Get a Clue

Chapter 12

Cooper waved again at a furious-looking Breanne standing out there in the snow. She was glowering at him through the glass in that outfit which made him extremely hot. Surprised to find himself aroused at just the sight of her, he set down the book and came to a slow stand.

She banged on the glass yet again, her extremely kissable lips wide open in an O of vexation. Earlier he'd had them soft and wet and open to his, and it had been shockingly good, but now they were turning a lovely shade of blue. He felt bad about that, but playing with her had proven to be more fun than he'd had in far too long, and he couldn't seem to resist.

"Open up!" she yelled. "Can't you hear me?"

"Oh, I hear you. In fact, I think the people in China hear you." He had no idea where she'd gotten that siren-red top that glittered, or the tight, tight black skirt that hugged her hips and showed off her legs, or those fuck-me boots, but he was betting it was Lariana.

God bless Lariana.

"Open the door," she said through her chattering teeth, craning her head upward, searching the roof uneasily. "Please."

He moved to the glass. "What's the sudden rush?"

"There's a spider the size of my fist hanging over my head, and it's going to get me. Just let me in before I start screaming and never stop." She looked up and let out a horrified squeak. "Ohmigod, it's gone!" Frenzied, she danced around in a circle, lifting her hands to her head, running her fingers through her hair. "It's on me, I just know it! Omigod, get it! Get it!"

Opening the door, he brushed her hands away and patted her down himself, enjoying the process immensely.

"Don't kill it," she cried. "Just get it off me."

"Hang on. I'm looking." He shifted his fingers through her hair, over her arms, her waist, brushing her breasts before streaking down her legs and back up again, briefly cupping between. "Spider-free," he promised.

"Are you sure?"

"Well…" Tongue in cheek, he searched her again, taking longer this time, noticing that when he stroked over her arms and neck, her breathing changed and her nipples went hard. So did he. But when he brought his hands up her legs and then between, she stopped dancing around and shoved at him, blowing a strand of hair from her face, looking furious and quite adorable with it. "You're just using this as an excuse to feel me up."

"And down," he said agreeably.

She growled, but he lifted his hands. "You really are spider-free."

"Thank you," she said through her teeth.

He cocked his head. "That didn't sound quite sincere."

Her jaw was so tight it looked as if it could shatter. "Look, it's freezing, all right? I don't suppose you could move your big, damn, hulking frame out of the way. I want inside."

"Maybe." He waited until she looked at him. "The truth is, I want something, too, Breanne."

She crossed her hands over her chest in an attempt to warm her body up, something he'd be happy to help her with. "Let me get this straight," she said. "In order to let me into the house, you want something."

"That's right."

A gust of wind blew in, topping her off with a layer of white powdery snow. Not him, though, because she'd been his wind harrier.

She shook the snow off. "Damn it, what?"

He didn't suppose she'd let him lick the snow off her body one flake at a time, which was a shame because he knew how good she would taste. Playing it safe-for now-he went for his second choice. "You have to smile."

She stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. If she only knew. "Are you insane?" she asked. "Just let me in."

"Smile first."

"I have nothing to smile about."

"This morning."

"Huh?"

"This morning," he repeated. "It was pretty damn fine. You could smile about that."

"Cooper-"

"Look, if smiling is too difficult, you can kiss me."

She practically had an aneurism on the spot. "Kiss you?"

"As a thank-you."

"For what?"

"For rescuing you."

"You are insane," she decided, tossing up her hands. "I'm trapped inside a house with an insane man."

"Actually, you're trapped outside," he pointed out helpfully.

"Forget it! I opt to freeze to death." Turning her back on him, she hunched her shoulders against the chill.

Ah, hell. He reached for her and put his hands on her arms, rubbing them up and down her chilled skin. "All right, Custer, you win. Come on, come inside." Stepping backward over the threshold, he pulled her with him, then reached around her to shut the door. Because she had goose bumps-his fault for playing with her the way he had-he put his hands back on her arms. He didn't know what it was, but he loved having his hands on her.

Lifting her head, she looked deep into his eyes, her own filled with a sadness that tugged at him. "You ever think that life just plain sucks?"

"Yeah." He cupped her cold face in his warm hands. "But right now isn't one of those times."

A shuddery sigh escaped her, but he took it as a good sign when she let him slowly pull her against him. Tucking her frozen nose up into the crook of his neck, she sighed again as he ran his hands up and down her back. And then, because he was a very weak man, he let his hand fall lower with each stroke.

She didn't object. In fact, she let out another breath, a hum of pleasure this time, and just like that, the embrace changed. Shifted. He was still holding her, touching her, but no longer for comfort. "Breanne," he said very softly.

"I know." Her lips moved against his throat. "God, this is crazy. I'm crazy."

"No." Another stroke of his hand down her back, slowly, curving his palm over the curve of her ass. Ah, man.

"Cooper?"

Don't say stop. Please don't. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry you have to keep saving the stupid chick."

"You're not stupid." He let his fingers curl over the edge of her skirt, his knuckles brushing the back of her thigh now. Christ, she had soft skin. Her hair was damp against his cheek. The scent of the shampoo she'd used made him want to bury his face in it, or better yet, have the long strands teasing his bare chest as she rode him. Yeah, that would work-

"I went outside to get my messages."

He wondered if she knew that her entire heart was in her voice, defeated and sad, and with a breath of regret, he hugged her tight. "You heard from the missing groom?"

Still pressing her face to his throat, she nodded.

Something about the sudden tension in her body told him that whatever she'd learned had reinforced her no-more-men thing.

"He's in jail," she said. "For identity theft and fraud, and God knows what else."

"You were going to marry a helluva guy."

She let out a laugh that might have been half sob, and buried her face closer to him. "I didn't know he was a thief." She lifted her head, her eyes full of things, with anger and humiliation leading the way. "I would never have been with him if I'd known."

He stroked her cheek. "I know."

"How?" she asked, seeming surprised. "You don't even know me."

"I know you wouldn't kill a spider, even though it terrified you. I know you rushed to help Shelly feel better last night when she couldn't cook for us. I know that despite the whole kick-ass attitude, you're afraid of the dark."

"Those things don't have anything to do with dating a thief."

"You wouldn't," he said again.

She just stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. "I don't suppose you could call everyone I know and tell them that."

"Sure."

She laughed again, with a little more true humor this time. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head, dropping her forehead to his chest. "It's my greatest fantasy to wake up and find myself in my own bed at home, this whole thing just a bad dream."

"Want to hear my fantasy?"

"No!"

He stroked her hair. "I'm sorry your week has sucked so badly."

"Thanks." Her fists had a death grip on his shirt. Slowly she loosened her fingers, and wound her arms around his neck. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Princess, but if that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, I don't think I like the people in your life."

"No, I don't think you would," she said solemnly. "And chances are, they wouldn't like you, either." Her fingers tunneled into his hair. "Cooper?"

She was looking at him with those whiskey eyes, and they'd filled with heat and desire. It took his breath. She took his breath. "Yeah?"

"Hang on for this one." She tugged his head down and captured his mouth with hers. It was his dream all over again, this morning all over again, and with a low groan, he hauled her up against him and dug in. She was right. On paper they didn't know each other from Adam and Eve, but in the flesh, their bodies knew enough. They stood there, straining together, dark sounds of neediness escaping each of them, and when she tangled her tongue with his, sucking him into her mouth, he nearly lost it. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, or maybe that was his, he didn't know and it didn't matter.

As long as it never stopped.

He clamped her head between his palms, inhaling her breathy murmur of pleasure as he changed the angle of the kiss to suit him. Only when air became required did he pull back a fraction, staring down at her. "I thought you were on a no-more-men kick."

"I am."

"Then what was that for?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. I just needed to." Her voice was satisfyingly thick, her eyes glazed over.

"Well, I need more." And he came at her again, settling his mouth more firmly over hers, moaning when her soft lips clung and her fingers gripped his face as if afraid he'd pull back.

Fat chance.

He had no idea how long he lost himself in the taste of her before he backed her to a set of shelves, slid his hands from her hair, down her body to her hips, which he squeezed, before gliding them both up, cupping her breasts. Her nipples were hard, pressing against the material of that eye-popping top, begging for attention, attention he was more than willing to give.

Breanne gasped when he dragged his thumbs over them, that same sexy little gasp she'd given him this morning when he'd bared one to the morning air and his own hungry gaze. Tearing his mouth from hers, he dragged kisses along her jaw to her ear. Touching the lobe with his tongue, he sucked it into his mouth in a desperate imitation of what he wanted to do to the rest of her.

Panting raggedly against his throat, she gripped him tighter, holding onto his chest in a way that would surely tear out each hair there, one by painful one, and he didn't care. He hadn't gotten enough this morning, and logically he knew he couldn't possibly get enough here, in the light of day, in the library, where anyone could walk in on them.

But she slid her hands beneath his shirt and stroked his bare back in a restless, desperate sort of gesture, and in the coup de grace… sighed his name, just a tiny whisper of a sound, but it was so endlessly, outrageously erotic he fisted his fingers in the stretchy, flashy red material at her shoulders and tugged. The top slid to her elbows, and her breasts popped free, exposing her for his viewing and tasting pleasure.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

"Lariana was still washing my clothes," she whispered, resting her head back against the shelving unit. "And I didn't fit into one of her bras-"

"Breanne." He stared down at her freed, bared breasts, at the way the nipples were tightening into two little buds right before his eyes, making his mouth water. "Are you somehow trying to apologize for not wearing a bra?"

"Yes, I-"

"Don't." This came out slightly more harsh than he intended, and panting for breath, he put his forehead to hers. "God, Breanne. You take my breath."

She shot him a tremulous smile, and with a ragged moan, he dipped his head and very gently rubbed his jaw along the heavy curve of her breast.

Her head thunked back against the shelf. A few books rained down over them. Not caring, he slid his hands down to the backs of her thighs and lifted her up, supporting her between the shelf and his body as he wrapped her legs around him. Her tight skirt got in the way, and impatient, he shoved that up, giving her the freedom of movement to hug his hips with her thighs.

He looked down, at het bared breasts, at the skirt gathered around her waist, which exposed the smallest pair of black lace panties he'd ever seen.

Wet lace.

Holding a warm, rounded cheek in each hand, he rocked against her, letting her opened thighs and the hot, damp spot between them cradle his aching sex. Then he bent and kissed her nipple, kissing, sucking, before nipping lightly with his teeth, gently tugging.

A sweet sound escaped her, rough and desperate, reaching out and grabbing him by the throat as he rocked against her again, moving in a tight circle, ripping more of those erotic murmurs from her as her breasts jiggled and made him so hard he was surprised the zipper on his jeans didn't split. She'd slid her fingers into his hair, doing her best to make him bald before he hit thirty-five as she brought his face back to hers to kiss him, her hips mindlessly thrusting to his.

More. He needed more. Dragging a hand down her body, he stroked a finger over that black lace, catching the edge, hooking it. Beneath he could feel her rose-petal-soft folds, hot and creamy.

For him.

He pressed against her and she writhed against him with an unintelligible whimper. With a matching groan, he rotated his knuckle in a slow circle, ripping another sexy sound from her before dragging the lace aside and drinking in his fill. She was so pretty there, all pink and glistening, her clit pouting for him the way her nipples had. He wanted to taste her, wanted to lick and suck until she screamed his name, wanted to watch her fall over the edge for him.

Lifting his head, he looked around them to see where he could get them out of plain view- "In the closet."

She let out a shaky laugh. "I don't think-"

He merely lifted her against him and began to walk.

"Cooper." Her voice was grainy, her lips still wet from his, her hands shaking as she pushed his chest so that he stopped, having no choice but to let her legs slowly slide down his until her feet touched the ground.

"Sorry," she said, and touched his tight jaw.

That didn't bode well for getting behind the shelves and he knew it.

"I only meant to kiss you-I'm sorry." Without looking at him, she pulled the red shirt up over her glorious breasts, and if he wasn't mistaken, shuddered when the material stroked her nipples.

"Breanne-"

"Thanks for rescuing me over and over," she said as she-shoved down her skirt.

"Thanks for rescuing you?" He stared at her. "What the hell is that?"

"You helped me last night. You unlocked the door for me just now."

"Jesus, Breanne. I don't want to be thanked for those things."

"I know," she said softly, covering her face. "God, don't you get it? Look at me, I make a living making bad decisions. I don't w ant you to be the next one."

"Breanne-"

"Seriously. Not going to do this." And then she walked away.

The story of his life.

"You gave up men," Breanne muttered to herself as she ran out of the library, body aching, heart skipping around like a jumping bean. God. The man could put her on the edge of an orgasm with just a single look.

Except nothing about him was simple. Nothing.

"You gave up men" she repeated, running blindly. In this hallway, the walls were lined with picturesque scenes of the Sierras in each of the four seasons, revealing a setting so glorious and innocuous that if one hadn't known exactly how isolating and dangerous winter could be out here, she'd believe she was in a fairy tale.

Turning a corner, she stopped to catch her breath. Gulping in air like she hadn't breathed in a week, she realized she'd ended up in a part of the house she hadn't seen before. She stood in the center of a wide arc that broke off in several directions.

And she had no idea where she was.

What a mess she'd made out of this. Hell, what a mess she'd made out of her life, getting dumped again, getting snowed in with no clothes and big spiders and strange characters and a gorgeous, amazing kisser she could really wrap herself around and had-except that she'd given up men.

She was an idiot.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. When her stomach growled, she opened her eyes and drew a deep breath. One step at a time.

First up-breakfast.

If she could find it.

She went on the move again, turning down yet another strange hallway. This one had wood-paneled walls and a carpet runner on hardwood floors. At the end of it she found two doors on the left, two on the right, and a door straight ahead. From one of the left doors came the sound of someone… humming?

Shelly? Relieved, Breanne knocked, thinking this must be where the cook had slept. "Shelly? It's me."

The humming stopped.

Breanne knocked again but now there was no sound at all coming from inside, nothing, just a charged silence, as if Shelly was on the other side of that door, holding her breath.

Breanne stared at the door in surprise for a moment, then turned the handle.

Locked.

She looked at the door straight ahead. Narrow, and not as glossed or pretty as any of the other doors in the house.

Not locked.

When she opened it, she faced a set of wooden stairs that led down into a cellar, dimly lit only from a high, narrow window that led outside.

A wine cellar. She could see racks and racks of bottles, and smiled grimly. If she didn't get out of here today, she'd be needing a bottle.

Or two.

There was an odd smell here, musty and closed in, but also something more. She moved down the stairs, and then down a row of labels, and because she wasn't watching her feet, tripped, landing flat on her face, her legs and feet still draped over whatever she'd caught her foot on.

Which was a crumpled body.