“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.”