“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 night 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?