Well. That wasn’t how dinner was supposed to go.

I pressed my hand to my forehead and groaned. That conversation had been thrown on a runaway train before I knew the train was rolling into the station.

Good grief. I didn’t even realize I thought about having sex with Cooper until my mouth verbally vomited all over our dinners.

“Great, just great. You’re such an idiot, Rebecca, even thinking about doing something so careless.”

Worse, I hadn’t expected him to get so pissed. What guy doesn’t want to have sex with a woman, especially one who came with an end date.

I grabbed our dishes from the table and placed them on the counter. Turning on the tap water, I squeezed a large amount of soap into the sink. I had a dishwasher but rarely used it. Washing dishes by hand was therapeutic for me. I definitely needed to scrub the hell out of something since I couldn’t scrub away the shit show of dinner.

“Your first sort of date with someone and you screw it up,” I muttered. “And awesome. You’re talking to yourself which is even cooler.”

I grabbed my phone and flipped on the Bluetooth and pulled up a music app. Loud, mind-blowing music was just what I needed to get out of my head.

Music on, old school Garth Brooks blared through my speaker and I got to work. I pulled on elbow-length yellow rubber gloves and grabbed my brush scrubber, intent on working and cleaning until I was too exhausted to think about anything except sleep. I knew I needed to call Jordan and maybe Brooke’s and Kelly’s families tomorrow to see if they’d be willing to come out soon to bale the hay I’d waited long enough on.

Look at me, getting used to asking for help.

I rolled my eyes at the thought and began belting out “Friends in Low Places,” right along with my pal Garth when a warmth wrapped around my bicep.

“What the—” I gasped at the sudden movement only to be turned and my ass was up against the counter of the island, Cooper looming in front of me. “What are you doing? You scared the crap out of me.”

I could scarcely breathe.

His eyes were molten, soaking into me in ways that ignited everything. The center of my thighs throbbed before I recognized what he was doing.

He leaned in closer. One of his hands was still on my arm. He pressed the other to the back of my head and he tugged on my hair, lifting my chin up.

“Cooper?”

“You’re not ready for more than kissing.” His mouth slammed down on me and I bent back farther. Doing anything other than accepting his mouth on mine was not an option.

And holy crap the man could kiss. My gloved hands gripped his blue shirt and my eyes closed. He invaded me, opened my mouth and slid his tongue inside.

This wasn’t our gentle, experimental kiss from the other night. This was passion, fueled by anger and frustration I assumed, and more than that on mine.

I took his kiss and gave it back, sliding my tongue against his. All the sleeping areas of my body woke to the imminent possibility he was dead wrong.

I was definitely ready for more than kissing.

He pushed against me, his need and desire clear in the bulge pressing at the apex of my thighs. A needy, excited whimper escaped my throat into his mouth at the sensation.

Oh God. It’d been so long. The pressure of his hand in my hair, tugging and pulling, moving exactly where he wanted, sent sparks of pleasure down my spine and then his hand was gone. At my waist. Where both of his hands landed and he lifted me to the counter.

“Cooper,” I gasped. Slow down. Speed up. Not ready. Please do something more. All of my thoughts jumbled in my brain where my current physical needs battled with self-respect and common sense.

“I know. I won’t go too far.” His lips trailed to my jaw, the column of my throat, back to that delicious oh yes spot behind my ear.

I was panting, gasping at the weight at my center, the tingles all over my body, and then his hand was at my hip, grabbing fistfuls of my dress and lifting.

“Stop me at any time. I just want to make you feel good.” He kissed away my protest before I considered giving one.

My knees widened, I lifted my butt to help him. Oh my God. I was helping him. It was insane, and I wasn’t thinking about anything except that delicious ache he created.

His hand was at my thigh, his warm palm pressed against my bare skin, his fingers running circles at my inner thigh moving farther up, closer to me. His thumb brushed against the gusset of my thong and I mewled. Soul-splintering. Bright lights flashed behind my closed lids.

I’d lost any sort of physical desire for months, and it wasn’t until just a couple months ago I’d even begun considering taking care of myself. That always left me feeling more alone and pathetic, and frankly it was too much work when I was exhausted at the end of the day.

But this, this teasing, gentle and leading touch was enough to make me combust.

My fingers, still in damn rubber gloves giving me no way to dig my fingers into his shoulders, held on to his shirt.

I tore my mouth off his and shoved my face into the curve of his shoulder. “More,” I whimpered. “Please.”

“Fuck.”

His lips met my ear. His voice was as ragged as mine. The friction of his chest against mine abraded my nipples through my bra. And it was oh so beautiful.

Then his thumb was there, at the edge of my thong, pushing it to the side.

“Oh God. Yes.”

“Shit,” he groaned. “You doing okay?”

Thinking was the last thing I wanted to be doing. “Yes.” I pressed my sex against him and delightful fissures ignited, almost breaking me apart. “Please,” I begged again.

“Kiss me.” A demand I wouldn’t deny.

I pressed my mouth to his as his fingers slid through my wetness, spreading it, sliding circles around my sensitive nub and then he pressed one inside. And oh my God, it was heaven and chocolate cake with the most delicious frosting covered in sprinkles and it was everything I needed and had forgotten how good it felt to be filled.

I swallowed his groans and clung to him. He slid his finger in and out, thumb rubbing exactly where I needed and that fire in my belly expanded until I combusted.

I fell over the edge of my release, clinging to him and groaning into his mouth, high-pitched sounds I could never remember making in my life.

He worked me through it, my orgasm seeming to go on forever until I shivered, and he pulled back, slow brushes along my sex that wrung out every small aftershock.

I buried my head into his shoulder again. Sweat lined my forehead, my knees wobbled and my thighs trembled. I’d be sore tomorrow, and I couldn’t yet find a single piece of regret in my quivering, sated body.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” Cooper whispered. He fixed my panties and slid his hand out, brushing down my dress but he stayed pressed close. One hand of his went to the back of my head, the other to my lower back. I forced my hands to release the grip I had on his shirt and I settled them on his hips. “Beautiful,” he repeated. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” I nodded against his shirt. “Except for my inability to walk for a little bit, I’m better than okay.”

His chest tightened and relaxed. Silence, and then a small, quick burst of a laugh. “Good. I’m glad you’re better than okay.”

He held me until our breathing slowed, sliding his hand from my back down to my thighs before pulling back.

Our gazes met, his rich dark eyes looked as glazed over as mine felt. His hands went to my hips and he lifted, set me on the floor, not letting go until I let go of him and then his eyes crinkled. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never done that to a woman wearing rubber gloves before.”

I couldn’t hold in a laugh as I wiggled my hands in front of him. “I’m pretty sure that was a first for me, too.”

“Good. Need help with the dishes?”

He gave me whiplash. One minute he was inside of me and the next he was… “What?”

“Dishes. There’s still a mess to clean.”

“But. But you—” I shook my head. What? “You didn’t…we didn’t—”

“I will when you’re ready.” He kissed my forehead, lingering for a moment. “That was for you because I wanted to.”

He moved back and turned to the sink where he washed and dried his hands. Then he dipped the emptied guacamole bowl into the soapy water and started scrubbing.

I stood there, his back to me, and pressed a hand to my still fluttering chest.

He glanced at me over his shoulder and winked. “Come on. I’ll wash, you dry.” He nodded toward a kitchen towel.

I moved with hesitant steps until I was next to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “Are you?”

What a nutcase. Maybe we both were. “Yeah. Better than.”

“Good.” He handed me the now rinsed bowl. I took it and grabbed the towel. “Then get to work.”

So I did. With Garth Brooks still blaring on my speakers, I went to work with Cooper, drying dishes as he washed, and we didn’t say much, but we didn’t need to. He moved me from a moment of something beautiful and wild to the ordinary without pause.

I liked it. I liked it a lot.

When we were done, he kissed my forehead, said goodnight and I watched him walk back to the guesthouse, that familiar hand flip as he moved past the patio making me smile. I turned to the kitchen counter where he’d just been the first man to give me an orgasm since Joseph’s death. While that familiar pain lingered, no hint of regret had appeared.

A furious heat hit my cheeks. Never, in all my years of dating or being married to Joseph, had we ever done anything as wild as him fingering me in the kitchen.

Perhaps I hadn’t screwed up my first date nearly as much as I originally thought.