“What’s possessed you this time? Oh. Let me guess. Smelled sulfur again, Lassie?”
Riley knocked on the part of the wood she’d seen illuminated, going up on her toes as she tried to hear if it was hollow.
Clark warily eyed where she was prodding. “Do be delicate, that could very well be remnants of the original design—” he said just as she curled back her arm and struck her elbow through the weakest spot in the wood.
While she yelped—that hurt more than she’d anticipated—Clark massaged the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the ladder.
“Tell me truly. Are you or are you not the personification of chaos?”
Ignoring him, she rooted around in the hole she’d created. There must be something up here. The light had been so odd, such a tantalizing temptation.
“I can’t tell if there’s something back here.” She leaned on one foot to get her hand deeper.
“Riley, you really shouldn’t—”
“I’m fine.” She shushed him.
“Did you just—Never in my life . . .” he muttered.
After a few more minutes of failed inspection, she deflated. “I guess there’s nothing here.”
Her cheeks burned. All her instincts had told her to climb up here to prove Clark wrong. Now it felt like the curse laughing at her expense.
She’d been so sure she’d have this moment of triumph, whipping out another artifact. Instead, all she’d delivered was another dramatic act of failure.
Clark was going to be even more insufferable now.
Riley moved to step down but before she could even lift her foot to descend the first rung, Clark cut in, “Be careful.”
“I am,” she said, realizing in the same moment that her sleeve had caught on the splintered wood of the hole.
Oh, perfect—Riley leaned back and forth, trying to create enough leverage to pull free, but the gauzy fabric just tangled worse.
Sure, why wouldn’t her strategically selected outfit turn on her too? Why shouldn’t the curse make her into even more of a spectacle?
“Don’t yank at it,” Clark scolded just as the material gave way with a violent-sounding tear.
Her stomach plummeted as she went rocking backward, her equilibrium thrown.
Riley had that terrible moment of knowing she was gonna fall right before she went down.
But instead of the cold hard floor greeting her, she tumbled backward into Clark’s arms, her body landing against his with a loud thwack.
He kept his footing, barely, stumbling back a few steps with his arms around her waist.
“Easy, now,” he said, and Riley realized she was trembling.
Must be the adrenaline.
“You’re all right.” Spinning her around, Clark patted her hair back from her face with one hand, keeping the other in place to steady her. “I’ve got you.”
“I think you were supposed to drop me,” she said weakly, once she’d regained control of her hectic breath.
“It’s too late for that now,” he said seriously, but his lips curved up. “I could have a bit of a grope, if you’d like.” He slid his palm from her waist toward her thigh. “Split the difference?”
He was trying to make her laugh, and it worked, warmth chasing away the lingering bitterness of fear.
“You can let me go now,” she said softly, not really wanting it. His hand was huge on her hip, not groping despite his words, but there. Lingering.
He was looking at her mouth, his own breath unsteady. “Can I?”
Who knew what might have happened if a great crack of thunder hadn’t startled them apart? A second later, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the entire room.
Uh-oh.
They both turned toward the window as rain began to smack against the glass.
“Oh, crap.” Walking back to the inn in this mess was not gonna be fun.
By the time they got outside, the low ground had already begun to flood, wide puddles gathering as streams of water ran down the muddy earth.
By the time they’d taken ten steps beyond the parapet, they were both soaked to the skin, and freezing liquid had seeped through the fake-leather soles of Riley’s boots.
More thunder clapped and a lethal-looking lightning bolt cut across the cliffside to cast a spotlight on the comically exposed path back toward the inn.
Clark raised his voice to be heard over the sounds of the storm.
“Camper on the grounds is starting to look pretty smart all of a sudden, isn’t it?”
The wind swallowed her answering profanity.
Chapter Fourteen
Riley dripped on the ridged rubber entrance mat while Clark unlaced his boots and then hurried forward, muttering about fetching towels. She toed off her own shoes beside his. The muffled sounds of the storm raging outside made the interior of the camper—warm, dry, and alarmingly intimate—feel like a hideaway reminiscent of pillow forts and tree houses.
What the hell had just happened? One minute she was torturing Clark, the next she was in his arms. That wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to almost kiss. Why did the curse destroy all her best-laid plans?
“Here.” Clark tossed her a beige towel, avoiding looking directly at her.
Staring down, she realized it might be because water had turned her already thin top fully translucent. Whoops.
“We’ll both need to change, I expect.” He plucked at where his soaked denim work shirt had plastered itself to his chest like it paid for the privilege. “I can get you some dry things.”
When he returned with a navy sweater and gray sweatpants, items that would hang loose on Clark and hopefully cover her curves, he looked as freaked out as Riley felt.
“I’m, uh, not sure what you’d like to do about underthings.” Clark made a valiant effort to speak to her left eyebrow. “I could—”
“I can go without,” she cut him off. The last thing she needed was to have the black briefs she’d seen in his drawer pressed against her.
“Right.” Clark looked slightly dazed. “I suppose I better leave you to it, then.” He turned. “The bathroom’s clear. Cat must have found somewhere else to camp out. I’ll be in the bedroom. With the divider closed,” he finished awkwardly.
Riley waited until he’d managed to get the flimsy plastic barrier hooked before heading into the tiny bathroom and unbuttoning her jeans.
It was surreal to be undressing within five feet of Clark, knowing he was doing the same, even if they couldn’t see each other.
The plywood door of the bathroom was thin. Could he hear the slide of her zipper? The shush of wet denim clinging as it slid down her thighs?
She had goose bumps all down her legs, no doubt from having been soaked to the skin for so long.
Moving to the sink, she did her best to squeeze the water out of her clothes before hanging them in the shower. Hopefully they’d dry enough for her to be able to wear them home when the storm let up.