“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 cocky 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.”