Just like that guy from the movie. The one she’d basically roasted in front of him. “And he just said ‘father’ . . . oh my god. Is Alfie Edgeware your dad?!”
Clark winced.
Great. Sure, why not add another log onto the Riley-looks-like-a-fool fire?
“And he got you this job?” She laughed helplessly, holding a sudden stich in her side. “Wow. Gotta love nepotism, I guess. Is that why you were in such a rush to get me out of here? Were you that afraid I’d find out?”
To think she’d had a twelve-hour crush on this dillweed.
“Nothing about you scares me.” He held her gaze for a long, heated moment.
It felt like a dare. A challenge to see who would look away first.
Riley didn’t care if he feared her—the response she’d been craving her whole life was respect, and clearly, she’d never get that from him.
Everything she’d once found beautiful about Clark’s face filled her with rage now. Those dark, heavy brows. The sharp, stubble-lined jaw. His thin, cruel mouth.
“How can you be so sure the curse doesn’t exist?” Riley couldn’t believe she’d let herself be open and vulnerable with him.
“Occam’s razor,” Clark said. “That means—”
“I know what it means,” Riley cut him off.
The simplest explanation was usually the right one. Usually, but not always.
“You know what?” She brushed her palms off on her jeans. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I can prove it.”
Clark scoffed. “You’re going to prove this place is haunted?”
“Cursed,” Riley corrected.
Martin held up a finger. “What’s the difference?”
“Whether the person fucking shit up still lives here.” It was a common enough misconception, and she would have happily explained the nuance in more detail, but right now Riley needed to wipe the smugness off Clark’s face before she did something worse.
Martin thumbed toward the door. “I’ll just wait outside, then, shall I?”
“Don’t go far.” Riley closed her eyes for a moment, anchoring herself. “This won’t take long.”
Again? Gran asked each time one tracking exercise ended, and the answer had always been yes. Until Riley could follow her nose even in the middle of a summer storm.
There. Underneath the smell of her own bodywash and a spicy, alluring sandalwood and citrus scent she was terrified might be coming from Clark, she had it. Faint but present. A trail.
Riley barreled out of the room and headed for a massive, imposing staircase with weeds sprouting up through cracks in the stone.
“Wait.” Clark came up behind her, holding out a long metal flashlight. “If you insist on maintaining this farce, at least take my torch.”
Despite the chunks of missing ceiling, it was kinda dark in the castle, devoid as it was of electricity. Riley could track at twilight with only the barest sliver of harvest moon. But she’d known that forest. She’d had Gran at her back. Her plans for vengeance would be wrecked if she twisted her ankle or fell through a hole in the rotting floorboards. She snatched the thing reluctantly.
“Don’t think this makes up for you pretending to be nice to me last night.”
“I wasn’t pretending,” he protested, following her as she started up the stairs.
“Oh, please. No one does an about-face that quickly. The least you can do is own the fact that you’re an asshole.”
“Hey.” He used his longer legs to get ahead of her, spinning around and drawing her up short. “I’m not the one who makes money by taking advantage of other people’s desperation.”
Riley reeled. Was that really what he thought of her?
“I do not take advantage of people.” She charged a fair fee and had a strict moral code about the types of clients she took on. Only a bitter cynic would see it that way.
“How can you say that? I spent hours poring over your website last night. Your only clients are high school kids and desperate singles.”
“Okay, first of all.” She grabbed the railing for leverage and shoved him aside. “The Cherry Hill Bobcats didn’t hire me themselves. Their football coach commissioned me to break the curse causing their ten-year losing streak.”
Clark resumed his pursuit. She could feel the heat coming off his body at her back.
“Second of all, there’s nothing desperate about wanting to remove the supernatural forces keeping you from finding love. Courtney Oberhausen is an amazing woman! Where else was she supposed to turn after the third Tinder date in a row tried to open up a bunch of credit cards in her name?” That poor lady had been cheated on, ghosted, negged, and scammed to an outrageous degree. Even for New Jersey.
They took the steps side by side now, Riley quickening her pace to match Clark’s longer stride so he couldn’t pull ahead. The staircase narrowed as they went up, their shoulders brushing as they fought for advantage.
“And besides, where do you get off trying to claim the moral high ground? You kissed me last night and then turned around and stabbed me in the back this morning.” Her lips still stung from the press of his teeth.
“You asked me to kiss you.” Clark let out a grunt that could have come from frustration or exertion.
“No, I asked you if you wanted to kiss me.” Riley pushed herself forward, her thighs starting to burn. What was this, a staircase to the moon? “There’s a difference!”
“Fine. I’m the villain here.” Clark’s breathing had gone slightly labored.
“Correct.”
Cobwebs hung like lace from the rafters. Riley made a mental note to invest in some kind of hat so the bleached blond of her hair didn’t beckon critters the way it seemed to summon fuckboys.
“I did try to warn you,” Clark said, so softly she almost didn’t hear.
“What, with that poor, puppy-dog-eyed ‘I could be a terrible person’ bullshit? Please!” Riley wouldn’t be surprised if smoke started coming out of her ears. “Next time,” she bit out, “try harder.”
Clark tilted his head in confusion. “Next time I kiss you?”
What? “No.” Shit. Her angry walking turned into angry jogging. “Shut up.”
They came to a landing. Not the end of the stairs, but a tight little alcove with a big window.
When she stopped to catch her breath, Clark followed suit.
He looked unmercifully good in the natural light. Handsome. Chiseled. He could have been a fabled prince reincarnated. Riley was pretty sure she hated him.
She didn’t want him to know he’d hurt her. From this point forward he wouldn’t see the vulnerable, striving Riley, the one who didn’t have her footing on this assignment, or in life. He’d see what she wanted: someone cool, confident, and put together.
Behind him, out the window, a flash of steel in sunlight caught her eye.
“What is that?” She shaded her gaze. “Why would someone park a camper—”
Clark stiffened.
No. No one was that silly. That ridiculous and eccentric.
“It’s convenient.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It allows me to stay on-site when I work.”