Get a Clue (18 page)

Breanne stared at the door, her pulse drumming away madly, along with her resistance.

Cooper knocked again, just one light rap.

She could feel him on the other side of the door, his heat, his strength, and her body reacted as if it already belonged to him. Well, damn it, she didn't belong to anyone, especially a man.

“Let me in, Bree.”

That'd be like opening the door to the big, bad wolf and inviting him in to blow her life down. As said life had been built fragile brick by fragile brick, she didn't dare.

“Please,” he said.

Ah, hell. The magic word. Even knowing it was the mother of all bad decisions, she opened the door.

“About earlier,” he said.

Turning her back to him, she moved to the fire and plopped down into the recliner, nonchalantly lifting her hands to the flames. “You mean when you asked if I was putting my hands in your pants because I wanted . . . how did you put it . . . to get an
in with the law?”

“Yeah, that.” He came close and hunkered down beside her chair. “You cannot think I was serious.”

She studied the fire and didn't respond. She knew now he hadn't meant it, but just his voice alone was making her want to melt.

“Look at me, Breanne.”

No. Looking at him would be like looking directly into the sun. Amazing but stupid.

But then his hands settled on the arms of the leather recliner and he whipped it around to face him. His face was grim, intense, and . . . still angry.

“I didn't mean it,” he said. “You know I didn't. Now I want to hear you say it, damn it.”

“Fine. I know you didn't meant it. End of conversation, please.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then let out a breath. “I'm a cop, Bree. Through and through, as it turns out. I thought quitting would change that, but apparently no.”

Damn it, she knew that, but hearing him say it, knowing he felt as if he
had
to say it, got to her.

“I've seen and heard it all,” he said. “And it's changed me, maybe even hardened me. I can't help that. But when I'm with you, I feel a little . . . clumsy.” His eyes were dark and genuine. “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. But you hurt mine.”

“I'm sorry.” She could admit it now. “I'm so sorry. It's all me, I'm just . . . going crazy. Edward—”

“Was dead when we got here. Or so I think, anyway.” His hands were fisted on either side of her, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up past his elbows, his forearms corded with strength as he leaned over her. “You sleeping in here tonight?”

Sleeping? Probably not. More like watching the shadows on the wall all night long. But she lifted a shoulder. “The bed's comfortable enough.”

“I figured you wouldn't want to be alone.”

“I'm a big girl, Cooper.”

“Yeah, you are.” He lifted her chin. “And you're running scared.”

She jerked her chin free. “If I was running scared, would I be sleeping alone?”

“You're running scared of me.”

She let out what was supposed to be a disbelieving sound, but it convinced neither of them.

“You expect me to believe you'd rather face another midnight intruder than sleep next to me?” His voice was heavy with disbelief. “I don't think so.”

She shook her head. “How did you ever fit through the door with that big head of yours? Look, I'm going to be fine, okay? In fact, I'm quite exhausted.” She made a big show out of stretching and yawning really wide, before putting her hands to his chest and pushing so she could stand up.

Only she didn't budge him.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“You're going to sleep.”

“Yep.”

“Right now.”

“That's right.”

At that he backed up, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the picture of an irritated, frustrated, sexy-as-hell man.

She made a big deal out of climbing up onto the high bed and tugging down the white down comforter. “Shut the door on your way out.”

“You're going to sleep in those fuck-me boots and Lariana's clothes?”

Her own personal armor, and yes, she was going to sleep in them if that's what it took. “I'm sorry if the boots misled you today,” she said primly.

“Trust me, it wasn't the boots. Though they are something—” Saying so, he moved forward and took hold of one.

Before she could kick him, he'd flipped her to her back, but instead of flattening her down on the bed with his body as she'd figured, he began to undo the boot with a quiet calm.

“Watch out,” she warned. “Have you seen the heels on these things?”

“Shh.” He'd bent his head to the task, and she might have melted at the unexpected sweetness of the gesture except he drove her crazy.

“If you shh me one more time . . .” she warned.

Lifting his head, he smiled grimly as the first boot came off and he tossed it over his shoulder. “You'll what?”

Damn it, she had no idea what.

“Come on, Breanne. Finish the threat—I'm all ears.”

“Shut up,” she said, utterly without rancor because he was looking at her with such genuine warmth and affection that her mad drained right out of her.

People she'd known all her life didn't look at her like that, yet he did. She didn't know what to do with him. “I wish you'd go away,” she whispered, confusion and exhaustion, not emotion, creating a lump in her throat. She had no emotion left.

Or so she told herself. “
Please
.”

He went very still, staring at her for a long moment before lifting his hands from her and taking his weight off the mattress. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

“I won't.” With only one boot off, she turned over into a little ball and closed her eyes tight, not relaxing until she heard the door shut behind him.

“It's locked,” he said through it. “Keep it that way.”

Sleep didn't come as easily as it had the night before. For the longest time she lay there, muscles sore from holding herself so tense. The fire crackled. The walls creaked.

So did a floorboard.

Uneasy, she sat up, her gaze frantically searching out each corner of the room.

No floating face.

No boogeyman.

Nothing.

And yet she was in this house with a dead body. And someone who'd made him dead.

She lay back down, but that lasted only until the next mysterious creak.

Damn bad time to have given up men.

Then, from somewhere in the house, came an odd, indistinguishable sound. Not the house creaking, but she couldn't place it. Again she sat up.

She'd definitely been hasty in sending Cooper away. Truth was, she didn't have to give up men as long as she did one thing—hold on to her heart and soul for all they were worth, never letting them go.

For anyone.

Hoping she was right, she slipped out of bed and slowly cracked open her door. The hallway was pitch black—not a sound, not even a whisper of air. She couldn't see all the way to the honeymoon suite where her salvation lay in one tall, hard, gorgeous package.

Couldn't see anything.

That's when the house creaked again.

Goose bumps rose over her skin, fear bubbled in her throat, and she ducked back into her room looking for a flashlight or a candle or something.

But the candles had burned down to stubs and Lariana hadn't replaced them. She'd had the fire for light and that had been enough. Stumbling into the bathroom, she went straight to the gift basket and fumbled for the vibrator that had reappeared.
Thanks, Lariana, for your obnoxious sense of humor
. Rushing back to the fire, Breanne held the thing up in front of the flames for a moment until it began to glow pink.

At the next creak of the walls, she gasped, gripped the vibrator out in front of her like a beacon, and bolted for the honeymoon suite, limping in her one high-heeled boot.

This time she didn't jump Cooper in the bed. She didn't have to because he wasn't in it.

Shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans low on his hips, he stood facing his own fireplace, hair rumpled, feet bare. For a moment she hung onto the doorjamb staring at him, a yearning welling up within her so strong she didn't know what to do with it.

What was it about him? Granted, he had an amazing body. His back was sinewy and sleek, broad and sculpted, tapering in at his waist and hips. And that butt . . . Lord, she just wanted to bite it.

Only it wasn't her body that tingled at the sight of him, but something deep inside.
Note to self: your heart and soul are locked up tight! Not accessible! Remember that!

“You going to shut the door?” he asked without turning around.

With a sigh, she did, no longer surprised that he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head because she was getting used to that sense of awareness he had. She imagined he'd honed it over the years of being a cop.

Craning his neck, he finally looked at her, taking in her makeshift flashlight. “You need me to show you how to work that thing?”

“In your dreams.”

“Oh yeah, in my dreams.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead as if she gave him a headache by just being.

She had to admit it was entirely possible that she was a walking/talking headache inducer. “I, um, forgot to tell you something.”

“Well, then.” He turned toward her and slipped his hands in his pockets. The movement shifted his jeans even lower on his hips, gaping away slightly from his rippled abs that she always wanted to touch. “I'm all ears, Princess.”

Actually, he was all solid, tough muscle, but she wasn't going to point that out.
Locking up the heart and soul and tossing out the key!

He jerked a shoulder toward the fire. “Come here.”

Yeah, colossally bad idea. “Don't you want to know what I forgot to tell you?”

“I want you to be warm.”

His words made her realize she was hugging herself, and extremely chilled. “Getting close to you is bad for my mental health.”

“And yet you're here instead of with anyone else in the house.” He waggled his fingers. “Come on.”

Her feet carried her, damn them, one boot on and one boot off, while he watched, calm and thoughtful. Coming to a stop next to him, she stared into the fire, ignoring his gaze, which she could feel running over her. “Better?” he asked softly as the warmth began to seep into her bones.

“Yes,” she said so grudgingly he laughed as he bent down and helped her out of her single boot.

“So.” When he straightened, he smiled into her eyes with that same confusing mix of heat and affection that felt infinitely terrifying to her. “What did you forget to tell me?”

“It's a deal sort of thing.”

“Ah. Meaning you want something in return.” Again he slipped his hands into his pockets and turned back to the fire, his smile gone, shoulders slightly hunched. “The question is,
what.
”

Too late, she realized the truth. As a cop, he probably got requests for “deals” every day. Guilt stabbed through her that she hadn't treated him any better than any of the criminals he'd dealt with, but there was no going back now. “I want to sleep with you.”

That
got his attention. Those eyes once again turned and locked on hers, blazing and filled with things that banished her chill. She swallowed hard. “That is, um . . .”

“Yeah,” he said. “I thought you might want to clarify that.”

“I want to sleep with you so I'm not the next body found dead on the cellar floor.”

He let out a long breath. “Breanne, you don't have to make a bargain for that.”

Her heart began to tumble but she bucked it up because, damn it, neither her heart nor her soul were involved here. They were locked up.

Tight
.

“In return for letting me sleep here,” she said, “I wanted to tell you what Shelly mentioned tonight. They had a break-in last week.”

“A break-in?” He went from mere man to sharp cop in the blink of an eye. “What was taken?”

“From what I understand, just cash from Lariana's purse. Nothing else.”

He frowned. “That makes no sense. There's a lot of valuable stuff here.”

“I know.”

“Only Lariana's money? Are you sure?”

“That's what she said.”

“That sounds personal. What did the police say?”

“They didn't call the police.”

He made a rough sound of disgust.

“They didn't want the owner to find out that they'd been leaving the front door unlocked.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded. “Then there's only one thing left to do.”

“What's that?”

“Go to bed,” he said, and his hands went to the buttons on his Levi's.

Cooper didn't miss the leap of emotion in Breanne's gaze. Except it wasn't
Oh, please take me to bed
, it was
Oh God, he thinks I'm going to sleep with him
.

With a harsh laugh directed entirely at himself, he ran his fingers through his hair and headed toward the mattress. “I'm taking it we need something bigger than a sheet between us this time.” He snatched the folded comforter off the foot of the bed and stalked toward the overstuffed chair in the corner. The
small
chair. “'Night, Bree.”

She stared at him as he sat and pulled the comforter over the top of him. It was a short comforter, and didn't cover both his chest and his feet at the same time. Perfect. Not only had he been stupid enough to give up the bed, he was going to be cold to boot.

Breanne was still staring at him. “I thought that you—that we'd—” Her gaze flickered to the bed.

“You thought what?”

“Nothing.” She pulled back the big, thick down comforter that Cooper had reason to know was not only warm and toasty, but would cover him entirely, and slid beneath it, vanishing entirely except for the top of her head and her eyes. Eyes that were still locked on him.

Trying to forget her, he shifted to his side, aiming for some level of comfort. There was none to be had. His jeans were cutting off circulation to vital parts. With a sigh, he stood up and stripped them off, then wrapped himself in the blanket that came only to his shins.

Popsicles. His feet were going to be popsicles.

So were his balls. Good move, Ace. With another sigh, he stood up, put his jeans back on, and took a longing glance toward the bed. Looking considerably more comfortable, not to mention warm and toasty, Breanne lay there with only her hair and eyes showing.

Eyes which were closed.

He turned away, thinking, damn, she'd gone directly to sleep, peaceful as a baby, while he sat here chilly, frustrated, and—

“I have another deal,” she whispered.

“The last one didn't work out too well for me, so no, thanks.”

“This one's better.”

He rolled back toward her, then was sorry. Her eyes were dark and haunted, her face strained, her fingers clutching the blanket up to her chin. Not wanting to be affected by her meant shit when his heart clenched without his permission every time he so much as looked at her. “What is it?”

“I'm . . .” She let out a breath. “I'm really scared.”

He sighed. “Nothing's going to happen to you here, Bree.”

“Yeah.” Sitting up, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I keep telling myself that. The truth is, I'm a little shaky for a lot of reasons.”

“You've been through a rough few days. Anyone would be shaky, even without finding a dead body.”

“Yeah, makes that whole being dumped at the altar thing not that big a deal.”

“It was a big deal for you,” he said quietly.

“You know it's for the third time.”

“Breanne—”

“Don't even try to tell me that's normal,” she said firmly. “Face it, Cooper. There's something wrong with me. I'm not quite sure what, but there is.”

“No.”

“Maybe it's a sexual thing. Maybe . . .” She winced. “Maybe I'm bad in bed.”

Christ, no man was strong enough for this. He pushed out of the chair and moved to the mattress.

She watched him, her eyes sad and shimmering. “About the deal. Do you think you could—I mean, would you—”

He put a knee on the mattress. “Don't say it.”

“—have sex with me?” she whispered. “Make sure I'm not doing something really wrong?”

Definitely not big enough to walk away from that request, or the lingering hurt in her eyes, not to mention the offer of her sweet, hot body.

“I'll do all the work,” she promised. “
Everything
.”

His knees actually wobbled.

“And afterwards, you can critique me—”

“
Breanne
—”

“And then tomorrow morning, we'll dig out and go our separate ways.”

She was serious. She wanted to have him tonight, bare their bodies and souls, then walk away in the morning.

After he told her what was wrong with her.

“Think of it,” she said softly. “A whole night of unattached, unemotional sex. Any guy's idea of Christmas, right?”

“Stop.” Walking over here had been a massively stupid idea, because now he was inches from her, with a knee already on the bed.

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Stared up at him.

All he had to do was lean over her—

She tossed the covers aside.

On her back in that stretchy red top and painted-on skirt, both of which showed off her curvy body in a mouthwatering way, she smiled up at him—shaky, but a smile nevertheless. “Do you want me, Cooper?”

Only more than his next breath. He wanted to pull her beneath him, he wanted to slowly strip her out of those sexy clothes that were hot but not
her
, wanted to run his tongue and teeth over every inch of her.

But not like this. Damn it, not like this, not with her hurting, and vulnerable. Not with her trying to set it up so that for once she could be the one to walk away before she got hurt. It took every ounce of restraint he had, but he backed up.

“I know you want me,” she said softly, and they both looked down at the unmistakable bulge behind the buttons on his jeans, offering vivid proof of that wanting. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “But—”

“No. No buts.”

“
But
. . . not like this, Bree. Not because you're hurting and sad.”

“
Cooper
—”

“I don't want you to wake up in the morning and regret anything. Especially me.”

Her eyes were as luminous as the fire's glow while she digested this. “And I thought you said you weren't a gentleman.”

A sound of deep need escaped him—he couldn't help it.

She turned on her side away from him and pulled the covers back over her head.

Was she embarrassed now? He didn't want that, anything but that. “Breanne—”

“Forget it.”

He didn't move, couldn't get himself to walk away.

“Every minute you stand there,” she said, her voice muffled by the covers, “you risk being jumped by the pathetic chick. I'd run if I were you.”

Shit. He stalked the length of the room, heading back to the fire, even though he didn't need the heat; he was damn hot enough.

Craning his neck, he glanced back at the bed. The lump that was Breanne hadn't budged. Good. She was going to be a good girl and go to sleep.

He only wished he could, but as he was currently hard enough to pound nails, he doubted sleep would come any time soon. James would have smacked him upside the head for turning down the sexiest, hottest woman he'd ever seen. He couldn't believe he'd done it. He was truly an idiot.

Suddenly exhausted, he dropped into the chair, sprawled out his legs, and tipped his head back. Closed his eyes.

His mind did not turn off. Nope, it kept whirring and cranking out disturbing thoughts.

Wake her up.

Tell her you changed your mind—

Better yet,
show
her you've changed your mind.

“Cooper?”

He opened his eyes to find her standing right in front of him, his living fantasy in the flesh. “Thought you'd gone to sleep,” he said.

Slowly she shook her head.

“You should go to sleep.” He was sounding a bit desperate, even to his own ears, but damn it, he could only take so much with her standing there two inches from him, looking as if maybe she wanted to gobble him up whole.

He could really get behind that. “Breanne.”

“I know. You want me to go far, far away, but I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

Her eyes held his, shadowed by insecurity. There was no use in pretending he couldn't see because he might as well try to stop breathing. Every part of him was focused on her, locked in some hypersensitive state. “You can't go back to bed because . . . ?”

“Because I want you in it with me.”

“Breanne—”

“I need you, Cooper. Don't make me beg.”

Ah, Christ. “Are you sure?” he whispered fiercely.

She straddled his legs and sat on his lap.

Okay, she was sure. “Breanne,” he groaned. “We've taken this about as far as we can with our clothes on, and I don't want to stop again.”

She shook her head. “No stopping this time.”

“Good, because I've been hard since you got here. I'm going to damage myself if I keep it up.” He shot her a lopsided grin. “Have some mercy.”

She laughed, but her eyes shone with emotion as well, yanking at his heart, and his smile slowly faded.

“I need somebody tonight,” she whispered, her hands going to his shoulders. “And I want it to be you. You, Cooper Scott, and no one else.”

The promise was far more than he could have, or would have, asked for. He sat up a little straighter, running his hands up her body to cup her face, tugging her down for a kiss.

She obliged him in the sweetest, hottest connection he'd ever known, then pulled back, her lips leaving his with a little suction noise that tugged all the way through his body.

With a little smile, she got off of him and shimmied out of her skirt. God, he loved those black satin panties, the way the small patch of material barely covered her, how the stretchy fabric rode low on her hips, and though he couldn't see her ass at the moment, he knew the material was riding up, outlining her to perfection. “Breanne,” he said hoarsely.

She crossed her arms in front of her, grabbed the hem of that red shirt, and pulled it over her head.

Leaving her in nothing but those panties, and suddenly he wished he'd let her keep the boots on, because holy shit, that would have made quite the picture.

Not that he needed the boots at the moment. Hell, no. She made his mouth water without the boots. She made his mouth water, period.

Then she climbed back into his lap, tucking a knee on either side of his thighs. His hands went to his favorite part, her sweet ass. He squeezed, then slid inside her panties, cupping her bare skin before gliding downward—

She gasped.

He groaned, his fingers delving deeper, finding her wet and creamy, making him groan again.

She said his name in a rather strangled voice, having gone utterly still in what he hoped was anticipation. “Good?” he asked.

The sound that came from her was rough, low, and the most erotic thing he'd ever heard, and he slowly pushed a finger inside her.

This elicited yet another breathy cry, and he added a second finger.

“More,” she whispered, squirming. “Please, more.”

He'd give her more, and it would take all night. Even knowing that wouldn't be enough, he slid his fingers free, nudging her closer, then closer still so that her satin-covered crotch slid to his denim-covered one . . . oh, yeah . . . and those full breasts were only an inch from his mouth. He kissed the pouting tip of one and pulled back to watch it pucker up and darken for him. “You're so sexy, Bree. You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen.”

“You don't have to say that.” Her voice sounded strained. “I'm here. I'm willing. You don't have to say anything you don't mean. Just . . . take us to the finish line.
Please
.”

After all the teasing they'd done over the past two days, he wanted that more than anything, but not as badly as he wanted her to believe him, believe in this. He cupped her face, waiting until she lifted those whiskey eyes. “I never lie, Bree, remember? Never. This isn't just about the finish, spectacular as that's going to be. It's going to be about far more. Now do you still want to do this?”

She didn't take her eyes off him as she thought about that for so long he got worried.

“Yes, I still want to do this,” she finally said. “But one of us is way overdressed.” Saying so, she pulled back slightly, bending her head to the task of unfastening his jeans. Her hair fell forward, brushing against his bare shoulders and chest, and it was so much like his fantasy, he groaned. “There's no rush,” he said huskily when she let out a frustrated cry, struggling. “We have all night.”

“I like it fast.”

Finally she slid her hands into his jeans, freeing him, humming with pleasure as she wrapped her fingers around the biggest erection he'd ever had. He tried to reach for her but she shook her head. “I'm doing all the work, remember?” She stroked him. Perfectly.

And then again.

At this rate, he'd last all of two seconds. Not wanting that to be the case, he captured her hands in one of his and held them at the small of her back.

Lifting her head, she looked at him from hot, hungry eyes. Flattering as hell, and he began to think maybe she didn't even have to touch him to get him off.

“Cooper.” Frustrated, she rocked her hips, gliding that satin over his erection.

He saw stars.

“Mmm,” she said, arms still trapped behind her, and rocked again.

And then again, her breasts jiggling so pretty and enticingly in his face, the little diamond in her belly button twinkling.