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  Their other guest. One sexy, irritating Cooper Scott, who was right now all cozy in her honeymoon suite.

  The moment Lariana cleared the doorway, Breanne locked the door. Then she stood there, looking around. Feeling alone. It occurred to her that if Edward hadn’t screwed up, Cooper wouldn’t even be here. She might be even more alone.

  She was glad she wasn’t, a fact she’d admit out loud only upon threat of death, and maybe not even then.

  Braving the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and moisturized her face. A silly thing to do while in the haunted house of terrors, but the routine made her feel better.

  Moving back into the bedroom, she glanced uneasily at the candles. There were five of them, three burning very low already. Would the other two last until daylight, and if not, what would she do?

  One thing was certain, the next time she traveled, she was leaving the sexy nighties at home and packing a flashlight. And chocolate. And alcohol.

  Lots of it.

  Even though the room had indeed warmed up nicely, she climbed into the bed still fully decked out in Cooper’s sweats. The bedding was lush, thick, and combined with the fire, she was cooking in less than two minutes. Swearing softly, she got out of the bed and went to her carry-on, pawing through it as if by some miracle she might find something else to wear. No such luck. She pulled out the siren-red teddy she’d gotten at her shower. See-through lace, high cut on the thighs, nearly nonexistent over the breasts, it hadn’t been made for sleeping, that was for sure. It’d been made for her groom to say, “Looks great, baby, now take it off.”

  And just like that, self-pity welled up hard and fast, swelling her heart, filling her throat so that she could hardly draw a breath. She’d managed to keep it all at bay for hours and hours, but now there was nothing distracting her but her own pathetic thoughts.

  Somehow she’d screwed everything up. Again. Truthfully? She’d blown just about every opportunity she’d ever been offered. With only so-so grades in high school—she’d thought grades didn’t matter, she had Barry, ha!—she’d ended up at a junior college, with no idea of what to do with herself. She’d made her way through a string of go-nowhere jobs, and also a string of go-nowhere men, including fiancé number two.

  And then Dean had come along.

  She’d found him smart and cool under pressure, two traits she greatly admired because she wished she had more of each. With a single smile he’d swept her off her feet, despite the warning voice deep inside that said he wasn’t the one, that said he didn’t love her the way she wanted to be loved, that said she’d only get hurt in the end.

  Her inner voice had been right. He hadn’t been the one, he hadn’t loved her the way she’d wanted to be loved, and she had gotten hurt.

  Or at least humiliated.

  Tossing aside the red lace, she reached for her Palm Pilot and made a new entry.

  To Do list:

  1. Live down expensive wedding that didn’t happen

  2. Find new job so you don’t have to ever face Dean again

  3. Hurry on #2 because you’re broke due to #1

  She read the words, then nodded and tossed the thing back in her bag. Now that she had a plan, maybe she could sleep. Sure, she’d have to face the mess that was her life in the morning, but not before then.

  Still too hot, she pulled out the second nightie, a creamy white silky camisole and short set, made of staggeringly expensive silk. The top had spaghetti straps and dipped low between the breasts, and the bottoms uncovered more than they covered, but they’d be soft against her skin, and wouldn’t itch.

  Double checking the lock on both the bedroom and bathroom doors was a small gesture that made her feel marginally better as she stripped out of the sweats, and then her still-damp tank and panties. She put on the silk pj’s that had been meant for show only, which was ridiculous when she thought about it. Surely women ended up being ditched on their honeymoons with some regularity. You’d think they’d make these things more practical.

  She slid back into bed. Given how badly her life had gone today, and the new and unknown path she’d be taking from this day forth, she’d figured she’d lie there forever, stressing and obsessing, but the minute her head hit the soft, giving pillow, she sighed again, and drifted off . . .

  She was standing at the back of the church wearing her gorgeous wedding gown as she peeked in at the large, restless crowd waiting for her nuptials. They were beginning to murmur, wondering about the groom’s absence. Some pitied her, some merely nodded to each other, agreeing that she probably deserved what she’d gotten.

  Her father, tall and stern and serious, looked at his watch for the hundredth time. Her mother’s white, pinched face, strained with tension, forced a smile her way.

  Breanne forced one in return, because a Mooreland never allowed a situation to get the best of her.

  Even when that situation was seriously kicking her ass.

  He wasn’t going to show.

  Crying in the church wouldn’t do, so instead she turned tail, ran out of the church, and grabbed a cab. Mercifully, this was a dream, so it shifted forward then, in fast-forward past the horrendous plane ride, directly to the honeymoon house.

  Suddenly she was dressed in her red teddy, walking toward a lovely four-poster bed. Only this time, a man waited in it, and her heart surged joyfully. She wasn’t alone after all—she had a groom! How lovely of the house to come with a groom.

  He sat up with a sexy grin, reaching for her, his eyes hot and hungry, his hands warm and sure. Cooper.

  Cooper?

  Whoa. Laughing at herself, Breanne opened her eyes and came back to reality.

  Which was a dark face leering over her.

  She stared at it for one heart-stopping moment before it sank in. No longer dreaming. Someone was actually leaning over her. With a terrified gasp, she fell out of the bed and scrambled toward the door—

  And ran face-first into it.

  Hitting her butt on the floor, she shook off the daze and the pain, and leapt up again. Don’t look back. Fumbling, terror stuck in her throat, she yanked on the handle, belatedly realizing it was still locked. Somehow she managed to release it, then hauled the door open, heading down the hallway, her only thought being to get away—far, far away. She could have screamed and brought the staff running; logically she knew this, but there was no logic in her half-awake brain at the moment.

  Besides, she didn’t want Dante, with his beefy, scary mystique, or Shelly with her perpetual cheer. She didn’t want Patrick with his spooky walk, or Lariana’s quiet disdain—she’d had enough to last her a lifetime, thank you very much.

  All she wanted was comfort.

  The direction she ran for startled her almost as much as the scary face hanging over her bed had, but she’d face that later.

  She sprinted directly toward the double wooden doors at the end of the hallway and burst into the dark room of the honeymoon suite, where a possibly far bigger predator lay than the one she was running from.

  Cooper Scott.

  Without pausing, she took a flying leap onto the high mattress. As she landed, bouncing twice, Cooper sat straight up with a muttered, “What the hell?”

  Nearly sobbing with a relief she didn’t quite understand and didn’t want to, she launched herself at him, hitting him square in his gorgeous chest.

  “Oof,” he said, and caught her.

  Eight

  When climbing the ladder of life, don’t let boys look up your dress!

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  Out of breath, Breanne burrowed in closer to a warm, strong Cooper as his arms came around her. “I was asleep—” she began.

  “Me, too.” He said this in a voice she hadn’t heard from him before, rough and husky and . . . sweet. “But this is better. Much better. What are you wearing?”

  “No, you don’t understand—” Her words choked off when he slid his hands down and cupped her butt, squeezing, kneading. “I got too hot. I loc