Come To My Window (Cumming, Arizona Book 2) Read online

  Come to my Window

  Cumming, Arizona Book 2

  Jessie Logan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About the Author

  Also by Jessie Logan

  Copyright © 2017 by Jessie Logan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  1

  Rosie McBride didn’t have a problem with nudity. Well, other people’s nudity. Nope, if you had it, you may as well flaunt it. The problem was in Cumming, Arizona, there weren’t too many places a twenty-five-year-old woman could admire someone else flaunting it.

  With not much of a happening nightlife, other than a few bars that stayed open late to catch the tourists passing through on their way to cruise what remained of Route 66, the opportunities to ogle a little skin in Cumming were limited. As were the opportunities for a girl to have a decent, man-made orgasm every now and then.

  Dry spell didn’t begin to cover it.

  If she’d been dating a rich man, like her friend Dana who was currently boning Rosie’s boss and the owner of the Verde Oasis Hotel, then Rosie would slyly suggest opening a women-only strip club in town. Rosie sighed and unhooked her heavy-duty bra, flinging it with relief into her laundry basket. Then again, if she were boning a rich hottie like her boss, she wouldn’t need a damn strip club.

  She glanced down at her boobs—her double D cup boobs—which made Rosie’s five-foot-and-a-little-bit frame look like a ridiculous, stunted Barbie doll.

  “Sorry, girls, it’s just you, me, wine, and an early night with Netflix. Again.” She slipped on a baggy gray tee, grimaced when it covered most of her adorable, cupid-print boxers. Thanks to the girls, Rosie couldn’t squeeze into the matching, cupid-print pajama top since the manufacturer assumed that a size-ten ass had matching size-ten boobs. Not in her world.

  A flash of light appearing on her bedroom floor interrupted her pity party—what the hell? Rosie froze inside her walk-in closet, goosebumps prickling over her bare legs. Her bedroom window faced the neighbor’s bedroom window, with only a narrow gap between the properties.

  Antony, her sexy-but-batted-for-the-other-team neighbor, had promised for the last year to rebuild the fence between their houses. So far, he’d concreted in the posts, but the rest of the fencing materials remained under a plastic tarp at the end of his driveway.

  Antony, it pained her to say, was better at blow jobs than handyman jobs.

  Like installing window blinds or drapes in his bedroom. Because he sure wasn’t shy about parading his pound of flesh—his sculptured pounds of flesh—naked around his bedroom a couple of times a week when he had company.

  Ah, well. Single girls had to take what entertainment they could get.

  Rosie peeped out of her closet. She hadn’t bothered drawing the drapes in her room tonight as Antony, a photojournalist, was away on assignment for the next three to four weeks. She knew this because good ol’ neighbor Rosie was in charge of collecting his mail and watering his potted cacti once a week. Yes, seriously, the man had ball cactus and rainbow hedgehog cactus and fairy castle cactus—while living in a town choked with the things.

  Go figure.

  But the lights next door were definitely on. Rosie edged out of the closet and along the back bedroom wall, feeling for the light switch. In slow-mo. Her lights flicked off at the same instant a tall, buff, tanned, naked male body strolled past the window in the house opposite.

  Holy-fucking-crap Batman. That wasn’t Antony.

  Slabs of hard, cut muscle covered a body at least four inches taller than that of her neighbor. Add to that the glimpse of dark hair, a bubble-butt a fitness model would’ve envied, dangly bits that didn’t dangle so much as hung heavily, and, hello, very naked intruder.

  Over there with all of Antony’s expensive electronics spread throughout his house including his pride and joy, an eighty-inch TV ripe for loading into an unmarked van.

  Naked intruder came back into view, standing in front of Antony’s dresser. Rosie’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. The man tapped the syringe of a hypodermic needle and, seemingly satisfied, twisted around at the waist so Rosie caught a glimpse of his profile. Strong jaw, well overdue for an encounter with a razor, long straight nose, and a sinful mouth curved in a grimace. Not pretty-boy handsome but compelling. The kind of features that tempted a woman to see if he was just as stunning up close.

  Without hesitation, he plunged the needle into one very-fine-looking ass cheek.

  Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have had that third glass of claret after stacking her lonely-only dinner plate into the dishwasher. And she definitely shouldn’t be noticing how fine the intruder’s ass was as he shot himself up with God knew what illicit drug. But nothing about this Rear Window knockoff made sense—and the guy was scary big and most likely out of his mind already since he was fucking bare-assed in her neighbor’s house.

  What if he decided that stealing Antony’s stuff wasn’t enough? Rosie’s heart gave a donkey kick against her ribs. What if he came looking for trouble next door?

  She slid to her knees and speed crawled to her nightstand. Hunched by her bed, dust-bunnies sticking to her knees, Rosie dialed her brother.

  One of Cumming’s finest-on-the-force answered with a, “Yo.” Background noises of a sports game commentator and rumblings of male discontent pointed to her big brother being off duty.

  “There’s a naked man in my neighbor’s house,” she whispered. “And he’s doing drugs.”

  “Fuck, Rosie. Are you playing peeping Tom on that poor guy again?”

  Damn, she’d forgotten the little slip she’d made a few months ago about Antony’s bedroom window escapades.

  “No! It’s not Antony—it’s some other guy, and he’s freaking huge.”

  “And he’s in his birthday suit?”

  Amusement threaded through his voice, and Rosie bet her next paycheck Finn was making plans to relay this totally bizarre situation in the locker room later with his cop buddies.

  “Yes. And he’s a junkie—probably about to trash Antony’s house, looking for drug money.”

  “Have you been drinking with that crazy book club of yours tonight?”

  The next time she went to her brother’s house, she was pouring itching powder in his tighty-whities.

  “Jesus, will you stop asking questions, and get here and check him out?”

  Finn swore, and a clunk from a glass being placed sharply on a table echoed down the line. “You couldn’t call nine-one-one like a normal person?”

  “You wanna deal with the paperwork when dispatch sends you over here, or just pretend you’re Antony’s buddy, and you were out doing a drive-by and just happened to spot lights on?”

  After a my baby sister is a pain in the ass sigh, he said, “Be there in two.”

  The phone went dead.

/>   Rosie duck-walked out of her bedroom to the safety of her hallway. Two minutes until he got there. Or two-and-a-half by the time Finn got the number of whatever barfly was making eyes at him that night.

  She hurried along the darkened hallway to her living room. Easing aside the drapes, she peered into Antony’s yard. Empty. She opened a window wide enough that a warm breeze blew over her skin but not wide enough that the naked intruder would get any ideas. Then Rosie hunkered down to wait.

  Less than the allotted two minutes later, headlights swept across her windows, and a car parked on the opposite side of the street. Her brother’s silhouette eased from the car and strolled to Antony’s front door, his knocking setting off a chain reaction from the excitable Pekingese on her neighbor’s other side.

  A few loooong seconds passed, and then the door swung open, but without sticking her head out of the window to eavesdrop, Rosie couldn’t hear what was said over the Pekinese’s rapid-fire yapping. Neither could she see if naked intruder was, in fact, still naked. But what she could see of her brother—his relaxed stance, and the sudden grin that appeared on his face—settled the squirmy sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  Finn flashed his badge then disappeared into the house. A few minutes later he returned, lifting a hand in a casual goodbye and jogged back across the street. His car growled to life and eased away from the curb.

  Rosie’s phone buzzed.

  “He’s Antony’s brother, Cooper Phillips,” Finn said. “And legit—I checked the handwritten note on cacti care stuck to the fridge and his I.D. He’s house-sitting for a few weeks.”

  “Oh.” Rosie peeked around the drapes, but all was still next door. “So not a burglar.”

  A snort. “No. You disappointed?”

  “A little. A naked cat burglar is hella more interesting than just a dude wandering around in the buff.” Even if the dude in question was someone she wouldn’t mind as a midnight snack. “What about the drugs?” she added.

  “Nothing illegal and none of your business, Nancy Drew.

  “Fine. It was a rookie mistake—my bad. Thanks for coming out tonight.”

  “Just go to bed. And stop perving at the neighbors.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Night.” Rosie disconnected and stepped into her bedroom, slapping a hand on her light switch.

  She froze when her brain caught up with her actions.

  Her room was lit up like Walmart on Black Friday. Her bedroom drapes were still wide open. And Antony’s brother was positioned directly in front of his own lit-up bedroom window, arms folded across his bare chest, thin running shorts doing little to hide the fact that he was obviously commando underneath them.

  Busted.

  2

  The five-foot-nothing of hotness who’d snitched on Cooper stood frozen in her bedroom window. Frozen except for what appeared to be her amazing rack, which shifted rapidly up and down beneath a laundered-too-many-times, thin t-shirt. As if she’d just run a marathon. Or noticed a serial killer eyeballing her from the neighbor’s house.

  Cooper hadn’t seen her clearly the first time. After a shower at his brother’s, he’d forgotten where Ant stored his bath towels—hallway linen closet, precisely folded and color-coded. Not in the master’s ensuite as he’d thought, and he’d been forced to use the postage-stamp sized guest towel. On the trip from shower to suitcase, he’d figured since he was already in the raw, he’d get the shot out of the way before he parked himself in front of Ant’s TV.

  Only after administering the shot had he spotted movement in the house next door. In the bedroom opposite his brother’s bedroom, to be exact. Furtive, shadowy movement, which, under other circumstances—such as if he hadn’t already caught sight of the pint-sized woman flattened against the wall a split second before she killed the lights—might’ve caused him to react in a more aggressive manner. Instead, he’d chuckled and thrown on some shorts.

  The amusement lasted until an off-duty police officer arrived at the door.

  Now the tattletale’s mouth sagged open to a perfect “O” which went to show how long it’d been since Cooper had sex since he immediately imagined those rosy-pink lips stretched around his cock.

  The woman’s drapes jerked closed. An interesting introduction to his neighbor, whose name, according to his brother’s e-mail, was Rosie McBride.

  With a sigh, Cooper pulled a t-shirt over his head and shoved his feet into running shoes. Might as well get the awkwardness over tonight since unless she was planning to relocate to the southern part of the state and hide in an abandoned mine, they were going to have to deal with each other as neighbors for the next month.

  He slipped out into the warm night air and crossed the yard between the two properties. Top of his list to thank Ant for letting Cooper crash at the house while he sorted out his fucked-up head, would be finishing the boundary fence since his brother sucked at home maintenance. He knocked on the front door, a polite rat-a-tat-tat so as not to scare the mini-snitch. Nothing but dead air from inside.

  He cocked his head, and heard the sound of footsteps from around back. He followed the property line down the side of her house into the back yard, his sneakered feet crunching over dry dirt. Security floodlights illuminated an outdoor patio setting and pots of pretty, flowery plants. Cooper’s heart dropped and gave him twenty at the sight of the woman’s—Rosie’s—ass spilling out of a tiny pair of boxer shorts as she attempted to climb the back fence.

  And what an ass. Curvy, bite-able, lush. His fingers itched to grip those two pale mounds and give her a boost. Being neighborly, and all.

  “Need a hand?” he asked instead.

  He took the safe option of folding his arms across his chest, just in case the temptation to grab proved too much.

  She froze, one running-shoe toe still on the ground, the other braced against the fence.

  “Shhhhhit,” she hissed under her breath and lowered her foot, spinning around to face him.

  Expression initially dialed to innocent surprise, she took one look at him and cranked up a smile that screamed, Dear God, he really is a serial killer.

  “Nope, I’m good,” she said, smoothing her hands down her shorts, which were probably still jammed in her spectacular ass crack. “Just heading out for some exercise. Burn off tonight’s pizza and vino, because a moment on the lips and all…”

  The rosy-pink lips he’d noticed earlier pressed into a tight line, as if she’d become aware of her runaway mouth.

  God, that mouth. Made for kissing…and other pleasurable things. Aware that he was staring, Cooper jerked his gaze back to Rosie’s eyes, which were a pretty hazel guarded by long, dark lashes and framed by dark eyebrows—lifted in an obvious question mark. He wasn’t the only one questioning why the hell he continued to stare at her. Yeah, she had a banging body and a face ninety percent of his buddies would give a second-and-third glance at—but tiny women weren’t his type. He always worried he’d accidently break ‘em.

  “Exercise, as in training to be the next American Ninja?” Damn, but he couldn’t help himself. “Or spot of late night parkour?”

  He expected her to bristle like a cornered porcupine. The deep belly laugh that rolled out of her—a throaty, uninhibited sound that weirdly made him think of wild sex with someone who got you enough to find the wet-sticky-sometimes-gross aspects funny—threw him off guard.

  Once she’d finished laughing, she angled her chin at him.

  “I could be a ninja, you know. Just not a very good one.”

  “You might want to tackle something a bit…lower.” He bit back a grin, remembering why he was there. “You called the cops on me.”

  Her smile slipped, and she crossed her arms under her chest, gaze zipping sideways back toward the safety of her house.

  “I called my brother who happens to be a cop,” she said. “I didn’t know Antony arranged for someone else to house sit.”

  “Last minute decision. I left a note on your door to explain I’d be taking over mail and c
acti duty.” He glanced around her small back yard and glimpsed something white fluttering against the other end of her back fence. He pointed. “I’m guessing that’s it.”

  “Oh.”

  “No harm, no foul…Rosie.”

  She blinked those big hazel eyes again, her forearms tightening. Cause and effect, her tits rose higher, and two in-his-face stiff nipples jutted against her t-shirt.

  “Antony mentioned me?”

  “Yep. Said you were a good neighbor.”

  She relaxed a fraction. Her nipples didn’t. Man, her tits were something else. Something he might be willing to break his no-tiny-women rule for.

  “I try to be.”

  “My brother said you’d be keeping an eye on the place. I had no idea he meant literally.” Cooper couldn’t help it; his mouth tugged up into a smile. “You like to watch, huh?”

  Spots of color appeared on her cheekbones. “I’m sorry. I thought you were…”

  Then she ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip, and he was a goner. He didn’t care if she thought he was a serial killer or worse. His cock twitched.

  “I thought you were a drug addict who’d broken into Antony’s house,” she said.

  She’d seen him injecting himself? The cock twitching abated. There was zero sexiness involved with thinking about the reason he’d been medically discharged from his military career. From his life.

  “I’m diabetic,” he said. “That was insulin you saw me injecting into my ass, not heroin or meth.”

  “Oh, God.” Rosie clapped a hand to her mouth, her cheeks now scarlet. “I’m such a jerk.”

  Even muffled, her voice was sexy as hell—and distracting enough to pull him back from the bleak abyss he teetered on every time he thought about his life now.

  “It’s okay.” He slid his fingers around her wrist and gently tugged her palm down. Her silky skin seemed to shimmer under his touch, and her eyes flew open.