Jill Shalvis - Get a Clue

Sleep didn't come as easily as it had the night before. For the longest time she lay there, muscles sore from holding herself so tense. The fire crackled. The walls creaked.

So did a floorboard.

Uneasy, she sat up, her gaze frantically searching out each corner of the room.

No floating face.

No boogeyman.

Nothing.

And yet she was in this house with a dead body. And someone who'd made him dead.

She lay back down, but that lasted only until the next mysterious creak.

Why had she wanted to be alone?

Damn bad time to have given up men.

Then, from somewhere in the house, came an odd, indistinguishable sound. Not the house creaking, but she couldn't place it. Again she sat up.

She'd definitely been hasty in sending Cooper away. Truth was, she didn't have to give up men as long as she did one thing-hold on to her heart and soul for all they were worth, never letting them go.

For anyone.

Hoping she was right, she slipped out of bed and slowly cracked open her door. The hallway was pitch black-not a sound, not even a whisper of air. She couldn't see all the way to the honeymoon suite where her salvation lay in one tall, hard, gorgeous package.

Couldn't see anything.

That's when the house creaked again.

Goose bumps rose over her skin, fear bubbled in her throat, and she ducked back into her room looking for a flashlight or a candle or something.

But the candles had burned down to stubs and Lariana hadn't replaced them. She'd had the fire for light and that had been enough. Stumbling into the bathroom, she went straight to the gift basket and fumbled for the vibrator that had reappeared. Thanks, Lariana, for your obnoxious sense of humor. Rushing back to the fire, Breanne held the thing up in front of the flames for a moment until it began to glow pink.

At the next creak of the walls, she gasped, gripped the vibrator out in front of her like a beacon, and bolted for the honeymoon suite, limping in her one high-heeled boot.

This time she didn't jump Cooper in the bed. She didn't have to because he wasn't in it.

Shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans low on his hips, he stood facing his own fireplace, hair rumpled, feet bare. For a moment she hung onto the doorjamb staring at him, a yearning welling up within her so strong she didn't know what to do with it.

What was it about him? Granted, he had an amazing body. His back was sinewy and sleek, broad and sculpted, tapering in at his waist and hips. And that butt… Lord, she just wanted to bite it.

Only it wasn't her body that tingled at the sight of him, but something deep inside. Note to self: your heart and soul are locked up tight! Not accessible! Remember that!

"You going to shut the door?" he asked without turning around.

With a sigh, she did, no longer surprised that he seemed to have eyes in the back of his head because she was getting used to that sense of awareness he had. She imagined he'd honed it over the years of being a cop.

Craning his neck, he finally looked at her, taking in her makeshift flashlight. "You need me to show you how to work that thing?"

"In your dreams."

"Oh yeah, in my dreams." He sighed and rubbed his forehead as if she gave him a headache by just being.

She had to admit it was entirely possible that she was a walking/talking headache inducer. "I, um, forgot to tell you something."

"Well, then." He turned toward her and slipped his hands in his pockets. The movement shifted his jeans even lower on his hips, gaping away slightly from his rippled abs that she always wanted to touch. "I'm all ears, Princess."

Actually, he was all solid, tough muscle, but she wasn't going to point that out. Locking up the heart and soul and tossing out the key!

He jerked a shoulder toward the fire. "Come here."

Yeah, colossally bad idea. "Don't you want to know what 1 forgot to tell you?"

"I want you to be warm."

His words made her realize she was hugging herself, and extremely chilled. "Getting close to you is bad for my mental health."

"And yet you're here instead of with anyone else in the house." He waggled his fingers. "Come on."

Her feet carried her, damn them, one boot on and one boot off, while he watched, calm and thoughtful. Coming to a stop next to him, she stared into the fire, ignoring his gaze, which she could feel running over her. "Better?" he asked softly as the warmth began to seep into her bones.

"Yes," she said so grudgingly he laughed as he bent down and helped her out of her single boot.

"So." When he straightened, he smiled into her eyes with that same confusing mix of heat and affection that felt infinitely terrifying to her. "What did you forget to tell me?"

"It's a deal sort of thing."

"Ah. Meaning you want something in return." Again he slipped his hands into his pockets and turned back to the fire, his smile gone, shoulders slightly hunched. "The question is, what.'"

Too late, she realized the truth. As a cop, he probably got requests for "deals" every day. Guilt stabbed through her that she hadn't treated him any better than any of the criminals he'd dealt with, but there was no going back now. "I want to sleep with you."

That got his attention. Those eyes once again turned and locked on hers, blazing and filled with things that banished her chill. She swallowed hard. "That is, um…"

"Yeah," he said. "I thought you might want to clarify that."

"I want to sleep with you so I'm not the next body found dead on the cellar floor."

He let out a long breath. "Breanne, you don't have to make a bargain for that."

Her heart began to tumble but she bucked it up because, damn it, neither her heart nor her soul were involved here. They were locked up.

Tight.

"In return for letting me sleep here," she said, "I wanted to tell you what Shelly mentioned tonight. They had a break-in last week."

"A break-in?" He went from mere man to sharp cop in the blink of an eye. "What was taken?"

"From what I understand, just cash from Lariana's purse. Nothing else."

He frowned. "That makes no sense. There's a lot of valuable stuff here."

"I know."

"Only Lariana's money? Are you sure?"

"That's what she said."

"That sounds personal. What did the police say?"

"They didn't call the police."

He made a rough sound of disgust.

"They didn't want the owner to find out that they'd been leaving the front door unlocked."

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No."

He nodded. "Then there's only one thing left to do."

"What's that?"

"Go to bed," he said, and his hands went to the buttons on his Levi's.

Cooper didn't miss the leap of emotion in Breanne's gaze. Except it wasn't Oh, please take me to bed, it was Oh God, he thinks I'm going to sleep with him.

With a harsh laugh directed entirely at himself, he ran his fingers through his hair and headed toward the mattress. "I'm taking it we need something bigger than a sheet between us this time." He snatched the folded comforter off the foot of the bed and stalked toward the overstuffed chair in the corner. The small chair. '"Night, Bree."

She stared at him as he sat and pulled the comforter over the top of him. It was a short comforter, and didn't cover both his chest and his feet at the same time. Perfect. Not only had he been stupid enough to give up the bed, he was going to be cold to boot.

Breanne was still staring at him. "I thought that you-that we'd-" Her gaze flickered to the bed.

"You thought what?"

"Nothing." She pulled back the big, thick down comforter that Cooper had reason to know was not only warm and toasty, but would cover him entirely, and slid beneath it, vanishing entirely except for the top of her head and her eyes. Eyes t hat were still locked on him.

Trying to forget her, he shifted to his side, aiming for some level of comfort. There was none to be had. His jeans were cutting off circulation to vital parts. With a sigh, he stood up and stripped them off, then wrapped himself in the blanket that came only to his shins.

Popsicles. His feet were going to be popsicles.

So were his balls. Good move, Ace. With another sigh, he stood up, put his jeans back on, and took a longing glance toward the bed. Looking considerably more comfortable, not to mention warm and toasty, Breanne lay there with only her hair and eyes showing.

Eyes which were closed.

He turned away, thinking, damn, she'd gone directly to sleep, peaceful as a baby, while he sat here chilly, frustrated, and-

"I have another deal," she whispered.

"The last one didn't work out too well for me, so no, thanks."

"This one's better."

He rolled back toward her, then was sorry. Her eyes were dark and haunted, her face strained, her fingers clutching the blanket up to her chin. Not wanting to be affected by her meant shit when his heart clenched without his permission every time he so much as looked at her. "What is it?"

"I'm…" She let out a breath. "I'm really scared."

He sighed. "Nothing's going to happen to you here, Bree."

"Yeah." Sitting up, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "I keep telling myself that. The truth is, I'm a little shaky for a lot of reasons."

"You've been through a rough few days. Anyone would be shaky, even without finding a dead body."

"Yeah, makes that whole being dumped at the altar thing not that big a deal."

"It was a big deal for you," he said quietly.

"You know it's for the third time."

"Breanne-"

"Don't even try to tell me that's normal," she said firmly. "Face it, Cooper. There's something wrong with me. I'm not quite sure what, but there is."

"No."

"Maybe it's a sexual thing. Maybe…" She winced. "Maybe I'm bad in bed."

Christ, no man was strong enough for this. He pushed out of the chair and moved to the mattress.

She watched him, her eyes sad and shimmering. "About the deal. Do you think you could-I mean, would you-"

He put a knee on the mattress. "Don't say it."

"-have sex with me?" she whispered. "Make sure I'm not doing something really wrong?"

Definitely not big enough to walk away from that request, or the lingering hurt in her eyes, not to mention the offer of her sweet, hot body.

"I'll do all the work," she promised. "Everything.'"

His knees actually wobbled.

"And afterwards, you can critique me-"

"Breanne-"

"And then tomorrow morning, we'll dig out and go our separate ways."

She was serious. She wanted to have him tonight, bare their bodies and souls, then walk away in the morning.

After he told her what was wrong with her.

"Think of it," she said softly. "A whole night of unattached, unemotional sex. Any guy's idea of Christmas, right?"

"Stop." Walking over here had been a massively stupid idea, because now he was inches from her, with a knee already on the bed.

She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Stared up at him.

All he had to do was lean over her-

She tossed the covers aside.

On her back in that stretchy red top and painted-on skirt, both of which showed off her curvy body in a mouthwatering way, she smiled up at him-shaky, but a smile nevertheless. "Do you want me, Cooper?"

Only more than his next breath. He wanted to pull her beneath him, he wanted to slowly strip her out of those sexy clothes that were hot but not her, wanted to run his tongue and teeth over every inch of her.

But not like this. Damn it, not like this, not with her hurting, and vulnerable. Not with her trying to set it up so that for once she could be the one to walk away before she got hurt. It took every ounce of restraint he had, but he backed up.

"I know you want me," she said softly, and they both looked down at the unmistakable bulge behind the buttons on his jeans, offering vivid proof of that wanting. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "But-"

"No. No buts."

"But… not like this, Bree. Not because you're hurting and sad."