Chapter One

Cooper couldn’t wait to get home. An entire week on a beautiful Caribbean island should have been fun, but it wasn’t when you spent it with your entire family, at the wedding of your younger brother. Toss in a baby sister who was eight months pregnant, her overprotective husband, and a mother determined to embarrass you to the point of jumping into the sea and swimming to Florida, and you’d have his last seven days. “Why aren’t you married? Your younger brother and sister are married. Don’t you want to give me grandchildren?” Even though the island was gorgeous and the scenery on the beach was stunning, spending time with crazy relatives made him anxious to get back home to Iowa, even if the temperature difference in December between the island and the Hawkeye State was ninety-five degrees.

Thankfully, because of his job, he got to skip the TSA part of checking in. Right now being an FBI special agent wasn’t as glamorous as some people would think, especially with the political election and what had happened with a certain candidate. Thankfully, being an agent in Iowa, he had nothing to do with that case.

Flashing his badge, he walked past the TSA, and then he settled in a seat facing the window to wait for his flight. He was never so glad to be at an airport. In addition to his mother being on his case for the whole week about why he wasn’t married, why he didn’t have a steady girl, why he didn’t shave every morning, why he wasn’t on the same flight as them, yada, yada, yada, he had to put up with his parents bringing his crazy grandmother with them. In all fairness, they really didn’t have a choice. Only two days before they were scheduled to leave, she had been kicked out of the nursing home for stealing a car and driving thirty-five miles to Council Bluffs, all the while being pursued by the Iowa State Patrol on Interstate 80, doing twenty-five miles per hour. By the time she pulled into the Starbucks at the Manawa exit, she had three troopers, five sheriff’s deputies, and two city officers following her, lights flashing and sirens blaring. When they approached the car, which belonged to a Sunny Rise Nursing Home volunteer who had left the keys in the ignition, and helped Grandma out, handing her her Rollinator 300 walker, she promptly headed across the lot to the entrance of the coffee house.

When a trooper tried to make her stop so he could talk to her, she hit him with her purse, called him a pussy, and continued inside for a vanilla latte. The officers were finally able to get her name and the phone number of her son, Cooper’s dad, who called him. By the time he arrived, Grandma was entertaining the officers with stories about her grandson, the FBI agent. He had to threaten them with physical harm if they continued to call him “Scooter.”

The boarding agent called for first-class passengers. Thanks to the upgrade from using his frequent-flier miles, he stood, heaved his bag onto his shoulder, and walked onto the plane. After he stowed his carry-on in the overhead and settled in his seat, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He loved his family, but he was finally free for the first time in a week.

* * * * *

Victoria had been lucky to catch the last flight off the island that day. It cost her an arm and a leg, but she didn’t care. After rushing to the TSA counter, she flipped her bag onto the conveyor belt and stepped into the body scanner. They waved her through and she ran to the gate. Fortunately, the agents didn’t seem interested in who she was. Sometimes they wanted pictures and autographs, which she normally didn’t mind, but not today. She just wanted to get on the plane and get home to Iowa.

The agent closed the door to the aircraft after she entered, and she found her seat. Glancing at the man next to her, she stopped. Wow, he was gorgeous. Too bad she had sworn off men, because this hottie was something to write home about. Quietly, so as not to wake him, she handed her bag to the flight attendant and sat down. He smelled wonderful, a mix of masculine body wash and aftershave.

Not wanting to stare, she gave him a sidelong glance and discovered up close that he was even better than she originally thought. After buckling her seat belt, she sat back and closed her eyes. Exhaustion took over as she thought of the last twenty-four hours. Once she was back home in Iowa, she would be better.

Her hell had started just yesterday, a day which Tori now thought of as the start toward Freedom Day. She had been scheduled for an early morning photo shoot on the island of St. Croix. She and her boyfriend, nature photographer Peter James, arrived on the island yesterday and checked in to the beachfront resort where the photo shoot was scheduled. They had a romantic candlelit dinner on the balcony of their suite. They did what they normally did: argue about her wanting to quit modeling. “I want more in life than to have my picture taken,” she told him, then explained that she was burned out and needed a break. He said she was at the top of her career and that she would be a fool to give it all up. He slept on the sofa last night and was still there when she left early this morning. She didn’t know why she didn’t just break it off with him. He had nothing she was looking for in a boyfriend.

When she arrived at the shoot, the director shouted and screamed for the first hour until his phone rang and he slinked off for more privacy. The photographer was an idiot who was more interested in hitting on her than doing his job. After an hour of her sitting while the artists styled her hair and applied her makeup, they were finally ready to shoot. While she kneeled in the hot sand, wearing only a thong and looking over her shoulder, a wave came in and soaked her, ruining her hair and makeup. “It took one hour to get you looking just right, and now it’s all fucked up.” Screaming in her face, the director continued, “You’re such a fucking idiot. It’s a good thing you have your looks, because you would starve otherwise.”

That was the last straw. She had had enough. She stood and wiped her face, then grabbed a shirt and slipped it over her head before storming off. “Where are you going?” the director yelled, to which she hollered over her shoulder that she quit, then flipped him off, something her mother would have died from embarrassment over.

Victoria Sutter had been modeling since she was ten years old. She turned pro at age seventeen, and now, at age twenty-two, she was done. For a long time now she had been thinking about giving up modeling, finding a great guy, getting married, having children, and living a quiet life. Peter, who she knew wasn’t the one she needed or wanted for a permanent life mate, wanted her to keep modeling. Not only did she make a ton of money, but having her on his arm was a coup for him that also helped his career. He was someone to keep her company for now, but if he gave her any grief over quitting, she could walk away from him without a second thought.

Using the card key, she let herself into their shared suite. The sitting area was empty, but she heard soft voices coming from the bedroom. The thick carpet silenced her bare-footed steps as she crossed the room. The bedroom door was open, and looking inside, she saw Peter in bed with a young model who had just been hired by the agency. The girl was all of eighteen, for God’s sake.

She watched for a minute, knowing she had just passed a crossroads in her life. Leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, she watched as the girl rode Peter like a biker rides a Harley. She shook her head and cleared her throat, waited a second, then cleared it again louder.

Peter turned his head and smiled. “Victoria, come join us.”

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she told him as she entered the room and grabbed her clothes and bathroom items. She tossed them into her bag and walked out. The cowgirl riding her boyfriend seemed unfazed, and so did Peter, since he was in the throes of pre-climax. Fortunately, she packed lightly and was out of the room before the couple in the bed had finished. As she closed the door to the suite, she heard the girl scream and Peter curse as they completed their sex act. She hurried out, not wanting to hear any more than she already had. Those two could fuck like rabbits all day as far as she was concerned. In the elevator, she pulled on a pair of shorts and slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops. At the concierge’s desk, she asked for a car to the airport, and while she waited for it to be brought to the front doors, she called the airline. Now she was on her way home, and it felt really good.