"Tomorrow," he said tightly, and opened another cabinet. "Bingo," he said at the sight of the cans of gasoline. "Without power, we'll have to open the garage doors manually, and that's not going to be easy-I've tried. They're heavy from the large snowdrift that's probably up against it."

"We can shovel-"

That got a smile.

"What?"

"I'm seeing you shoveling in that shirt and skirt. With those knives tucked into your boots." His expression heated. "Nice picture, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said huskily, looking at her, really looking at her, as if he could see inside and hear her thoughts, which were pretty much going down a path to dangerous waters.

"This is crazy," she whispered, and backed up a step. She lifted her hand to swipe her damp forehead and nearly poked out her own eye with the knives. "This whole thing is crazy. The wedding, the storm, this house-the dead body."

His smile faded. "I know."

"I'm just so damned jumpy. And we both know I hate trusting you, but the truth is… I guess I do. A little, anyway."

He held out a hand. "Enough to give me those knives before you lose a body part?"

She held them out. "I can take care of myself." False bravado and they both knew it. She hadn't taken care of herself; he had.

He stepped toward her, searing blue eyes gleaming, invading her personal space in that way he had. Instead of annoying her, it backed the air up in her lungs and made her skin feel too tight.

Oh, and it also made her nipples go happy.

Damn nipples.

"You wouldn't kill a spider," he said softly. "So I'm guessing that if it came to using a knife on a real-life, flesh-and-blood person, you might have a hard time."

She quivered. "I'd be fine."

"That tough outer shell again." He traced her jaw with a finger, a gesture that might have been casual if he'd let his hand fall away, but he stroked that finger over her throat.

She shivered. A nice shiver. A goose bump-inducing shiver.

"I nearly had heart failure when I couldn't find you before," he said very quietly. "I thought you'd stay in the great room."

"I don't stay very well."

"I just want you safe."

She swallowed hard at that. This wasn't a game. This wasn't about her pride. This was about far more than herself, and she wanted to stay safe, too. Very much. "I thought maybe there'd be safety in numbers. But then Shelly and I heard those noises."

"And you went after it."

"Not my finest decision, granted," she admitted.

His gaze flickered to the wall, where they could very faintly hear the water running through the pipes.

Lariana and Patrick in the shower.

"I do think it's sweet that they're using their fear for the greater good," she quipped.

"As long as it isn't murder that got their adrenaline flowing."

Suddenly Breanne needed more BBQ chips.

Cooper set the confiscated knives on a wooden workbench along the back of the garage. Then he straightened and looked at her, his eyes dark, his intent clear in that fierce, hot expression. Her knees wobbled, and she took a step back, only to come up against the wall.

His hands settled on either side of her head as he leaned in, trapping her within the confines of his body.

"Why do cops do that?" she asked, her voice steady even though her entire body reacted to his nearness-and not in fear.

"Do what?"

"Feel the need to intimidate with their superior bulk?"

He arched a brow. "You think I'm trying to intimidate you?" Bending his head, he ran the tip of his nose over her earlobe, a move that shocked her like a bolt of electricity. "Do you feel intimidated?" he murmured.

"Uh…"

"How about now?" he asked softly, and put his lips to the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

She'd expected a quick assault on her senses, a deep, intoxicating kiss-not this light, almost sweet, touch.

"Bree?"

"N-not intimidated," she gasped.

"Aroused, then?" He went after her other ear.

"Um… God. I can't think when you do that."

"I'm trying to remind you that we have a thing going on," he said in that voice, the one that melted her resolve-and far too many brain cells, while he was at it.

"Not a thing-"

"A thing," he went on, undeterred, "that you're afraid of-"

"I'm not afraid-"

"A thing that makes you soft and sweet, a thing that makes you hot for me."

"I'm not… hot for you."

His low laugh in her ear sent goose bumps dancing over her skin, and more than just her nipples did the happy dance this time. "Sure about that?" he murmured, and sank his teeth gently into her earlobe, lightly tugging.

She nearly slid to the floor in a boneless heap of desire. Instead she locked her knees and gritted her teeth, flattening her hands against the cold wall to remind herself to keep them off of his body. "Absolutely sure," she managed.

"I could prove you wrong." He nuzzled her some more.

Who'd have thought that little patch of skin beneath her jaw was a direct line to her erogenous zones, but she felt the tug all the way to her womb. "No need."

Another low laugh huffed out of him as he made his way down her neck now, with wet, open-mouthed kisses, and then-oh, my God-licked the spot where surely her pulse was going to burst right out of the base of her throat. "Stop."

"Say it like you mean it, and I will."

Damn it. "We're going to shovel," she said weakly.

"Not now. In the morning."

"But another night-"

"Even if we got out and I got one of these snowmobiles started, I need daylight to find my way to the road and then into town."

"Dante or Patrick-"

"Even they'll need daylight. Getting lost out here at night… Bad idea. It'll have to wait until morning." He scraped his jaw over her collarbone, dragging the red stretchy material off her shoulder.

"Okay, but I am not hot for you."

"I know, baby. I know." He kissed her shoulder and her eyes crossed with lust. "It's all me."

"Yes, it's all you-"

He nipped at her as he tugged the shirt down further, baring her breasts. Her head thunked back against the wall, her body a quivering mass of need that she didn't understand. To gather herself and some desperately needed strength, she twisted around. Facing the wall now, she put her hot cheek to the cold drywall and dragged air into her taxed lungs.

"Say the word," he murmured, undeterred by her back as he slowly glided his hands down her body. "And I'll stop."

She opened her mouth to do it but nothing came out.

"Breanne?"

When she didn't answer, he dropped to his knees and kissed the back of a thigh. The feel of his mouth on her bare skin sent heat and desire leaping through her. Oh, God. She was hot for him, so hot she couldn't stand it, and she rolled her forehead over the cold wall trying to cool down.

Just sex, she told herself. Just sex. Just sex-

"You going to stop me?"

Yep, any minute now.

He slipped his hands around to her belly, which jumped and jerked like it was full of butterflies. Then he cupped her breasts, flicking his thumbs over her nipples, ripping a moan from her that was shocking in its neediness.

Still on his knees behind her, he lightly bit the curve of her bottom through her skirt; then, with his jaw, he pushed the material up out of his way, leaving her vulnerable in the most basic sense of the word.

"God, you take my breath."

She could have stopped him. He expected her to. Instead, she pressed her hot face to the cool wall, squeezing her eyes shut against the image she must have made with her skirt shoved high, revealing her skimpy panties, the do-me boots, knowing he was going 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 n 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.