Get a Clue

Chapter 6

Cooper sat in the vast formal dining room, at a table longer than his entire condo. He looked out floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a black, endless night filled with the glow of white snow.

A small pixie of a blond woman named Shelly had seated him, after appearing out of nowhere when he'd been heading toward the stairs. Dante had lit the myriad white candles along the window ledges that she busily set out. She was pretty, with a sweet, giving, almost naive smile, and yet nothing within him revved like it had when he'd been sparring with Breanne.

As irrational as it seemed, given that she was the opposite of every fantasy he'd ever had, he was insanely fascinated by the irritating yet sexy-as-hell woman.

Maybe it'd been the way she'd looked at his naked body. Or how she'd reacted to the vibrator: like a starving student and a scared Bambi-in-the-headlights, all at the same time. Now all he wanted was to get her to look at him like that again.

Because that was an unsettling thought, he concentrated on Shelly, who was neat and tidy, cute, and smelled like onions and seasoning. She had his mouth watering at the promise of something good to eat.

While he waited, the snow kept falling in long lines of white that were mesmerizing. He'd been told by Shelly that in good weather, he'd be able to see all the way to the far shores of Lake Sunshine, though tonight he couldn't even see the dock that was supposedly only twenty yards from the house.

Nothing but snow and more snow, and he figured one thing was certain: the skiing would be out of this world. Assuming it stopped coming down long enough to clear the roads so he could get to the lifts.

He knew if Breanne had her way, he'd be leaving at dawn, but that wasn't going to happen. But then again, neither was her honeymoon, so she could just relax. This place was plenty big enough for the both of them.

He heard a click-click-clicking, and knew the sound. It came from a pair of ridiculously high-heeled boots, squeaking from all the water they'd absorbed.

Breanne.

A/K/A Princess.

And though he knew exactly what she looked like-good Christ, the thought of her with her pants around her ankles and those barely there panties giving her a world-class wedgie would most definitely highlight his fantasies for the rest of his life-when she entered the room, she stole his breath.

Her hair had dried in long waves around her face. Her makeup, if she'd ever worn any, was gone. And though she walked like a princess, she still wore his sweats. A princess in sweats and fancy, expensive boots, with her chin up, only the clasping of her hands giving her away.

“You're squeaking," he said.

She sent him a cool gaze, then looked around, taking in the exquisite ceiling molding and incredible casement bay windows. "I'm also underdressed for this room."

"Oh, no," Shelly said, coming in behind her. "No one has to dress for dinner. This isn't an inn-it's your private house for the week. You dress as you want."

"Not exactly private," Breanne noted dryly, her gaze cutting to Cooper. "But it's a good thing about the dress code, because my luggage is gone."

"Oh, dear. You have had a rough day," Shelly said in sympathy.

Cooper wasn't sorry. He had hopeful visions of her having to go all week in only her underwear-

"How about I see what I can round up for you in the morning?" Shelly offered, crushing Cooper's dream as she left them alone.

Breanne stood just inside the room, seeming as if she'd run if she only had somewhere to go. At the very least she was going to sit in the chair farthest from him, which was approximately miles down the room. To avoid that, he rose and pulled out the chair right next to him.

Breanne hesitated, but then came close, until once again he could see the wild, almost frantic beat of her pulse at the base of her neck.

"You still afraid?" he asked.

"Of course not."

"Cold?"

"Haven't we already had this conversation? No."

"Then…" He lifted his hand and stroked his thumb over her throat. He wasn't really sure why, except the strangest thing had happened when he'd touched her before. He'd felt a spark, from deep inside where he hadn't felt anything in too goddamn long. And he wanted another.

And another.

His brother had been fussing over him for months to get the hell out, take a leave, relax, just be, before he landed in the psych ward. Cooper had finally caved and gotten the hell out.

He'd quit.

And he still hadn't felt any better. Hadn't felt anything.

Until tonight.

Breanne encircled her fingers around his wrist and that inner spark leapt to flame. "Cooper."

"Breanne." Don't shove me away. God, don't.

Shockingly enough, she didn't, and for a long moment they stood just like that, eyes locked, her fingers over his.

"You keep touching me," she whispered.

He knew it. He had her soft skin imprinted on his brain already.

"If you keep it up, I'm going to-"

"What?"

Still looking into his eyes, she chewed on her bottom lip. "Something."

"Anything you want," he murmured, and smiled grimly when, with a sound of great vexation, she tossed his hand from her and stalked around the table-click, click, clicking-strutting as if she wore something straight out of a fashion magazine rather than his sweats. In fact, just the look of her hips sashaying with attitude turned him on.

He was in bad shape if riling and baiting her like this was the most fun he'd had in too long.

On the other side of the table now, she pulled out her own chair, shooting him a smug, superior smile.

"I think you're crazy about me," he said.

She sputtered. "You're delusional. You-" She broke off whatever insult she'd been about to fling his way as Shelly came back into the room with a bottle of wine. She was followed by Dante, who set down a large tray at the head of the table.

Shelly beamed at the butler-who-didn't-look-like-a-butler. "Thanks, Dante."

He didn't smile back. "You're welcome."

Shelly arranged the plates between Cooper and Breanne, one filled with an assortment of breads, another with luncheon meats and cheeses, and a third with fruit. "I feel so bad," she said, her smile still in place, but a bit wobbly now as she clasped her hands in front of her. "Edward insists on a gourmet meal, and I really did spend the day making up roasted chicken with asiago polenta and truffled mushrooms, but then the power went out, the oven flicked off-" She sounded close to tears. "It didn't finish, and now…" She lifted her hands helplessly.

"No worries," Cooper said. "I'd eat anything tonight and be happy."

"Really?" Shelly asked anxiously.

"Absolutely."

"Me, too." Breanne gave Shelly a smile of her own, one Cooper hadn't seen, which meant it was real and full of warmth. He almost did a double take, struck by how it softened her face, removing all lines of sarcasm and bite.

Had he thought her not classically beautiful? He needed his eyes checked.

"Thank you for serving us at all," Breanne said sincerely to Shelly.

"Oh, but it's nothing like how it should be," the cook told them, still twisting her fingers.

"You did the best you could," Dante said. "We all know it. Stop worrying."

She shot him a tremulous smile.

Dante jammed his hands in his pockets.

Breanne got busy, sliding some cheese and grapes on her plate. "The best thing I make is reservations, so for me, this is great."

More relaxed now, Shelly laughed as she picked up the empty tray. "Then you just wait until tomorrow. I'm going to spoil you both rotten."

Breanne paused, a grape halfway to her mouth. She set it down and looked at Cooper expectantly.

He knew what she wanted him to say, that tomorrow there wouldn't be two guests, because he was leaving. Instead, he just smiled. He wasn't going anywhere.

Dante moved to Shelly's side and took the tray from her hands. Shelly gazed up at him as if he were a god. Her god.

Cooper wondered what it'd be like to have someone look at him like that.

Not coming close to duplicating the expression, Breanne sent him the evil eye. "One of us is leaving tomorrow," she said to Shelly.

Dante shook his head.

"No?" Breanne asked. "Why not?"

"The roads aren't cleared and no one's going to be able to get to them until the storm passes, which is supposedly no time soon. We're all trapped here."

"Where do you sleep when you're stuck like this?" Breanne asked.

"Oh, don't worry about us," Shelly said quickly. "There are servants' quarters we can stay in. You won't even know we're here." Leaning in, she began to pour the wine, first for Cooper, and then for Breanne, who scooted her chair back to make room for Shelly. At the odd scraping noise, Breanne looked down, then carefully lifted a sliver of glass. "Yikes. Something must have broken in here."

Shelly stared at the glass without moving.

Dante reached in and took the shard. "No harm done," he said, then took the bottle of wine from Shelly's fingers, set it down on the table, and directed her from the room.

Silence reigned.

Cooper looked at Breanne.

She pretended not to notice.

"So we're stuck," he said, making her face it. "Might as well relax about it." He hoisted his glass of wine in a toast. "What do you say?"

She stared at him, then lifted her glass as well, downing the contents in a few gulps before reaching for the bottle."

You might want to slow down, Princess," he warned. "You're at altitude now, and that's going to go straight to your head, fast. Drink some water so you don't get dehydrated."

She bared her teeth and growled.

He laughed but lifted his hands. "Just trying to help you avoid getting hung over."

"I could avoid a hangover entirely by just getting drunk and staying there," she said miserably, and when he laughed again, she picked up a grape and looked as if she was considering chucking it across the table at him.

Arching a brow, he silently dared her, enjoying being distracted by her frustration. The woman must burn up more stress calories a day than the president of the United States.

Or at least as many as he did at work when adrenaline was flowing and-and that no longer mattered because he'd quit. He'd walked away and had become unemployed. Funny that he'd forgotten, even for a second.

He was just getting into his cheese and crackers when another set of footsteps came down the hall-not light like Shelly's, nor rubber-soled like Dante's. These were heavy, hard, and clinked and rattled with every step.

"What's that?" Breanne whispered, eyes wide.

Step, clink. Step, clink.

"Not a what," Cooper said, "but a who."

"That isn't Shelly or Dante."

"No," he agreed.

The footsteps came closer.

Step, clink.

Step, clink.

With a sudden gasp, Breanne rose to her feet, running around the table in those silly heels, directly at Cooper. He reached to pull out the chair next to him for her, but as she reached the corner, her heels slipped and she flew into the home stretch.

It was all he could do to catch her, but catch her he did. Her hair stabbed him in the eye, caught on his jaw, and even went into his mouth, but his brain had locked on the fact that her warm, soft curves were trying to crawl up his body. Her breasts were mashed against his chest, her legs entangled with his. He liked it all, but then again, it'd been so long since he'd had any action, he'd have liked just about anything.

Then an extremely tall, extremely lean shadow filled the doorway with indistinguishable features. "Sorry," the shadow said in a heavy Scottish accent. "But has anyone seen me bloody flashlight?"

Still in Cooper's lap, Breanne froze.

The shadow stepped further into the room. The candlelight caught him, revealing nothing more than a mere mortal man, possibly thirty, wearing a tool belt from which swung a hammer, a wrench, and an assortment of other tools.

Hence the clinking.

Cooper threw an amused look at Breanne, who remained utterly still for one instant before she blew out a short breath and struggled like a wildcat to get out of his lap.

But because he was a sick, sick man, Cooper used his superior strength to hold her against him before craning his head toward the man in the doorway. "No flashlight, sorry."

"Well, fuck me," Scottish said, and scratched his head. His red hair stood straight up. "I'm trying to get the generator up and running, straightaway."

"That'd be good," Cooper said.

"Power lines are down all over the bloody place. It'll be days and days with no electricity if I don't get the generator running."

Breanne looked horrified. "Days and days…?"

"Aye. Well, off I go, then." With another scratch of his head, Scottish walked out.

Step, clink.

Step, clink.

"If I call him back here," Cooper whispered in her ear, "will you crawl up my body again?"

"Oh!" she spit out. "You are so not a nice man!"

"Are you sure? Because a minute ago you couldn't get enough of me."

"Let me up!"

Enjoying not only the squirming, but the lovely, warm feel of her butt rubbing against his crotch, Cooper did no such thing.

"I said, let me go!"

Grinning down at her, he easily held her against him. "Not until you say 'thank you, Cooper, for saving my life.'"

"You didn't save my life!"

"But you wanted me to."

She stared at him. "I can't believe you can walk through a door with your head as swollen as it is."

And it wasn't the only thing on him swollen, either. Her fidgeting was having another effect on him entirely, and given the way she went suddenly still, she knew. "What do you have in your pocket?" she demanded.

He let his grin speak for itself.

She ground her teeth together. "You. Are. Impossible."

"You're the one wriggling around." But careful to mind her knees and where she put them, he let her go.

Jerking to her feet, she yanked down on the sweatshirt, which fell to her thighs and covered too much of her.

His own fault, but it didn't matter what she wore because he knew what lay beneath-a thin white tank top sans bra that outlined her breasts and mouthwatering nipples in such a way that he'd nearly swallowed his own tongue. And then there'd been those tiny panties-

"Whatever you're thinking about," she said shakily, backing away to walk back around the table to her chair. "Stop. Stop it right now."

"Why?"

She reached for her glass of wine, her hand shaking. Because I'm on my honeymoon, remember?"

"You didn't get married today, remember?"

“Yes. I do remember that part," she said softly, face averted.

Ah, hell. He was an ass, especially since he knew how she felt. He'd also once had a woman walk away from him.

Only at least he'd seen it coming. Annie had chafed long and hard beneath the impossible hours Cooper had put in on his job. She'd broken under the strain only six months before he had, but she'd been long gone by the time he'd been free.

It no longer mattered, though, because he still deeply resented how she'd never accepted that part of him. In fact, few had. "Look," he said more gently, "consider it this way. The guy's an idiot for letting you get away."

She snorted her agreement and poured herself more wine.

"And anyway, in the long run, he did you a favor."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"He left you free to take advantage of the next best thing to come along."

She regarded him for a long moment, her bitterness and sadness draining away, replaced by a reluctant smile. "You know, just when I think you're part of my worst nightmare, you go and say something almost human. And definitely profound."

He smiled and lifted his glass in a silent toast.

"Days and days," she murmured again after another long sip. "Can you imagine?"

"It could be worse."

"How?"

"You could be stuck here with your ex."

She rolled her eyes. "You're very helpful tonight."

"I try." He dug back into the cheese and crackers, and was well on his way to filling his rumbling belly when something hit him on the nose and landed on his plate.

A grape.

"What was that?" he asked.

She looked it over. "I believe it's a grape."

"I can see that, smart-ass. I'm wondering why it was bouncing off my nose."

"Gee, I haven't a clue." Looking as if she felt a great deal better, she rose. "Good night," she said loftily, and grabbing her plate and the bottle of wine, headed toward the door, where she'd undoubtedly go sit in front of the warm, toasty fire while he climbed the dark stairs and had to light his own and wait for it to heat the room, hoping it did so before his balls froze off. " 'Night," he muttered, watching her curvy little bod practically quiver with her superiority. "Sleep tight. Oh, and…" He paused for effect. "Don't let the monsters bite."

Her step faltered but she recovered, and with that pert little nose thrust high, kept going.