He was overcome with grief. Definitely the way to go. The loss of his beloved grandfather. “Open up!”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said from the other side. “It can happen to anybody.”

She was gracious in victory. Oh, so fucking gracious. If women like her were let loose to rule the world, men would become obsolete. “I’m not worried,” he heard himself say. “It happens all the time.”

Where the hell had that come from?

“Seriously?” she said. “To you?”

He plunged on. “Hell, yes.” So much for his dead grandfather.

She threw open the door, eyes blazing. “And you’re proud of it?”

“I don’t think much about it one way or the other.”

Her legs were bare, but she’d pulled her detestable Bears T-shirt back on. “You’re a total asshat. You know that, right?”

He propped himself against the doorjamb and fulfilled her low expectations. “The thing you’ve got to remember, Sherlock, is—when you’re me, life is basically a female smorgasbord. I can do what I want, when I want.”

Her lips were still puffy from his kisses, and her blueberry Pop-Tart eyes smoldered with outrage. “Are you for real, or are you a comic book character I made up in my nightmares?”

He’d unwittingly stumbled onto the perfect defense, and he went with it. “Most women don’t mind, and if they do . . .” He shrugged.

She slammed a hand on her hip. “There are more damselfish in the sea? Is that the way it is?”

He yawned and stretched. “Yeah, I should probably be ashamed of myself.”

“But you’re not?”

“All they have to do is say no.”

“Which they never do.”

“Who understands women?”

She was too smart for his own good, and her outrage had begun to shift into something that was beginning to look like amusement. He didn’t like that at all, so he called an audible. “Refresh my memory, Sherlock. Did I miss hearing you say no?”

She set her jaw. “You did not hear me say no. I already told you I’ve been known to use men.”

“You also told me you were off them.”

“But I didn’t say for how long.” Just before she shut the door in his face, she fired her final salvo. “Good night, Rocket Man.”

***

Piper woke to the sound of a halyard slapping the metal flagpole outside her window. During the night, a deep sense of disappointment had burrowed inside her, and she did her best to shake it off. His failure to execute might have been humiliating for him, but it was a gift to her. Things had gone far enough—much too far—without that final intimacy.

What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. Something about Cooper Graham made her disengage her brain. One thing was blindingly clear: despite their banter, despite the attraction he undeniably held for her, she wasn’t going down that path with him again, no matter how good it had been. Almost fantastic. The hard tension of his body under her palms. Those skillful hands that knew just where to go. She shivered.

They barely spoke over a breakfast of strawberry muffins and a delicious ham and cheese frittata she could only pick at. Piper dreaded the hours she’d be locked in the car alone with him, and as they set off from Two Harbors, she was as tightly wound as an ignition coil.

Instead of berating herself about what had happened, she should be happy that she’d made the great Cooper Graham lose control. But she didn’t feel happy. She could only hope he wouldn’t bring up last night because if he did, she’d have to play all her smart-ass cards, and she wasn’t sure how many she had left.

They’d barely cleared the iron ore docks before he released a diabolical chuckle. “Face it, Sherlock. You’re easy pickin’s. All I have to do is take off my shirt, and you’re pretty much a lost cause.”

And here they went again. Off to the wisecrack races.

“That’s true,” she said. “Male chests have always been my weakness. Seriously, Coop, if you get any more muscular, you’ll be scratching your armpits and wolfing down bananas.”

“You let me worry about that while you figure out how you’re going to help me with my little problem.”

“Excellent idea. Shut up for the next four hundred miles so I can ponder it.”

Another chuckle, which was fine with her, as long as they didn’t talk.

***

He should have tossed her right back on the bed and screwed her brains out until she begged him to get to the finish line. Instead, he’d been too mortified to think straight, and he’d dueled with her. Winning was in his blood, and he hated feeling like a loser. Hated even more knowing she had to be seeing him that way. He couldn’t pull off to the side of the road and throw her in the backseat like he wanted, but the silence in the car was getting to him. Somehow he had to show her he was still the quarterback of their team.

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night,” he said, “and you might have a point.”

“I usually do.”

She’d loosened her seat belt enough to tuck a leg under her. If she’d been wearing shorts instead of jeans, he’d have had a clear view of the inside of her thigh. A thigh, he now knew, that was firm, smooth, and fine. He hurried on. “What if I’m missing out by not taking a little more time in the sack with my lady friends?”

She pulled a face. “It’s so sad. All those traumatized women believing your problem is their fault. I should open a counseling office.”

He would not laugh. “Yep. The more I think about it, the more I think you’re right. I might have a sex problem.”

“Fortunately, there are a lot of books on the subject.”

“Hell, I’m not much of a reader. Too many words to sound out.”

“Interesting. I’ve found all kinds of books in the apartment.”

“Cleaning people musta left ’em.” He kept dishing out the bull, exactly the way it had to be between them. “Since you’re the one who pointed out my problem, it’s only fair that you help me work through it. Only as a sex partner, you understand. This has nothing to do with our professional relationship.”

She glanced over at him, all full of fake regret. “Don’t take this wrong, but I’ve kind of lost interest.”