Jill Shalvis - Get a Clue

"Hello, anyone home?"

"I don't answer trick questions."

"Trick questions?"

"Like when a woman asks 'does that skirt make my butt look big?'"

She clamped a hand on her butt and tried to crane her neck to see it. "I knew it! It's Lariana's, and-"

"It was a rhetorical question," he said, his lips twitching as if he were biting back another smile.

"Rhetorical question?" She stopped trying to see her own behind and looked at him, exasperated. "You know, for a man who seems to enjoy perpetuating a ghetto image, you sure don't talk like a thug."

He merely shrugged and began walking away.

"Right," she muttered. "Mind my own business. Got it." She pulled her cell phone out of her bag. Time to work on her own life. "Uh, Dante?"

Dante glanced back. “What, arc we late for history class?"

“Ha, ha. Do you know if there's anywhere I can get reception on this thing?”

“Out the douhle French doors from the library. There's a deck there, facing west. It's the only place in the house where cell phones sometimes work."

Sometimes? "Point me in the right direction." She wanted to get her messages, mostly because she wanted to know if Dean had been hit by a bus-the only explanation she'd accept with grace.

"Shelly made breakfast."

"Okay."

"She's hoping everyone comes."

"Ah," she said smugly. "So you're not immune to her, after all."

His eyes narrowed. "It's my job to tell you about breakfast."

"Uh-huh." That this big, edgy, dangerous-looking man did care about Shelly's feelings made her take a good, long second look at him. And a third. In fact, something deep inside her niggled, something that said, See? Maybe not all men are bad. She squelched it. "Where's the library?"

He sighed. "That hallway there, third door on the right."

Grateful for the daylight, dull as it was, she moved along the beautiful hardwood floor past the curved staircase, past the great room, counting doors until she came to a large room with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books. In awe, she stepped in. There were overstuffed chairs and ottomans, bigger, cushier sofas, and beneath the huge windows, beautiful benches filled with pillows. A book-lover's delight. She was most definitely a book lover. She moved close to a shelf-all the Dickens classics. Another held Shakespeare. Yet another had five full rows of contemporary and historical romances by some of her favorite authors.

She could spend all week in this room and never regret spending her honeymoon alone. She picked up a personal favoriote

, an old historical classic. When she'd been thirteen she'd sneaked it home from the library, reading every dog-eared page beneath her blankets with a flashlight. The story had blistered her sheets.

"Breanne."

With a startled squeak, the book went flying out of her fingers. She turned around and faced the one man whose voice could make her quiver, make her ache.

Cooper looked at her from the bluest, sexiest eyes she'd ever seen. "Dante said you were around, talking to yourself about mysterious hotties. You did mean me, right?"

She rolled her eyes, but his had locked on her body. "Wow," he said huskily. "More honeymoon attire?"

"No. I borrowed some clothes."

"Hmmm." Wearing worn cargo jeans and a long-sleeved Henley the exact color of his eyes, he picked up the book she'd sent flying and looked at the cover-a nearly naked man, pulling a dress off a nearly naked woman. "Oh, goody," he said. "A bedtime story. You can read it out loud to me tonight."

"We are not sharing a bed tonight."

"Feel free to skip straight to the good spots." He opened the book to somewhere in the middle. "Right here, for example." He cleared her throat and read out loud: '"Elizabeth tingled at the thought of putting her mouth to his throbbing manhood.'" He lifted his head, sending her a lopsided grin. "Hey, I have a throbbing manhood."

Breanne crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to admit she felt his smile from her roots to her toes, and in every single erogenous zone between, of which she apparently had more than she remembered, damn him. "Get out."

"Sorry, Princess, there's nowhere to go. Come eat breakfast with me."

"Why? So you can turn that into something dirty as well?"

His grin went positively wicked. "You think sex is dirty?"

"Go. Away."

Of course, he didn't budge.

"You know what?" she asked, tossing up her hands. "Never mind. I’ll go."

"You can run, but you can't hide."

"What does that mean?"

"Means we're still stuck, baby. Snowed in. With no cable services and nothing to do except-"

"Don't say it."

"Okay. I'll just think it."

She sent him daggers, refusing to allow him to see how much his thoughts were affecting her. "I'm going outside to make a call on my cell." Whirling away from him, she stepped to the French doors. Beyond them was a view that, under any other circumstances, would have made her sigh with pleasure. Surrounded by awe-inspiring, majestic peaks, they were nestled in a valley that lay under a glistening blanket. The snow was still falling in dinnerplate-sized flakes, coating everything in sight.

It boggled her mind.

Determined to check her messages, she bravely opened the doors and was immediately assaulted by the cold. Protected by a small covered deck, she stood a foot from where the snow came down in thick, blurry lines, falling eerily without a sound, piling into drifts. If she took a step off the deck she'd have sunk, vanishing from view.

Behind her she let the door shut so she wouldn't have to hear Cooper moving around the library. God only knew what the Neanderthal would find in there to read. She didn't care. Shivering, she kept her eyes locked on her phone display as she turned it on and waited with bated breath.

Two bars! And then the familiar beep, beep, beep, signaling that she had messages. Quickly she accessed them and laughed weakly when she heard "You have thirty-seven messages." A bunch were from her parents and siblings, and all were in a similar vein along the lines of "Where the hell are you?" There were more from friends, wondering if she was okay. The answer was a big, resounding no.

And then came Dean's voice, unusually subdued, and sounding as if he was in a vacuum. "Hi, Breanne-I realize you probably hate me by now."

"Give me a reason not to," she muttered.

"-and I know this will sound like some kind of joke to you," he said, "but believe me, it's not. I'm… in prison."

Breanne pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it in shock before listening to the rest.

"I was arrested for identity theft and fraud, and they say I'm looking at five to ten. Oh, and you should probably toss your Palm Pilot in the nearest ocean because I once used it for some illegal downloading." Then the sound of him hanging up. That was it, nothing more.

No good-bye, no I'm so sorry, no words of everlasting love.

There were more messages but she lost her signal. Hands shaking with the chill, she turned off her cell and tried to go back inside.

The doors wouldn't budge. She'd locked herself out.

Her mind went numb as she stood there and looked at the handle. Her vision wavered. Dean was a criminal. That meant this engagement had been nothing more than a sham. Of course it'd been. Hell, her entire life had been a sham.

Damn, she was done being a screwup, done just moving through life, going through the motions.

Things were going to change!

She tried the door again, but apparently her epiphany didn't have any impact on the fact that she'd locked herself out. Already frozen, she tipped her head upward in frustration, but there was no divine help to be had.

There was nothing but more bad luck as her eyes focused on the eave of the house, and the shockingly huge web there. And sitting in it was the largest, fattest spider she'd ever seen. "Oh, God."

She really hated spiders. She'd hated them since she'd been five, when one of her brothers had put his pet tarantula in her bed. Frantic, she reached for the handle again, imagining she felt the spider drop to her head. Her breath clogged in her throat. "Oh, no. No."

The doors were still locked.

She banged on the glass, and Cooper, at home in a large easy chair, reading the historical romance, lifted his head and smiled at her.

Waved.

"I'm locked out!" she yelled, banging on the door. "Let me in."

"Sorry." He shook his head regretfully. "Can't do that."

She would have sworn she felt the spider crawling in her hair and shuddered. "Why not?"

"You wanted to be alone, remember?"

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."