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  “—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?”

  Twelve

  Men exist because a vibrator can’t change a flat tire. On second thought, I should just buy a AAA card . . .

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  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 barrier.

  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.”

  She stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. If she only knew. “Are you insane?” she asked. “Just let me in.”

  “Smile first.”

  “I have nothing to smile about.”

  “This morning.”

  “Huh?”

  “This morning,” he repeated. “It was pretty damn fine. You could smile about that.”

  “Cooper—”

  “Look, if smiling is too difficult, you can kiss me.”

  She practically had an aneurism on the spot. “Kiss you?”

  “As a thank-you.”

  “For what?”

  “For rescuing you.”

  “You are insane,” she decided, tossing up her hands. “I’m trapped inside a house with an insane man.”

  “Actually, you’re trapped outside,” he pointed out helpfully.

  “Forget it! I opt to freeze to death.” Turning her back on him, she hunched her shoulders against the chill.

  Ah, hell. He reached for her and put his hands on her arms, rubbing them up and down her chilled skin. “All right, Custer, you win. Come on, come inside.” Stepping backward over the threshold, he pulled her with him, then reached around her to shut the door. Because she had goose bumps—his fault for playing with her the way he had—he put his hands back on her arms. He didn’t know what it was, but he loved having his hands on her.

  Lifting her head, she looked deep into his eyes, her own filled with a sadness that tugged at him. “You ever think that life just plain sucks?”

  “Yeah.” He cupped her cold face in his warm hands. “But right now isn’t one of those times.”

  A shuddery sigh escaped her, but he took it as a good sign when she let him slowly pull her against him. Tucking her frozen nose up into the crook of his neck, she sighed again as he ran his hands up and down her back. And then, because he was a very weak man, he let his hand fall lower wit