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  to push her past her comfort zone.

  Wanting him to push her past her comfort zone.

  His hands slid down her hips, her legs, and back up again, palming her bottom. Leaning in, he kissed a cheek, then the other, and then his thumbs dipped between, ripping a gasp out of her.

  “Just say the word,” he murmured.

  Say it, her brain commanded. Stop him.

  But her body had taken over, and she thrust her butt out.

  With a low, rough growl—the only word for the lustful sound that came from him—he skimmed the itty-bitty black panties aside.

  Knowing what he could see, which was everything, she kept her eyes closed, her cheek to the chilly wall, and held her breath.

  While he very slowly let out his, the warmth skimming over her exposed flesh, ripping a pathetic little whimper from her throat.

  He didn’t move.

  She did. She squirmed, thinking if he didn’t touch her soon she was going to be forced to beg.

  “You’re the sexiest thing,” he whispered, running a finger over her. “And so wet.” He dipped into that wetness. “Is this all for me, Breanne?”

  Good thing the question seemed rhetorical, because she didn’t have breath for an answer.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes,” she panted when his finger stroked over her again. “I’m wet. For you.”

  He rewarded her with another stroke, and she nearly lost it right then and there. And then another while his mouth lightly bit the back of her thigh again, his callused finger still driving her right to the edge.

  And all she could do was prop herself against the wall and let the sensations bombard her. Every time she sucked in a breath, her breasts grazed the cold wall, making her gasp in shock, adding to the sensations. “Cooper—”

  “Are we stopping?” His voice was tight and strained, and though he went still, he didn’t remove his hands—or mouth—from her.

  She was so close to coming, her hips were still rocking, tiny little oscillations of movement she couldn’t stop.

  “Breanne?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  The air left his lungs in a sigh of relief, but none of the tension left the hands that held her still and in place as he whipped her around. On his knees, he looked up at her, groaned at what he saw, then ran his hands from her breasts to her belly, to her thighs, and then between. His thumbs gently parted her, and he leaned in and kissed her.

  There.

  Something unintelligible left her mouth, though she had no idea what she’d meant to say because then he used his tongue. With a cry, she fell back against the wall, gone, just totally and completely gone. “I don’t—”

  “You had your chance to stop this,” he murmured, using his fingers, his tongue, his teeth. “Shh, now.”

  “Ohmigod.” She began to shudder. “Cooper—I’m going to—”

  “Come,” he said against her. “I want you to.”

  As if she could do anything else. Biting her lip, she let go and came hard, bucking against the hands that gripped her tight as he brought her to heaven and back, and then slowly eased her down, touching her as if he could read her like a book. When her knees gave out, he caught her. Mouth wet, eyes dark and hungry, he smiled, though his body was taut.

  She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. He immediately opened his and she dove in, but only for a moment before working her way down his throat, smiling when his Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed hard. “Your turn,” she whispered, and licked at the hollow at the base of his throat.

  Beneath her hands, his heart beat steady but fast. She kissed him again, or he kissed her. God, he was good at this, his lips brushing softly back and forth over hers, his tongue dancing to hers. When her tongue followed his, he sucked her into his mouth with a gentle, warm pressure that got her hot and bothered all over again, more so when a soft groan escaped him.

  It gave her a rush such as she’d never known, rendering a man like this a trembling mass of need. On their knees, facing each other, she shoved up his shirt, kissing her way to a pec, flicking her tongue over his nipple, tracing her fingers along his amazing abs, then to the waistband of his jeans. A whole new rush of excitement at his quickened breathing. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, mirroring his earlier words as she unzipped him.

  A choked laugh escaped him but he said nothing.

  He wasn’t wearing underwear. Just a most impressive erection right there in her face, very happy to see her. “Mmmm,” she hummed, and tugged his jeans to his thighs. “Is this all for me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” His fingers tunneled in her hair. “Perfect way to get an in with the law.”

  Mouth open to take him in, she paused. Tipped her head up. “What?”

  He smiled, sexy and lazy, more gorgeous than sin, and she nearly pretended she hadn’t heard him because she wanted his penis inside her more than she wanted her next breath, but she found she couldn’t let it go. “You think that I need an in with the law?”

  He grimaced. “Of course not. I—”

  “Oh, my God.” She pushed unsteadily to her feet. “You actually think I could have—” Voice shaking, she shut her mouth and shoved down her skirt, adjusted her shirt.

  “Breanne. Don’t be stupid. I didn’t mean—”

  Oh, now she was stupid. “Back off,” she warned, her body still pulsing, and stepped clear. “You have got to be kidding if you think I’m going to let you touch me now.”

  She started to stalk off, but at the last minute whirled back and grabbed the flashlight. Let him be in the dark. She needed out.

  When the door slammed, Cooper pulled up his jeans, wincing as he zipped them, sagging back against the snowmobile. “Genius,” he muttered. “I’m a fucking genius.”

  Eighteen

  Everyone makes mistakes. The trick is to make them when nobody is looking.

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  Cooper made his way through the dark house, his temper heating with each step. He could hear various sounds, someone walking upstairs, someone in the great room messing with the fireplace.

  Normal house sounds. As if anything about this house had turned out to be normal.

  There were candles lit in the main hallway, the glow making it easier to navigate the huge place but not taking away the chill or the flickering shadows.

  He felt painfully alert, watching out for any little movement and sound. It was getting to him.

  A dead body did that to a person.

  So did all the sexual play without getting off. Damn, that was really getting to him. So was little Miss Fucking Attitude.

  He had no idea where she’d run off to, the woman who’d actually thought he’d touch her the way he had and yet believe her capable of murder. Wherever she’d gone, he doubted he’d be welcomed anywhere near her. Too bad, he thought grimly, because he didn’t feel comfortable with her wandering around here when they had no idea what they were up against.

  He looked into the great room. Dante was the one stirring up the fire. Breanne sat on the couch, her back to Cooper, laughing at something the butler was saying.

  Laughing. His temper rose a notch.

  Shelly stood off to the side, smiling dreamily at Dante.

  Cooper let out a breath and entered the room, prepared to be universally hated. “Hey.”

  Everyone looked at him but no one said anything. Yep, universally hated. Breanne looked away first. He wanted to wring her neck. Instead he nodded to the flashlight she had on her lap. “I need that for a moment. Or your other one.”

  “Other one?”

  “The Day-Glo pink vibrator,” he said, being intentionally crude, but damn it she didn’t have to look at him like he was a pervert. There’d been two people all over each other in that garage.

  “Here,” she said, shoving the flashlight at him.

  He took it and walked out of the room. He decided that was the smart thing to do at the moment becau