I wake, sleepy, to find Max curled up in bed with me. For a moment, I tense, then it all comes rushing back.

The kissing. The shower. The mind-blowing orgasms.

Good morning.

Sunlight is streaming through the ratty curtains over the motel bedroom window. Bright morning sunlight. I rub my eyes and look around for a clock. How late did we sleep? It was pretty far into the night by the time we got around to doing any actual snoozing in this bed.

I finally spot the glowing red numbers beside the TV. Almost eleven. My heart lurches.

“Max!” I shake him.

Max mumbles something in incoherent protest. His hold tightens around me. Who’d have guessed Mr. International Playboy would be such a cuddler? Any other time I might enjoy it, but right now . . .

I shake harder. “Wake up! We’ve got clues to find, a treasure hunt to finish, a billion-dollar empire to win. Remember?”

“OK, OK. Max yawns, pushing back his rumpled hair. Fuck me if he doesn’t look even more delectable. And as for his morning surprise, currently tenting the sheets . . .

He catches me looking and gives me a sly grin. “He says good morning, too.”

“He?”

“Um, yes. My dick is all man—in case you hadn’t noticed.”

I have to laugh. Then I realize I’m currently naked—in the least flattering lighting in the history of the world. I snatch the sheet to cover myself.

“I thought we were past the modesty stage,” Max says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “I mean, we are engaged, after all.”

I snort, and then I’m not capable of any sound at all, because he’s claimed my lips with that delicious mouth. Well, maybe I manage an embarrassingly eager whimper. For a few seconds the world narrows down to the heat of his body and the sweep of his tongue over mine.

Then there’s a hammering on the door. “Check-out was at ten!” a voice yells.

We look at each other. “What do you say?” Max asks, teasing a fingertip over my bare skin. “We could ditch the hunt and stay here all day. I bet I can find some treasure down here . . .” He tugs at the sheet, and I’m tempted to just roll back in bed with him.

But we’ve come this far, and I haven’t braved a creepy cemetery and hiked through the rain just to leave the prize to Artie and co.

“Raincheck,” I tell him reluctantly, climbing out of bed. “Besides, in the light of day, I’m not sure we want to spend any more time in this bed.”

Max looks around the grimy motel room, and then grimaces. “Good point.”

I scramble out from under the sheet and paw through the bag I brought. I know Max said to pack for every eventuality, but what outfit says “madcap billionaire treasure hunt”?

By the time I’ve freshened up, Max has already ordered a cab to take us into town. I look around, curious, as the open countryside makes way for a small-town main street—or what’s left of one. A bank. A post office. A little corner store that’s as close as a place this size gets to a grocery market. “This is it?” I ask. “It’s hard to picture a Carlisle here.”

“Back then, we kept things modest.”

“Only one helipad?” I tease. Max chuckles.

“Take a left,” he tells the driver. “There it is. The Carlisle building.”

We pull up outside an imposing Victorian house that looks like it should have been producing witch’s potions, not newspapers. I’m a little afraid the steps are going to crumble away under my feet.

“We don’t do anything with this place anymore, but my grandfather holds on to it for sentimental reasons,” Max tells me as a housekeeper lets us in. “If you can imagine Franklin Carlisle getting sentimental.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I peer around the large workroom beyond the front hall. The interior is clean, but the air smells kind of stale. It looks like nobody’s touched the place in decades. “Okay, where do we start?”

“I guess just work our way from one end of the house to the other,” Max says. “You take this floor, and I’ll take upstairs?”

“Works for me.” I brush my hands together and dive into the search. I peer under desks, rummage through drawers, and pore over shelves of boxes and stacks of paper. Franklin’s making sure we work for this, isn’t he?

I sneeze as I stir up some dust from one of the boxes. Nothing in there but some old printer templates. I glance around the room. Where is the actual printing press, anyway? Max’s however-many-greats-grandfather couldn’t have run much of a publishing business without one.

When I reach the far end of the ground floor, I poke at a sack leaning in the corner. A mouse darts out from behind it. I squeal, jumping about a foot in the air. Max is at my side in a second.

“No clue here,” I say, pressing my hand against my chest over my racing heart. “And no big deal. Just a dumb mouse.” I glance over at him, abruptly aware of how close he’s standing and his fingers resting on the small of my back. “Thank you for racing over to my rescue, though.”

“I told you. Protection from the undead—and small vermin.” He smiles. Have the corners of his eyes always crinkled up adorably when he does that, and I just never noticed before?

Okay, Hallie, get a grip. I take a breath. “Any luck upstairs?”

“Nope. But I could get lucky down here . . .” Max tugs me closer, and leans in for a kiss—

Then the front door slams.

“All right!” Parker’s voice barks. “Spread out. We’ve got to scour this place from top to bottom.”

Shit. Max and I exchange a grimace. So much for our head start.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing his hand. “They don’t need to know we’ve already searched this whole place.”

We creep down the hallway as they charge up the main staircase. I peer around the corner, and catch sight of a couple of guys I don’t recognize, racing up after them. “Have they hired help for the search?” I whisper. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Franklin didn’t exactly give us a rule book,” Max points out.

The front door swings open again, this time with Cordelia and Artie. I guess they carpooled. Or private jet-pooled.

“You.” Artie glares at us. “I suppose you knew all along Boston was a dead end?”

Max shrugs. “Is there a clue here? I’m just showing Hallie the old Carlisle haunts.”

“Hurumph.” Arties storms past us.

“What do you think?” Max asks, when we’re alone in the hallway. “Should we keep looking here? I don’t think we missed anything.”

“I don’t know . . .” I glance at the musty photos framed on the wall behind him. There are old shots of the building, and framed newspapers, too. Carlisle Press Donated to Local Museum, one article headline reads.

“I’ll do one last sweep,” Max says. “See you outside in five?”

“Sure.”

He heads up after the others, and my gaze goes back to the wall.

The printing press . . .

The last clue said something about where the words were “built” and “pressed into paper.” Which could mean the building where it was done . . . or it could mean the machine that literally did the pressing. That would be just like Franklin, wouldn’t it? Pick the one thing that’s not in the actual building.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs. It’s Brad, cellphone out, probably trying to get signal. “Can we get infra-red imaging?” he demands. “I’ll upload the live-scans to home base.”

He stops, seeing me there. Then a weird glint enters his eyes. “Hallie,” he says, coming closer. “How’s it going?”

“Just dandy,” I reply, suspicious. “Crazy chase, huh?”

“Sure.” Brad chortles. He looks around, and then lowers his voice. “You know, Parker and I were talking. You’ve got some smarts. We’ve got lots of cash. What would you say to becoming a double agent? Slip us some info, we slip you a couple hundred grand when this is over?”

Ugh. I don’t want this dude slipping me anything, thank you very much.

“Thanks for the offer,” I say brightly, “but I’m happy where I’m at right now.”

Brad drops the smile. “We’re going to win, you know,” he says. “So, if you change your mind and want to be on the winning side . . . ”

“I’ll know where to find you,” I say sweetly. “A day behind me and Max.”

“What’s that, mon demi glace?” Max rejoins us.

“Nothing, pookie bear.” I take his hand. I’m itching to tell him my idea about the clue, but not in front of any of these bozos. “Come on, we should get going.”

“Where?” Parker pops up, looking at us suspiciously. Suddenly, Artie is leaning over the bannister.

“Did you find something?” he demands. “What? Where?”

Dammit. They won’t let us out of their sights. Unless . . .

“Come on, Max!” I make my voice as bratty as possible. “We’ve been trampling around this place forever, and you promised me you’d take me shopping.”

Max looks weirded out by my sudden change in tone. Go with it, I try to telepathically communicate.

“Ugh. This place is so dusty,” I continue, channeling a drama queen. “It’s killing me with my allergies. I don’t think I can stand being in here one more second.”

“But there are still a couple rooms we haven’t checked.”

“I don’t care about this stupid scavenger hunt anymore! My lungs are closing up here. I think I’m going to faint.” I drape my arm across my forehead. “Don’t you care about anything other than your stupid fortune? God, how can you be so selfish!”

I wink at Max. His mouth twitches.

“You go on out then,” he says, warming up to the argument. “I’ve got to find this clue. Because yeah, it does matter a lot to me. You wouldn’t understand.”

I huff. “You always say things like that. We’re supposed to be in this together. I can’t believe I’m spending this vacation running around old buildings with my nose running like a faucet.”

He throws his hands in the air. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“You could come outside with me and take a walk. Since I am your fiancée. That should count for something. Or do I not matter at all?”

“Come on, Hallie, don’t be like that.”

“I can’t help my allergies.” I sniff. “And if you leave me on my own when I’m feeling this bad, you can take that ring back.”

I flounce toward the door. Max groans and hurries after me. The other rooms have gotten a lot quieter all of a sudden. Yeah, we’ve got an audience all right.

“You’ll be fine without me for a few more minutes,” Max protests as we head outside.

“It’s not about whether I’ll be fine. I want to know I can count on you. And obviously I can’t.”

“Of course you can. It’s just that this hunt—”

“Is totally and completely ridiculous!”

I march out the front door and slam it behind me. Max bursts out a moment later. “All right,” he says, his voice mock-angry while his eyes dance with amusement. “Fine. But if I lose out because of your stupid allergies—”

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

“Oh, come on, have your walk.”

He takes my elbow, and I let him drag me down the block. When we’re definitely out of hearing, he drops his voice to a whisper. “What was that all about?”

“I think I know where the clue is,” I murmur. “Any idea how we get to the local museum? The actual printing press from the Carlisle building is there.”

He laughs. “And the spoiled brat routine . . .”

“Was to throw them off the scent.”

“You’re a devious woman, Hallie Gage.”

“Better believe it,” I grin.

After all the theatrics, finding the museum is a piece of cake. It’s just a few blocks away, and—

“Closed?” I groan in disappointment. I hadn’t realized it was so late, but we spent the whole day searching the house, and it’s after seven p.m.

“Until ten tomorrow morning,” Max reads from the sign.

"But we can't wait that long!” I protest. “By tomorrow, the whole gang could have figured it out. We need to get in there now.”

“What do you suggest?” Max asks.

“We could call the docent, and beg for admittance today?”

“That would just draw attention,” Max says. “We want to stay under the radar.”

“There’s always breaking and entering,” I joke. Max looks thoughtful. “I was kidding,” I add quickly, but he just arches an eyebrow at me with a devilish look.

“It’s hardy Fort Knox, just look at the place. And we would be guaranteed a massive lead over the others . . .”

I follow his gaze to the building, noticing the row of high windows, and—isn’t one of them already open?

God help me, this man is a bad influence. Because I’m actually considering his crazy plan.