Jill Shalvis - Get a Clue

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.

Breanne kept her nose in the air until she left the formal dining room and found herself in the dark with nothing to guide her except for a faint glow from far down the hallway.

The fire from inside the great room.

Or so she hoped, anyway. She wished now she'd brought that vibrator as a flashlight instead of leaving it on the couch. Standing there all alone with the huge mansion surrounding her, the corners and far reaches unknown, she felt her belly quiver unpleasantly. "You're a big girl," she whispered to herself, and holding her plate and bottle of wine, took a tentative step toward the orange glow. "A big girl who's calm in the face of adversity." Another step. "A big girl who doesn't believe in haunted houses or monsters-"

Something creaked, probably just the house, but she jerked as if shot, then thought, the hell with this. She burst into a run, her wet boots squeaking, wine jostling, grapes flying, skidding to a halt just inside the great room. Panting, she shut the doors, then leaned back against them.