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 sifted 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.