“I’m just fucking with you. Wait, why are you trembling?” He gives my arm a gentle squeeze.
Am I? Shit. “Um, maybe I’m cold?”
“That’s something you shouldn’t question.”
“Perhaps I’m a tad uncertain at the moment.”
“Are you worried about going inside, Audria? We don’t have to do this.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you really? Or just in the way a woman claims when she’s anything but?”
His read on me—and the female population in general—doesn’t help matters. I fling an arm out in front of me. “This entire spectacle is just very ominous.”
“You’re not even getting the full impact. The sun is still shining. You should see this place at night.”
As if I’m not frightened enough. I feign indifference to the best of my current ability. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He wags his dark brows. “You want the front or rear?”
I blink my wide eyes at him. “What kind of options are those?”
Another loose chuckle escapes him.
I don’t appreciate his humor at the expense of my sanity. “You’re so jumpy. This will be fun.”
Famous final words shared from those not terrified of masked attackers paid by the hour. Behind every Jason and Michael is a bored teenager earning commission dependent on the number of screams they collect. I’m totally fucked.
Menacing laughter floats from every direction as we approach the starting line. My stomach threatens to chuck the sandwich I had for lunch. Sweat gathers at my nape regardless of the cooler temperature. If I faint, will Reeve haul me out? He wouldn’t leave me behind. The toe of my boot shuffles closer to the darkness waiting to swallow me. Too late for a bailout. There’s no turning back, dammit.
Reeve must decide I should lead this fear train, steering me in front of him with steady pressure on my hip. I suppose it’s better to see my assailants coming. The interior is pitch-black aside from the creepy strobe lighting that flickers at random intervals. Spider webs stretch across the crooked doorway. An eerie playlist of pitchy screams mingling with whistling winds and throaty howls blasts from overhead. My knees already knock, and Reeve has barely shoved me over the threshold.
His touch on my waist grounds me to the moment. That slight hold allows me to focus on something other than the paralyzing dread threatening to drown me. I try to anchor myself with that distraction as my gaze swivels from left to right. Red paint is splattered across most surfaces, resembling blood more than I’m comfortable with. When loud, echoing footfalls sound like I’m being chased, my threshold for this charade reaches its peak. How long did I last? As if I care while my vision grows fuzzy.
“Holy shit,” I pant and paste myself to the wall. I probably should’ve mentioned that these things terrify me. What do I gain by acting tough? I’m seconds away from either peeing my pants or fleeing in a cloud of animated dust.
Reeve moves in front of me, blocking my view of the perceived dangers just beyond. “We can leave.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “No, I can manage. It’s silly to be afraid.”
“Hey.” He nudges my chin with his knuckle. “Your fear is warranted. Don’t downplay it on my account.”
“I feel ridiculous. Children are running through these halls without a single concern for their well-being.”
“Their tolerance is higher. Don’t compare yourself to others.” This comes from the guy who has zero reason to lack an ounce of confidence.
“Easy for you to say.” My giggle is shrill.
“Okay, let’s try a more risky and aggressive strategy.”
His words are lost on me as I try to ease the burning in my lungs, that is until he begins slowly and methodically rubbing the length of my arms. Up and down he travels, trying to elicit some sort of response. If only my limbs didn’t feel like hardened concrete. At this stage, his efforts are in vain, or so I believe.
His touch lingers on my wrist. “Your pulse is racing.”
I exhale a stuttering puff. “This barn gives me the creeps.”
“That’s the entire point.”
My body remains glued to the sturdy support behind me. “I might have an irrational fear of haunted houses—and heights. Not in that order.”
Reeve laughs again, but the noise is dry and crispy. “And the truth spills out. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m a grown-ass woman capable of handling amusement suitable for kids.”
“And how’s that prideful defense working out for you?”
“Terribly,” I mutter.
Reeve finds my hands tucked against my sides. I sag into the wall at that initial brush of warm contact. With a gentle glide of his calloused skin, he skates down until our fingers twitch in contact. His blunt nails trace the lines of my knuckles. My index taps the grooves marking his palms, sparking another round of curious exploration. His forefinger bumps along each digit, becoming intimately acquainted. He hooks a thumb around my pinky, drifting his touch until the entirety of our palms meld. His hands engulf mine, as if offering protection from the monsters lurking behind every shadowed nook. But I’m no longer scared. This delicate caress leaves me wanting, with no room for other emotion.
Is he merely trying to set my mind at ease? If not, he takes holding hands to an entirely new level. His rough patches of hard work scrape against my pampered silk, blending to create an electric combination. That resulting rasp makes my toes curl.
Our connection forms a snug fit, as if our two separate halves found their match. Dissecting his motions to this extreme seems ridiculous, but he’s taking such lengths to ensure I feel cherished with this sensual tenderness. Whatever his intentions are, this is a successful diversion. I’m too preoccupied with his movements to be aware of much else. The background fades as I get lost in his languid ministrations.
He lifts my arms above my head, leaning in until our lips offer a scant tease with each labored exhale. “How’s this?”
“You’re holding
