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He’d thought she knew him better than that.

Plus, hadn’t it been her to tear his shirt over his head? To arch those thick hips against his and whisper the word yes into his mouth? Jesus. He couldn’t think about that now. Or else he’d forever associate ghosts with sex with Lily. The last thing he needed was a raging erection every time he watched a horror movie.

She stayed behind him and to his left as they climbed the staircase.

“Watch those nails,” he warned as he guided her around another rotted board with “tetanus shot” written all over it.

“Thanks,” she said in that sweet voice of hers.

He had to let this go—had to stop feeling so hurt that she’d accused him of using her on that air mattress. But he couldn’t help feeling hurt. He’d assumed she’d noticed the shift between them. Guess not.

Anyway, he didn’t do hurt. Hurt was for people who cared too much, and he’d made a habit of not caring too much. Except where Lily was concerned. She’d sneaked past his defenses at some point, and now here she was, traipsing around inside his heart.

He was powerless.

She might have seen tonight as a fun fling to fill their time together in the dark, but he was far from done pursuing her. And not just for sex—although yes, please. That had been an out-of-body experience. Hell, maybe he’d hallucinated the footsteps upstairs.

He’d perfected the art of the player, and believed he’d had it on lock. Then came Lily. He supposed it was his fault she hadn’t taken him seriously when he’d asked her out. He’d been uncharacteristically nervous, and had blown his one shot with her. He’d also let down his guard tonight. Completely. He’d been bared in more ways than one when he’d been inside her.

He was a fucking goner. He should be relieved that she still thought the worst of him.

They reached the landing where the hallway split. To the right, a series of doors. To the left, one room, its door off the hinges, moonlight spilling in from the window. That was where he’d stashed the speaker. Guilt knifed him in the gut, but this was not the time to tell her the truth. He wouldn’t put it past her to push him down the stairs.

“Don’t you dare tell me you want to split up.” Her hand over his T-shirt warmed his ribs like he’d been branded by her unforgettable touch.

“We’re not splitting up.”

She let out a soft moan.

He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong now, but when he turned his head and saw the terrified look on her face, he realized the moan hadn’t come from her.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“Yes.” He glanced into the room with the speaker. He hadn’t cued up any moans. Or footsteps. Or breaking dishes for that matter.

Fuck.

Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to strike. He wrapped an arm protectively around her and backed them against the wall. He’d be damned if he’d let anything sneak up behind him.

In the light of the Coleman, the shadows elongated and seemed to move. He held his breath and listened. Tried to locate the source of the noise. He heard nothing but the rattling of his own nerves.

Something was happening in this house. And he didn’t want Lily to be here another second.

“I want to leave,” she said in a tiny, frightened voice.

“Go outside. I’ll meet you out there after I find the keys.”

“No! I’m not going anywhere without you.” She held him tightly. The vulnerability in her blue eyes when she looked up at him squeezed his chest. What he wouldn’t give to hear that outside of this place and in another context.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s find those keys together and then we’ll get the hell out of here.”

She nodded.

He walked toward the first door of many. Then he lifted one hiking boot and kicked the door open. “May as well start here.”

Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.

Arms wrapped tightly around herself, she followed him into the room he’d busted into. She shivered when a gust of wind tore through a hole in the roof. The boards underfoot were softer than the stairs, and that was saying something.