He chuckles a little, like he’s amused by me. “It’s a combination of a haunted house and an escape room. Eachroom has up to ten different clues that play when people enter, and they have to find the right object to open the next door,” he explains, his voice still unnaturally low. The electronic hum of it goes straight to my core, and I have to hold back the whimper building in my throat. Damn, I wish I had turned on my recorder, because there’s no way I’m going to remember anything he tells me.
I nod along, trying my best to take mental notes, completely forgetting the notebook and pen I have in my jacket pocket.
He takes a slow step forward, invading my personal space, and I back up, hitting the door behind me. He keeps stalking toward me until his chest is pressed against mine, his scent surrounding me. Cedarwood with a hint of tobacco. It’s strangely familiar. Comforting.
I stare up at him, frozen and unsure what to do, or if I could even move if I wanted to. He reaches out a hand, and I think he’s going to grab a strand of my hair, but he bypasses me. An audible click tells me he just pressed a button, and that’s all the warning I get before the door I’m leaning on opens suddenly. I think I’m going to fall on my ass, but he wraps an arm around my waist, holding me up. I let out a tiny gasp at the contact, at the intense warmth of his body as he holds me there. The heat of his hand is branding my exposed skin between my shirt and skirt.
“Nobody moves through this house unless I let them,” he tells me as I melt into his hold. “I can also open or lock the doors from my control room or remote app to get people moving faster or hold them up if the group in front of them needs more time. And each door has a hidden button that opens it, just in case, but I’m going to need you to keep that last secret off the record.”
I nod. “Cool,” is all I can think to say, and I internally scold myself.
He releases me slowly, like he’s making sure I’m steady first, and I turn into the next room.
Thankfully, this one has no dolls. But it’s no less unnerving. The walls are lined with cabinets filled with aged and worn medical equipment. It looks like we’re in an abandoned asylum.
In the corner is a chair with leather cuffs on the arms, and I point at it. “Kinky.”Jesus Christ, Violet, where is your professionalism?
He lets out a light huff of a laugh but doesn’t say anything as I walk away from him and continue looking around the room. Along the walls are counters, some with old rusty sinks, others with faded files. The cabinets above them are dirty glass, some of them broken.
“So, each room has its own theme?” I ask my masked companion.
“Yes. There’s five rooms total,” he tells me. “There’s robotics that make things move to jump scare guests, but the overall goal is to be more off-putting than terrifying. I wanted older kids to be able to enjoy it.”
“That’s really cool.”God, can you think of literally any other adjective, Vi?“Did you design the house then?”
“Mm-hmm, the programming, the architecture, all of it,” he confirms.
I walk around the room, taking in all of the details. I feel his eyes on me the entire time, tracking me behind that mask.
“So . . . um . . . what gave you the idea . . . for the house?” I stutter through the question, my heart racing.
“It just came to me one night,” he answers vaguely, tilting his head. He stalks closer, coming to stand in front of me. Those empty, bloodred eyes look down at me as I tilt my head up to meet them, watching me like he knows me. “Do I make you nervous, Violet?”
My name sounds like sweet sin coming through the modulator on his mask, and this time I can’t ignore the shiver it sends through me.
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I admit.
“Are you scared?” There’s that predatory head tilt again.
“No,” I say, and I’m really not. For whatever reason, I’m not afraid of this masked stranger. Maybe I should be. Maybe I should be concerned that I’m alone with him in a room hecan easily trap me in. But I’m not. For whatever reason, I feel safe with this man.
Certainly safer than I’ve ever felt with Aaron. And why am I even thinking about him right now? He probably hooked up with someone else while he was out last night. Why shouldn’t I do the same?
And let’s be honest, what woman hasn’t fantasized about an encounter like this?
“Then what’s got you all flustered?” The masked man reaches out, and this time he does grab a strand of hair to tuck behind my ear. His knuckles graze the column of my neck, and goose bumps erupt in their wake.
“I . . . I’m . . . ” Do I just tell him I’m turned on? That I’d let him tie me up with those leather cuffs and have his way with me if he wanted? Fuck it. Something about him is calling to me, telling me I’m safe with him, that I’d have fun if I let myself, and I don’t want to regret not taking that chance. “I, I’m, I think I’m attracted to you.”
“You think?” He sounds amused by how flustered I am.
“I know,” I correct. “Unless you’re hiding something truly repulsive under that mask.” My tone is teasing, and it earns me a deep chuckle.
“No,” he says, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “I don’t think so, at least.”
We stand there for a moment, far too close for a reporter and their source. When I heave in a breath, my chest brushes his torso.
He hums in thought as he glances around the room. Turning his face back to me, he asks, “Do you trust me?”
