If she had heard something, and if it were a real threat, she didn’t like the idea of background noise. If there was a rabid raccoon chomping on the exposed wires, or a freaky opossum hunching its way across the insulation in the attic, she would like to know. Even though the only weapon she had was the plastic knife that’d come with her dinner. She really should have brought the crowbar in with her…
Most likely, nothing would happen, and she’d claim Hawaii with nary a hair harmed on her head. She abandoned the tablet and dug out the novel she’d impulse purchased. It was a romance, thank you very much, no Stephen King for her. No, sir. She’d barely cracked the spine when she heard it again, as strong and sure as if she’d said it herself.
“Go!”
Gooseflesh lit her arms and legs despite the propane heater next to her warming the air. Definitely a voice, she was sure of it this time. It’d been tinny as if being played back from a gramophone, but unmistakably feminine. Almost… forceful.
Her dinner lurched in her stomach as her eyes tracked to the stairs leading up to the inky beyond. The voice had come from the second floor this time. If only she hadn’t made out the word so clearly. If only it had been some garbled, unidentifiable sound, she could’ve passed it off as the house creaking. But she’d heard it. As clearly as she heard her teeth chattering in her head right now.
Whatever was in here with her wanted her to leave, and she may have needed to be told twice, but she wasn’t about to wait around for a third time. Knees wobbling, she kept her eyes glued to the staircase as she felt for her phone and her purse. The darkness upstairs morphed into more shapes the longer she stared into it, so she risked looking away long enough to gather her things. She gauged the distance between the staircase and the front door, inventorying the obstacles that lay between her and the exit.
The urge to run was strong, but she forced herself to step carefully. Besides, not like she could physically outrun a ghost… Which did not make her feel any better. Following the mental path she’d mapped in her head, she stepped around the air mattress, over the lantern, and skirted the heater. She’d come back for her things in the morning. In the bright, happy sunshine. She was out of here.
Her feet hit the porch seconds later. She ran for her car, not bothering to close the mansion door behind her. Heart thundering, Lily plunged a hand into her purse.
“Keys, keys,” she muttered, searching for the lost metal in the depths of her purse. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. But she’d already begun to panic—each time her hand encountered anything and everything but keys in her Coach bag.
A sound in the distance made her jerk her head toward the house. The faint light from her lantern dully illuminated the entrance. That was it. No screeching banshee raced across the yard. No specter floated toward her on a cloud of ethereal smoke.
She still didn’t want to go back inside.
She upended the stubborn handbag and dumped its contents onto the hood of her car. Lip gloss, pens, coins, and various other useless items rolled onto the ground. No keys. Which meant…
“No.” Her voice came out as no more than a tiny whine.
She was going to have to go back in and get them.
She yanked on the driver’s door, then all three passenger doors of her cherry red compact. Each handle gave beneath her palm only to spring into its original position. Locked. But of course.
She rested her hands on the hood of her car and forced herself to breathe. “They’re in there somewhere,” she told herself in the calmest tone she could manage. Other than a preliminary sweep of the kitchen when she’d first arrived, the only area she’d been in was the twenty square feet in the center of the living room. That was good. That was a relatively small area. It’d take her five seconds to search, ten tops.
All she had to do was walk back in there and rummage through a few things. Although, her temporary boudoir was strewn with shopping bags, blankets, and snack food. The spark of hope that had ignited fizzled. The keys could’ve been inadvertently kicked under the air mattress, tossed away with her dinner container, or balled up in the packaging when she’d unwrapped the fresh bed sheets. She’d have to do a careful search to find them. That would take several minutes. Minutes that might mean hearing or—gulp—seeing something that would forever haunt her psyche.
Dread pooled in her gut when she cast another glance at the doorway, but she steeled her spine and put on her imaginary armor. “You can do this,” she whispered. “Just go in and—”
A flash of movement—something too tall to be an animal, unless it was a bear—moved at the tree-lined edge of the forest.
Hallucination caused by stress. She sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes for the count of three, and reopened them. The shadow moved, the shadow of a man, and lifted a long handle with a curved piece on top. Then it progressed, that figure wearing the night, crunching over sticks and brush on the ground and coming right for her.
The scream building in her throat stopped short when the figure stepped from the trees into the pale moonlight. But the man’s gait was…familiar somehow. More of a swagger than a lurch. And when he held up—good God—a plastic ax, and groaned what she guessed was supposed to be a scary sound, Lily almost burst out laughing.
The face wasn’t white with black eyes like she’d originally thought. It was… a hockey mask. On Friday the thirteenth. Another low sound came through the mask, and she shook her head. The closer he got, the better she made out the man’s build, and it wasn’t hard to guess whose shoulders those were—or whose handsome head sat atop them. And since he was trying so very hard, and deserved a little payback, she decided to play along.
Pushing away from the car, she pulled in as much oxygen as she could and screamed like any good B-movie actress. A muffled sound that could have been her name, followed by a slur, came from the man in the mask, who unceremoniously bonked into a tree. “Ow.”
Lily swallowed a giggle, ran for the house, and pretended to trip up the porch steps. That’ll teach him.
The asshat.
Chapter Five
Dammit!
Marcus pushed off from the peeling bark of a big-ass tree he could not see thanks to zero peripheral vision in this stupid mask. He didn’t mean to scare her so badly. Good lord, the ax was as chintzy as they came. But the sound Lily made was a decidedly frightened one as she trekked from her car to the house.
God. He felt like an asshole.
“Lily!” he called, the mask muffling his words. He reached for the Friday the 13th face covering his own and yanked at the strap. “Ow!” How it had wound itself into his short hair, he had no idea. He half-stumbled, half-limped, thanks to the welt on his shin from a misplaced tree branch earlier, and lifted both arms to attempt to untangle his hair from the strap.
Through the eyeholes, he saw Lily stand casually and dust herself off. As he came closer he saw she didn’t look as scared as she’d sounded a minute ago. She looked, well, pissed.
Her eyes were narrowed, and practically glowing with anger. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He held up his hands to explain.
“You look like an idiot. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you in that getup?”
He was sweating under the mask. “It was a joke!”
“A bad one.”
He tripped up the steps to her and when he got close, she did the honor of unmasking him, yanking the disguise off, along with a bit of hair. He yipped and she snatched the toy ax from his grip, swinging it at him full force.
“Ow!” On the second connecting hit, he caught the blade with one palm. It squeaked. Her eyes narrowed further.
He rubbed the spot at the back of his head with one hand. “Are you okay? Or did you fake the fall?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She shoved his chest with her free hand.
“Look, Lil, I’m—”
But “sorry” didn’t make it out of his mouth. She snatched the ax from his hand again and swung it with renewed vigor. Sh
e was a lot stronger than he’d have thought. Did she take jujitsu or something? She was going to maim him with the faux weapon if he didn’t stop her.
“Lily, stop!” He snagged the toy and yanked, catching her around the waist and pressing inch upon inch of Lily McIntire up against his torso. She felt amazing. She looked better. Wild hair, narrowed eyes, and flushed cheeks… Though he was admiring her way more than the situation called for. Especially since she looked downright murderous.
In no mood to cuddle, she pulled away from him. “What if I would have believed you? What if I had a heart attack?”
“You wouldn’t have had a heart attack,” he said, not exactly answering her. He hadn’t thought this prank all the way through, he realized. But since he wasn’t going to admit as much, silence was his only friend. He gave her a sheepish shrug.
She held up the mask. “Really?”
“I’ve never been to Hawaii.”
“Yeah?” She threw the mask into the front yard like a Frisbee. “Well, you’re not going now, either.”
Her dander was up, and the ire swirling around her was like a haze of pheromones his body couldn’t resist. At the mansion’s door, she attempted to shut it in his face, but he wedged his hiking boot in the crack, preventing her.
“Move.” She glared through the gap in the door. Just so fucking gorgeous. Every angry inch of her.
“Look, I’m sorry.” He needed to wipe the half smile off his face, but damn, she looked good tonight in black jogging pants that fit snugly around her butt, and a matching zip-up hoodie with the word “couture” emblazoned over her breasts.
She continued glaring.
“I’m a dirty cheater.”
“And?”
“And…immature.” He held his palms in front of him but didn’t move his foot. “Let me in, and I’ll explain.”
Those blue eyes narrowed further.
“Lily, come on. What do you have to lose?”
…
Frustration seeped from her every pore, thanks to the man gracing the doorway. She’d like to tell him where he could shove that explanation, and the mask for that matter, but as her adrenaline ebbed, so had her fear. Not so much from the startling sight of a Jason Voorhees mask—she rolled her eyes—but the thought that he could have had something to do with the phantom voice made her feel much, much better.
She’d take her prank-loving coworker over a restless spirit or a monster wanting to shish kebab her.
Still, no reason to make this easy on him. “You can explain from out there.”
He dropped his arms, licked his bottom lip, and bit down on it, his dimple showing in the moonlight sifting through the doorway. She sort of hated how handsome he was when she was trying to be angry.
“First off, I was only going to wear it long enough to jump out and say ‘boo,’ but the mask got stuck in my hair.”
When she screwed her mouth to one side in disbelief, he half turned his body and pointed at the back of his head. “See this giant bald spot?”
She didn’t.
“Lil.”
She sighed. He may be competitive and admittedly shortsighted, but he wasn’t a liar. She knew that much. Door open, she stepped back to let him in. He shifted his wide shoulders to get through, striding in and glancing around the room. “Charming.”
She’d never seen him wear flannel and denim together until now, and she admired the way his big body filled out his wardrobe. He looked a little like a lumberjack with a budding beard, which wasn’t a style she realized she liked. But with him hovering near, she became irritatingly aware of the parts of her body that had pressed against his solid form moments ago. Mainly because they were still tingling. Tingling, for God’s sake. She had no right tingling where Marcus Black was concerned.
She considered his presence, his admission he’d been trying to scare her off, and the voice that sent her running from the mansion in the first place… Mm-hmm. She did believe she’d found the source of the ghost of Essie Mae.
He ran a hand through hair so dark it was practically black. With the pale moonlight at his back, his eyes appeared almost the same shade. Before she tumbled headlong into the depths of those eyes, she stabbed a finger into the center of his rock-hard chest. “Turn it off.”
He crossed his arms over his wide chest, trapping her poking finger beneath his forearms. His mouth tugged at the corners.
She pulled her hand away before all that warm surrounding muscle distracted her further. Dammit. He really was attractive, and the part of her that kept forgetting she was preserving her reputation and work ethic wished she could act on that errant attraction, even if he was trying to cheat and keep his trip.
“The speaker?” She sounded out each syllable and pointed up the staircase. “Or whatever you’ve rigged up there to wail and moan. Turn it off. The jig is up, Black. I’m not going anywhere.” Mirroring his stance, she crossed her arms over her breasts, standing her ground.
Undeterred, he closed the door behind him and towered over her. She skated her gaze over massive shoulders, recalling the way they’d bunched beneath his T-shirt when he’d drawn back the pool cue Wednesday night. He scrubbed his jaw as if trying to decide what to do with her, and her eyes went to the forearms that had flexed when he’d slid the stick between his thumb and forefinger.
“What makes you think I rigged up anything?”
“So what did I hear earlier, then? A ghost?”
“Maybe.” He leaned in to say the word, that dimple delving into one stubbled cheek and making her want to stick her tongue in it.
“Maybe,” she repeated, but her voice was a thin wheeze. A turned-on wheeze. If that was a thing.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He sent her a wink, a devilish one, the same one he no doubt used to sear the panties off his dates. “If you’re hearing voices,” he said, stepping away from her, “sounds like I’d better stick around and protect you.”
“Oh no. You’re not invited.” She wasn’t spending any more time with him than she had to. Not after the crap he’d pulled tonight. He’d probably Saran Wrap the toilet seat next, or put shaving cream in her palm when she fell asleep. She grasped his bicep, intending to direct him to the front door and send him on his merry way. But once her hand curled around thick muscle, she left it there, his heat and hardness soaking into her palm. He cast her grip a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow.
Why, whenever he was this close, did he muddle her senses? She rejected on principle the idea that a man could literally be a chick magnet, but here she was, being pulled in by the inexplicable and, yeah, magnetic force. Her nipples peaked and, she could swear, pointed right at him.
She let him go, breaking their connection. She dusted her hand on her pants for good measure. “I’ll be fine,” she said primly. “You can go.”
The cocky glint in his eyes flickered, and his voice dropped to a soft rumble. “You sure, Lil? You look a little shaken.” He lifted the back of his knuckles to her cheek.
“No thanks to you.” She swatted his hand away. As long as he thought she was scared and not melting into a lust-puddle, they’d be good. She pointed at the door. “Out.”
He snorted, clearly unfazed. “As owner of the Hawaii trip, I’m entitled to personally witness your attempt to win it, don’t you think?”
Absolutely not. She opened her mouth to argue.
“Don’t answer that.” He turned his back on her and ambled into the living room as if he had nothing better to do tonight than be a burr up her ass. Propping his hands on his hips, he surveyed her setup. “What do you have to eat around here?”
…
Fifteen minutes later, Marcus lounged on the air mattress while Lily perched on the opposite end, watching him warily.
She’d packed enough food to host a small dinner party. Which was awesome. It’d been hours since he’d eaten, and he was starving. It was an impressive spread. Sushi, brie, grapes, cherry cheesecake…
“Are those Corn Nuts?” He reac
hed for the bag.
She clutched the unopened snack to her chest. “Stop eating my food.” She was adorable. Especially with that little line marring her brow. Lily sat ramrod straight, her legs curled beneath her. Every so often, she’d cast an uneasy glance at the staircase behind him.
He suppressed another smile, deciding not to feel bad for the tape recorder in the upstairs bedroom. Yeah, it was immature, but it was Hawaii. And anyway, if she lost, she had to go with him to the dinner. The prospect of a date with Lily had forced him to new lows. Desperate times.
“May I have a glass of wine?” he asked with exaggerated patience.
She snapped her attention from the stairs to his face, her reddish-blond eyebrows slamming over her nose. “No.”
“What kind of barbarian allows a man to eat brie without a wine chaser?”
His teasing worked. She smiled. Okay, not really smiled, but the corner of her lips twitched. Progress, considering a moment ago she’d been about to dropkick him where he stood. She filled a plastic cup halfway with red wine and handed it over, filling one for herself while she was at it. They sipped in silence.
“This is good,” he told her.
She gave him a slow blink. “You like wine?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“You strike me as a beer-from-the-can kind of guy.”
“I am.”
She rolled her eyes and sipped once more before changing the subject. “I didn’t see your car out there when I was running for my life from a madman.”
He tilted his head at her sarcasm. She smiled prettily for him, and he immediately forgave her. Such a freaking sucker.
“Clive drove me.”
“Well, how do you plan on getting home?” She widened her blue eyes, faking innocence.
He quirked his mouth and laid a pile of innuendo at her feet. “I thought you’d give me a ride.”
If You Dare Page 4
