Jill Shalvis - Get a Clue

"You're not supposed to argue when someone gives you a compliment."

“I’m not good with compliments." She turned to face him. “Do you think she was okay? He sounded a little rough. And a lot demanding."

Cooper’s eyes lit with humor. "I think she's going to be just fine, yes."

Still hugging herself, she nodded. "Right."

You know… you're all tough and cynical on the outside…" He still hadn't touched her, though she could feel his wanting. Or maybe that was her own. All she knew was that the anticipation was going to kill her.

Leaning in, he exhaled softly over her neck, making her shiver. "But so soft and sweet on the inside."

"I'm just as tough on the inside," she assured him.

"I don't think so."

She really, really wished he didn't smell so orgasmically good, or that he didn't radiate such confidence, such intensity. Or that he didn't look like he did, which was too amazing for her fragile state of mind.

For something to do, she grabbed her bag from him and strode toward a chair. There she pulled out her Palm Pilot.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to write something down." She brought up her journal and entered: Either learn self-defense or start carrying a baseball bat. Do not-repeat, do not-ever ask a man to protect you again.

There. She felt better already. Sort of. She flipped through the files and reread her earlier words:

No more failures.

No more men.

She underscored both two times and then repeated them in her head like a mantra until they blurred.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I'm-Hey!"

He'd snatched the Palm Pilot from her hand. "No more failures," he read. "No more men." He eyed her over the digital unit. "Interesting."

"I always make myself notes," she said defensively, reaching for the Palm Pilot, but he lifted it over his head, and by the full-on, knock-'em-out smile he flashed, he was enjoying her efforts to grab it from him.

"What else do you have in here, I wonder." Turning his back to her, he began to poke at her files.

"Stop that." She shoved at him, but he was immovable, the ape. "Those entries are private."

"Whoa," he said with interest. "This one's good. 'Don't expect a man with a hard-on to be able to think. He doesn't have enough blood to run both heads.' Hmmm." He shot her a wicked grin over his shoulder. "I do. Want to see?"

"You are impossible! Give me the damn thing!"

But he was still busy having fun reading her private thoughts. '"Never agree to marry a man because he has potential,' " he read. " 'Men are not like houses, they do not make good fixer-uppers.'" His gaze met hers. "You know I'm finding this insight into your psyche absolutely fascinating."

She was still struggling to nab her journal, her fingers touching his warm, hard chest and those yummy abs. She refused to let them do anything for her. "This is serious for me, okay? Someone was leaning over me while I slept tonight." Just remembering had a shiver running up her spine, and she hugged herself again. "It gave me the creeps. I know it's silly, but writing things in my journal calms me."

He went still, then sighed, the grin vanishing from his face as he handed her back the Palm Pilot.

"I know," she said, embarrassed. "I'm being such a wuss-"

"No." He looked disgusted with himself. "Fuck, no. Anyone would have been spooked, given what you saw, and I'm an ass for trying to tease you right now. Come here."

In the act of putting away the Palm Pilot, Breanne lifted her head. His eyes were dark, opaque, and filled with things that made her swallow hard. He was half-naked, she in nearly the same condition. Moving any closer to him would be like lighting the fuse and begging to get burned.

He simply took the matter into his own hands and stepped into her personal space again, stroking a finger over her cheek before settling his hand on her arm. "Could it have been Patrick?"

"I don't think so." She shook her head. "I don't know. What do you suppose he was looking for?"

Their eyes held, and all the possibilities floated through her mind, none of which was exactly comforting. His other hand came up to cup her jaw. "You're safe now," he said. "With me. You know that, right?"

She thought of sleeping in here tonight and knew that safe was relative. "Sure."

"We could sit around and talk if you'd like."

"Okay." She crossed her arms and tried to look casual. "So what's up?"

"Considering what you're wearing beneath that sheet, and what we just heard in the hallway, you might want to rephrase that particular statement."

Right. Feeling a blush creep over her face, she looked away.

He sighed. "Okay, so no talking. It's been a long day, anyway. You need some sleep."

They both turned to the bed.

"At least it's huge," she heard herself say.

He didn't say a word.

And Breanne did her best impersonation of a woman hiding her panic, because sharing a bed with him would be like sky diving. Exciting, thrilling, and dangerous as hell. "I'll roll something up between us," she decided shakily.

To show him, she unwrapped herself from the sheet and began to fold it in a long strip. When she was done, she crawled up on the high mountain of a bed and situated it right down the middle, moving around on her knees to place it fairly.

A rough sound escaped Cooper.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she leaned back on her heels and craned her neck to look at him. At the expression on his face-an electrifying, sizzling expression-her stomach leapt as if she'd just taken off on the roller-coaster ride of her life. "Um… ready?"

He didn't answer right away, and when he did, his voice was husky. "Oh, yeah, I'm ready."

Cooper looked at the incredibly hot woman kneeling on the massive bed wearing nothing more than a barely there silky camisole and shorts that were only called such because both legs went through them. He knew the outfit was one of her honeymoon sets that had been designed to drive her husband crazy.

The design worked.

She had one spaghetti strap slipping off her creamy shoulder, the other barely in place, the bodice of the silk dipping low enough between her full breasts to make his mouth water.

And she was cold.

Or excited.

He wouldn't have been able to tear his gaze off the hardened peaks of her nipples-perfect mouthfuls, both of them, poking against the silk as if begging for his touch-if it hadn't been for the shorts.

The shorts… those he could have stared at forever. Low on her hips, exposing the diamond twinkling in her belly in the front and the twin dimples at the base of her spine in the back, they clung to her like a second skin. The hem-God bless that hem-was so short it rode right up her ass, covering only a tiny strip right up the middle. That strip in turn outlined to perfection, not to mention revealed a good portion of each cheek in a way that made him want to get down on his knees and explore every inch of her.

Ah, hell, with or without those shorts he wanted to get down on his knees and explore every inch of her, and that was just unsettling enough to have him standing there, staring at her like a horny teen. "Breanne?"

She swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

"I know you're trying not to freak out here, and that you want me to be the good guy, but with you in that position, I'm not thinking good-guy thoughts."

She sank to her butt.

Not much better. "You really think that sheet is going to work?"

She stared at it, then bit her lip and looked back up at him, her entire heart in her eyes-along with the fear of the evening, the stress of the day, all the hell she'd undoubtedly been through to get here.

Feeling like a pervert, he swore softly, shoved his fingers through his hair, and moved to the opposite side of the bed. "Forget it. It's going to work fine."

Looking grateful, she relaxed her shoulders. She tugged up on her loose strap and down on her wayward shorts, which might have adjusted her comfort level but then showed off more of the soft curve of her belly.

Jesus. "Get under the covers, Breanne."

She scrambled beneath them with more eye-popping moves that had his blood pounding thick and heavy, draining out of his brain, heading south for the winter.

Then suddenly she sat back up, the blankets slipping to her waist. "Wait. I forgot to-"

"Whatever it is, too damn bad." He slid beneath the covers on his side of the bed. "Lie down."

"Yes, but-"

"No. No huts. I hate buts." He lay back and closed his eyes but he couldn't relax to save his life, not with a nearly naked woman in his bed, the likes of which he hadn't had this close to him in… far too long. It'd been months since Annie had dumped him, and he hadn't been with anyone since. His family had all tried to set him up on dates. Hell, Jack had even given him his old black book, something his brother no longer needed now that he was married.

Truth was, Cooper hadn't had the energy to attempt another relationship, and while he could have had any number of pity fucks-his brother's old girlfriends were generous-he hadn't wanted that, either.

He must be getting old, but he wanted something real.

Too bad he was too screwed up for real.

Ah, hell. Sleep wasn't going to happen, not like this. Opening his eyes, he stared straight ahead in the dark and saw they'd left the door open. "Shit.'"