Marcus gave a dry, bitter laugh. “What good is love if you’re dead?”
A rustle on the line. A creak of a chair. Then her voice, clear, sharp, and cutting through all the noise. “Take a breath. Think before you take the easy way out. Isn’t the chance at love worth surviving the worst of her wrath?”
Before he could reply, the line went dead. Marcus lowered the phone, the echo of her words trailing him into the silence.
He looked back out at the orchard. They’d just survived a cold, hard winter and had come out the other side. Just like Ms. Birdie said he could.
His thoughts circled back to last night. To Frankie. To the way she’d looked at him just before she let go, when fire and vulnerability flickered in her eyes, when she trusted him with something bigger than her body.
That moment had done something to him.
He couldn’t rewrite the beginning. But what came next was still his to control. He would pull more guys from the manor and have them bust ass to finish the cottage before quitting time, then move her things back before she got home from work.
She deserved a place to storm off to after he told her he was Mr. Uptight, somewhere she could slam a door and plan his murder.
Chapter 19
Frankie stepped inside the manor, blinking against the dim interior as the door shut behind her with a heavythunk. The chandelier in the main hall stayed dark, only a few sconces flickering down the corridor like the place was trying to save on electricity. Or set a mood.
The quiet pressed in, not serene, not peaceful. The kind that hinted more at a murder mystery than a home.
Drywall dust hung to the air, persistent and invisible, already plotting to ruin Lilith. George swore two spirits roamed the halls. Frankie hadn’t met either, but they seemed as likely an explanation as any for Marcus’s sudden retreat from her bed last night.
She stepped over a stray nail gun and kept going, eyes scanning the evidence of a day’s work: plastic sheeting hung drooping across the corridor like a lazy attempt at containment, a ladder abandoned against the stairwell banister, blue painter’s tape peeling from the baseboards in surrender.
A lot had been done in the ten hours since she’d left. Impressive.
She hitched her purse higher and exhaled, taking stock of her emotions like her therapist had taught her. She wasn’t mad at Marcus. Not exactly. Just…
Confused.
He’d made her come apart with nothing but foreplay and focus, kissed her temple like a damn gentleman, and then walked out. Ignoring her very clear preference for the opposite of gentlemanly behavior.
She’d wanted him. All of him. All. Night. Long.
Maybe the ghost had been the problem. Maybe the manor had a thing against sex in the guest rooms and had spooked him mid-stay.
Or…maybe it was her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have joked about calling him Daddy. Or about earning a spanking. It had been meant to tease. Mostly.
But what if that’s what sent him running? What if she was too much? Damn it, he’d been the first one to bring up spanking. She’d just given it a callback.
Frankie squared her shoulders, heels clicking against the hallway floor as she headed toward the parlor. Spiraling had never been her thing, even before therapy. She believed in hitting a problem head-on.
The parlor door creaked open. A fire glowed in the hearth, flickering across the room. And there he was, standing by the mantel, maddeningly composed for a man who’d fled the scene of an orgasm.
Her stomach did an anxious somersault. She’d half expected him to vanish. Pretend last night never happened. Pretend she never happened.
“You’re back late,” he said, voice low. “Making up the hours you missed yesterday?”
Not what she expected, but fine. If he wanted small talk, she could play. She dropped her purse onto a chair. “Vivian strong-armed me into joining a committee since I refused to run the festival.”
“I had your things moved back to the cottage. Everything’s up to code.”
Cottage. The word cracked like a whip. He was sending her away. One tease, and suddenly she was being treated as if she’d proposed bloodletting for foreplay. Murder hadn’t even made her request list. He was the one who had brought up spanking first. But if a little banter was enough to send him running, maybe she’d just dodged a bullet.
She smiled, crisp and unbothered. “Best news I’ve heard all day.”
