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  Oh, God.

  The neon-pink vibrator, glowing in the dark now.

  It was following her, stalking her, all the way down the yellow brick road to hell.

  Naked Guy—not quite naked now—came the rest of the way into view, and unerringly turned his head in her direction, and though it was dark in the shadows where she stood, she knew his eyes landed right on her.

  He had an odd awareness to him, as if he could see in the dark. As if he knew exactly what was going on around him at all times, a skill she’d never mastered in the best of times, to which today absolutely did not belong.

  He also had the look of a man thinking things—things that, even with fear coursing through her, made her face heat and other parts tingle.

  He smiled grimly, a lopsided smile that did nothing to dull the fact that he was amazing to look at—and terrifying, all at the same time.

  With a pathetic little whimper, Breanne pressed back closer to the wall, swallowing hard, trying to decide if that had been an anticipatory “all the better to eat you with” smile . . .

  Or simply a trick of the flickering firelight.

  Three

  Note to self—give serious thought to becoming an alcoholic.

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  Cooper took the last step and came face-to-face with his voyeur for one brief flash before she backed up into the darkness. All around them it closed in, except for the low glow of light from the fireplace—and, of course, from the vibrator.

  Then he caught a movement and tensed as a shadow to his left materialized into a man.

  “Welcome,” the man said in utter contradiction to his urban street clothes. He eyed the vibrator in Cooper’s hand but whatever his thoughts were on a guy wielding a vibrator, he kept them to himself. “I’ll get some candles.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Dante, your butler,” he said, without a hint of laughter, indicating he was serious.

  A butler? Cooper watched Dante vanish into the darkness. He’d been dressed more like any of the punks he’d encountered over the years on the job, but if the punk had candles to share—

  “Unbelievable.”

  This from the woman somewhere in the dark, beyond him in the foyer.

  Turning, Cooper located her faint outline against the foyer windows. She had sunk to the floor, her back to the glass. There was a low-light digital display in front of her face, and she appeared to be entering something into a handheld digital device.

  “No groom,” she muttered as she entered. “Flight from hell. More snow than the Arctic Circle. A serious lack of electricity. Oh, and a gorgeous naked guy.”

  Cooper blinked. Gorgeous naked guy? Him? As bad as things had been lately, he’d take it.

  “Next up,” she said, thumbs furiously hitting the keys. “Is getting knocked off on your honeymoon.”

  Cooper held up the glowing vibrator to see her better, filling in some of the details he’d only caught glimpses of before. She had long, wavy hair, most of it in her face, and huge, wide eyes. Hard to tell if she was pretty, but something about her grabbed him. Her sweater was pink, snug to her full breasts, and she was damn cold if the hardness of her nipples meant anything. As he moved closer, she gasped.

  “No one’s getting knocked off,” he said softly.

  “Easy for you to say.” She was shivering out of control. “You’re not the one facing death.”

  “Neither are you.”

  She lowered her digital unit. “I really, really wish I hadn’t come.”

  She was scared, shaking with it, and probably chilled to the bone. Knowing how she felt, he crouched in front of her. Because he’d come running when he’d heard her cry out he was still wearing only his jeans, so he raised his hands to show that while he might be half-naked, he was harmless, forgetting for a moment that he held the glowing vibrator. “You dropped this.”

  This got him a vehement head-shake. “Not mine,” she said firmly.

  “But I saw you—” He broke off at the look of horror on her face. “No? Hmm . . .” Knowing damn well she’d dropped it, he pretended to ponder the ownership as he turned the thing over in his hands. It turned on, humming loudly into the silent foyer.

  This drew another gasp from her, so he tried to turn it off, but only succeeded in cranking it into high gear, and it nearly vibrated right out of his hands.

  “Oh, for—here.” Snatching it out of his hand, she turned it off and then stood up, jamming the thing into her back pocket. “Who are you? Not the butler—there’s already one of those.”

  “Cooper Scott.” He left out the unemployed loser part as he straightened. “You’re right, I’m not another butler. I’m a guest. And you’re . . . ?”

  “In the twilight zone,” she said, peering uneasily into the dark around them.

  “So in your twilight zone, you watch people shower?”

  Without the glow of the vibrator, he couldn’t see her expression clearly, but could feel the heat of her embarrassment. “I didn’t intend to intrude on your privacy,” she said primly. “I just didn’t realize what you were doing.”

  “You didn’t realize that when someone’s standing bare-ass naked in the shower, rubbing soap all over their body, it means they’re taking a shower?”

  Her glare practically lit up the dark.

  “Let me give you a helpful hint,” he said. “Knocking on a closed door is a good thing.”

  “And let me give you a hint.” She punctuated this with a poke to his chest. The contact of her finger with his bare flesh shocked him, and given the funny hitch to her breath, it startled her, too. “Stay out of other people’s honeymoon suites.”

  “What?”

  Jerking to her feet, she jammed her Palm Pilot in the bag strung over her shoulder. “You were showering in my honeymoon suite.”

  “No. I rented this house. Well, my brother did, but it’s mine for the week.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, plumping her full breasts up and out. She wasn’t tall, maybe up to his shoulder, but her jeans and sweater clung to her body, revealing she was quite the package. “Wrong again,” she said indignantly. “The place is mine, bucko.”

  “Bucko?”

  “I forgot your name.”

  He stared at her, wondering how it was he felt both annoyed and . . . alive, extremely alive, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in too long. He had no idea what she’d look like in the light of day. He had no idea what she really looked like in the dark, either, other than a nice set of curves with sparks of temper coming from her general direction, but it didn’t matter. She was as annoying as hell, even if she did think he looked good naked.

  She was also shaking like a drowning poodle. Fact was, he was damned cold himself, with no shirt and no socks. “Cooper,” he said with a sigh. “My name is Cooper. And you’re . . .”

  “B-Breanne,” she said through her chattering teeth.

  “Look, Breanne, the fire is crackling now. Move closer to it.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed again at her wariness. Had he done that, or was she just defensive and cranky all on her own? “Because you’re turning into a popsicle.” He put his hand on her arm, shocked at how chilled she really was. Her sweater was thin, wet, and nearly iced over, her skin beneath just as bad. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that you need to wear a coat in a snowstorm?”

  “It wasn’t snowing in San Francisco. Or on the plane. Or in the airport.”

  Another violent shiver wracked her and he ran his hand up and down her arm, trying to give her some of his body heat. “What about when you left the airport?”

  She stared at his bare chest, though he figured that was just her way of avoiding eye contact. “Lost my luggage.”

  “You’ve lost your groom and your luggage?”

  “Yes.” Behind her temper was a sadness that got to him. “And I hate the dark, too.”

  He looked at her for a moment, wondering at the urge to touch her, to o