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He didn’t even make an effort to hide his amusement.
"How the hell did you know it was a trick anyway?"
"Amy, it's a spoof house. The whole Ghost Hunter show is a spoof."
It was? She'd thought it looked a bit silly, but she didn't know it was a spoof. "You've seen the show?"
"I'm aware of it." He shrugged. "I have my niece and nephew over for adventure weekends once a month, they are into it. It's a staged reality show, just as this is a staged supernatural house."
She still didn't get it.
"Remember what the housekeeper said, she said she'd set everything up for us."
Yes, she did recall that, and now he'd shown her how it worked, the creaking floorboards and the door thing was quite obviously rigged. "None of it is real?"
"Far from it." He bit his lip.
She frowned at him. Damn his bloody cheeky attitude. "But how did you know?"
"The name on the door kind of gave it away."
"The name?"
"Hammer House."
"I'm sorry, I still don't understand."
"Scary movies?"
"I'm afraid I'm not really into scary movies." She shrugged it off but inwardly she was annoyed. What a great start, her bodyguard knew more about the damn thing than she did. It was then she noticed his hair was wet and his shirt had been splattered with large raindrops. "You're wet."
"It's started raining out there."
"Oh." She had a sudden urge to pull his shirt off for him. The knot of anticipation that simmered between her thighs was growing hotter by the moment. Her gaze dropped to his belt buckle. An image flashed through her mind—an image of herself pulling that belt free, undoing his fly and sliding her hands inside his jeans.
She blinked it away, but the damage was done.
They stared at each other across the hallway. The look in his eyes was brooding, almost predatory. Her pulse still raced, but the cause had changed. It wasn't about the surroundings any more. It was entirely about him. Her body had flared into life and her center ached to be filled.
He set the bottle of wine down on the floor and sidled over to where she stood, closing the gap she'd left. "If you were hoping for ghosts and things that go bump in the night, I'm sorry, but the only danger you are in is from me wanting you every time you are near me."
She stared up at him, unable to believe he was blatantly stating she turned him on. But it was there in his face, and she could no longer deny she wanted it. His gaze was on her mouth, and it was hungry. He cupped her head in one hand, stroking her hair as he did. Her head dropped back into the embrace, her lips ready
to accept his kiss. He ducked his head.
Firm, warm, and persuasive, his lips moved over hers. The touch of his mouth on hers was electric, his kiss opening her up, making every nerve ending shimmer and reach for more of him.
As soon as her lips parted for him, he thrust his tongue into the heat of her mouth. She ached for that kind of penetration elsewhere, and stroked his tongue with her own. Her hands went to his shoulders, their bodies pressed together as the kiss endured. Energy surged through her, and she moaned into his mouth, unable to hold back.
"You don't do bump in the night?" she whispered as they drew apart, her hands anchored on his hips.
"Oh, I can, believe me, I can."
He lifted her with his hands around her buttocks, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips. He pressed hard against her and her shoulders pivoted against the wall at her back. The bulk of his erection was bedded against the seam of her pants. She gasped for breath.
"I take it we can forget about your investigation until tomorrow morning?" His voice was a low murmur, and humor still trickled through his words. Again he pressed against her, letting her feel his hard length through their clothing.
Sensation roared through her groin. Her clit was thrumming and at her center a demanding pulse beat a frenzied tattoo. She caught her lower lip between her teeth to anchor herself then nodded.
