to push her past her comfort zone.
Wanting him to push her past her comfort zone.
His hands slid down her hips, her legs, and back up again, palming her bottom. Leaning in, he kissed a cheek, then the other, and then his thumbs dipped between, ripping a gasp out of her.
“Just say the word,” he murmured.
Say it, her brain commanded. Stop him.
But her body had taken over, and she thrust her butt out.
With a low, rough growl—the only word for the lustful sound that came from him—he skimmed the itty-bitty black panties aside.
Knowing what he could see, which was everything, she kept her eyes closed, her cheek to the chilly wall, and held her breath.
While he very slowly let out his, the warmth skimming over her exposed flesh, ripping a pathetic little whimper from her throat.
He didn’t move.
She did. She squirmed, thinking if he didn’t touch her soon she was going to be forced to beg.
“You’re the sexiest thing,” he whispered, running a finger over her. “And so wet.” He dipped into that wetness. “Is this all for me, Breanne?”
Good thing the question seemed rhetorical, because she didn’t have breath for an answer.
“Are you?”
“Yes,” she panted when his finger stroked over her again. “I’m wet. For you.”
He rewarded her with another stroke, and she nearly lost it right then and there. And then another while his mouth lightly bit the back of her thigh again, his callused finger still driving her right to the edge.
And all she could do was prop herself against the wall and let the sensations bombard her. Every time she sucked in a breath, her breasts grazed the cold wall, making her gasp in shock, adding to the sensations. “Cooper—”
“Are we stopping?” His voice was tight and strained, and though he went still, he didn’t remove his hands—or mouth—from her.
She was so close to coming, her hips were still rocking, tiny little oscillations of movement she couldn’t stop.
“Breanne?”
“No,” she whispered.
The air left his lungs in a sigh of relief, but none of the tension left the hands that held her still and in place as he whipped her around. On his knees, he looked up at her, groaned at what he saw, then ran his hands from her breasts to her belly, to her thighs, and then between. His thumbs gently parted her, and he leaned in and kissed her.
There.
Something unintelligible left her mouth, though she had no idea what she’d meant to say because then he used his tongue. With a cry, she fell back against the wall, gone, just totally and completely gone. “I don’t—”
“You had your chance to stop this,” he murmured, using his fingers, his tongue, his teeth. “Shh, now.”
“Ohmigod.” She began to shudder. “Cooper—I’m going to—”
“Come,” he said against her. “I want you to.”
As if she could do anything else. Biting her lip, she let go and came hard, bucking against the hands that gripped her tight as he brought her to heaven and back, and then slowly eased her down, touching her as if he could read her like a book. When her knees gave out, he caught her. Mouth wet, eyes dark and hungry, he smiled, though his body was taut.
She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. He immediately opened his and she dove in, but only for a moment before working her way down his throat, smiling when his Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed hard. “Your turn,” she whispered, and licked at the hollow at the base of his throat.
Beneath her hands, his heart beat steady but fast. She kissed him again, or he kissed her. God, he was good at this, his lips brushing softly back and forth over hers, his tongue dancing to hers. When her tongue followed his, he sucked her into his mouth with a gentle, warm pressure that got her hot and bothered all over again, more so when a soft groan escaped him.
It gave her a rush such as she’d never known, rendering a man like this a trembling mass of need. On their knees, facing each other, she shoved up his shirt, kissing her way to a pec, flicking her tongue over his nipple, tracing her fingers along his amazing abs, then to the waistband of his jeans. A whole new rush of excitement at his quickened breathing. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, mirroring his earlier words as she unzipped him.
A choked laugh escaped him but he said nothing.
He wasn’t wearing underwear. Just a most impressive erection right there in her face, very happy to see her. “Mmmm,” she hummed, and tugged his jeans to his thighs. “Is this all for me?”
“Oh, yeah.” His fingers tunneled in her hair. “Perfect way to get an in with the law.”
Mouth open to take him in, she paused. Tipped her head up. “What?”
He smiled, sexy and lazy, more gorgeous than sin, and she nearly pretended she hadn’t heard him because she wanted his penis inside her more than she wanted her next breath, but she found she couldn’t let it go. “You think that I need an in with the law?”
He grimaced. “Of course not. I—”
“Oh, my God.” She pushed unsteadily to her feet. “You actually think I could have—” Voice shaking, she shut her mouth and shoved down her skirt, adjusted her shirt.
“Breanne. Don’t be stupid. I didn’t mean—”
Oh, now she was stupid. “Back off,” she warned, her body still pulsing, and stepped clear. “You have got to be kidding if you think I’m going to let you touch me now.”
She started to stalk off, but at the last minute whirled back and grabbed the flashlight. Let him be in the dark. She needed out.
When the door slammed, Cooper pulled up his jeans, wincing as he zipped them, sagging back against the snowmobile. “Genius,” he muttered. “I’m a fucking genius.”
Eighteen
Everyone makes mistakes. The trick is to make them when nobody is looking.
—Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry
Cooper made his way through the dark house, his temper heating with each step. He could hear various sounds, someone walking upstairs, someone in the great room messing with the fireplace.
Normal house sounds. As if anything about this house had turned out to be normal.
There were candles lit in the main hallway, the glow making it easier to navigate the huge place but not taking away the chill or the flickering shadows.
He felt painfully alert, watching out for any little movement and sound. It was getting to him.
A dead body did that to a person.
So did all the sexual play without getting off. Damn, that was really getting to him. So was little Miss Fucking Attitude.
He had no idea where she’d run off to, the woman who’d actually thought he’d touch her the way he had and yet believe her capable of murder. Wherever she’d gone, he doubted he’d be welcomed anywhere near her. Too bad, he thought grimly, because he didn’t feel comfortable with her wandering around here when they had no idea what they were up against.
He looked into the great room. Dante was the one stirring up the fire. Breanne sat on the couch, her back to Cooper, laughing at something the butler was saying.
Laughing. His temper rose a notch.
Shelly stood off to the side, smiling dreamily at Dante.
Cooper let out a breath and entered the room, prepared to be universally hated. “Hey.”
Everyone looked at him but no one said anything. Yep, universally hated. Breanne looked away first. He wanted to wring her neck. Instead he nodded to the flashlight she had on her lap. “I need that for a moment. Or your other one.”
“Other one?”
“The Day-Glo pink vibrator,” he said, being intentionally crude, but damn it she didn’t have to look at him like he was a pervert. There’d been two people all over each other in that garage.
“Here,” she said, shoving the flashlight at him.
He took it and walked out of the room. He decided that was the smart thing to do at the moment becau
se he was absolutely not going to defend himself to her.
In general, people had two reactions to finding out what he did for a living. There were the “cop” groupies, the women who found his job an exciting adrenaline rush. And then there were those who clammed up and got suspicious of everything he said, as if he was getting ready to shove them against a car and cuff them like they did on COPS. The cop-haters.
The only person who’d ever accepted him as he stood was his brother, and that had been because they were two peas in a pod. But James was married now, and Cooper had gotten used to being alone. Good thing, since they were going to be here at least another night and he had a feeling he was definitely going to be solo for this one.
No warm, sexy Breanne, a woman he’d thought for a brief moment could maybe have gotten to know him, the real him. He’d been wrong. Again he made his way down to the cellar to make sure no one had messed with the crime scene, just for fun checking the locked bedroom door next to the cellar. Still locked.
He entered the cellar and hunkered down next to Edward, shining the light over him. Poor bastard. Then he eyed Edward’s shirt and went still. Had someone adjusted the body? He leaned in closer. The smell was bad, but Cooper had smelled worse so he ignored that, especially as he realized something he’d missed before. There was a curious lack of blood around the hole in Edward’s chest, as if the injury had occurred postmortem.
The body had suffered blunt trauma as well, a fact that had become more apparent with the passing of time. The body was bruised from head to toe, as if he’d been beat to hell, or . . . as if he’d fallen.
Cooper craned his neck and looked at the staircase, a good fifteen feet away. “Which came first, Edward? The fall or the shot to the chest?”
And why did Cooper have the gut feeling that neither had been what had killed him?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated and uneasy. Nothing added up—not the staff ’s reaction, not the lay of the body, and not the fact that he’d searched the house the best he could and hadn’t come up with any sign of a gun, BB or otherwise.
He shouldn’t care. He’d laid down his badge, ostensibly for good. At the time, he’d meant it. Even as late as this morning, he’d meant it. He’d worked his ass off and his soul into the ground, and he’d thought leaving the job had been the only answer.
But now, staring down at Edward, he wondered at his need to know what happened, at his need for justice.
The shadow flattened against the wall, heart pounding like a primal drum, watching Cooper.
Why did he keep coming back to look at the body?
Edward was dead already, dead, dead, dead, and no amount of looking at him could change that.
So why was there still so much fear?
Breanne sat in front of the fireplace in the spare bedroom where just last night she’d foolishly believed she could sleep. Shelly was pouring her a glass of wine.
Breanne figured she needed the whole damn bottle. But remembering what had happened when she’d oh-so-innocently gone into the cellar for a bottle, had her shuddering.
“There.” Shelly pushed a tray of food toward her, a bowl of canned chili heated by the fire and some fruit. “I can’t believe your bad luck. Missing out on my cooking for two of your days here.”
“As if that’s the worst of my problems.”
Shelly let out a shuddery sigh. “Yeah. It’s been a rough one around here, huh? First the break-in, then Edward—”
“What?” Breanne set down her wineglass and twisted around to look at Shelly. “You had a break-in?”
“Well, we’re not sure exactly, to tell you the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Last week Lariana went to town and cashed her check at lunch. That night after work, her wallet was missing from her purse out of the main hallway closet. Her entire paycheck, gone.” Shelly lifted her hands. “Not that we get paid all that much, let me tell you, but still.”
“Did she call the police?”
“No. Nothing else was taken that we could tell.”
“Shouldn’t the police have been notified?” Or the future guests warned?
“To tell you the truth, it wasn’t my place to do so. And Lariana said it was her own stupid fault. We’d left the front door open that day for a big spring cleaning. Edward freaks when we leave the front door unlocked. If he’d found out—”
“But the front door was unlocked when I got here,” Breanne said.
“Yeah.” Shelly flashed her a guilty look. “See, the house is so big, and we all have so many chores because Edward’s too cheap to hire a rotating staff. It’s just easier to leave it unlocked rather than miss a delivery or a guest.”
Breanne stared into the fire and remembered last night. The face hovering over her in bed. “But you make sure to lock the front door at night, right?”
“Always,” Shelly promised, then winced. “Or at least I think so.”
Terrific.
“It’s just that I used to leave after I cooked dinner, so I don’t know the late night habits.”
“But last night you slept here. In the servants’ quarters, right?”
“Yes.”
“How about Dante?”
Shelly’s smile congealed. “Him, too.”
“And Patrick and Lariana?”
“Are you trying to get our alibis?”
Well, yes, but now she felt like a jerk for doing so. “I’m just trying to make sure I’m not scared out of my mind again tonight. If I know where you are, I just might be joining you in a slumber party.”
Shelly laughed. “Dante slept on the floor next to me because I was scared and he’s a sweetie.”
“You mean before you got him in the closet today and showed him your feminine wiles.”
“Hey, no wiles were shown.” She moved to the door. “Sleep tight.”
“Is Dante going to be on your floor again?”
Shelly turned back at the door. “Next to me would be better, but we’re waiting until we get out of here.”
“Good luck with that, because there’s just something about this house that revs a person’s energy.”
“Maybe it’s the altitude?”
“I meant sexual energy.”
“Oh.” Shelly grinned. “Right. I knew that. You’re not the first guest to notice.”
“It’s not difficult when the staff goes around screwing each other at will.”
“Hey.”
“I meant Lariana.”
“I knew that, too.”
“Just be careful.”
“I should say the same to you. You’re the one that ended up sleeping with the cop.”
“Cooper. His name is Cooper.”
“I know.”
Oddly enough, Breanne felt a slight censure in her voice, which made no sense. Shelly didn’t seem the type of woman to judge