Page 26 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
"What weird stuff?"
"You know, the candles, the skulls..."
"Had you been drinking?"
"No!"
He stood up and offered me his hand, his long, graceful fingers beckoning me. "Come, come with me." His gray eyes twinkled beneath thick lashes, the bright sky glowing behind his head like a halo. Inexplicably, an avalanche of attraction rumbled down my spinal cord. I allowed him to lead me down the porch steps, stomach fluttering, and didn't immediately withdraw my hand when we reached the bottom of the steps. My fingers were at home in his as if we'd been holding hands for decades instead of days. The suspicion I'd felt only moments before melted away, replaced with comfort, familiarity. My ghost's warning became something distant, a fading memory. What was this effect he had on me? We walked hand in hand all the way to his little stone cottage across the bridge.
The delicate tinkling of wind chimes welcomed us. Dozens of them dangled from the ceiling of the little cedar porch. Their sound reached me about the same time as the smell of wild herbs growing around his home. Strange, I hadn't noticed either last night. I must have been hysterical.
Rick opened the door to his place, and I followed him inside. The cottage was sparsely decorated. But what did I expect? The job of cemetery caretaker probably wasn't lucrative. A crocheted blanket on the couch looked like the kind grandmas everywhere made for their grandkids, and the dusty, cathode ray tube television belonged in a museum. A wood stump held up a lamp in the shape of a lantern with a fake candle inside supporting a decorative bulb. On the wall, across from the door was a crucifix-one small gold crucifix. No skulls, no candles, no devilish pictures. Had I created it all in my mind?
My head hurt again. I rubbed circles over my temples. In a heartbeat, Rick's hands were on my shoulders.
"Can I get you some water?" he whispered into my ear.
"Yes, please. No. Coffee. Do you have coffee?"
"Just made a pot." He walked toward the tiny kitchen that was separated from the main room by a counter. It seemed only big enough for one, so I stayed where I was.
"I'm sorry, Rick. I don't know what happened last night."
"You were frightened. Maybe you were still half asleep. "
"I was completely terrified."
"That explains it. You passed out at my door. Your nightmare must've continued when you lost consciousness."
That made sense, but something inside of me wouldn't let it go. The ghost was real, and this was too. I walked toward the only door to the rear of the house and pushed it open, sure there would be skulls and candles piled beyond the threshold. What I found was a king-sized bed, black silk sheets, and gauzy white window coverings that filtered the light into a soft glow. Was there anything about this guy that didn't scream sexy?
As if he could hear my thoughts, a mug of coffee appeared in front of me. Boy, was he smooth; I never even heard him leave the kitchen. He was close, so close his chest brushed my back. Wrapped around me holding the coffee, his inner arm created a warm tingle where it touched my shoulder.
He inhaled deeply and whispered into my ear, "Is there something you want to see in my bedroom?"
The caress of his breath on my neck made me shiver. I closed my eyes, and everything went quiet but the rhythm of my breath and the lub-dub of my heart. Everything in me wanted to turn, to move those last two inches and press my lips against this stranger's. With a shake of my head, I swallowed hard and took a step away.
"No." Yes, you liar! I turned my back to the bed and faced him.
The corners of his mouth sagged, and his head jerked backward.
I lifted the mug from his hand, brushing his fingers with mine in the process. My mouth went dry. "I mean, I hardly know you," I blurted.
"It didn't bother you the night before last, mi cielo."
I couldn't argue with the facts. I'd practically jumped him on my couch less than forty-eight hours ago, and now I was playing coy. "I don't usually..." I sighed. "I just think we shouldn't rush into anything. It wouldn't be right."
"So, get to know me. Have lunch with me today. I'll give you that tour of the cemetery I promised you, and then we can have a picnic lunch on Monk's Hill."
"Where's Monk's Hill?"
"Come with me this afternoon and I'll show you."
Our eyes locked. His were gray, not black. What had happened last night? What had I seen? "Deal," I said, my insides quivering at the thought.
"Meet back here at noon?"
"Looking forward to it," I said.
