“You earned that trip. You were proud to earn that trip.”
“And Hawaii was clearly my priority after we fucked.”
Her head jerked at his harsh tone. “I never said that.” Only she kind of had.
“Stay put, McIntire.” His dismissive tone made her prickle.
“If you go up there, I’m coming with you!”
“No. You’re not.” He moved up a few more rickety stairs. The backdrop of the eerie blackness ahead of him covered her body in goose bumps.
“Do you blame me?” she practically shouted as she stomped behind him.
He froze, then turned on her, glaring again. But under the anger, she thought she saw a flicker of pain, then what appeared to be concern as his eyes moved from her face to her footing. “Go back downstairs.”
She ignored him. “You were the one trying to cheat. Remember the hockey mask?”
“Lily.” His tone was a warning.
“There are things happening here I don’t understand.” The voice. Her missing keys. The crash in the kitchen. And what had happened between them. Maybe that most of all. “I’m scared, okay? I say things I don’t mean when I’m scared.”
His scowl softened. She was winning him over, she could see it.
“You can’t leave me alone down here,” she said, hoping to nudge him into a yes. “What if—what if something happens and you’re not here to protect me?”
His eyebrows bowed, and her heart squeezed. He cared about her. She could see it, feel it in her gut. He came down to where she stood and extended a palm. She slid her hand into his larger one, the feeling blending friendship with an odd eroticism that had never been there before. She didn’t mind it…or maybe, she preferred it.
“Stay close.”
“Okay.”
“No running,” he commanded, his voice strong. “I want you to walk. Carefully. This floor is a series of trapdoors waiting to happen.”
The boards at her feet were not all that solid, she’d noticed. They gave just enough to make her wonder if they’d snap in half. Comforting. Almost as comforting as the phantom footsteps that had frozen her solid moments ago. If it wasn’t Clive or raccoons, what was tromping around on the second floor of Willow Mansion?
She didn’t want to know.
She really, really didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
Marcus’s hand nearly slipped from the sweat-slicked handle of the lantern. At least his anger with Lily had masked the very real fear carving a path into his insides like a dull knife.
He hadn’t taken her damn keys. Hadn’t seen her keys tonight at all, in fact. He’d checked around and under her car while he’d been outside and found nothing. And he knew about the bells on her keychain. Made fun of her for it once at work—referred to her as Mrs. Claus for a week. While he was outside, he’d heard the faint jingling, too. It was the reason he’d double-timed it back to the house. He’d been sure she’d found them, had been shocked when she’d pointed the finger at him.
Arguably, that was deserved. He did rig up a speaker in the west bedroom to play a voice. He had stashed the remote with the bag of costumes near her car. But that she thought he’d continue trying to tip the scales for the Hawaii trip after they’d slept together pissed him off more than he’d like to admit. Did she think he was that much of an asshole? Or was it just that she really believed nothing had changed between them?
Yes, he liked to tease her, and yes, the pranks tonight were a touch too far, but using her—having sex with her—to get what he wanted was over the line. He would have thought she knew him at least that well. Hell, the last thing he imagined would happen was that she’d tear his shirt off and say yes. But once he’d started kissing those pliant lips, and she’d started moaning his name. Jesus. He couldn’t think about that now. Or else his body would forever tie being afraid of ghosts to sexual thoughts of Lily. That’s all he needed was a hard-on whenever he went to see the latest horror movie.
She stayed behind him off to his left, and he reached back to scoot her before she hurt herself. Shining the lantern on the step she’d nearly impaled herself on, he said, “Watch those nails.” Then, because he couldn’t keep from touching her, he took her hand and guided her around another rotted board with “tetanus shot” written all over it.
He had to get over this—the part where she believed the worst of him. But he couldn’t help it. Dammit, it hurt. And he didn’t do hurt. Hurt was for people who cared way too much, and he made a habit of not caring too much. Except where Lily was concerned. There, he thought he’d prefer hurt to never having a shot with her at all… Damn.
She was determined to keep him at arm’s length and he was beginning to think he didn’t share that sentiment. She might have seen tonight as a fun little fling to fill their time together in the dark, but for him, being with her, seeing her fiery reaction to his touch, hearing his name roll off her sharp tongue… Yeah. That called for another round.
And it wasn’t just the sex—although, sweet holy mother, that was a freaking out-of-body experience. It was nice to watch her walls temporarily crumble. To watch her give herself so fully to him, trusting him. That’s what had blown his mind.
As well as he played the part of the player, no other woman had wiggled her sweet ass into his heart as thoroughly and quickly as Lily had. He supposed it was his fault she hadn’t taken him seriously. But it still sucked. Because he’d done something with her he’d never done with anyone else. He’d let down his guard. Completely. He’d been bare in more ways than one when he’d moved inside her, had imprinted on the scent of her hair and each soft sound she emitted.
Shit.
He was a fucking goner.
They reached the landing where the hallway divided. To the right, a series of doors. To the left, just one room, its door off the hinges, moonlight spilling into the hallway from the window. That was where he’d stashed the speaker. Guilt speared him, but he sure wasn’t going to confess to that now.
Maybe not ever.
“Don’t you dare say ‘split up’.” She stopped mangling his shirt and flattened her hand over his ribs. His skin had been branded by her unforgettable touch, and he ached to sweep her into his arms again. He guessed if he admitted the speaker thing, a second shot would be out of the question. So yeah. Maybe he’d keep that to himself a little longer.
“We’re not splitting up.” Up here, his voice sounded hollow in the barren space.
She let loose a frustrated groan.
He opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t going to leave her, but she didn’t look upset. She looked terrified, eyes wide and focused off to the side, white-knuckling the material of his shirt.
A floorboard creaked behind her. “That wasn’t me.”
It wasn’t his speaker either.
Every muscle in his body coiled. He moved quickly, lashing an arm around her and stumbling to the nearest wall. He pressed his back into it, keeping her at his side, one arm wrapped protectively around her.
Even in the light of the Coleman, he couldn’t make out figures in the shadows. He held his breath and tried to locate the source of the phantom noise. He heard nothing but the almost audible rattle of his nerves.
He was far from timid, but there was something happening in this place. And he didn’t want Lily here another second. She clung to his arm, her grip chilled from a fear as tangible as his own.
“I want to leave.” Her voice was as fragile as glass—not something he was used to hearing from her.
“So do I, sweetheart. Let’s find those keys.”
With strength he didn’t feel, he pushed away from the wall, held tightly to her hand, and walked to the first of many closed doors.
He lifted one hiking boot and kicked the door open.
“May as well start here.”
…
Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.
Arms wrapped tightly around her waist, Lily scanned the room she’d followed Marcus into, shivering as a gust of air sif
ted through the rip in the roof over her head. It’d been there a while, if she had to guess. The boards at her feet were decayed from water damage and there was a roll-top desk tilted awkwardly in the corner, one of its legs having broken through the floor.
Marcus inspected a built-in bookshelf on the far wall, shoving soggy books from the shelves while searching for the missing keychain.
A spider web overhead caught her eye and she backed away from it, and the fat-bodied black jewel in its center. Something squished beneath her shoe, and she looked down to find an Oriental rug, soaking wet, likely from last night’s rain.
“Careful,” he said. “Any one of these floorboards could give.” His black brows arched over his nose. He seemed angry…or something. Worried? Uncertain? His emotions were hard to read. That didn’t keep her from admiring the way the shadows darkened his face, making him look mysterious and sexy.
Again, her heart ached with regret for insinuating that she’d thought the worst of him. She didn’t. She was just…scared and had lashed out like a cornered cat.
Lily took a step toward him. “Why don’t you just say it?” she prompted. She’d feel better if he’d talk to her. Or argue with her. She could handle that a lot better than his silence.
He held a book open in his palm. He shut it with a damp slap and tossed it onto the shelf. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you’re angry with me.”
He reached for another book, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not angry with you.”
“My keys aren’t being used as a bookmark, so I doubt you’ll find them in there.” She grabbed the edge of the book in his hand, but he didn’t let go. Much like in the tug-of-war over the plastic ax earlier, his strength won. He dragged her to him. She allowed him to, stopping short of stepping on his toes. She relinquished the book, and he tossed it onto the shelf with the others.
She waited.
He watched her silently.
“Marcus.”
“You think I arranged this entire evening to maneuver my way into your pants?”
She flinched. That was fair, and basically what she’d accused him of doing. But it wasn’t the truth. “I wanted into yours just as badly,” she admitted.
Despite his narrowed eyes, she felt as if she’d made a bit of headway with that truth.
He lifted his chin and looked down at her. “And?”
She felt her eyebrows rise. “And?”
He shifted his body so he faced her, so close that his broad shoulders blocked her view of the bookshelf behind him. Leaning closer, his breath sifting into her hair, he said, “And did I satisfy your curiosity?”
His tone was hard, his back rigid. And yet she sensed he really wanted to know. Was he actually asking how he was in the sack? If she’d had scorecards, she’d have raised a number ten.
In each hand.
“You want the truth?” she asked.
A soft grunt, then, “Why not?”
She wanted to go to him, hug him close. Kiss him again. Instead she hit him with the raw truth. “You left me satisfied, yet wanting more.”
He cocked his head in the playful way he had. “Don’t tease me, McIntire.”
She’d chipped through. A feeling of triumph filtered through her chest.
His mouth hitched at the corner. Just enough to light the wry glint in his eyes. “You’re not just fishing for a compliment yourself?” He was back to his charming, rakish, cocky self—so damn sexy, her knees went gooey.
“No. I know how good I am in bed.”
The barest dent of the dimple in his cheek tried to form, but he held his expression in check. “Come here.”
With pleasure.
One step should have brought her into the circle of his arms, but the moment she set foot on the rotted board between them, it gave way beneath her. One second she was on solid ground, the next falling, a shocked scream on her lips. Her pants caught a jagged piece of the floor at the same time Marcus gripped her upper arm and tugged her roughly to his side.
Chest heaving, she clung to him like a spider monkey, eyes on her sneaker as it hit the floor below with a sickening splat!
She thought of the legend of Essie Mae. The way she’d jumped from the second story. The way Lily could have died in this house, if not for Marcus’s quick reaction time. She snuggled in closer.
He bent with her and ever so carefully untangled her pant leg from the broken board. When he stood, it was to back them another step away from the gaping hole.
“This is so fucking stupid!” he yelled.
She trembled, but he kept her tightly in his arms. She didn’t think he was yelling at her specifically, but he shocked her all the same. It was possibly the first time she’d ever heard him raise his voice. No matter what went wrong at work, no matter what had Clive pacing and cursing in the conference room, Marcus was the cool, calm, and collected one.
His hand splayed on the small of her back, warm and gentle despite his body vibrating with anger, or fear, or maybe a combination of the two. She peered up at him, into his dark eyes, and his expression softened.
“Don’t do that again.”
She nodded.
He pressed her close and kissed her. When he backed away, she sifted her fingers into his hair. “Thank you.”
“I’d say any time, but seriously, let’s not do that again. You scared five years off my life.”
She could feel his racing heart under her other palm and gave him a wan smile.
His eyes went over her head, and his eyebrows crashed down.
She was afraid to ask, but it turned out she didn’t have to.
Jutting his chin forward, he gestured to the doorway. She spun around to see a set of bells, and attached to it, her car keys, lying on the floor. No way had those been there a minute ago. Chills skated down her spine.
“We’re going,” he announced, bending to lift her into his arms.
“Wait.” She stayed him with one hand. “I’m not sure how much combined weight this floor can take.”
Given the grimace on his face, he either didn’t like her suggestion, or was upset he hadn’t thought of it first. He hesitated as if trying to decide whether to listen to her or not.
“I can walk.”
He took her hand. “Hold onto me. And stay on the inside wall.”
They trekked as quickly as they could while watching their steps. Marcus reached the doorway and dropped her hand, signaling for her to stay where she was against the wall while he bent and retrieved her keys. The second he stood with them in his hand, a tinny, feminine voice said one word.
“Out.”
Marcus was on her in a flash, bending and scooping her up, heedless of the splintered boards as he took the stairs to the first floor, weaving around holes and exposed nails in his race to get them the hell out of the house.
Lily held tight and when she thought she saw movement on the rapidly dwindling landing above her, she squeezed her eyes shut.
He set her on her feet and threw open the front door, shoving her out of it. “Officially the worst idea we’ve ever had.”
She tried to come back inside “Wait! My purse.” The air mattress, the lantern, and everything else could stay there for all she cared. But her purse with her ID and everything she needed for her life outside of that house was paramount.
“Stay,” he commanded, darting into the living room. She wove her fingers together and refused to look upstairs. A second later, he thrust the bag into her hands, and they ran for the car.
Chapter Twelve
Willow Mansion faded into the mist as Marcus backed out of the weed-infested driveway and onto the main road. Lily didn’t take a single look back at the place, but her imagination supplied plenty of images that went with the sounds she knew she hadn’t imagined.
Marcus hadn’t asked if he could drive, but simply piled his duffel bag into the backseat, her into the front, and climbed behind the wheel. As he took the ramp to the highway, nearly empty that early in the mor
ning, she rested her head on the seat and looked over at him.
Determination set his mouth into a firm line, and one hand was nested in his hair, the other casually resting on the steering wheel. He stared, eyebrows down, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then, he told her.
“I rigged a speaker.”
She blinked, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. He spared her a brief glance, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to say, “I found a clip of a woman’s voice saying the word ‘go’. I had a remote. Whenever you heard that, it was me.”
When he turned to look out the windshield again, she thought twice through what he’d said, then a third time. She must have been too tired to be angry with him because what came out was, “But she didn’t say ‘go’ when we left. She said ‘out’.”
“I know.” He didn’t look over.
“And the crashing sound? Did you put that on the speaker?”
He shook his head.
“And…the footsteps?”
He gripped the steering wheel and kept his attention on the road. “No.”
So. That was alarming.
“Come home with me,” he said. She snapped her head to look at him. He didn’t glance back, but he did put one hand on her leg. “It’s not a sex thing, Lil. I’d feel better if I knew you were safe.”
She didn’t answer, but clearly, she didn’t have to. Ten minutes later he pulled her little red car in front of a house that, she assumed, he owned. It was almost…quaint. Cute, even. There were flowerboxes on the windows, navy-blue shutters against white siding. And it was clean. Tidy.
What she’d expect from a guy like him was some sort of playboy bachelor pad. An über chic lair filled with high-end electronics and slim-lined furniture. She supposed those things could still be inside the humble abode she was now staring at.
But she doubted it.
The wide hand that hadn’t moved away from her thigh squeezed. “I’m so fucking tired.”
So was she. And now that they were sitting in front of his house, she knew he was going to press the offer he’d made.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice holding a nervous edge. “Scary.” The house, the sounds, and the fact that she was very close to saying yes to sleeping next to Marcus for the rest of the night. She was pretty damn tired herself.
If You Dare Page 9
