“Are you ready to be scared?” she asked with a grin as they got out of the car. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and she looked as happy as a kid about to enter a candy store.
He glanced up at the big old house. “I guess this is a bad time to tell you I don’t love scary things?”
“Really?” Monroe rubbed her hands together as they walked over to where Brian was standing, waiting for the tour participants to assemble. “Not into horror movies?”
“Nope.” He shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “Why would I want to watch something where the whole purpose was to freak me out? I watch movies to relax.”
“But it’s romantic, having an excuse to grab someone’s hand in the dark and snuggle up close.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you brought me here?”
“I could have done that a lot cheaper by finding some crappy B-grade horror movie on Netflix,” she pointed out, but Ethan pulled her into his side anyway, his arm draping around her shoulders.
It felt familiar and comforting to have her lean into him. Was that because they were out in public and it was part of the show? Or because she wanted to?
Monroe’s hair spilled down over his coat and her gloved hand rested at his chest. It stirred something inside him, like an awakening of a part he’d buried this past year. The old Ethan who had a twenty-year plan for the future, who had goals and aspirations, and who knew where he was going. A man who knew that he wanted a loving partner at his side and a family to come.
But his sense of family had been deeply shaken.
“Welcome to the Krick mansion,” Brian said, motioning for the group to come closer to him. “This is one of the most haunted mansions not only in the state, but in the whole country. Built in 1875 by Theodore Thomas Krick for his family, this house is more than seven-thousand square feet in size and reportedly took a team of 100 men almost two years to build it. You’ll find an incredible amount of workmanship inside, including hand-carved moldings, hand-turned wood balustrades on the big staircase, and other fine work that we don’t see in modern buildings.”
“That doesn’t sound too scary.” Ethan lowered his head and whispered into Monroe’s ear. “Maybe I won’t need to hold your hand after all.”
“I don’t get scared,” she said, looking up at him with a cocky smile.
“Oh no, I meant for me. You’re my protector, okay?”
She laughed, nudging him with her elbow because she knew he was just teasing. “Big bad Thor’s afraid of a few little ghosts? I don’t believe it.”
“But you’re not here to appreciate the architecture of a bygone era, right?” Brian flicked on a torch and started to hand them out to the group. Now Ethan knew why they’d signed a waiver at the tour office—looked like they were going into the house in the dark, at least to start the night off.
Ethan had to hand it to him, Brian was quite the showman.
“Follow me, folks, and watch your step. I don’t want anyone getting hurt, but this is an experiential tour so I want you to have the full effect. We won’t have the lights on for a while.” He started up toward the stairs.
Monroe held their torch and she flicked it on, sticking it under her chin as if she was about to tell a ghost story. “Oooh spooky.”
“Don’t antagonize the otherworldly spirits,” Ethan said drily. “Those people are always the first to die in horror movies.”
“Pfft.” Monroe waved her hand. “I know all the horror movie rules. One, always check behind you. Two, don’t run up the stairs when you can go out the front door. Three, never say ‘I’ll be right back,’ and four, definitely, absolutely do not go down into the basement.”
“I feel much safer now, thank you,” he quipped.
“You’re really missing out. The horror genre has a lot to offer.” They trailed behind at the end of the group and followed Brian into the house. “The Shining, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Exorcist,” she said. “Or if you like something more modern, Get Out was phenomenal. Hell, I’d even put Scream up there because it was so fresh at the time.”
“Pass.” Ethan shook his head. “I prefer my movies with more explosions and less stabbings.”
They paused in the foyer of the old house, torchlights bouncing all around. There was definitely something eerie about the house.
“Let’s get to the heart of why this house has the reputation it does,” Brian said to the group. “Upon its completion in 1875, the Krick family moved in. There were seven of them in total—Theodore, his wife Emily, their three daughters Patricia, Grace, and Lillian. Plus Emily’s mother, Rose, and their maid, Anna. Within five years, only one of them was left alive.”
Someone in the group gasped and Ethan felt goose bumps ripple across his skin. There was a coldness to the house, as though he could gauge the emptiness and loss by the temperature.
Okay now you’re being ridiculous.
“Grace was the first to die in the house. Within days of them moving in, she contracted a bacterial illness and passed away. A year later, the youngest girl Lillian drowned in the bathtub upstairs. But no one was ever able to figure out why, because she was very capable of bathing herself and there was nothing to indicate she’d slipped and hit her head, or anything like that.”
Brian paused for a moment, letting the creaking of the old house and wind outside amp up the tension.
“Theodore’s grief caused him to struggle in keeping control of his life and his business started to suffer. He turned to alcohol and was often found wandering the grounds, drunk. Two years later his wife fell down the stairs and died, and many speculated that Theodore pushed her in a drunken rage.”
Brian continued on with the story, slowly walking the group through the house. Monroe and Ethan lingered behind, their torch off. Monroe reached for Ethan’s hand. “Scared yet?”
“It sounds like a whole lot of bad luck to me, not the interference of supernatural forces,” he replied. “But I do think this place is creepy.”
Outside the wind whipped a tree branch across the glass and they both startled, giggling nervously. Monroe squeezed Ethan’s hand. It was hard to be scared with her touching him—because whatever part of his brain was responsible for fear was being steadily overridden by the part responsible for…well, other parts of him.
She released him as they had to pass through a narrow doorway, and Ethan let his hands drift to her hips as he followed her. Ahead of them, torchlight bounced around a dining room, glancing off some eerie carvings of crows on a wooden piece of furniture.
Monroe slowed and Ethan pressed up behind her, feeling the curve of her backside brush the front of his crotch. It was probably horribly inappropriate that he was getting hard thinking about Monroe and the breathy sounds she made when she came while Brian was talking about the grisly murder of the Krick family’s maid. But Ethan could only seem to concentrate on the heat coming from Monroe’s body and how he could touch her stealthily in the dark. They paused in the dining room and he wrapped both arms around her from behind, holding her hard against him. She didn’t try to break free. In fact, she rocked back against him as if encouraging him.
He leaned forward, bringing his lips down behind her ear. “Are you doing that on purpose, Monroe?”
“Doing what?” she said quietly, her innocence belied by the cheeky look she threw over one shoulder.
“How does this fit into your rules for surviving a horror movie?”
“Not great,” she admitted. “The ones who have sex usually end up dead pretty early on.”
“Shame.”
The group moved on up ahead, but Monroe stayed stock-still. As the sound of Brian’s talking grew softer as they moved into the next room, the torchlight fading, Ethan’s senses were heightened. The sound of Monroe’s breath grew louder and he could swear he felt her pulse jumping as he trailed his hand down the side of her neck, sweeping
her hair to one side.
“This is very naughty,” she whispered as he pressed his lips to her neck. “Someone might catch us.”
Her skin was warm and the enticing scent of her perfume wound through his bloodstream. “You mean the ghosts might catch us.”
She kept her head tilted to one side so he could keep kissing her. Ethan found the hem of her sweater between the lapels of her open coat, and slipped one hand up underneath. Warm flesh greeted his eager fingers and he searched higher, finding the curve of her breast and the lacy texture of her bra.
When he pinched her already hard nipple, she gasped and pressed back against him, rubbing her backside where Ethan was already rock hard.
“This is so wrong,” he muttered. But that made it even more exciting.
He spun Monroe around and pressed her to the wall, something rattling above her head. “You’re so bad,” she whispered. “I love it.”
He crushed his mouth down to hers, kissing her hard and deep, his hand still palming her breast. He wanted nothing more than to strip her down and spend the whole night exploring her body, learning all the things he missed last time and savoring every single second with her.
How could he want her so much? So soon?
Her hips rocked against his, encouraging a soft yet guttural sound from his lips and the way she gripped onto him was everything. There was something about the darkness, the people in the next room, the fact that this relationship was only supposed to be for show…all of it made the kiss hotter than anything Ethan had experienced before. Or maybe it was none of those things.
Maybe it was one factor and one factor only: Monroe.
This woman was under his skin. She was in his head and knocking on his heart and dancing in his mind.
“You’re so sexy,” he murmured against her lips, planting one palm on the wall next to her head. “And this isn’t supposed to mean a bloody thing, but I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“I don’t want you to keep your hands off me, Ethan.” Her lips found his again and she coaxed him open, her tongue sliding against his. “Don’t stop.”
He reached down for the back of her leg, finding her knee and hooking his palm behind it so he could drag it up and over his hip. Her coat bunched and he pressed against her, applying pressure where he knew she wanted it. He was right, because one brush of the sensitive spot between her legs and she was mewling.
“Monroe? Ethan?”
Ethan jumped back at the sound of their names being called from within the house. Oops. Looked like the tour leader had realized he’d lost two of his group.
“Come on,” Ethan said, taking Monroe’s hand. “We’d better catch up before Brian worries.”
“Such a Boy Scout,” Monroe teased.
“For now.” He lowered his lips to her ear. “But when this tour is over, we’re going back to your place, okay? You told me not to stop and I don’t plan to.”
“Good.” She stared him right in the eye, meeting his intensity with her own. That was the part of her that he found so attractive—that fighting spirit, that willfulness.
Tonight, he was going to watch her come undone all over again.
…
Monroe was on pins and needles the whole way home after the ghost tour. She had information to give to Ethan, but part of her was worried that if she brought it up now then he’d go right back to the inn. And the selfish part of her didn’t want to risk that happening.
She wanted Ethan in her apartment. In her bed. In her arms.
You shouldn’t feel like this.
She tried to tell herself it was just sex, but the fact was she’d never found casual hookups appealing. Because a hot guy was one thing, but Monroe needed more than abs and a great smile. She needed to be attracted to what was underneath all of that.
And when it came to Ethan…he ticked all the boxes. Big heart, sense of humor, family values. The way he’d been with her father and sisters the night of the dinner at Loren’s house, well that alone would have been enough to have Monroe falling head over heels.
What if he doesn’t want to stay?
He had baggage. They both did.
This wasn’t like falling in love the first time and not knowing the pain that could come. They’d both loved before, both lost before.
Ethan pulled the car up in front of her apartment building and killed the engine. “You’re quiet,” he said.
“So are you.”
The lights of oncoming vehicles played across his handsome features, making his eyes glow blue and his jaw seem even sharper and more devastating.
“I’m wondering what it means if we go up together,” he said.
“How so?”
“For something that’s supposed to be fake, I’m having a hard time drawing a line in my head.”
Her breath caught in her throat. He was so open, so willing to let her in. That made him unlike any other man Monroe had ever known—it made him unlike her. But maybe she could learn a thing or two from him about speaking her truth. About putting herself out in the world even if the outcome was uncertain.
“Me too,” she admitted. “I don’t have all the answers. But I know I very much want you to come upstairs and I wouldn’t be mad if I woke up tomorrow morning and found you sleeping next to me.”
The car interior was dead silent for a heartbeat. Then two. Three.
“I wouldn’t be mad about that, either,” he said.
It was raining outside and the windshield was streaked with water, blurring the traffic lights and car lights. It looked like a Monet painting, soft-focused and beautiful.
“So we’re doing it then?” she said, her breath stuttering. “Putting fake on hold for a night?”
He reached for her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. The warm breath felt good on her skin and the pressure of his kiss even better. “Let’s do it.”
They got out of the car and ran through the rain, reaching the door beside the bakery in a few seconds. But it was enough for the unrelenting drops to saturate her hair, and they stumbled into the stairwell, running up the steps as fast as they could. Ethan’s hands were already on her as she fumbled with her keys. The door opened and they tumbled through. Ethan pushed it shut behind him and shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the hook by the door, and she did the same. The water dropped onto the floor, making soft plink, plink, plink sounds.
Then, without hesitation, he crushed his lips down to hers, making her stumble back against the couch. The tightly-coiled restraint they’d held in the car ride home snapped—it happened instantaneously and irreparably. His hands were in her hair, his lips coaxing hers open, and she met him with passion. He tasted of mint and rain, smelled as heavy and powerful as a thunderstorm.
She couldn’t get enough of him. Every moment he wasn’t with her, she wanted him to be. Every moment they were together, she dreaded it ending. Whenever her phone pinged, her heart hoped it was him.
“God, you taste good.” His hand came up under her sweater to palm her breast.
Her head dropped back as he kissed along her neck, stubble scratching and teeth gently scraping. She fisted her hands in his hair, trying to keep her balance. But there was no point. Resistance was futile.
Ethan Hammersmith had totally and irrevocably knocked her world off its axis.
It shouldn’t be this way. They were supposed to be faking it. And technically Monroe was still married…
Shit. She still hadn’t told him about that. Why? She had no idea. Part of her rationalized that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she’d seen her ex—her ex who was engaged to someone else—and this thing with Ethan wasn’t real.
It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It isn’t real.
Maybe if she thought it enough times then she would believe it.
But the way he was kissing her now—like it was the key
to their shared survival—tempted her to believe otherwise. She would tell him. About the divorce, about Lottie. Everything.
Tomorrow.
“Ethan,” she sighed as he pushed his other hand underneath her sweater and felt around the back, growling in frustration.
“Hmm-mmm.” His mouth was otherwise occupied with sucking at the skin on her neck.
“Front closure,” she gasped.
He fumbled with the bra, finally getting it open, his breath hissing with satisfaction. Now he could touch her more fully. His hands were at her breasts, thumbs brushing her peaked nipples. Everything ached. Everything yearned.
No matter how satiated she felt after one encounter, her hunger for him returned with force.
“Yes,” she moaned.
But Ethan wasn’t content to stop there. He planted his hands on her hips and hoisted her up onto the back of the couch, roughly nudging her legs apart with his thighs so he could get closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hauled his mouth down to hers. Through her jeans, she could feel the hardness of him. He pressed between her legs, smoothing his hands around to her butt so he could rock against her. But it wasn’t enough.
“Undress me,” she whispered. “I need to feel you.”
…
Goddammit. What the hell was he doing right now? His head was in a tailspin. He wanted Monroe with a hunger that he’d never thought was possible. It shocked him. The strength of his feelings were…
Unpredictable. Unstoppable.
He yanked her sweater up over her head and shoved the open bra from her shoulders. She arched for him, letting him have it all. He toyed with Monroe’s hair, pushing it back over her shoulders because he loved nothing more than watching those curls spring free and loose down her back. He couldn’t stop himself from wanting to be here more than anywhere else on the face of the earth.
With her. For her.
Monroe reached for the hem of his sweater, yanking the fabric up and trapping his arms above his head. “Ugh, those awful muscles again.”
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