If You Dare (Entangled Flaunt)

by Lemmon, Jessica

  They were in what looked like the master bedroom. Blue-and-silver-flowered wallpaper covered in dirt and graffiti decorated the walls. A worn mattress rested on the floor, the splintered remains of a four-poster bed scattered around it. Tattered lace curtains hung prone in front of screen-less windows. Excrement from whatever vermin made the room their temporary shelter dotted the floor.

  “I wonder if this is Essie’s bedroom,” Lily said, slipping her arm from around his back and stepping deeper into the room.

  “Watch it.” He held out a hand, his heart lurching at the memory of Lily’s near-plummet moments ago. The moment her foot had cracked through the floor and her eyes had gone wide, his heart ceased beating. In that split second, he had nearly watched his future slip from his hands. Losing her wasn’t something he could even contemplate. He never wanted to feel that afraid again. Not as long as he lived.

  “She’s here,” Lily said.

  “How do you know it’s her?” He followed her, eyes taking in the empty room, his senses on high alert.

  Ethereal moonlight blanketed Lily’s face from the window as she took in the grounds outside the house. Her mouth pulled into a sad smile. “According to the newspaper, this is where she jumped.”

  The contents of his stomach lurched. Or maybe fear had replaced his internal organs. Marcus didn’t think of himself as timid, but the idea of a specter skulking around her final resting place made him want to make a mad dash for his childhood church and say a hundred Hail Marys.

  He stood next to Lily. Her pallor had gone pasty white in the filtering moonbeams. “Lil?”

  She turned eyes on him. Eyes so empty, he shuddered.

  “Go before he kills you.” Her voice was low, threatening. And not her own.

  Marcus retreated one step. “That’s not funny.”

  She tilted her head, focusing on nothing. “And he will kill you.”

  “Dammit, Lily.” Heart jackhammering in his rib cage, he grasped her arm with his free hand, determined to shake her from her trancelike state. “Snap out of it. Lily!” The windows kicked open, leaving nothing between Lily and a thirty-foot drop to the solid ground below. He pulled on her arm. She didn’t budge.

  What felt like a cinderblock hit the center of his chest, knocking the air from his body and sending him flying backward against the far wall. Something cracked his skull as he struggled to inhale around what had to be a broken rib. Maybe two. He strained to focus on what was in front of him—a rotting picture frame, a woman’s faded image behind the glass—as pain radiated across his chest like firestorm. Then a reflection in the glass—a man’s face flickered and snapped like a fluorescent bulb, smiling down at him with evil intent. Marcus kicked the frame and scrambled to the side and away from…whatever that was. Not Essie Mae, that was for damn sure.

  He grasped his throbbing head. When he pulled his hand away he found something wet and sticky gumming his fingers. Awesome. He was bleeding.

  The wind howled, and through blurred vision, he watched as the curtains were sucked out of the open windows like someone had turned on a high-powered vacuum. Unless he’d hit his head harder than he thought, Marcus was pretty sure Lily was…glowing. Fingers of fog licked at her form and her feet lifted from the floor. Something…someone was dragging her toward the window. Toward the driveway below.

  He couldn’t see the man that had reflected in the photo frame moments ago, but felt the presence as sure as blood oozed from the cut in Marcus’s head. Essie’s husband, Marcus would guess, and he wanted to take Lily’s life the way he had his late wife’s.

  Over my dead body.

  “Lily!” Marcus pushed himself up, fighting a wave of dizziness as he stumbled into the Coleman. He caught himself in time to crash into Lily and pull her against his body. It was impossible to fight an unseen entity, but he tried. He would sooner follow her to the ground below than live without her. A cool vapor enveloped him when their bodies met, but he pulled Lily back against his chest, and, aiming for the mattress at the corner of the room, jumped away from the open window.

  He missed the mattress, landing hard on his right arm to keep from crushing her beneath him. His ribs pulsed and he ground his teeth together, laying her head down as gently as he could manage. Her eyes were open, staring blindly at the ceiling. And he felt a different kind of pain radiate across his chest.

  Panic.

  “Lily? Honey?” He swept a palm across her cool cheek, his heart squeezing painfully as he looked into her blank blue eyes. But then the cold from her face leached into his hand and crawled up his wrist. He shook out his arm, watching as a faint cloud of white formed into what may well have been a woman in white. If one believed in that sort of thing.

  The gossamer figure swirled in and out of formation around another darker figure near the window. A shrieking moan, followed by a light that grew so bright, Marcus had to cover his face, filled the room. When he pulled his arm away from his eyes, there was nothing.

  Nothing but still curtains hanging in front of the open windows.

  And Lily—thank God in heaven—lifted her hand to her head and groaned.

  …

  Lily couldn’t breathe. Someone very solid and very heavy was compressing her lungs. Someone who smelled really good.

  “Lil! Lil, honey? Wake up, okay?”

  A soft slap on her cheek forced her eyes open. She lifted her hand and shooed him away. “Marcus,” she grunted. “I can’t breathe.” She pushed both palms into his broad chest.

  “Oh. Sorry.” He shifted, and she pulled in a lungful of air. He pushed her hair off her forehead. “I thought you were a goner, McIntire.”

  She managed a weak smile. “She saved us.”

  Essie. There had been something else in the house…something bad. Lily had felt it earlier, but now…nothing. Not even Essie. Who she knew had saved them from whatever evil lived here. Lily blinked back tears, unsure why they were even there. Grief? Terror? Relief? Maybe all three.

  Marcus swiped the dampness from her cheeks. “I don’t ever want to see you like that again.” He kissed her softly. “That was even scarier than you almost falling through the floor.”

  She opened her eyes and focused on the man hovering over her, concern darkening his features in the dawn fighting to light the night sky.

  “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me,” she told him. “I know that.”

  She remembered something else… The feeling of being pushed toward the window. “Two of the coldest hands, like blocks of ice, shoved me toward the window.”

  Pain etched his features. “I saw.”

  Stroking his jaw, she murmured, “I know you saw.” Her fingers followed the path to his bottom lip. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “Twice?” he asked, his lips tipping into a rueful grin.

  What a grin it was.

  “Twice,” she said, a tired smile gracing her lips. “Maybe that requires more than a verbal thank-you.” Sifting her fingers into his dark hair, she studied his mouth, the pair of lips she wouldn’t mind feeling on hers again and again.

  “Wine by the fireplace?”

  That sounded nice. “I don’t have a fireplace.”

  “I do.” It was an invitation she couldn’t refuse. Anywhere but here, in the drafty, dark mansion, sounded great. But Marcus’s place? That sounded divine.

  “I’ll grab the Coleman,” she joked, her voice a dry wheeze.

  A soft laugh bobbed his throat. “I’ll grab the wine.”

  Sliding her palm from his hair to the back of his neck, she reached up and flattened her other hand over his heart. “Perfect,” she whispered, pulling his head toward hers.

  He paused a scant distance from her waiting lips and studied her. “How hard did you knock your head, McIntire?”

  She tipped her chin and brushed her lips against his. “Shut up and kiss me, Black.”

  Epilogue

  There were more umbrellas in Lily’s piña colada than there were dotting the semi-priv
ate beach laid out in front of her. She stood on a blanket of white sand framed by a turquoise ocean and a sea of palm trees blowing in the warm Hawaiian breeze.

  She took a deep breath, the coconut suntan lotion on her body and fresh ocean air mingling in her senses.

  “You’re such a tourist,” Marcus quipped from her left.

  “I’m in Hawaii. I’m drinking what the locals drink.” She frowned at the massive fishbowl glass in her palm, already beginning to melt. “Since you’re a spoilsport, I brought you a beer.” She abandoned her drink on the small table next to her chair and walked over to the hammock where he sprawled, naked save for the jaunty board shorts riding low on his hips. She placed the ice-cold bottle on his abdomen and watched with delight as his abs clenched.

  Clamping onto her arm, he sucked in a startled breath as he pulled the bottle away from his body. He didn’t let her go though, lowering her instead to his waiting mouth. “Vixen.”

  She smiled. “Asshat.”

  Their mouths met for a kiss that threatened to buckle her knees. Before she knew what was happening, she was getting towed into the hazy, gauzy vicinity of lust only Marcus seemed capable of bringing her to. If she didn’t put the kibosh on this kiss, she’d haul him back to their cabana for some afternoon delight…again.

  He pulled away from her first and a stubborn protestation sounded low in her throat. His toothy grin only better suited a predator with a pointy dorsal fin.

  “Later, toots,” he said, hand trickling down her back to cup her bottom. “You’ve nearly worn me to a nub over the last two days alone.”

  His fingers slipped beneath her bikini bottoms to touch one cheek. She stepped to the side and out of his reach. “Fine,” she said. “If you need a break.” She walked to her beach chair, knowing he watched her. She shouldn’t tease him. She needed a break, too. Muscles she didn’t know she had ached. Sleeping with the sexiest man on the planet would do that to a girl.

  He remained quiet, letting her have that last dig, then slid his sunglasses from his nose to his head and closed his eyes. She watched him in the dappled shade of his beachside bed. His hair tickled his forehead just over the shallow scar he’d incurred from the picture frame that had hit his head at Willow Mansion.

  Since that unexplained night, many things went unsaid between them. Things didn’t need to be said, since “intense” didn’t even begin to describe the strong emotions they’d shared that evening.

  Lily had bared her heart. Marcus had shared his feelings and saved her life. Yes, twice.

  If there was a shred of doubt they belonged together, it didn’t outlast the sunrise at the mansion. They’d found her keys in the corner of the no-longer-haunted bedroom and walked down the stairs, leaning heavily on each other.

  He’d packed the car while she sat in the driver’s seat, eyes on the open windows at the second-story overhead. No faces gaped down at her. When he climbed in, he’d gripped her hand and tugged her to his waiting mouth.

  Sometimes a kiss said so much more than words. And she hadn’t tired of learning and relearning the physical language between them. At this rate, she’d be fluent in no time.

  Neither of them had told Clive and Joanie what happened at the mansion. Joanie assumed their relationship began the night of the RSD dinner, and that was fine by Lily. She had gone as Marcus’s date. He didn’t ask her, but he didn’t have to. Just like she hadn’t asked him to come to Hawaii with her. Since that night on the air mattress, they’d assumed a lot. But it worked, this unspoken language they were perfecting, and she refused to overanalyze or question it.

  The night he’d accepted his award at the podium, Marcus had been nervous. Lily had watched with unabashed pride as he’d faced his fears—and five hundred designers—and gave a shaky but humble speech of thanks.

  When she’d met him afterward with a drink, he’d promptly set aside the pair of champagne glasses and swept her out to the balcony. He’d kissed her in that confident way he had about him, making her feel precious, making her want to be taken care of by a big, strong man. But then, she trusted him. And she’d realized that was the key.

  “Move in with me,” he’d commanded, sliding one rough palm beneath her low-cut dress. He cupped her bottom and she’d molded her body to his without hesitation. Then she uttered the only answer she’d been able to give him since. Yes.

  “Macadamia nut for your thoughts,” Marcus said, bringing her back to present.

  Lily lounged in her beach chair, unread novel open against her stomach, her drink more liquid than slush. She blinked over at him. He was leaning across the hammock, arm outstretched, the nut between his thumb and index finger.

  When she reached for it, he pulled his hand back. “Ah-ah. You have to tell me what you were thinking about first.”

  She felt her cheeks heat.

  His eyebrows jumped. “Again?” he asked with mock seriousness. “You filthy girl.”

  The laugh that bubbled out of her only escalated when he rolled from the hammock and yanked her out of the beach chair. The book fell from her lap to the sand, and she stumbled to keep up with him.

  His hands landed on her butt and he squeezed her cheeks in his palms. “Let’s go play in the waves,” he said, lowering his head and stealing a kiss. “Deep, dark waves where no one can see what my hands are doing.”

  She reached for the drawstring on his shorts. “Or mine?”

  He grinned down at her, his thick hair blowing in the breeze. “Especially yours.”

  When his arm banded around her thighs, she squealed. He tossed her over his shoulder and walked her to the shore while she held onto the waistband of his shorts for dear life. He carried her until they were knee-deep in the ocean and put her down, palming handfuls of cool water onto her sun-soaked skin. She shuddered, her body going stiff against the surge of sudden cold.

  “What are y-you doing?” she asked, shivering.

  Again he dropped another handful onto her midriff and chased the rivulets over her bare stomach. “Acclimating you to the temperature.”

  She smirked. “Copping a feel is more like it.”

  “Yeah, that, too.” He poured water over her shoulder, trailing his hand down her arm slowly. His face grew serious.

  She put her hand on his. “You all right?”

  “I was just thinking about the mansion,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “If you hadn’t made that bet…”

  They wouldn’t be here together now.

  “If you hadn’t tried to scare me out of the house,” she added.

  He smiled his wicked smile—her favorite. “If you hadn’t thrown yourself at me on the air mattress.”

  She drew back and splashed him. Marcus squinted, saltwater dripping from his eyebrows and rolling off the tip of his nose.

  He grabbed her waist and gave her a long, deep, slow, wet kiss. One she might not recover from any time soon. When they parted, he said, “Okay, that was me. Hard to admit…like other things I can’t admit.”

  The uncharacteristically sheepish glance he cast to the side made Lily brace for impact.

  Before she could erect a proper stronghold, Marcus spoke. “If I say it, don’t freak out.”

  Doing her best to appear innocent, she widened her eyes. “I won’t.”

  He quirked his lips. “No…I don’t believe you.”

  “I promise.” She couldn’t keep the million-watt grin lighting her face.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Now it’s turned into a thing. I’m not going to say it.”

  She tugged his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. “Silly boy, you just did.”

  He frowned. “No I didn’t.”

  “Oh, yes you did. You dropped your gloves, left yourself exposed. Gave away your position.” She waded out to deeper water, splashing and singing, “Marcus Black loves me, Marcus Black loves me!”

  “I never said that,” he called, following after her, his thick legs slashing through the water as he walked.

  When he caught
her, he scooped her up, holding her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. One of her top five favorite places to be. She put her arms around his neck as the low tide sent water sluicing between their bodies.

  “What about you?” he asked. “I don’t hear you making any heartfelt admissions.”

  She traced his lips with one finger and avoided looking into his dark eyes. Eyes that held more truth than she could handle some days. Not to mention that admissions, heartfelt or other, weren’t exactly on her list of things she was good at making.

  “On three,” Marcus said, his voice low.

  She lifted her eyes, her heart thudding with a combination of fear and anticipation. “One, two, three, then go? Or one—”

  “I love you, Lily.”

  “Oh.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Wait, you caught me off guard. That’s not what I meant to say.” She clung to his neck like a barnacle as Marcus grasped her butt in his palms. “Don’t toss me!” she shrieked. “I’ll say it! I’ll say it!”

  He lowered her against his chest again, buoying her in the deep water. “You’ve got three seconds.”

  She blinked up at him. “But that’s crazy, right? It’s so soon.”

  He kissed her deeply this time, and no different from any one of his kisses before, her heart beat extra hard, blood pumped extra fast.

  “I knew you couldn’t say it,” he said when they parted. “And I bet you’d really wig out if I suggested we get married.”

  Lily’s heart bucked against her ribs like a bronco.

  He regarded her earnestly. “Is that a bet you’d be willing to make, McIntire?”

  When she found her voice, it was a whisper. “Marcus—”

  He kept her against him, his hands on the underside of her thighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” The setting sun caught his brown eyes, making them look the color of bourbon. “Our parents would kill us if we eloped.”