Winter's fingers slid over the rough surface of her ficus plant and pulled apart the leaves. Ever since the night before, she was dedicated to her matchmaking duty of snooping on the handsome southern man who’d kidnapped her. Was he her next target? She wasn’t sure yet, but she couldn’t imagine someone turning away from him. He had charm, even if it was hidden under layers of grumpiness. And if getting him to meet someone was the ticket to his good time there, then she’d better try it.
The ficus was placed in a good spot, right where heavy guest traffic flowed in and out of one of the many recreation rooms. Winter had put on a green shirt and her one pair of camo pants, knowing if she was found, she’d look rather ridiculous, but also not giving two hoots about it. She was a professional, darn it, and if she must hide to gather important intel on her guests, then she would.
After several minutes, an ache grew in her lower back, and she reached behind her to rub it out. “Ugh, where in the world is that fine man?”
She jolted back and then laughed to herself. Yes, Will was attractive, anyone with eyes could tell, but she was a bit surprised at the admission, even if it was only meant for her.
A deep laugh came from the other room, and she recognized it instantly as Michael’s. He was no doubt doing exactly what he did best—flirting and making the women in the other room swoon.
“He’d better keep his promise, or I swear…” Winter whispered, crouching even farther into the tree. She was so far in now that she didn’t even register the sudden warmth in the air around her.
“What we lookin’ at?”
She leapt back, spine straightening and heart jumping into her throat at the southern whisper in her ear. Will backed up, hands in the air and a devilishly handsome grin on his scruffy face.
“Sorry, Miss Winter.”
She shook the shock off with a laugh, letting it fill her gut and stop the sudden flutters. “I may need to change my shorts.”
His brows lifted, and a deep, rugged laugh spilt from his lips. His blue eyes drifted up and down her body, and Winter wondered what exactly was running through his mind.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” He nodded to the ficus. “What were you doin’ exactly?”
She toyed with her bottom lip, considering what good excuse she could come up with, but she found nothing.
“Spying.” She was going to conveniently leave out the part about wanting to spy on him. “I need to figure out who’s trying to kill me, after all.”
He smirked. “I have a pretty good idea already.”
“Care to fill me in?” she said, the unfamiliar flirtatious tone in her voice coming out so naturally it sort of scared her.
“Nah.” He took a step closer, running a rough hand over several leaves. “Wouldn’t want you to feel badly about someone figuring it all out after day one.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know nothing.” He couldn’t possibly. She watched all the actors last night, including the murderer, and none of them gave anything away.
“Keep thinking that,” he teased, “if it makes you feel better.”
How could he be so charming and so irritating all at once? Winter wanted to smack him upside the head just as much as she wanted to take his hand and show him every nook and cranny of her mansion. Her gaze fell to his left hand, and a whoop went through her stomach when she saw it bare.
“You never answered me last night,” she said, eyes flicking back up to his.
“I know.”
“Will you today?”
He tilted his head back and forth, and it was so cute and boyish that Winter felt a giggle threatening in the back of her throat. “Maybe. If you’ll answer a question of mine.”
“I’m an open book.”
His eyes met hers, an underlying seriousness in the playful blues. “Which part of you? The princess, or the hostess?”
She held his gaze, determined to not give anything away. People paid for the experience here, and she wasn’t going to disappoint. “Is there a difference?”
“You tell me.”
Oh, he was good at playing hardball, and she liked it… and she especially liked the way he leaned in when he spoke to her, how he wasn’t intimidated by her. Most of the interactions she’d had with guests—and actors and staff—were too formal for her taste. She liked having a sparring partner, for once. Someone who would tease and fool around like they never grew out of their childhood, because frankly, Winter often felt she never had.
“There’s no difference,” she said, holding true to her character. “A good princess is a good hostess.”
“Y’all know that’s not what I meant,” he teased.
She let her face show confusion that Princess Winter would’ve expressed, even though that accent was going to melt her into a puddle at his feet. He shook his head with a smile.
“Fine, I’ll play along.” He leaned against one of the sconces, wiggling a bit like he was scratching his back against it. “So, Princess, who you spying on?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Someone looking for love. You know the rumors about this place, don’t you?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well, I like to try to… guess who’s going to get hit with the arrow.”
His hands slipped into his pockets. “Got any ideas?”
She ran her fingers over her heart absent-mindedly, staring up at him. William Monroe, she thought, remembering his name on the guest list, how she’d written it alongside countless others. There’d been several people she was able to find online; the only thing she’d seen about him was that he owned a pizza place down in Alabama. He lived so far from everyone visiting, that she hadn’t considered pairing him with anyone.
She could make it happen, though—turn that frown upside-down and get him to never want to leave Frostville Mansion. Love did that to people, even ones who were as homesick as he seemed to be.
“Not yet,” she said. “But maybe soon.”