Get a Clue (23 page)

Helluva time for Shelly to find her sexuality,
thought Breanne.

The mattress sank as the two lovebirds fell upon it, and Breanne wished for a large hole to open up and swallow her.

“Oh, Dante,” Shelly whispered.

Dante whispered something back in his native tongue.

Breanne resisted thunking her head on the ground. She made the mistake of opening her eyes then, focusing in on the bloody gloves before slamming her eyes shut again and doing the only thing she could—stick her fingers in her ears and silently sing at the top of her lungs.
Lalalalalalalalala
.

“Oh!” Shelly cried out louder than Breanne's silent singing. “Oh, Dante.”

Something fell to the floor. Shelly's sweater.

Her jeans came next.

Breanne shifted from singing to pretending she was on a beach. In the Bahamas. It was hot there, and cute cabana boys were bringing her drinks. Nice, big
alcoholic
drinks—

Something else hit the floor. Dante's shoes.

Then his jeans and sweatshirt. And his beanie.

Then his BVDs.

And finally, an empty condom packet.

Oh, good God.

The springs began to squeak as the mattress began moving in earnest.

“Dante—” Shelly cried. “That's—do that again. Please do that again!”

Squeak, squeak, squeak
.

Breanne tried not to look at the bloody gloves. Instead she studied her fingernails. Oh, look at that. She needed a manicure.

“Yes, yes,
YES
!” cried Shelly.

Breanne decided she was going to need a vacation to recover from her vacation.

Scratch that.

She was never going to vacation again.

Finally
the bed stopped moving, and there were more kissy-face noises and soft murmurs.

Breanne had long ago left the Bahamas and moved to the moon when four feet—bare now—hit the floor.

It took forever for them to dress—laughing and kissing—but finally, finally, they were gone. Breanne didn't know what she'd have done if they'd stuck around for round two. One time had been bad enough—
what was it with this house?

She eyed the gloves. She needed Cooper to see them, needed anyone other than her to see them. Touching evidence was bad, she knew this. But . . . what if someone moved them before she could show Cooper? Not wanting to take that chance, she slipped them beneath her top, then cringed—
gross!
—before sliding out from beneath the bed. She got to her feet, carefully not looking at the mattress. Sheesh. Tossing back her hair, she turned to the door.

And came face-to-face with Dante, who barely arched a brow—his only concession to his surprise at finding her here.

“I, um . . .” She hugged herself, hopefully hiding the bulge of the gloves beneath her shirt. “This is really a very funny story.”

He leaned back against the doorway, blocking her way out, waiting for her to go on.

Oh boy. He had that scary face on, the one that assured her much of the ghetto still lived within him. “I heard a noise down here, and I thought it was Shelly—”

At that, he smiled all the way to his eyes. “You just missed her. She's back upstairs.”

Oh, my God, was it possible he hadn't seen her coming out from beneath his bed?
“Oh. Okay, well, then I'll just—”

Go tell Cooper you had bloody gloves beneath your bed
.

“Sorry,” he said, still smiling. “I'm just realizing something.”

“What's that?” she asked bravely.
Please don't say you're wanting to kill me, too. Please
—

“—I'm in love with her.” He sighed and shook his head, rubbing the spot over his heart. “Imagine that.”

Yeah, imagine that. “Well, that's . . . sweet. But I've got to—” She gestured to the doorway and, miracle of all miracles, he didn't kill her, but moved aside for her.

With a last smile that was shaky to the core, Breanne scooted past him. It took every ounce of control she had not to run, run like hell, but she controlled herself until she was out of sight. Then she couldn't hold back any longer and she burst into a full gait, looking back over her shoulder—

Only to plow directly into someone.

Before she could open her lips to scream, a hand settled over her mouth and she was yanked into a dark room and held against a hard, warm body.

Cooper held a struggling Breanne against him. “Hey. Hey, it's me,” he said in her ear as she fought him like a wildcat. “Breanne, it's me.”

“Oh, my God.” Snaking her arms around his neck, she burrowed in close, as if she wanted to climb inside him.

He stroked his hands up and down her back, trying to soothe her. “What happened?”

When she didn't answer, he reached into his back pocket and grabbed the flashlight, running it over her to make sure she wasn't hurt.

“I'm okay.” But she gulped in air like water, clearly making an effort to get hold of herself. Pale, still shaking, she looked around them, saw they were in the workout room, and said, “I'm really tired of this house.”

He had a feeling that was a huge understatement.

“I want noise,” she said. “Airplanes. People yelling. I want a traffic jam on the bridge,
anything
but this quiet mountain, you know? Anything but more spiders and bloody gloves, and—”

“Bloody gloves?” Cupping her face, shocked at how icy cold she was, he looked into her still-glossy eyes. “What bloody gloves?”

“These.” She reached under her shirt and pulled out a pair of cotton garden gloves, light blue with white trim, and stained with what could have been blood.

She shivered wildly and thrust them at him. “I can't believe I had those against my skin.
God.
I need a shower.” She pulled her shirt away from her chest. “Now.”

Gingerly holding the gloves by just his thumb and forefinger so as not to further contaminate them, he snagged her arm when she moved to the door. “Where did you get these?”

“I heard a noise that I thought came from the cellar, but you guys were all outside, so I—”

“Damn it, Breanne. Don't tell me you went to investigate.”

“I, um . . .” She winced. “Took a knife with me.”

He groaned.

“But I left it under Dante's bed because—”

“Dante's bed?”

“Yeah, I was stuck there while he and Shelly were bouncing it so hard I thought I was going to be squished like a pancake, and—”

“Whoa. Wait.” He shook his head. “Start at the beginning.”

“I can't.” She was pulling at her sweater. “I need to scrub first.” Shoving free, she ran out of the workout room and into the hallway, moving with remarkable speed through the house, up the stairs, as if she wanted to lose him.

Not going to happen.

At the honeymoon suite, she stepped inside, then tried to close the door behind her, nearly catching his nose in it.

“Maybe I wasn't clear,” she said, her breath hitching. “I'm showering. By myself.”

She hadn't gotten her color back, nor her breath. Her eyes sheened with emotion and much more. If he wasn't mistaken, she was an inch from losing it completely. “Thought you might like some company,” he said.

“In the shower? Gee, what a shock.”

“Breanne.”

“So you don't want to see me wet and naked?”

“Well, yes, but that's because you look great wet and naked. Right now, however, I just want to make sure you're okay.”

She hadn't taken her gaze off the evidence in his hands so he shut the suite doors, hit the lock, then very carefully set down the gloves.

She stared at them and then shivered again.

“Go shower,” he said gently. “I'll wait in here.”

She nodded, then covered her mouth with a hand. “I think I'm going to throw up. I really, really don't want you to see me do that.”

“You're not going to be sick.” But just in case, he slid an arm around her waist and nudged her toward the bathroom. There, he leaned her against the counter. “Keep breathing.”

“I'm trying.”

“Good.” He opened the shower, flicking on the hot water; when he turned back to her, she was still concentrating on breathing. “Okay?” he asked.

“I'm peachy. Really. Just peachy.”

Steam was rising from the shower, fogging the mirror and glass. “Come on, get in.”

Nodding, her hands went to her sweater. She pulled on the tassel, let the material slip off her shoulders. She unzipped her jeans and shimmied out of them, doing a little dance on first one foot, then the other as she stripped down to her birthday suit.

A personal favorite of his, but he didn't say a word, just opened the shower for her.

She stepped to the door. One of her breasts brushed the sleeve of his shirt, the nipple puckering into a hard knot. “Get in,” he said again, his voice a little thicker.

Nodding, she stepped in; then, before he could shut the door, she fisted her hand in his shirt, yanking him in with her. “I don't want to be alone,” she said. “Distract me, Cooper, like only you can.”

Water rained down over his head, soaking into his clothes, dropping off his nose. “Breanne, I—”

His words were cut off by her mouth. Pressing him up against the wall, she tugged his shirt up, leaning in to kiss him right over his heart. “Please?”

She wanted fast, hard, casual sex. She wanted to disengage her brain, if only for a few minutes. He got that.

But he wanted more than mindless when it came to the two of them. And yet, as always when faced with her gorgeous nude body, he couldn't hold back. He shucked out of his shirt while she tugged his jeans to his thighs. “Good enough,” she said, and hopped up.

He just managed to catch her, all slippery and wet, and when she wrapped her legs around his hips, arching the hottest, slickest part of her to the hottest, neediest part of him, he staggered back against the wall and groaned. “I don't have a condom in here.”

She bit his neck. “Are you safe?”

He had two handfuls of her perfect bottom, her breasts mashed against his chest. He had a hard-on that could pound nails, snugged up to her sex, which was hot and creamy. His mind was befuddled, to say the least. “Huh?”

“Because I'm safe.” She attached her mouth to his neck and sucked, making his vision swim. “And I'm on the pill.”

“Me, too,” he managed to say as she arched up and let the very tip of him slip inside. Christ, she felt good. “I mean, I'm not on the pill,” he corrected as she snorted. “But I'm safe—”

Her rough, breathless laugh was cut off with a low moan as he thrust into her.

Bare skin to glorious bare skin,
Breanne thought, and for her, what happened next was as wild and unpredictable as the storm outside. She felt a blinding need, a desperate ache that had to be assuaged. There was more, too; it was as if she had a hole deep inside her that only he could fill, but she didn't want to go there, not now. Later, when she was safe and back home, she could dwell; later she could relive all that had happened, even what she'd lost, but for now she'd live in the moment.

And the moment was about this. She fisted her hands in Cooper's hair and took his mouth in greedy, hungry bites, while the hot water continued to rain down over them. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

“Always a five alarm fire with you,” he murmured.

“
Please
,” she heard herself whimper.

“We can hurry,” he assured her. “But I'm not going anywhere.” He cupped her face until her eyes met his. “Do you hear me? I'm not going anywhere, Bree. I'm here, right here.”

Her throat closed up, and she couldn't speak.

He didn't seem to mind. Instead, he held her still, buried deep within her, and gave her a kiss as gentle, as tender as any kiss she'd ever known, a kiss that brought her to a new level of desire that boggled her mind.

And still he hadn't moved within her. God, she wanted him to move. She slid her fingers into his hair, along his scalp until his head fell back. Pressing her mouth to his throat, she tried to make sense of this but then he lifted his head again, his eyes glowing with heat and need and an infinite, selfless patience she was afraid she'd never understand.

“Breanne,” he said—just that, just her name through the falling water. With a strength that seemed effortless, he turned them, pressing her back to the wall, opening her thighs even further. “Hold on,” he murmured hoarsely in her ear. “Hold onto me. Yeah, like that.” And he began a series of bone-melting strokes—slow, lengthy withdrawals and returns that she wanted to last forever and ever. But she had her limits, and Cooper was one of them. Within a few moments she began to fall apart at the seams.

He thrust a little higher, a little harder, his hands keeping her right where he wanted her. Pinned, she could do nothing but hold on for dear life, panting, blinking away the water, the steam. Nothing about any of this with him made any sense, not the depth of her wanting of him, or how it was that she hadn't gotten enough of him.

That maybe she never would.

But she didn't want it to stop.

“Christ, I can feel you,” he groaned, able to talk while she could only pant. “It's like you're milking me. You're going to come.”

And with a surprised cry, she did.

While she was still shuddering, she somehow managed to keep her eyes open on his, and saw his face darken, his jaw go tight enough to tic, watched his eyes go blind, even as he struggled to keep them open on hers.

He was showing her everything, every single emotion as it hit him, as he came with a gravelly groan torn from deep in his throat. This is trust, she realized as he trembled.
Naked trust
. Just the thought triggered another orgasm within her, and through the kaleidoscope of sensations, she thought maybe he murmured her name, but she was drowning in the pleasure and couldn't be sure.

Slowly she came back to herself, blinking away the water, realizing that he'd slapped a hand on the wall behind them, quivering as he struggled to keep them upright. Still clinging to him, she suddenly felt oddly close to tears. Not wanting him to see, she tried to pull free.

With what seemed like great reluctance, he let her legs slide down his body. “You okay?”

Chest tight, she only nodded. She was so far beyond okay.

He smiled, but looked a little shaky himself. “That was . . .” Words seemed to fail him.

She turned away to get a grip on her reckless emotions. “Yeah. Good shower sex.” She grimaced at her own coarse choice of words. Grabbing a towel, she tossed it to him, hitting him in the face.

He pulled it down. “So . . . do you get a lot of shower sex?”

“No,” she admitted. “You?”

“Yeah, but usually I'm alone.”

She laughed. Damn, he was something, always able to pull her out of a funk. “You expect me to believe that a guy who looks like you, and has a sexy job like you do, has to have sex alone in the shower?”

“I'm not exactly a chick magnet. And as for that so-called ‘sexy job'? You know I nearly let it suck the soul right out of me. I think with some distance I've got it figured out, but the truth is, my love life's a barren wasteland. Or was, until I met you.”

She shook her head. “I'm just trying to picture a healthy, red-blooded, innately sensual guy like yourself going for a long time without sex.”

“Yeah, well. I'm hoping the dry spell is behind me.”

That clammed her up because she wasn't sure how to respond. The thought of jumping into another relationship made her stomach clench. She wasn't going to let herself fall for this man, but having to remind herself felt a bit like putting the lock on the chicken hatch after the chickens had escaped.

Fact was, she'd leapt feet first into many relationships, and none of them, not a single one, had made her feel like she felt with Cooper—like she was on a roller-coaster ride going too fast, like she was going to throw up, like . . . like she was alive—really, truly, vibrantly, thrillingly alive.

Oh boy.

He hadn't done anything with the towel she'd tossed him. Completely comfortable in his own skin, he stood there naked. Actually, he wasn't just standing there, he was coming toward her, then stroking a long, wet strand of hair behind her ear. “You're looking pretty relaxed.”

“Funny how an orgasm does that.”

“Yeah.” He didn't look nearly as relaxed. “Funny.”

Don't ask, she told herself. Don't. But this was Cooper, and for some reason, she couldn't turn away. “What's the matter?”

“That rejuvenated you, having wild shower sex.”

“It would have rejuvenated anyone.”

“Really? So why do I feel more frustrated now than before?”

Not wanting to face the answer to that, she shrugged and began to dry off.

But he waited her out, standing in the doorway when she would have breezed on out. “Why did you cry at the end?”

Her gaze whipped up to his. “I didn't.”

“You did.”

Embarrassed, she looked away. “I don't know.”

“Is it because you're not used to feeling as much as you did?”

Hammer on the nail. “It's just that . . .” Oh, the hell with it. “I really liked it,” she admitted in a whisper.

“I know.” This was accompanied by a grin. “I was there.”

She stared at his chest, trying to find the right words. “I want to say something that's going to sound weird.” Lifting her head, she met his gaze. “You're nice to me.”

“You're easy to be nice to.”

He always knew what to say.