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  “What’s that?”

  “Go to bed,” he said, and his hands went to the buttons on his Levi’s.

  Twenty

  A conclusion is where you go when you get tired of thinking.

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  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 that 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.”

  “Cooper—”

  “I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and regret anything. Especially me.”

  Her eyes were as luminous as the fire’s glow while she digested this. “And I thought you said you weren’t a gentleman.”

  A sound of deep need escaped him—he couldn’t help it.

  She turned on her side away from him and pulled the covers back over her head.

  Was she embarrassed now? He didn’t want that, anything but that. “Breanne—”

  “Forget it.”

  He didn’t move, couldn’t get himself to walk away.

  “Every minute you stand there,” she said, her voice muffled by the covers, “you risk being jumped by the pathetic chick. I’d run if I were you.”

  Shit. He stalked the length of the room, heading back to the fire, even though he didn’t need the heat; he was damn hot enough.

  Craning his neck, he glanced back at the bed. The lump that was Breanne hadn’t budged. Good. She was going to be a good girl and go to sleep.

  He only wished he could, but as he was currently hard enough to pound nails, he doubted sleep would come any time soon. James would have smacked him upside the head for turning down the sexiest, hottest woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t believe he’d done it. He was truly an idiot.

  Suddenly exhausted, he dropped into the chair, sprawled out his legs, and tipped his head back. Closed his eyes.

  His mind did not turn off. Nope, it kept whirring and cranking out disturbing thoughts.

  Wake her up.

  Tell her you changed your mind—

  Better yet, show her you’ve changed your mind.

  “Cooper?”

  He opened his eyes to find her standing right in front of him, his living fantasy in the flesh. “Thought you’d gone to sleep,” he said.

  Slowly she shook her head.

  “You should go to sleep.” He was sounding a bit desperate, even to his own ears, but damn it, he could only take so much with her standing there two inches from him, looking as if maybe
she wanted to gobble him up whole.

  He could really get behind that. “Breanne.”

  “I know. You want me to go far, far away, but I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  Her eyes held his, shadowed by insecurity. There was no use in pretending he couldn’t see because he might as well try to stop breathing. Every part of him was focused on her, locked in some hypersensitive state. “You can’t go back to bed because . . . ?”

  “Because I want you in it with me.”

  “Breanne—”

  “I need you, Cooper. Don’t make me beg.”

  Ah, Christ. “Are you sure?” he whispered fiercely.

  She straddled his legs and sat on his lap.

  Okay, she was sure. “Breanne,” he groaned. “We’ve taken this about as far as we can with our clothes on, and I don’t want to stop again.”

  She shook her head. “No stopping this time.”

  “Good, because I’ve been hard since you got here. I’m going to damage myself if I keep it up.” He shot her a lopsided grin. “Have some mercy.”

  She laughed, but her eyes shone with emotion as well, yanking at his heart, and his smile slowly faded.

  “I need somebody tonight,” she whispered, her hands going to his shoulders. “And I want it to be you. You, Cooper Scott, and no one else.”

  The promise was far more than he could have, or would have, asked for. He sat up a little straighter, running his hands up her body to cup her face, tugging her down for a kiss.

  She obliged him in the sweetest, hottest connection he’d ever known, then pulled back, her lips leaving his with a little suction noise that tugged all the way through his body.

  With a little smile, she got off of him and shimmied out of her skirt. God, he loved those black satin panties, the way the small patch of material barely covered her, how the stretchy fabric rode low on her hips, and though he couldn’t see her ass at the moment, he knew the material was riding up, outlining her to perfection. “Breanne,” he said hoarsely.

  She crossed her arms in front of her, grabbed the hem of that red shirt, and pulled it over her head.

  Leaving her in nothing but those panties, and suddenly he wished he’d let her keep the boots on, because holy shit, that would have made quite the picture.

  Not that he needed the boots at the moment. Hell, no. She made his mouth water without the boots. She made his mouth water, period.

  Then she climbed back into his lap, tucking a knee on either side of his thighs. His hands went to his favorite part, her sweet ass. He squeezed, then slid inside her panties, cupping her bare skin before gliding downward—

  She gasped.

  He groaned, his fingers delving deeper, finding her wet and creamy, making him groan again.

  She said his name in a rather strangled voice, having gone utterly still in what he hoped was anticipation. “Good?” he asked.

  The sound that came from her was rough, low, and the most erotic thing he’d ever heard, and he slowly pushed a finger inside her.

  This elicited yet another breathy cry, and he added a second finger.

  “More,” she whispered, squirming. “Please, more.”

  He’d give her more, and it would take all night. Even knowing that wouldn’t be enough, he slid his fingers free, nudging her closer, then closer still so that her satin-covered crotch slid to his denim-covered one . . . oh, yeah . . . and those full breasts were only an inch from his mouth. He kissed the pouting tip of one and pulled back to watch it pucker up and darken for him. “You’re so sexy, Bree. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “You don’t have to say that.” Her voice sounded strained. “I’m here. I’m willing. You don’t have to say anything you don’t mean. Just . . . take us to the finish line. Please.”

  After all the teasing they’d done over the past two days, he wanted that more than anything, but not as badly as he wanted her to believe him, believe in this. He cupped her face, waiting until she lifted those whiskey eyes. “I never lie, Bree, remember? Never. This isn’t just about the finish, spectacular as that’s going to be. It’s going to be about far more. Now do you still want to do this?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off him as she thought about that for so long he got worried.

  “Yes, I still want to do this,” she finally said. “But one of us is way overdressed.” Saying so, she pulled back slightly, bending her head to the task of unfastening his jeans. Her hair fell forward, brushing against his bare shoulders and chest, and it was so much like his fantasy, he groaned. “There’s no rush,” he said huskily when she let out a frustrated cry, struggling. “We have all night.”

  “I like it fast.”

  Finally she slid her hands into his jeans, freeing him, humming with pleasure as she wrapped her fingers around the biggest erection he’d ever had. He tried to reach for her but she shook her head. “I’m doing all the work, remember?” She stroked him. Perfectly.

  And then again.

  At this rate, he’d last all of two seconds. Not wanting that to be the case, he captured her hands in one of his and held them at the small of her back.

  Lifting her head, she looked at him from hot, hungry eyes. Flattering as hell, and he began to think maybe she didn’t even have to touch him to get him off.

  “Cooper.” Frustrated, she rocked her hips, gliding that satin over his erection.

  He saw stars.

  “Mmm,” she said, arms still trapped behind her, and rocked again.

  And then again, her breasts jiggling so pretty and enticingly in his face, the little diamond in her belly button twinkling.

  And again.

  Her satin was wet now, causing the most delicious friction against him, and desperate, he squeezed her hip, trying to hold her still. “Don’t,” he said. Begged. “God, don’t move.”

  “I can’t help it.” And she very purposely rocked again.

  Abruptly he pushed her off him and stood up, shoving down his jeans.

  She staggered back and stared at his body.

  Staring right back, he kicked free of the denim.

  And then she lost the last of the lingering doubt in her eyes and smiled at him, a real smile that he felt all the way to his heart.

  Had she really believed he’d reject her? Was she really that unsure of her own appeal?

  She was still looking at him. From head to toe, and back again, then zeroing in on the part of him the most happy to be having this special little sleepover.