“Want to come in?” His tone was low, gentle.
“Marcus.”
“I don’t want you driving home.” He lifted his knuckles and brushed her cheek. Her eyes closed heavily. As if it was decided, he pulled his hand away and unbuckled his belt. “Let’s go inside, McIntire. I have a warm bed with me in it waiting for you.”
“It’s probably better that I go home.”
He didn’t acknowledge her weakly spoken argument, instead climbing out and rounding the vehicle, where he opened the door. He bent over her, unclipped her seat belt, and then hauled her out of the car.
“The manhandling isn’t necessary,” she grumbled.
He pulled her close to his lips, gripping her firmly by her arms. “Get your incredible ass in my house.”
“Why?” She beat back the smile dying to produce itself on her face.
He grinned. “So you can protect me from the things that go bump in the night.”
Her knees went soft. “Was that a sex joke?”
“Yeah.” And now his eyes were twinkling.
“Fine.” She shook out of his grasp, leaned into the car, and snatched up her purse. “I’ll stay.”
“That’s my girl.” He took his bag from the backseat and locked her car with the key fob. It made her remember the remote he’d confessed to, which made her surly all over again.
“You bought a speaker to play a voice by remote,” she said as he unlocked the door and went inside.
“Going to bed,” he called over his shoulder.
If she wasn’t so tired, she might have argued with him. Then again, he did have her keys. She was having trouble holding onto those suckers.
“What about my missing keys?” She stepped inside and closed the door. He hadn’t bothered with the lights, so she couldn’t look around.
“I don’t know how to explain half the shit that went on tonight,” he admitted, dropping his bag on the floor and coming to her. “We’re going to sleep now, and ask questions later.”
“I’m not having sex with you.”
“McIntire.”
“Again,” she said around a yawn.
“Not tonight you aren’t. Come on.” He lifted her, gingerly this time. Her legs felt as if they were wrapped in lead. She was crashing and crashing hard. By the time he laid her on a very soft mattress, her eyes refused to open. He undressed her, and soon after she lost all sense of time and place as her consciousness faded into dreamland.
…
In his bed.
Lily McIntire was in his bed.
Not an air mattress in a crumbling house, but wrapped in slate gray sheets, her strawberry-blond hair spread over a pillow. He’d put her in one of his T-shirts and since she was already out, didn’t even get a kiss good night.
He’d crawled in next to her and slept like the dead. Which reminded him of the unexplained sounds in the mansion. What the fuck? He didn’t believe in hauntings, but he and Lily had been in the house, all over it, and found nothing to explain what they’d heard.
It was as inexplicable as the heat sizzling between them last night.
Head propped on one arm, he stared blankly at the framed photo on his wall—a photo of Diamond Head Volcano in Oahu. He’d always wanted to see it, ever since he was a kid and learned about it. The ragged brown peaks offset an impossibly blue sky and turquoise water dotted with surfers.
He hauled in the first deep breath he’d taken since last night and looked at the clock on his nightstand. Eleven. Late for him. Even for a Saturday.
Exhaustion had hit him hard. He’d sunk into sleep shortly after Lily, barely slipping back to reality when she jostled the bed, he assumed to use his bathroom. He’d been unable to open his eyes. It was nice, though, the feeling of her sliding in next to him when she came back. It’d been a while since he’d slept next to a woman. If someone would have told him a week ago that come Saturday the next woman he’d wake up to was Lily McIntire, he’d have sooner believed in the Tooth Fairy.
Then again, he was believing in all sorts of things lately. His pragmatism had been given a run for its money.
He turned his head and studied her sleepy face, the way her lashes lay softly against her cheeks. The freckles on her nose. Gorgeous. His dick bobbed. He couldn’t help it. Normally when he woke with a hard-on, it was with Lily in mind. With her in the flesh, there was no way to avoid it.
He remembered every sigh, the sound of his name as she called it out, the way she felt coming, clenching around him as he pumped into her. He grunted uncomfortably and adjusted himself. No way could he keep thinking in that direction if he wanted his dick to retreat to a neutral corner. And he couldn’t exactly wake her up for morning sex.
Could he?
She licked her lips and stretched next to him like a languid cat, her nipples punching against the soft cotton of the T-shirt she wore.
Prob’ly not.
He did have the day free. Even hardworking Lily didn’t go in on Saturdays, unless they had a big bid they were trying to win. But they’d nailed the London account, so there was no need to work overtime and weekends now. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess that the moment she opened her eyes, she would realize where she was then make a hasty excuse, clipping away from him with that smart little walk she had.
Not what he wanted. He studied the threads of blond running through her soft, reddish hair. He’d like a cup of coffee, maybe breakfast. Wouldn’t mind talking to her a while they lounged on the deck. Which was really weird. Because in the past when a woman was in his bed, his plan in the morning was to get up, put on his workout gear, and wake her up using the excuse of a ten-mile run.
Sleepy women didn’t want to get up at five a.m. for a ten-mile run, he’d learned. At the suggestion, most simply climbed out of bed and left without too much argument. If they stayed the night at all. Now that he was admiring the light freckles dotting Lily’s cheeks, he tried to remember the last woman he’d kicked out of bed and realized it’d been a while.
He calculated back, recalling a rowdy Saint Patrick’s Day, and then realized that was about the time Lily and Andy were on the rocks. Surely he didn’t curb himself thinking he’d have a shot with her… A guy of his caliber wouldn’t bench his libido without a guarantee…
He pulled a hand over his face, feeling the thick growth there.
Damn. Had he done that?
Lily stretched again and he couldn’t help smiling. If he’d thought she was cute on her air mattress eating sushi yesterday, right now she was damned adorable with sunlight in her crumpled hair. Who knew she had those curls in the morning? He wound one around his finger as her eyes fluttered open.
“Morning, McIntire.”
She sucked in a deep breath, a smile tickling her peach-pink lips. Lips he wanted to kiss.
“Where’s my coffee, Black? What kind of host are you, anyway?” Her voice was thick and sleepy and she’d woken up busting his balls first thing. He shouldn’t like it, but he did.
Unable to resist, he reached for her hips under the sheets and tucked her next to him. “Have an idea.”
“Hmm.” She nudged his erection with her backside and he grunted, his hand climbing her hip and beneath the T-shirt.
She rolled over, the sound of sheets sliding over her partially naked body making him harder than he was—and that was saying something. Her light blue eyes slammed into him. Thought evaporated as his body took over. He flattened his hand on her bare skin under her shirt, smashing her breasts to his chest. He kissed her lightly, then deeply when her tongue snaked out for a taste of him. Then they were making out fervently, her leg sliding against his, a grunt low in her throat as she tilted her head to kiss him again, then—
“Wait.”
Shit. He didn’t want to wait. He backed off some, rerouting the hand that’d been going for a breast. He swallowed thickly and tried to see her clearly through the lust veiling his senses.
She slid her leg away and backed her hips from his a second later. “Um�
�”
Well. This wasn’t good. Covering, he tried to avoid this moment by talking over her. “Right. You asked for coffee. Coffee and kisses. Always get those two confused.” It was supposed to be funny, but the lame joke fell flat, deflating the sensual tension and leaving behind only tightened strain.
He didn’t like it.
She blew out a small laugh, but he could tell she was uncomfortable. And when her blue eyes flitted to the side, then snapped back to him, there was a shutter there that made his heart sink—like she’d purposefully backed away, even though she was lying inches from him. He didn’t like the distance, and she couldn’t hide it. In the late morning sunshine, it was impossible to miss.
He’d seen a similar weightiness before, when he lived with Annie. He’d been in a serious relationship a long time ago. He had thought things were fine. Then he woke up one morning, after living in her apartment for seven months, to a similar expression to the one Lily wore now. Their final conversation had started out with—
“Listen, Marcus…”
Fuck.
“Second thought,” he said, throwing the sheet off himself and putting his feet on the floor. No way was he letting her dump him when they’d barely gotten started. “I missed my run.” He went to the closet and pulled on a pair of jogging pants, busying himself to cover the moment—and his raging hard-on. “Do you run, McIntire?”
“No.” She sat up and studied him a quizzically.
“I do ten miles.” He snatched a long-sleeved shirt off a hanger. “Uphill some of the way.”
“Marcus.”
Yeah, he didn’t think he’d be able to distract her. But he wasn’t going to stick around and wait for her to finish whatever had started with “Listen, Marcus…”, either. With an easy, practiced smile, he came to her side of the bed and lowered his lips for a kiss. “Hang out if you want, but if you have stuff to do, I get it.”
“Are you…mad?” she asked as he pulled a pair of socks from his top dresser drawer.
“Not mad.” He wasn’t. But it didn’t make this exchange any more pleasant. He got it—it sucked, but he got it. Under the cover of night at Willow Mansion, where things happened and no one knew why, he and Lily could be one thing. But here in the real world—in the glaring daylight, they were back to themselves. Coworkers who didn’t sleep together and argued over who got the last crab rangoon at lunch.
“Coffee, you said?” he asked, snatching up his tennis shoes. “I can make you one to go.”
She frowned, but agreed. “That’d be good, thanks.”
“No problem,” he lied, walking out of his room and taking the stairs two at a time.
…
Lily felt her brow scrunch as Marcus disappeared, leaving her wearing only his T-shirt and sheets. This was…strange.
Did he actually think he could roll over and convince her to have sex just because she was here?
You wanted to.
She did. Lord help her, the moment his lips hit hers, her brain went AWOL. And there was still a distinct warmth between her legs telling her she’d made a big mistake in pushing him away. And what was with that jogging excuse? Did Marcus really jog?
She dressed quickly, finding her clothes thrown over a chair in the corner of Marcus’s rather spacious bedroom. The room was a little cool so she was glad she had a hoodie to throw on. She opted to wear Marcus’s bigger T-shirt. It was warm from her wearing it, and she really didn’t want to fuss with a bra this early. So, she balled up her shirt and bra, determined to stuff them into her purse. She wouldn’t be here long anyway. She’d just head home and try to have a normal weekend. Clean the house, do laundry…feed her neglected goldfish. She’d have to spend some extra time with Bubbles today.
Sure. That’s better than morning sex with the hunk downstairs.
She sighed, straightening the sheets and pillows in a sloppy attempt at making the bed. She wasn’t going to think about sleeping with Marcus last night. Literally sleeping. Snuggling next to his big body had been nice, and she didn’t like that she liked it. It would be better if it had been neutral and they could just go back to being friends. Sort of. If that’s what they were. Acquaintances seemed the wrong label after last night, which was…intense. Proof was in the fact she hadn’t thought about how she almost dropped through the rotted floor to her death until just now.
A huge poster of what looked like mountains in Oahu caught her attention. The picture was framed and hanging over Marcus’s solid, dark-stained dresser. She shook her head, considering. So, Hawaii wasn’t just another chance to win something. He really, really wanted to go. She smiled softly, reaching out a finger to swipe away a bit of dust from the frame. He’d had it a while.
“Lock up behind you, McIntire!” a voice called up the stairs. She walked to the railing and peeked down at Marcus. He stood at the front door, dressed, jacket on, sunglasses hiding his eyes.
“Seriously? You’re really going jogging?” Now? Instead of hanging out with her?
But you don’t want him to hang out with you.
Or, rather, she shouldn’t want him to. She did though.
“How else do you think I maintain my sexy figure?” He gestured to himself—and yes, his sexy figure—and grinned to beat all. He was back to himself. Less intense. Less looking at her like she was edible. He’d either completely blown off her awkward rejection this morning, or else he was really good at faking it. “Stay as long as you like. I don’t think you’re going to steal my stuff or anything.”
Steal.
As he closed the door behind him, she sat on the top step, her limbs going numb. That word acted as a palpable reminder that by cutting Marcus short before they went too far, she’d done the right thing. It was maybe too late to rectify what happened last night, but he’d promised not to tell Joanie and Clive, so really, they could go back to normal on Monday.
The last time she’d had a relationship with her coworker and earned a promotion, he’d gone over her head and accused her of stealing his design. Being this vulnerable with anyone was hard, but when an affair intertwined career and personal life, it was potentially twice as damaging.
She stood, swiped her hands down her pants, and went downstairs. As promised, a travel mug sat steaming on the countertop. She took a sip and found it was already creamed just the way she liked it.
Trying not to read too much into that, she tucked her bra and shirt into her purse, grabbed her coffee and keys, and locked up behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
Lily swiped mascara onto her lashes Monday morning and regarded her reflection in her bathroom mirror dubiously. She was supposed to be back to normal by today. Supposed to have forgotten that Friday night—going into Saturday morning—had ever happened.
She’d gone about her duties over the weekend, doing a load of whites and scrubbing her refrigerator until it shined inside and out. But all the while, she was turning over the fact that Marcus’s house was cozy and homey, that his bedroom, while not frilly and girlie, did have the touch of design to it. Thick slate gray curtains matching the sheets, light beige walls, and his furniture all matched. He didn’t have glass end tables or a wrought iron bed frame. No white leather furniture—no black leather for that matter. No, his sofa was a rich mahogany color with big, square gold pillows, the end tables flanking it of old-world design.
She noticed all of those things in her brief visit to his house, and it bugged her she’d been so wrong about his living situation. Why this bothered her, she had no idea.
Yes, you do.
Yes. She did.
Because it made him harder to marginalize. She’d assumed he was a playboy. At best, a super neat freak with clean lines and monochrome furnishings, or at worst, living like a frat boy with a TV on milk crates and dirty clothes strewn on his bedroom floor. But his house was comfy. He was comfy. And the idea she’d been comfy with him was freaking her out.
They’d slept side by side in his bed, and she’d slept great—and after the nigh
t at Willow Mansion, she should not have slept great.
So. She drove to work giving herself a stern talking to. No matter what all her feelings were saying, her mind and instincts warned her against anything long-term. A workplace romance was not the end goal.
She and Marcus had simply had a consensual one-night stand. And while she wasn’t as versed in the after-effects of hooking up, having been a relationship type girl up until now, she was sure Marcus would find his footing easily. Hell, maybe he already had.
She’d see soon enough at work. Too soon, she thought with sinking dread as she parked in the small Cameron Designs parking lot. And there was his white car, gleaming like he’d just washed it.
Why didn’t you drive?
My car is white. I just washed it.
She hadn’t spoken to him the rest of the weekend, which she now realized would make today awkward. It wasn’t like they hung out after work…ever. But now that they’d seen each other naked, had shared his bed for a few hours early Saturday morning, things were going to be strained.
And she still couldn’t explain what happened at the mansion. Terror on the high plains followed by the most amazing sex ever? Or… had it been okay sex masquerading as amazing? It’d been a while for her, and given the fact she’d been terrified, every sense, every nerve, every cell in her body was on high alert. Had that created a shroud of feelings that didn’t really exist outside of being frightened out of her mind?
Hard to say, she thought, as she twisted her lips.
There was only one way to find out how things would go with him from here on out. She’d have to go inside and come face to face with him. She steeled herself and entered the building, but didn’t see Marcus. She waved at the temp at the front desk and rounded the corner, running into Joanie on her way to her office.
“There you are!” She grinned, her hazel eyes shining, her dark, curly hair bobbing as she tilted her head. “Clive told me all about it. You know he wasn’t supposed to be there that night, right? He wasn’t supposed to slip out, and accompany Marcus on a stupid, childish mission to spook you out of your fair share of the bet.” Her grin changed to concern, her eyebrows bending subtly. “You know I didn’t know anything about it, right? Why didn’t you call me this weekend? I just found out this morning, and it was filtered down from Marcus to Clive to me.”
If You Dare Page 10
