Get a Clue(35)

Beneath him she went utterly still.

Abruptly he went from a blissful dreamland to brutal wakefulness. Lifting his head, he opened his eyes in the early morning light and stared down at her.

“You,” Breanne said.

Yeah, him.

Just as in his fantasy state, he had her tucked beneath him, legs spread to accommodate his. He had one hand plumping up her bared breast for his mouth, the other gripping her butt, the very tips of his fingers dipping into heaven, his mouth wet from hers as he stared down at her.

For her part, she’d wrapped herself around him like a pretzel. “I . . . I thought it was a dream,” she whispered.

“It was a hell of a great one,” he said, half hoping she’d let him continue it.

She just stared up at him, hair tousled, eyes still sleepy, cheeks pink, looking like she’d just been fucked every which way but Sunday—and had thoroughly enjoyed it.

“I guess the sheet wasn’t enough of a barrier after all,” he said, wondering if he needed to apologize.

“Get off.”

When he didn’t, she shoved him off her in a sudden flurry of movement, scooting out of the bed, running into the bathroom, but not before shooting him a scathing look that might have shriveled another man’s parts right off.

Not Cooper’s. Nope, his part still bounced in his pants, the eternal optimist.

The bathroom door slammed shut with a finality that suggested he should go, and was going, to hell in a handbasket. Alone. “Uh . . . Breanne?”

Nothing from the bathroom.

With a heavy sigh, he got out of bed, looking ruefully down at his tented pants. “Down, boy,” he murmured, and walked to the door. “Open up.”

“Go far, far away!”

As if he could. “What are you mad at? That I was kissing you, or that you were kissing me back?”

She muttered something, some smear on his heritage, and then the shower came on. He hoped the water heater was powered by the propane tank he’d seen outside, or there wouldn’t be any hot water.

“And for your information,” she yelled through the door. “You were doing more than just sticking your tongue down my throat!”

“Same goes, Princess.”#p#分页标题#e#

She replied with yet another unintelligible mutter, which for some sick reason made him grin.

It made no sense. Her late-night confessional warning that she was done with men still echoed in his ears. She wasn’t interested in him, or at least she didn’t want to be interested.

Fine by him.

But as he stood there in the early morning, getting chilled in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, a part of him wanted to prove to her that not all men were scum.

While another part of him entirely just wanted to sink into her body.

He heard the shower door open and then shut—yep, powered by the propane, because there was no way Princess was taking a cold shower—and he sighed yet again. No sinking, at least not today.

But there was always tonight.





Eleven



I hear copious amounts of chocolate solves all problems. Someone send copious amounts of chocolate!

—Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry





Breanne stared at herself in the mirror. Hot water rose from the shower, steaming the glass, but she could still see. Too much. Her hair was wild, her cheeks flushed, her lips plumped up from all the action they’d just seen . . . and there was a wet spot over the silk covering her breast—from Cooper’s mouth.

She looked as if she was indeed on her honeymoon.

This was idiotic. This was dangerous. Just the thought of what she’d just done with that man scrambled her brain and made her squirm. He’d nearly sent her shuddering into an orgasm with just a long, languid kiss that had surprised her with its potent heat and shocking intimacy.

She looked away from herself—she had to. Lined up on the counter were an assortment of goodies laid out for the honeymooners. The condoms came in all shapes and colors, and she pictured lying in the bed, watching her man come toward her, erect penis dressed for the party in sunshine yellow, bouncing as it came closer—

Only it wasn’t that image that made her slam her eyes shut, but the fact that the man in the vivid image had been one hot, hard Cooper Scott.

Bad. Bad, bad Breanne. She picked up a neck massager—uh-huh, right, she just bet that was used only as a neck massager—and then the scented body oils. The label said edible. Chocolate.

Her favorite.

No! No chocolate body oil in her near future, no way, no how. She needed to get a grip here, a serious grip. No parts of Cooper were going to be a chocolate-flavored dessert. It was not only fattening as hell, but incredibly wrong. Her life was in ruins, and she needed to remember that. She was on a mission to get the hell out of this place and back to civilization, where she could get to a Starbucks in three minutes or less, where she could hail a cab, where her cell phone worked.