If You Dare Page 6

  Or maybe she was simply afraid. Fear and attraction had a lot of the same characteristics. The sweaty palms, the elevated heart rate…

  The picturing Marcus naked.

  Okay, maybe not that last one.

  Marcus—not naked—appeared in the doorway so suddenly she had to blink him into focus. His face was drawn and shadowed, but her heart ratcheted up at the sight of him anyway, her eyes automatically locking onto those talented lips of his.

  “Grab the Coleman.” His toneless voice snapped her out of her fantasy of being kissed again. “You’ve got to see this.”

  She forced her feet forward, lifting the lantern and taking it with her to the adjoining room. He extinguished the small flashlight in his hand when she stepped over the threshold. Holding the lantern high, she swept the light over every corner of the room before turning to him.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Right.” He relieved her of the lantern, his fingers brushing her bare skin and sending a trail of fiery awareness licking up her arm. “Don’t you find that strange?”

  She started to answer, and then realized he was referring to the lack of broken dishes and not to the way his touch made her want to purr. Which he couldn’t possibly know about. Thank God.

  “No,” she answered belatedly. “I find it fantastic.” Somehow the idea she’d hallucinated the sound—that they both had—was more reassuring than the alternative. Ducking her head into the sand wasn’t her normal habit, but this place was far from normal. And if she had a prayer of not losing her marbles while stuck here, she’d do well to pretend everything was A-okay. They both would.

  He lapped the large kitchen one final time, his dark brows pinched. His boots stopped with a soft scuffing sound in front of her, then he lowered the lantern. She studied his brown eyes, choked by thick lashes, and his ink-colored hair tousled over his forehead in the yellowish light and thought of the kiss. How he’d leaned in and taken her lips so confidently. She’d bet he did everything that way. Confidently. Thoroughly.

  “Did you hear me?” he asked.

  No. I was fantasizing about you.

  “Uh, sorry. Zoned out.”

  The side of his mouth kicked up, and her heart hammered into her ribs like machine gun fire.

  “I asked if you wanted to go back to bed.” He waggled his eyebrows and tipped his head toward the living room. “With me.” He affected his best bad-boy rogue expression. Teasing her again.

  He seemed content to ignore whatever they’d heard. Good. She could work with that. “You’re impossible.”

  “You can’t get enough of me,” he said as he followed her to the living room.

  “You can’t get enough of yourself,” she threw over her shoulder, barely meaning it. She took her place back on the mattress as he set the lantern aside and arranged his big body on the bed next to her. He was quiet for a moment, studying the boards covering the windows in the living room.

  “You know,” he said. “There are a lot of old trees out there. I’m thinking the wind caught a rotted limb and brought it down.” He braced his arms around his knees. “Lucky it didn’t come through the roof and kill us.”

  The sound they’d heard, as clearly as they both heard Marcus’s explanation now, was not a tree limb. She knew it. He knew it. And she could see that he knew she knew it. But he was explaining it away, possibly for her benefit, before her imagination could turn tail and run away with her on its heels.

  Back at base camp, the sound merely an echo in her memory, it was easier to believe a story about felled tree branches. Denial was a powerful, powerful tool, and she had no problem using it to her advantage.

  There was one thing she couldn’t deny, however—his insistence on returning to the air mattress to wait out the night with her. He was practically handing over what she had come here to win. Why not talk her into leaving? Why not create a panic and drag her from the house “for her own good”? Why would he sit here with her when he had the most to lose?

  Unless…

  “I had no idea.”

  He still studied the windows. “What’s that?”

  “You’re a nice guy.”

  Without moving from his seated position—knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them—he turned his head and scrunched his brow in contention. “What?”

  She nodded and gave him a smile, sure of her observation. “You leaped out of this room and put yourself in potential danger to protect me.”

  “Whatever.” His fingers tapped a distressed rhythm against his jeans. “I walked into the kitchen to check for an ax murderer for myself as much as I did it for you.”

  Her smile morphed into a grin. “You mean like one carrying a plastic weapon and wearing a hockey mask?”

  He gave her a bland look. “Touché.”

  “What was your plan, anyway? Send me running to my car and screaming down the hillside?”

  “Basically.”

  She shook her head. Maybe he wasn’t all that heroic after all. Yet she was attracted to him. Which could only mean one thing: Marcus didn’t have pheromones like normal men. He emitted something akin to a hallucinogenic drug.

  The heater next to them chugged, whined, and died.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She hit the top. Hit the side. Switched the dials up then down.

  “Is this the way you usually fix things? Just bang on them until they’re operational again?”

  “Seems to work for the vending machine in the break room.”

  He brushed her hands aside and inspected the heater. “This isn’t a glass box withholding your Mallomars.” The Coleman winked out next, plunging the room into darkness.

  He swore. She felt like swearing, too.

  “I just bought that!” she said instead. So not the issue. She flipped open the cover on her iPad and cast light onto Marcus’s face. It died next. Just went dark, when she knew she had 87 percent battery left.

  “What the hell?” He snatched the iPad, and she heard him click the button ineffectually three times before blowing out a frustrated breath.

  With the heater silent, the room black, there was only the sound of the wind pressing against the boarded windows keeping them company. Cold, howling wind. Odd. Something was happening in this house and it was so very odd.

  Also: terrifying.

  “Marcus?” Her voice was a thin thread. She sounded scared. She didn’t care. She was scared, and tired of pretending she had everything under control. Here in the house, and outside of it, too. Being a one-woman army was hard work.

  “It’s okay.” His hand found her leg, and she clutched onto him. Marcus’s body shifted, and she heard the clatter of the exhausted Coleman as he slid it aside. He shoved the heater next before leaning to one side and digging in his pocket. He muttered a curse. “My phone’s dead.”

  Her phone! Of course. She let go of his hand and felt blindly in the small space until she found her phone. She pressed a button and blessed light flared between them. She examined the screen. “Forty percent battery.”

  He took her hand and directed the muted light around the bedding. His firm grip warmed her arm, distracting her from everything else but the feel of his skin against hers.

  When he located the flashlight, he flicked it on and off. “Save your battery. We have plenty of light.”

  Their eyes met in the pale light emitting from her phone, and she felt the air shift between them, vibrating with a different kind of tension.

  The sexy kind.

  “We should go to the road,” he said, his voice low. His throat worked as he swallowed. “See if you can get a signal.”

  “I have a bet to win. I’m not giving up because it’s dark.”

  And she didn’t want to interrupt the heavy tension clinging to the blackness surrounding them. Despite the shadows pressing in on them from every angle, she felt like she was seeing a part of him she’d never seen before. Or maybe seeing him clearly for the first time. Tonight he hadn’t been as selfish and c
ocky as he pretended to be. The way he looked at her, the way his features softened when his eyes met hers, invited her in.

  “Determined to take this from me the way you did that last account, aren’t you?” he teased, his mouth tipping on one side. Regret pinched her now that he’d effectively removed the sexual tension and turned it into the usual argumentative kind.

  “Sunny Acres. You really want to fight about this again?” she asked on a disappointed sigh. “You didn’t have a contract with Margaret.”

  “No, but I sketched a design she loved.”

  Lily picked at an eyelet in her sneaker. The phone went dark, and she dropped it next to her leg. “She didn’t use your design.”

  Somehow that truth came easier in the dark.

  “Of course she did,” he argued. “She added on the pond and greenhouse, but she said the room idea was perfect.”

  She shook her head even though he couldn’t see her, suddenly not wanting to tell him the truth. Which was odd, because the truth—that Margaret had requested an entire redesign by Lily—made for excellent ammo. It was the kind of thing she could have bragged about the next time Marcus one-upped her. But she hadn’t. Each time he poked at her at work, she’d hesitated to rub his nose in it. Why had she done that?

  Because. Because of the look on his face the day he’d won the trip. He was in his office alone, slapping the tickets against his open palm. Then he’d stared at them for the longest time, shaking his head, as a proud—not cocky—smile graced his handsome face. In that moment, with his usual veil dropped, she had seen him care about something in a deep, reverent way.

  His reaction had caught her off guard as much as it had intrigued her.

  Of course, an hour later, he’d plopped down on her guest chair in her office and run down a list of things to do in Hawaii. Ever been snorkeling, McIntire? I think I’ll cliff dive while I’m there. Thanks to my handy-dandy new shed, I have plenty of room for climbing gear and scuba-diving equipment.

  A scrape along the boarded windows sounded in front of them and, instinctively, she grabbed for him in the dark.

  “See?” he muttered softly. “Trees.”

  “Trees,” she agreed. Maybe they’d both overreacted because of the environment. Maybe here, inside a spooky mansion steeped in local lore, everyday sounds were scarier than they actually were.

  “Talk to me about something,” he said.

  Good idea. She’d talk about anything to get her mind off the ghost of Essie Mae. “Like what?”

  “Like why you wanted to go to Hawaii.”

  Not what she’d expected. She thought for a moment. “Well. Like you, I’ve never been there. Plus, it’s a free trip…”

  But that wasn’t really why she wanted it. That wasn’t the reason she’d worked overtime and gone out of her way to sign more accounts than him.

  “The truth is,” she said quietly, “I really like to win.”

  His deep laughter tumbled around her in the dark. “Yeah, I get that.”

  “And I wanted to see if I was good enough to beat the best.”

  She sensed more than heard his head turn.

  “You’re the best.” She squeezed his knee. “You’re unbeatable.”

  “I don’t know.” One rough hand covered hers, and on a soft rumble he said, “You may beat me yet.”

  She sniffed. That may have been a laugh if he hadn’t been touching her. If her heart hadn’t been beating triple time. He slipped his hand beneath hers. Heat from their pressed palms lit a fuse that burned up her arm.

  “Lily?”

  She couldn’t see his face, but she knew his eyes were on her. She could feel them.

  A beat passed. Then another. He flicked the flashlight on, his eyes zooming in on her mouth. “Don’t suppose you’re scared enough of the dark to leave.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t suppose you’re planning on leaving me on my own.”

  A smile, then, “You might cheat.” He tugged their linked hands and leaned the slightest bit closer.

  “True,” she breathed, mirroring his movement. “I wouldn’t trust you if our roles were reversed.” Inches from his face, she admired the curve of his top lip. “What are you doing, Black?”

  “I think,” he whispered back, his warm breath fanning over her lips, “I’m going to have to kiss you, McIntire.”

  Chapter Eight

  The flashlight clicked off, and Marcus’s lips hit hers hard.

  The stubble surrounding his mouth scratched her lips, but he softened a moment later, giving her a brief reprieve to calibrate her brain. Unlinking their hands, he wrapped his palms around her upper arms. He tugged, and she went willingly, then sort of fell into him. The air mattress was about as stable as one of those inflatable-ball-filled rooms.

  Lips still fused with hers, he laughed through his nose as he fell back, pulling her on top of him. Lying against that hard wall of muscle, she didn’t think there could be anything better than being held by him… until he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

  Oh, yes. Much better.

  She kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his while her fingers found the back of his scalp and clutched at his short hair. The feel of him, the smell of him, the taste of him was all so utterly masculine, she felt feminine and delicate by comparison.

  He pulled away, his breathing ragged, and she shifted against him, feeling the hard length of him press into her thigh. Talk about masculine. She rubbed against him again. Shamelessly. This was crazy, right? They barely tolerated each other at work, were in the least romantic location on the planet. Plus—

  “Sorry.”

  Did Marcus Black just apologize?

  Chest heaving, she stayed over him, her arms locked around his neck, breasts smashed into his chest, mouth close enough that his truncated breaths tickled her lips.

  “Are you?” she challenged.

  He tightened his arms around her and ground his pelvis against her leg. His voice was impossibly deep when he said, “No.”

  Palming the back of her head, he dragged her lips down and slanted his mouth to kiss her. She wanted to cry with relief. Shrouded in the darkness, hidden from the outside world, this felt safe, like in this sequestered place, she was free to do whatever she wanted. Whomever I want. And right now, being on the receiving end of this man’s dwindling control was exactly where she wanted to be.

  She took advantage of her heightened senses in the dark, exploring his body by touch. The soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt, the puckered fabric at the hem, his hot tongue still in her mouth. She slipped her hand beneath his shirt, fingers straying over an army of rock-hard abs dusted in soft hair. She trailed her fingers up his chest, savoring the width of him, the coarse texture of him, and the heat rolling off his skin in waves.

  When he groaned and deepened the kiss, his stubble scratched her face just like she’d imagined at the bar. He nipped at her bottom lip, her jaw, her neck, until he found the hollow at the bottom of her throat and explored it with his tongue.

  Every brush of his lips felt more erotic in the blackness. She was a prisoner to each new and unexpected sensation crashing over her body like the tide. The heat of his mouth, the cold, prickling sensation when he left her skin exposed to the air, the surprise of his hand snaking under her hoodie and shirt.

  A startled gasp left her when his fingers closed around one breast over her bra. His other hand grasped a handful of her butt, and he hauled her closer, still kissing and suckling the side of her neck with his talented mouth.

  His jaw raked against her neck, and he dragged his lips to her ear. When he spoke against the tender spiral of her ear, she shuddered. “You have the sweetest ass I’ve ever seen.” He squeezed again. “And it feels even better than it looks.”

  The wet heat of his tongue on her earlobe obliterated her senses and froze the response in her throat. His hands continued their intentional exploring, the hand beneath her shirt leaving to join the palm beneath the material of her jogging pants. He mo
lded his big hands over the silk of her panties. And squeezed again.

  She started to let out a soft moan but his lips found hers, and he swallowed the sound. He pulled away from her with a soft smooch and smiled against her lips. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you, Lil?”

  He…wanted her? Her heart raced for a new reason. She’d thought, since she’d shot down his advances when she’d started working at Cameron Design, that Marcus had relegated her to the role of his nemesis. Or maybe she’d relegated him to the role of hers. Well, maybe not nemeses, but they weren’t exactly simpatico.

  “You want me?” she breathed, surprise infusing her voice.

  “Are you kidding?” He squeezed her ass again, pulling her hard against his erection. His zipper pressed painfully between her legs, and he sucked a breath through his teeth, a growl percolating in his throat. “You think this setup works for me? That I’d choose here, of all places, to seduce you?”

  The word “seduce” intrigued her more than it should. Being seduced by this man, a man capable of epic seduction was… Well, it was awesome was what it was. She relaxed against him, feeling a surge of warmth in her panties and ignoring all the good sense she’d clearly left behind when he put his hands on her.

  “Have you thought about seducing me, Marcus?” She nipped his chin. The growth on his face pricked her tongue.

  One of his hands left the globe of her bottom and slid between her legs. Even through her panties, the swipe of his strong fingers made her shudder.

  “Only every night after work.” He licked the underside of her top lip and pulled it into his mouth. His fingers moved again, and she squirmed against him. “Some nights it kills me so much, I have to take matters into my own hands.” He bit down lightly on her lip, and she felt her bones melt.

  “You—you think of me…like that?” And hadn’t she done the same, holding the fantasy of him behind her at the pool table in her head while touching herself? She loved the idea of them doing it at the same time, both coming with their minds and bodies focused on each other…

  “God, yes.”

  He slid his fingers between her legs again, her thoughts ceased. She wanted him. But she always had, hadn’t she? In the bright light of day, she could pretend there was nothing more to her than the driven, prickly, no-nonsense woman she showed to the world. She could pretend she didn’t want him, didn’t need him. Act as if a man of Marcus’s caliber was of no use to her, didn’t fit in her perfectly organized life plan.