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.”
“It’s a Winnebago! Parents buy those to take their kids to national parks.”
“It saves time and money during a dig,” he said archly.
Riley threw up her arms. “But this isn’t a dig. You heard the man downstairs. You’re a glorified cleanup crew hired so land developers could dodge historical preservation society regulations.” She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see more of the camper. “Does that thing even have a shower?”
He smirked. “Awful quick to think of me naked, love.”
“Don’t call me pet names.” She warned him, hoping he attributed her labored breathing to the climb. Unfortunately, nothing got her hot like a challenge.
“Look.” Clark put a placating hand on her arm. “Why don’t you give this up now, rather than waste both our time? I mean, seriously, what evidence could you possibly produce?”
“Trust me, sweetheart. It’s like porn.” Riley tapped his cheek twice with her palm. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
Chapter Four
Clark had hoped he might not be attracted to Riley Rhodes after discovering her nefarious business practices last night. Unfortunately, seeing her this morning, pink-cheeked with rage as she dealt him an impressive verbal flaying, proved that at least his body still fancied her.
Indignation rolled off her in waves so righteous that yes, Clark did feel a little bit bad about trying to get Martin to remove her. But just because Riley claimed innocence of any dodgy dealing, he reminded himself, didn’t mean he could believe her.
Clark had a faulty internal compass. He’d trusted Patrick in Cádiz even when the initial scans had seemed too good to be true. Because of one exceedingly well-crafted lie, he’d gotten everything he ever wanted. Accolades, praise, invitations to speak on the international stage. His father had taken him to the club and handed him a Cuban cigar. Clark had thrown up in the loo after smoking it, but still. Things had been brilliant. For a little while.
Awakening had come rude and swift. Retractions printed in the journals. Patrick’s termination. His father’s long, hard sigh.
Clark needed redemption. His career couldn’t be over at thirty-two. Arden Castle wasn’t a premier assignment, not even close. But it had potential if, this time, he neutralized the charlatan poised to make a mockery of his work.
It didn’t matter if his betrayal wounded Riley. Or if watching her eyes go from wide to shuttered when she realized what he’d done sliced at his insides. Clearly, she’d already recovered enough to go in on him about his dad. He had to harden his resolve.
Clark followed her to where the stairs finally ended, at the top of the southeast guard tower. He hadn’t surveyed for artifacts up here yet, but at this point he knew the castle’s blueprint like the back of his hand.
“Well, here we are.” The small, circular space was no more than twelve paces across in any direction. And there was nothing in it. “You’ve run out of staircase. What now?”
Clark bet she didn’t have a plan. Obviously she’d thought she could sneak up here and regroup, but he hadn’t given her the chance.
Ignoring him, Riley flicked off his torch and handed it back to him. A single window let in enough light to illuminate the small space, even with strands of ivy choking the bars. Clark put the torch in his pocket for safekeeping.
As Riley began a turn around the room, Clark couldn’t help but admire her performance—the way she paused every now and then to close her eyes, furrowing her brow in concentration. He was almost sorry that her charade would soon come to an end.
Suddenly she stopped, pulled her sleeve down over her palm, and extended her hand toward one of the heavy wooden beams covered in carnivorous-looking weeds that fortified the curved stone wall.
“Don’t,” Clark warned, instinctually shooting forward.
Riley froze but didn’t retract her arm. “Why not?”
“Just”—he yanked his gloves from his belt—“here, take these.” Her sleeve barely covered half her hand.
When she didn’t reach out, he flapped the fabric at her.
Riley looked down her nose at his offering. “Stop trying to give me things as a way to ease your guilty conscience.”
Oh, for the love of— She obviously had no idea what she was doing. This castle was a thousand years old and neglected, full of dangers both structural and elemental. Someone had to look out for her. Since Clark was the only other person here, the burden fell to him. It wasn’t like he personally cared if she cut herself on the splintering wood or jagged stone. No one could blame him if, through her own carelessness, that cut got infected and she died.