“Yes.”
The way he acted, the apprehension in his gaze, she sensed this cost him a great deal. But she wasn’t sure why. Though she really shouldn’t care. He was a brute. Totally rude. And yet his hug and touch made her want to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet. Much easier to hate him when he was a jerk, and so much harder to do it when he wasn’t.
Damn her soft heart.
The cottage was quaint, the roof slightly sunken in, and the paint chipped off in spots or two. The thing was in desperate need of work and it was a wonder it still stood.
“Hmm. It’s... nice.” She didn’t want to lie, but really, it was pretty bad.
His lips twitched and, oh man, she forgot everything. His rudeness? Gone. His indifference? Gone, too. All she could see was that smile. She was pathetic. Seriously crazy. If he’d been sullenly handsome before, now he was HOT to the nth degree. Her stomach flopped.
The painting stretched, bulged, and when he stepped through it almost seemed to absorb him. He hadn’t released her hand. She didn’t have a moment to panic or think, disoriented the moment her foot slid through the door.
She was upside down. Or was that right side up? Hard to know for sure because the furniture and bookcases sat inches from her. But she clearly stood on the roof, or, rather, a roof beam. The door they’d stepped through was definitely below her.
Maybe?
Then the world around them rolled like the display of a slot machine and she plopped down on the floor, landing on her backside with a thud. She wasn’t moving, but felt like she was in the dizzying rush. When it finally stopped she rubbed her butt.
He snorted.
“Don’t you laugh,” she wagged her finger.
Hatter pressed his lips together and mumbled something.
She narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”
“I said...” and that was as far as he got before he started laughing.
She crossed her arms, but the longer he laughed the harder she fought not to join him. Finally, he held a hand out to her.
Grumbling, she took it and noticed the door was where it should be and the beams above her head. “That gonna happen again?”
His lips twitched. “No.”
“You know what, Hatter, I don’t think you’re as crazy as everyone else thinks you are. I think you’re a big fraud.” She tried to be stern, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
Light danced in his expressive, suddenly warm brown eyes.
“Ah, I knew it.” She couldn’t resist teasing further.
He snorted. “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”
“And now it’s gone.” She rolled her eyes. “And just for the record, you might want to read something other than Poe. Incredibly depressing.”
He jerked, shocked. “You know Poe?”
She grinned, crossing her arms under her breasts and experienced a momentary thrill of feminine delight when his eyes zoomed to her chest. “I know a great many things, Hatter. Like the fact you find my shirt fascinating.”
He shrugged. She smirked-- he hadn’t denied it. “Come on.” He turned and continued on down the winding maze of corridors. The cottage outside had been tiny, but this place was an M.C. Esher nightmare.
Hatter would walk through one door and suddenly it was day, the sun beating so hard, she’d been ready to chant: “I’m melting” in her best Wicked Witch impersonation. Only to then enter through another door and plop face first in a mound of silver dusted snow.
Shivering, rubbing her arms to generate any heat, she stuttered, “cold,” through clenched teeth.
Then they were walking through yet another door, and before she had a chance to breathe a loud sigh of relief at the blast of warmth, she was free falling. Again.
She threw her arms out, attempting to grab anything to stop the mind numbing terror of total darkness.
“Relax,” his deep voice rumbled next to her ear. She turned, blindly reaching out toward his voice. He grabbed her hand and the fear vanished, replaced by a thrill of excitement that bordered on lunacy.
Wind surged past in a sickening rush. All she could focus on was the heat emanating from long fingers wrapped around hers. Her stomach dipped when his thumb caressed her knuckle.
Then they landed on what felt like a hundred soft pillows and she lost him.
“Hatter,” she cried, scrabbling to stand. Everything was dark and she was disoriented, turning in circles, trying to find some source of light.
“Hold my hand.”