook, she began waiting on other tables, but felt the heat of Laramie’s gaze on her the entire time. Every time she glanced over in his direction, he was staring at her. Blatantly so.
Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea for her to agree to have a drink with him when she got off work. She knew nothing about him, other than his name was Laramie Cooper, his military code name was Coop, he loved juicy hamburgers and he was a navy SEAL.
She delivered their food a short while later and watched them eat all of it. She could tell that the five were more than just members of the same military team. They shared a close friendship. That much was obvious from the way they joked around with each other.
Mac was married and had no problem showing her pictures of his wife and kids. It was evident he was proud of them. Bane, she’d discovered, was also married, but from the way the others teased him she could only assume he hadn’t seen his wife in a while, which meant the two were separated. Like Laramie, Viper and Flipper were single and from the sound of things they intended to stay that way.
At the end of the meal when they paid their bill, she was shocked at the tip they left her. She would not normally have earned that much tip money in a week. “Thanks, guys.”
“No, we want to thank you,” Flipper said standing, like the others. “It was nice meeting you, Bristol, and the food was great.”
The others shared the same sentiments as they moved to leave the café. Laramie hung back. “I’ll be here when you get off work.”
She knew now was a good time to tell him that she’d changed her mind about that. However, there was something about Laramie Cooper that made her hold back from doing so. It might have been his smile, or the way he was making her feel, or just the fact that she deserved to have some fun for a change.
For four years she had worked hard at the art academy and come spring she would be graduating. The café would be closing for the holidays and she had the next ten days off work. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing wrong with Laramie being there when she got off. They would just grab drinks at one of the pubs nearby. Besides, after today, she probably wouldn’t see him again.
“I’ll be waiting,” she heard herself say.
She didn’t have to wait. Laramie arrived a half hour before she was due to leave work. He ordered a croissant and coffee while he waited for her. She hung up her apron, wished everyone a Merry Christmas and then headed toward the table where he sat. He stood, smiling down at her.
“Ready?” he asked her.
“Yes” was her reply, although she wasn’t sure what he had in mind and if she should be ready or not.
He surprised her by taking her hand, as if they both needed to feel the sexual chemistry between them. He led her through the doors and onto the sidewalk. Holiday decorations were everywhere. It was hard to believe tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Last year she had gone home for Christmas and had taken her best friend, Dionne, with her. But not this year. Her aunt Dolly had died in her sleep four days into the New Year.
She needed to stop thinking that she didn’t have any living relatives when she had two brothers and a stepmother. She knew they’d only tolerated her while her father was alive and now, with him gone, they had let her know—by not returning her calls or letters—that they didn’t have to put up with her anymore. That was fine. She’d adjusted to being a loner. At least she had Dionne and Dionne’s family. The thought had even crossed Bristol’s mind that she should not return to the United States after graduation and make Paris her home.
“Which pub are we going to?” she asked the man who was walking beside her and still holding her hand.
He smiled down at her. “Which one do you suggest?”
“Charlie’s is a good one. It’s right around the corner.”
They didn’t say much as they walked to the pub. They talked about the holidays. He told her that he and his team would be headed out in four days and they were in Paris for a little R and R.
“Your friends are nice,” she said.
He smiled down at her as they continued walking. “They said the same thing about you.”
She smiled at that, while trying to ignore all that desire she saw in his eyes. She figured if they kept talking it would go away. “The five of you seem close.”
“We are. In fact, we’re like brothers. Viper, Flipper, Bane and I attended the naval academy together and immediately became the best of friends. Mac is four years older and finished the academy ahead of us. He’s been a SEAL longer and likes to think he’s looking out for us.”
They reached the pub and saw it was crowded with no tables available. It seemed everyone had decided to begin celebrating the holidays early. “I have an idea,” Laramie said, tightening his hand on hers.
“What?”
“Let’s go someplace private.”
An uneasy feeling crept over her, but it was overpowered by exciting sensations that settled in her stomach. Their hands were still joined and his fingers felt warm and reassuring.
“I want to be honest with you about something.”
She swallowed. “About what?”
“Usually I spend the holidays alone, but I want to spend them with you.”
She held his gaze a minute and then asked, “What about your friends?”
“They’ll be in touch with their families.”
“But you won’t?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment and then he said, “My parents are still alive. I’m their only child. But we’ve never spent the holidays together.”
She found that odd. Christmas was the one holiday she never had to worry about being alone. Her mother had always made it special and after her mother’s death, her aunt Dolly had been there for her. She’d even spent one Christmas with her father. It had been the first and last holiday they’d spent together. This would be the first Christmas that she had no one. She thought it sad that Laramie had never really spent his holidays with family.
She saw the sincerity in his eyes, in what he’d told her. He wasn’t trying to feed her a pity line but was telling her the truth. She felt it in her heart.
“I can think of a place we can go,” she suggested.
“Where?”
She knew it would be crazy to invite him, a perfect stranger to her home, but she was about to issue the invitation. “My place. It’s not far from here. Just so happens I was going to be alone for the holidays as well and would love some company.”
His hand tightened on hers. “You sure?”
Was she? She had never done anything so daring in her life.
She wasn’t a child. She knew the obvious signs. Desire was thick between them. Spontaneous combustion as volatile as it could get. She dated infrequently and most guys who’d hit on her had tried to work her. But she would say that Laramie was the first guy who’d tried and managed to elicit her interest. He was also the first guy she was trusting to this degree. She had never invited a man to her home before. There had to be a reason for her doing so now.
“Yes. I’m sure,” she said.
From the way his lips spread into a smile, she knew her response had pleased him. “All right then. Lead the way.”
That smile made her heart miss a beat as they continued to walk along the sidewalk. Like she’d told him, she didn’t live far and they arrived at her studio apartment in no time. “It’s small,” she said, opening the door. “But it’s the right size for me.”
She stepped aside and he entered. She immediately thought her apartment might be just the right size for her, but with him inside it, it suddenly appeared small.
“Nice place,” he said, glancing around.
Bristol was glad she was a neat freak. There was nothing out of place. “There’s a bottle of wine over there if you want to pour us a glass,” she said, removing her coat and hanging it in one of the closets.
“Okay,” he said, removing his jacket. She took it and hung it in the closet, as well. She tried not to notice how perfect his abs were and what a broad chest he had. She also tried not to notice the sexual chemistry between them, which had increased now that they were alone and behind closed doors.
“Do you need to let your friends know where you are? Won’t they be worried when you don’t return to your hotel?” she asked him.
He shook his head as he grabbed the wine bottle and glasses off the rack. “No. They’ll figure things out.”
“Okay.” She sat down at the table while he poured the wine into their glasses. And then he joined her there. “I know this isn’t champagne but let’s make a toast.”
“To what?”
“To what I believe will be the best holiday I’ve ever had.”
Deep down she believed it would be the best she ever had, too. Their glasses clinked and then they took a sip. She met his gaze over the rim and immediately, a deep sexual hunger flared to life in her midsection. From the hot, penetrating look in his eyes, the same hunger hit him, as well.
Bristol placed her glass down the same moment he did. And then he stood and reached out to her. She went into his arms willingly and he lowered his head and captured her mouth in his. The moment she felt his lips on hers, a deep, drugging rush of desire filled her to the core.
He was using his tongue in the most provocative way, making shivers of need course through every part of her. She had never been kissed like this before and he was an expert.
He deepened the kiss and her mouth became locked to his. She couldn’t hold back the moan that erupted from deep within her throat. Nor could she hold back the sensations overtaking her. She had been kissed before, but never like this. Never with this much possession, this much overwhelming power.
Moments later he ended the kiss and pulled back slightly to look down at her. A sexy smile touched the corners of his lips and the arms around her tightened, bringing her closer to him. “I wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you. I had a deep yearning to know how you tasted.”
Wow! She wasn’t used to having such carnal conversations with a man. “Is that why you kissed me the way you did just now?”
“Partly.”
“And the other reason?”
“I just wanted the feel of my tongue in your mouth.”
And then as if he hadn’t gotten enough of doing that the last time, he lowered his head and captured her mouth again. On a breathless moan she parted her lips, giving him the opening he needed. He slid his tongue inside, mating it with hers, over and over again.
When he finally released her mouth, she looked up at him with glazed eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked, barely able to get the words out. Never had a kiss left her so off balance.
“Starting our celebration of the holidays.”
She could feel blood rushing through her veins with his words. She hadn’t expected this so soon. She figured they would share a drink today and then tomorrow he could come back for lunch. But it seemed he had other plans, plans she was giving in to. She couldn’t help it. So many sexual sensations were taking over her mind and body just from his kiss. She knew there was no way she could stop from wanting him. He sealed her fate when he began kissing her again and she felt herself being lifted into his arms.
He was carrying her someplace and she knew where when he placed her on the bed. What happened next was amazing. In record time he had removed both of their clothes, as if needing to be skin to skin with her was paramount. As if needing to see her naked body was essential.
In a way she understood, since seeing him standing there without a stitch of clothing was doing something to her, as well. He represented such virility and masculinity, and coiling arousal was throbbing deep in her core. Never had she wanted to make love to someone so badly. Never had she felt this filled with need. And she could tell from his huge erection that he wanted her. His desire for her was obvious.
She watched as he put on a condom before heading back to the bed. She reached out and glided her hands up his tight, sculpted abdomen and chest, loving the feel of his skin. Heat curled inside her with the contact.
“You touch me and I will touch you,” he warned, grazing his jaw against her ear, while growling low in his throat. It amazed her that he would respond to her touch this way.
“I want you to touch me, Laramie.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said that. But there was something about Laramie Cooper that she didn’t understand. Namely, how he could make her lose her common sense. How he could make her nerves dance and her brain race. How he had the ability to make her want to have things she’d done without in the past. And how he made her want him with a passion.
She needed to make him aware of something. Make him understand and she heard herself saying, “I’ve never brought a man here before.”
She felt the intensity of his gaze all over her body.
“There’s a first time for everything, don’t you think?” he replied, slowly moving back toward the bed.
With each step he took, she felt her womb contract. He was staring at her with dark, penetrating eyes and her body heated under his intense regard. She’d never had a one-night stand in her life. Always thought she was above that. But at that moment the only thing she wanted was this man, who had the ability to mess with her mind and senses.
There was something else she needed to tell him and it was best if she did it now. “Laramie?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not on any type of birth control.”
If she thought that revelation would stop him dead in his tracks, she’d been wrong. He kept moving toward her. “I have condoms. Plenty of them. Around a dozen or so. And if we need more we’ll get them,” he told her.
Get more? Did he honestly think they would use more than a dozen? Her heart began beating way too fast as she wondered just what kind of stamina he had. Would she be able to keep up?
She was about to find out.
He joined her on the bed and began kissing her again while touching her all over. Sexual excitement churned inside her, sending an intense throb through her veins. She slipped her arms around his muscled back, loving the manly feel of him.
“I’m dying to taste you,” he whispered, just moments before shifting his body to place his head between her legs.
She gripped tight to his shoulders as she felt his hot tongue inside her, stroking and licking. He was unwavering in his determination to taste her like he wanted. Sensations she’d never experienced before rushed through her and instinctively, she made sinfully erotic movements with her hips against his mouth.
Over and over he laved her womanly core with greedy intent, making her whisper his name over and over. Suddenly, her body exploded like a volcano erupting and she surrendered to the pleasure he’d given her.
Before the last spasm left her body, he had shifted to position his body over hers, and then she felt him enter her, stretching her to accommodate his size. She inhaled the scent of him—the scent of them—and then used her tongue to lick his shoulder, needing to taste the texture of his skin.
He pushed his shaft as deep inside her as he could go and then he locked their legs together. He began moving, thrusting back and forth, in and out. He established a rhythm that sent sexual undercurrents all through her body.
He looked down at her, held her gaze as he made love to her. She clung to him, holding tight to his shoulders as if they were a lifeline. His languid, deep, hard thrusts were driving her over the edge and making every nerve ending in her body zing brutally to life.
He threw his head back and growled her name as he continued to make love to her, indulging her with his words. Her skin sizzled where their bodies connected and the more he stroked inside her, the more her body awakened to the aching hunger he was feeding.
And then he called her name again. Together they were slammed with another orgasm. He gathered her in his arms, touched the side of her face with his fingers as they rode the tidal waves of ecstasy together.
The next morning it had felt odd waking up with a man in her bed. They had made love practically all evening, only to get up around eight and eat some of the soup she’d made the day before with French bread. Then they had gotten back in bed and made love all over again. All through the night.
No personal information was exchanged. None was needed. She knew the next three days would be considered one and done. Chances were, they would never see each other again. They were taking advantage of the now.
“You’re awake?”
She glanced over at him and saw desire in the depths of his dark eyes. “Yes, I’m awake.”
“Good.”
He got out of bed to put on a condom then returned to her. “And what if I wanted breakfast first?” she asked, grinning.
He grinned back. “And do you want breakfast first?”
She shook her head. “No. I want you, Laramie.”
And she did want him. She had to keep telling herself this was just sex and nothing more. When he left here the day after Christmas he wouldn’t be coming back, nor would they stay in touch. The only thing she would have were her memories. Regardless, she could not and would not ever regret any time spent with him.
After making love that morning they dressed and went out to grab breakfast. He surprised her with his suggestion that they get a Christmas tree. That meant they had to purchase ornaments, as well. He refused to let her pay for anything. Like kids, they rushed back to the house and decorated the tree. Their tree.
Since most restaurants were closed for the holidays, she decided to prepare Christmas dinner for them. That meant grocery shopping, which she told him she wanted to do alone. She knew from their earlier shopping trip how he liked to spend money and she wanted Christmas dinner to be her treat.
When she returned to her apartment he was waiting for her. The minute she opened the door and glanced over at him, heated sexual attraction consumed them. She couldn’t put her grocery bags down fast enough before he was ripping off her clothes, making love to her against the refrigerator.
He surprised her on Christmas Day with a gift, a beautiful scarf and a pair of earrings. The gift touched her deeply. He’d apparently gone shopping when she left to get groceries.
She surprised him with a gift, as well. A pair of gloves, since she’d noticed his were well-worn. He said he enjoyed Christmas dinner, but most of Christmas was spent in bed making love rather than eating.
The next morning, the day after Christmas, she awoke to find him dressed and ready to go. Ready to walk out of her life. She hadn’t expected it to be so hard, but it was. She knew she had fallen in love with him. Not with the sex but with the man.
He kissed her deeply, wished her the best in her artistic dreams and thanked her for making this one of the best holidays for him, ever. And then he turned and walked out the door...without looking back.
She’d quickly gotten up and stood at the window to watch him leave. He’d called a cab and, as if he’d known she would be there at the window, before getting into the cab he looked over his shoulder, saw her, blew her a kiss and then waved goodbye.
She blew him a kiss and waved back. And as the cab drove away she knew at that moment that Laramie Cooper had taken a piece of her heart with him.
Three (#ube58158b-e8a2-5bc9-81e5-8504e7cd5817)
New York, present day
“I’m glad you guys are finding this entire thing amusing,” Laramie said as he moved around the hotel room to dress. He had placed the mobile call on speaker while engaging in a five-way conversation with his teammates.
“Hey, Coop, we can’t help but think it’s pretty damn funny,” Bane Westmoreland said. “I can just imagine the look on your face when you discovered what you were delivering to that member of the Security Council wasn’t top secret documents like you thought, but her pet cockatiel.”
Laramie couldn’t help but smile as he slid on a T-shirt. “No, Bane, you can’t imagine.”
“Well, just think positive,” David Holloway said. “You got a free trip to New York.”
“Damn, Flipper, it’s cold as the dickens here. I prefer California weather,” Laramie said.
“Stop whining, Coop,” Gavin Blake said, laughing.
“Kiss it, Viper.”
And then he said, “Hey, Mac? You still with us? You’re kind of quiet.”
“I’m still here,” Thurston McRoy said. “I’m trying to keep up with you guys and watch the game, too. In case none of you realized, it’s Thursday night football.”
That led to a conversation about their predictions for what team would make it to the Super Bowl. By the time Laramie had ended the call, he was completely dressed and ready to leave.
And go where? He figured that since he had a taste for a juicy hamburger, he would grab a meal at Xavier’s. Flipper had recommended he dine there and said he wouldn’t be disappointed.
A short while later, Laramie entered the restaurant and was shown to a table. It was busy and there had been a fifteen-minute wait but he didn’t mind. This wasn’t his first visit to Times Square, but he did note a lot of changes since he was here last.
“What would you like tonight?”
He glanced up at the waitress. No one could credit him with being slow and he immediately knew the double meaning behind her question. “A menu would be nice,” he said, hoping that would defuse any ideas she had.
Maybe another time, but not tonight. He just wasn’t feeling it. He chuckled and wondered if he was running a fever. There hadn’t been too many times when he’d turned down sex. And there was no doubt in his mind the woman was offering.
“I’ll make sure you get a menu...as well as anything else you might want,” she said, smiling.
He smiled back. “Thanks. The menu will do for now and a beer.”
She walked off and returned with the menu and his beer. “Thanks.”
“You can thank me later.” Then she sashayed off.
He wondered why he wasn’t taking advantage of those curves and long gorgeous legs. His excuse had to be that this place sort of reminded him of that café in Paris. The one where Bristol worked.
Bristol.
He’d been thinking about her a lot lately. Maybe because it was around this time—during the holiday season three years ago when they’d met. Whatever the reason, Bristol Lockett was on his mind.
After his rescue from Syria, one of the first places he’d gone had been to Paris to see her, a woman he hadn’t meant to ever see again. But something had compelled him to seek her out, only to be told by the manager of the apartment complex where she’d lived that she had returned to the United States a couple of years ago and had not left a forwarding address.
When he noticed the waitress looking over at him, he decided to place his order, eat and then leave. He wasn’t up for any female company tonight and didn’t want the woman to get any ideas.
An hour or so later, he left the restaurant a pretty satisfied man. The food had been delicious but he’d had a hard time deflating the waitress’s flirtation. By the end of his meal, she’d all but placed her apartment key in his hand.
Instead of catching a cab back to his hotel room, he decided to walk off the hamburger and fries he’d eaten. Although he’d complained earlier about the cold weather, it really wasn’t too bad. He’d endured worse. Like that time his team had that mission in the Artic.
He was about to cross the street when a sign ahead stopped him. It was an art gallery and the poster said:
TONIGHT
SPECIAL SHOWING OF ART BY BRISTOL
Bristol...
He shook his head. He was losing it. He hadn’t thought Bristol was a common name. Was it?
What if it wasn’t? Could it be his Bristol?
He dismissed the idea that Bristol was his. She was merely a woman he’d had a three-day fling with while relaxing in Paris before a mission.
Merely a woman he hadn’t been able to forget in three years.
The name was unusual. He’d told her so when they’d met. He knew she was an artist. She’d shown him some of her art.
There was no way she could be here.
But then, why not? She was a New Yorker. He’d gathered that much from a conversation she’d had with Bane. Laramie hadn’t asked her anything. His main focus had been sleeping with her.
What if the Bristol on the sign was the same Bristol from Paris?
His chest pounded at the possibility. He watched all the well-dressed people getting out of their limos and private cars to enter the gallery. He glanced down at himself. Jeans, pullover shirt, leather jacket, Stetson and boots. Definitely not dressed to mingle with the likes of the high-class crowd entering the gallery. But at that moment, he didn’t give a royal damn.
He had to find out if this Bristol was the same woman he hadn’t been able to forget.
* * *
“Would you like some more wine, Bristol?”
Bristol glanced up at Steven Culpepper, forced a smile and said, “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
He nodded. Looking over her shoulder, he said, “Excuse me for a minute. A few of my clients just arrived.”
“Sure.”
She let out a deep sigh when he walked off. Why was he hanging around as if they were together when they weren’t?
She glanced around. There was a huge crowd and she appreciated that. A great number of her paintings had been sold already.
“I see Steven is quite taken with you tonight, Bristol.”
She turned to Margie. “I wish he wouldn’t be. He’s barely left my side.”
Margie lifted a brow. “And you see that as a bad thing?”
Bristol shrugged. “I just don’t want him getting the wrong idea.”
“Oh, I see,”
Bristol doubted it. Margie was determined to play matchmaker.
“A lot of the people here tonight are ones he invited. People with money. Need I say more?” Margie then walked off.
No, in all honesty, Margie didn’t have to say anything. Steven had told her several times tonight just how many people were here because of him. It was as if he’d assumed Bristol would not have gotten anyone here on her own. Although he was probably right about that, he didn’t have to remind her of it every chance he got.
“Hello, Bristol.”
She turned to an older gentleman. His face seemed familiar and after a quick study of his features, she remembered him. “You’re Colin Kusac, a close friend of my father’s.”
He smiled. “Yes, that’s right. I haven’t seen you since the funeral and the reading of the will.”
That was true. Her father had named Colin as executor, and the scene hadn’t been nice that day, especially when all her father had left her was revealed. Krista had accused Bristol of looking for her father only to get his money. Her stepmother had been wrong about that.
Her father had told her that he and Colin had attended high school together and over the years had remained the best of friends. Before Randall died, he’d also told her to contact Mr. Kusac if she ever needed anything. Since there was nothing she’d needed, there had been no reason to call him.
“How have you been?” she asked him.
“Fine. And you? I understand you have a son.”
She wondered how he’d known that. She lived a quiet life and it hadn’t been highly publicized that she was Randall Lockett’s daughter. Although, at her father’s request, she had taken his last name. At sixteen it had taken a lot of getting used to, going from Bristol Washington to Bristol Lockett.
Although she’d taken her father’s name, she’d never flaunted it to influence her own career. And in the art community her father had used the pseudonym Rand, so very few people had made the connection anyway. However, over the years, people had mentioned how much her paintings resembled those of the renowned artist Rand. Although Margie was aware of her father’s identity, Bristol had sworn her manager to secrecy. Bristol wanted to make it on her own and not use her father as leverage.
And now she was Bristol Cooper...
“Yes, I have a beautiful two-year-old son. His first name is Laramie, after his father. His middle name is Randall, after my father. He has the names of two good men.”
“Randall would have liked that. He would have been proud of his first grandchild.” Colin didn’t say anything for a minute and then added, “I miss my good friend. He was there for me more times than not. When I first saw your work, I was taken back by just how much you and he painted alike.”
She smiled, thinking how wonderful it was that on this very important night, although her father wasn’t here, a man she knew to be his closest friend was. “Yes, we discovered that before he died.”
“Randall was a gifted artist and so are you.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s a beautiful landscape over there that I’m thinking about buying. I wonder if you can tell me what inspired you.”
She knew exactly which one he was talking about. It was the first painting she’d done after her father died and a lot of her pent-up emotions had been poured into it. “Certainly.”
And then she and Colin moved toward the huge painting on the wall.
* * *
“May I help you, sir?”
Laramie wasn’t surprised someone had approached him the minute he walked into the gallery. All he had to do was look around the room to see he seemed obviously out of place. He really wouldn’t have to stay a minute longer if the man could answer one question. “The artist on the sign. Bristol. What’s her last name?”
When the older man, who he suspected to be someone in charge, gave him a strange look, Laramie added, “I once knew someone by that name.”
The man nodded his understanding. “Oh, I see. Her last name is—”
“I will handle this gentleman, Jazlyn,” an authoritative voice said behind him.
Laramie didn’t turn around. He figured whoever had spoken would make himself known soon enough. Besides, he hadn’t liked the emphasis the man had placed on the word gentleman. As if he thought Laramie was anything but a gentleman. And what had he meant by “handle him”?
Laramie inwardly smiled. He would like to see that happen.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Culpepper.” And then the older man walked off.
The guy who’d spoken came around to stand in front of Laramie and quickly sized him up. Laramie didn’t have a problem with that since he was sizing up the other man, as well. And Laramie didn’t like the arrogant glint in the man’s eyes, like he assumed he was better than Laramie just because he was dressed in a designer suit.
A quick assessment told Laramie what he needed to know. The man was in his upper thirties, probably a Harvard or Yale graduate, a Wall Street type, most likely CEO of his own corporation.
“May I help you, Mr...?”
Evidently no one had explained to this man the proper way to introduce oneself. It wasn’t by asking a question. Therefore, Laramie didn’t intend to give his name unless this ass gave his. Besides, his name was irrelevant to what he wanted to know. “Like I was saying to the older man a moment ago, before we were interrupted—I once knew a woman name Bristol and was wondering, what is the artist’s last name?”
The man’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Who was this man and what business was it of his that Laramie was inquiring about the artist?
“I’m sure it’s not the same person.”
How the hell would you know? he wanted to say. Instead he said, “Let me decide that.”
He could tell his response hadn’t gone over well. The man’s eyes darkened in irritation. Evidently, he wasn’t used to being put in his place. “I won’t let you decide anything. In fact, I’m almost certain Bristol doesn’t know you.”
Laramie was beginning to read the signs. This man was territorial. Evidently, there was something going on between him and the artist. “You sound sure of that, Mr...”
The man smiled. “Culpepper. Steven Culpepper. And the reason I sound certain is because I know Bristol. We are well acquainted.”
“Obviously. So what’s her last name?” He tilted his Stetson back to stare down at the man, wondering why Steven was giving him a hard time.
“What’s the name of the woman you’re looking for? Just in case you haven’t noticed, you’re drawing attention.”
And he was supposed to give a damn? Laramie drew in a deep breath, tired of playing this cat-and-mouse game. The man was probably right, it wasn’t the same Bristol, but there was something about this man’s attitude that rubbed Laramie the wrong way. “Lockett. Her name is Bristol Lockett.”
The man smiled. “Lockett? Then I was right all along. Her last name isn’t Lockett.”
“So what is it?”
Evidently tired of this conversation as well, the man said, “It’s Cooper. Bristol Cooper.”
Laramie frowned. He and the woman had the same last name? What a coincidence. But then there were a lot of Coopers out there. “You’re right. It’s not the same woman. Sorry I took up so much of your time.”
“No problem. Let me see you out.”
“No need. I know my way.” Laramie had made it to the door when he heard it. That laugh.
It was a distinctive sound that could only come from one woman. He turned and glanced around the room. He didn’t see her. Had he only imagined hearing her laughter?
“Is anything wrong?”
That Culpepper guy was back. Laramie looked at him. “Not sure. However, I’d like to meet the artist, Bristol Cooper, after all.”
“That’s not possible.”
Laramie was about to tell the man that with him anything was possible, when he heard the sound again. His gaze sharpened as he looked around the room. The sound had come from another part of the gallery. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it twice.
He began moving toward the sound, not caring that people were staring at him.
“Wait a minute! You need to leave now.”
When Laramie kept walking, he heard the Culpepper guy call out, “Mr. Jazlyn, I suggest you call for security.”
They could call for security all they wanted. He wasn’t leaving until he made sure...
He entered another area of the gallery and immediately felt it...that undisguised pang of longing and desire he hadn’t felt in three years. He swallowed hard against the deep yearning in his throat as his gaze swept around the room.
And then he saw her.
Her back was to him. She stood beside an older gentleman as the two of them studied a landscape. Laramie knew without even seeing her face that the woman was his Bristol.

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