Page 48 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
Rick stopped a few feet from me and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Fast as the flutter of hummingbird wings, he was leaning in my window.
"How did you do that?" I asked.
"Do what?"
"Move so quickly just now?"
"If I was quick, it was for good reason. A man should never keep a beautiful woman waiting."
My cheeks blazed.
"Dinner tonight?" he asked again. He licked his full lips.
My mouth began to form the word yes, but I caught myself. Warnings buzzed in my head. Rick was dangerous. I needed to slow things down. "I think I need to catch up on some sleep."
His eyes narrowed. "You're having trouble sleeping? I have some herbs-"
"No," I said too quickly. I shook my head and smiled. "I'm fine, really. I've just been distracted with the move and everything. Haven't got to bed at a decent hour." And hell if I was going to invite another foot-stink bouquet into my residence.
He nodded, but the twist of his mouth told me he didn't quite believe my excuse.
I couldn't tell him about Logan. Not only would it potentially mark me as a lunatic, but I had a strong gut feeling that I shouldn't. "How about Friday night?" I countered.
"When can I expect you?"
"I get off at seven," I said. "I can be there around eight."
"Then eight it is." The corner of his mouth lifted, and for just a moment, I sensed something. Call it premonition. I'd known this man. I would know him again. The feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and I realized I'd unconsciously leaned through the window and kissed him.
I removed my lips from his and smoothed my scrubs. "Sorry," I said. "I don't know what came over me."
"Never apologize, mi cielo. Not for that."
I nodded, but I wasn't at all sure I agreed. I had a nasty habit of losing control with Rick. Visions of calling in sick so that I could show him exactly what I'd dreamed about played out in my head. My heart picked up its pace. All of my girl parts petitioned for amnesty from my brain as I silently repeated: I need my job, I need my job.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he raised an eyebrow and smiled wickedly. He stepped back from my Jeep. "See you Friday, Grateful," he said.
I regained my composure and waved goodbye, then accelerated for work, hoping I'd make it on time.
Morning
Alone in my bed that night, I slept better than I had in a long time. I didn't even dream until the early morning hours. In that space between sleep and awake, I was running through the cemetery-naked. Logan was up ahead, calling my name. He needed help. He needed me. But something was behind me, at my heels with panting breath and heavy footsteps. Just before I reached Logan, a hand gripped my shoulder. I twisted my head around. Rick was behind me, naked and panting. His eyes were black as coal. I fell into his arms. Under the elm tree where we'd had lunch, between rows of headstones, he took me from behind, sliding into me and driving his hips home.
It might have been a scary dream, but it wasn't. I had the overwhelming feeling that I'd wanted Rick to catch me all along. Like he was saving me from something or someone. We were two pieces of a puzzle, fitting together in a way that was right.
When I woke up, I was on the floor next to my bed. What the hell? Had I humped my way off the mattress in my sleep? My obsession with the caretaker and his dark and dangerous persona had officially made it into my subconscious. What did this say about my mental state? Maybe it was biological. It had been months since I'd had sex. A girl has needs.
Cheek to the carpet, I pressed my hands to the floor to push myself up. When I turned my head to crack my neck, I saw a wink of raspberry beyond the dust ruffle and lowered myself back down. Prudence had left something under the bed. I reached out a hand and fished the object toward me, then criss-crossed my legs under me.
The old-fashioned hatbox had stripes down the sides and a gorgeous floral lid that gave it a Victorian quality. I rubbed my hands together, anxious to see what Prudence left behind, maybe an antique hat or, I don't know, a box full of money might be nice. With both hands, I attempted to lift the lid. "Ow!" Blood bubbled from a pinprick-sized hole in my finger. I stuck it in my mouth rather than wipe it on my shirt. With my good hand, I turned the box and found the offending staple. It looked like the box had originally had a handle of some sort. Carefully, I reached for the lid again, avoiding the sharp barb.
What I found when I lifted the lid was a leather scrapbook. I cracked the cover. On the first page was a clipped newspaper column: MOTHER DIES GIVING BIRTH. I scanned the article. This was about my mother! Why did Prudence have an article about my mother's death under her bed? I flipped a page, and then in confusion, I flipped another. Pictures of me as a baby, riding my first bike, my first dance, singing in the church choir, my graduation from nursing school. All of them taken from far away, like paparazzi pictures taken with a telephoto lens. What. The. Fuck. I closed the scrapbook and tipped the box toward me. The only other thing in there was a blue velvet bag, the kind large jewelry might be stored in, but the bag was empty.
Two theories formed behind my fluttering lids. One, Prudence was a stalker who targeted me as a child. Two, this was my father's album left in Prudence's house. Neither theory made sense.
I tucked the scrapbook under my arm and jogged downstairs. Logan had again made me coffee and also an omelet fit for a five star restaurant. It was steaming hot when I reached the kitchen. Either he had amazing timing or, more likely, had been watching me.
I flopped the scrapbook onto the counter. "What is this Logan?"
