“You look like an idiot. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you in that getup?”

He was sweating under the mask. “It was a joke!”

“A bad one.”

He tripped up the steps to her and when he got close, she did the honor of unmasking him, yanking the disguise off, along with a bit of hair. He yipped and she snatched the toy ax from his grip, swinging it at him full force.

“Ow!” On the second connecting hit, he caught the blade with one palm. It squeaked. Her eyes narrowed further.

He rubbed the spot at the back of his head with one hand. “Are you okay? Or did you fake the fall?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She shoved his chest with her free hand.

“Look, Lil, I’m—”

But “sorry” didn’t make it out of his mouth. She snatched the ax from his hand again and swung it with renewed vigor. She was a lot stronger than he’d have thought. Did she take jujitsu or something? She was going to maim him with the faux weapon if he didn’t stop her.

“Lily, stop!” He snagged the toy and yanked, catching her around the waist and pressing inch upon inch of Lily McIntire up against his torso. She felt amazing. She looked better. Wild hair, narrowed eyes, and flushed cheeks… Though he was admiring her way more than the situation called for. Especially since she looked downright murderous.

In no mood to cuddle, she pulled away from him. “What if I would have believed you? What if I had a heart attack?”

“You wouldn’t have had a heart attack,” he said, not exactly answering her. He hadn’t thought this prank all the way through, he realized. But since he wasn’t going to admit as much, silence was his only friend. He gave her a sheepish shrug.

She held up the mask. “Really?”

“I’ve never been to Hawaii.”

“Yeah?” She threw the mask into the front yard like a Frisbee. “Well, you’re not going now, either.”

Her dander was up, and the ire swirling around her was like a haze of pheromones his body couldn’t resist. At the mansion’s door, she attempted to shut it in his face, but he wedged his hiking boot in the crack, preventing her.

“Move.” She glared through the gap in the door. Just so fucking gorgeous. Every angry inch of her.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He needed to wipe the half smile off his face, but damn, she looked good tonight in black jogging pants that fit snugly around her butt, and a matching zip-up hoodie with the word “couture” emblazoned over her breasts.

She continued glaring.

“I’m a dirty cheater.”

“And?”

“And…immature.” He held his palms in front of him but didn’t move his foot. “Let me in, and I’ll explain.”

Those blue eyes narrowed further.

“Lily, come on. What do you have to lose?”

…

Frustration seeped from her every pore, thanks to the man gracing the doorway. She’d like to tell him where he could shove that explanation, and the mask for that matter, but as her adrenaline ebbed, so had her fear. Not so much from the startling sight of a Jason Voorhees mask—she rolled her eyes—but the thought that he could have had something to do with the phantom voice made her feel much, much better.

She’d take her prank-loving coworker over a restless spirit or a monster wanting to shish kebab her.

Still, no reason to make this easy on him. “You can explain from out there.”

He dropped his arms, licked his bottom lip, and bit down on it, his dimple showing in the moonlight sifting through the doorway. She sort of hated how handsome he was when she was trying to be angry.

“First off, I was only going to wear it long enough to jump out and say ‘boo,’ but the mask got stuck in my hair.”

When she screwed her mouth to one side in disbelief, he half turned his body and pointed at the back of his head. “See this giant bald spot?”

She didn’t.

“Lil.”

She sighed. He may be competitive and admittedly shortsighted, but he wasn’t a liar. She knew that much. Door open, she stepped back to let him in. He shifted his wide shoulders to get through, striding in and glancing around the room. “Charming.”

She’d never seen him wear flannel and denim together until now, and she admired the way his big body filled out his wardrobe. He looked a little like a lumberjack with a budding beard, which wasn’t a style she realized she liked. But with him hovering near, she became irritatingly aware of the parts of her body that had pressed against his solid form moments ago. Mainly because they were still tingling. Tingling, for God’s sake. She had no right tingling where Marcus Black was concerned.

She considered his presence, his admission he’d been trying to scare her off, and the voice that sent her running from the mansion in the first place… Mm-hmm. She did believe she’d found the source of the ghost of Essie Mae.

He ran a hand through hair so dark it was practically black. With the pale moonlight at his back, his eyes appeared almost the same shade. Before she tumbled headlong into the depths of those eyes, she stabbed a finger into the center of his rock-hard chest. “Turn it off.”

He crossed his arms over his wide chest, trapping her poking finger beneath his forearms. His mouth tugged at the corners.

She pulled her hand away before all that warm surrounding muscle distracted her further. Dammit. He really was attractive, and the part of her that kept forgetting she was preserving her reputation and work ethic wished she could act on that errant attraction, even if he was trying to cheat and keep his trip.

“The speaker?” She sounded out each syllable and pointed up the staircase. “Or whatever you’ve rigged up there to wail and moan. Turn it off. The jig is up, Black. I’m not going anywhere.” Mirroring his stance, she crossed her arms over her breasts, standing her ground.

Undeterred, he closed the door behind him and towered over her. She skated her gaze over massive shoulders, recalling the way they’d bunched beneath his T-shirt when he’d drawn back the pool cue Wednesday night. He scrubbed his jaw as if trying to decide what to do with her, and her eyes went to the forearms that had flexed when he’d slid the stick between his thumb and forefinger.

“What makes you think I rigged up anything?”

“So what did I hear earlier, then? A ghost?”

“Maybe.” He leaned in to say the word, that dimple delving into one stubbled cheek and making her want to stick her tongue in it.

“Maybe,” she repeated, but her voice was a thin wheeze. A turned-on wheeze. If that was a thing.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He sent her a wink, a devilish one, the same one he no doubt used to sear the panties off his dates. “If you’re hearing voices,” he said, stepping away from her, “sounds like I’d better stick around and protect you.”

“Oh no. You’re not invited.” She wasn’t spending any more time with him than she had to. Not after the crap he’d pulled tonight. He’d probably Saran Wrap the toilet seat next, or put shaving cream in her palm when she fell asleep. She grasped his bicep, intending to direct him to the front door and send him on his merry way. But once her hand curled around thick muscle, she left it there, his heat and hardness soaking into her palm. He cast her grip a sideways glance and raised an eyebrow.

Why, whenever he was this close, did he muddle her senses? She rejected on principle the idea that a man could literally be a chick magnet, but here she was, being pulled in by the inexplicable and, yeah, magnetic force. Her nipples peaked and, she could swear, pointed right at him.

She let him go, breaking their connection. She dusted her hand on her pants for good measure. “I’ll be fine,” she said primly. “You can go.”

The cocky glint in his eyes flickered, and his voice dropped to a soft rumble. “You sure, Lil? You look a little shaken.” He lifted the back of his knuckles to her cheek.