“My favorite is the floor,” I told him as I inspected it, then smiled, appreciating the view once again. The newly tiled floor was comprised of twelve-by-twelve, white porcelain tiles, offset with two-by-two, black diamond tiles that were interspersed between every second tile.
“Maybe you should consider becoming an interior designer?” Ryan suggested when I turned back and found him hanging up my fire engine–red pencil skirt. It struck me as both amusing and heartwarming to have such a man’s man standing here, helping me hang up my clothes. I could honestly say that I’d never met a man like Ryan before. He was a true original.
“Hmm,” I started, thinking the idea didn’t sound half bad.
“I think you have an eye for it, Peyton,” he continued, reaching for an extra-short, gold-sequined halter dress. After studying it for a moment, he sighed, as if he had no words. Then he asked, “Going for disco ball?”
“I’ll have you know that is very cute on!” I replied, even going so far as to stick my tongue out at him while unfolding my pink angora sweater and hanging it on a hanger. I had to admit that I enjoyed hanging up all my clothes simply because I liked reminding myself that everything in my closet represented the new “me” and was free from the tarnish of my marriage. In fact, the wardrobe of the married Peyton would be shocked and abhorred to meet the wardrobe of the new and improved, “real” Peyton. And that was exactly how I wanted it.
“I doubt it,” he said with a frown, cocking his head to the side as he studied the dress more carefully. “Maybe if you’re attempting to look like a Christmas ornament.”
“Blah,” I answered as I yanked it away from him. Holding the dress up, I admired it. “It goes well with my hair,” I finished as I took a few steps toward the closet, intending to hang it up.
“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” Ryan interrupted as he blocked me from hanging it up. “I think you should go try it on.”
“What?” I asked, frowning at him. “After you pooh-poohed it as a disco ball or a Christmas ornament? I think not! Instead, I’m going to hang it up and let it lick its wounds in peace.” I started to hang it up again, but he stopped me.
“I think it prefers the option of showing how cute it is on you, rather than being shoved into the darkness of your closet to forever live in obscurity.”
I faced him and narrowed my eyes as a smile formed on my lips. “Forever live in obscurity? Wow, impressive words there, Ryan. Did you just come up with that by yourself?”
He took a few steps toward me, his smile turning devilish. He didn’t say anything, but reached for the dress. He slipped it off the hanger, threw the hanger on the bed and pushed the now wadded-up dress toward me. “Ha-ha, smart-ass.” His Southern accent suddenly seemed more pronounced. He was standing about a foot away from me; and when I saw the undisguised expression of pure sexuality in his eyes, I felt my heartbeat race and butterflies start in my stomach. “Try it on.”
I didn’t say anything else but simply offered him a raised brow, suggesting I wasn’t amused, but I started for the bathroom all the same. When I shut the door behind me, I exhaled a deep breath. I dropped the dress on the granite countertop and faced myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, making it more than obvious that Ryan was having an undeniable effect on me. It was also more than obvious that there was a reason he wanted me to try on the dress—the idea of it must have turned him on. Because regardless of whether the thing looked like a disco ball or not, there was no way anyone could deny how revealing it was.
I took my shoes off and started to undress. My nerves were still very much present and accounted for, and a big part of me just wanted to forget the whole thing. I mean, what in the hell was I doing? And, more importantly, what would Ryan do or say once he saw me in it? I felt unbelievably, undeniably awkward, but before I could change my mind, I pulled the dress over my head.
Seeing myself in the mirror, I sighed heavily and leaned forward. I reached inside the halter top to adjust my breasts to make sure I was showing some cleavage. Then I smoothed down the bottom half of the dress, which ended mid-thigh, before trying to talk myself out of walking through the bathroom door.
“What’s taking so long?” Ryan demanded.
“Calm yourself!” I called back as I gathered my last shred of confidence and walked barefoot to the door. I paused for a few seconds with my hand on the doorknob as I tried to quiet the thrumming of my heartbeat, which kept echoing through my ears. Without another thought, I pulled the door open.
Ryan didn’t say anything at all. He was standing maybe four feet from me and as soon as I met his eyes, I had to strain to hold his gaze. I knew I was blushing from my head to my toes because I was so embarrassed, I didn’t know what to do with myself. The longer he stared at me unabashedly, the more I felt like a horse at auction. I cleared my throat and forced a grin. “Christmas ornament or disco ball?”
But Ryan’s expression didn’t change—no hint of a smile, nothing. He had the look of a deer caught in headlights ... make that a really, really horny deer.
“Neither,” he said in a husky voice.
“So, I guess I win the argument.” I laughed nervously as I dropped my eyes to the ground because I felt like a total idiot standing there. I wasn’t prepared when I found Ryan standing in front of me. With a gulp of air, all I could comprehend was the sensation of his arms around me, pulling me into him, as he brought his mouth to mine. When I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes, I felt his tongue inside my mouth, which I eagerly met with my own.
Even though I’d imagined kissing Ryan many times, it was one of those moments that surpasses everything you dreamed it would be. Still so overcome with shock at him kissing me in the first place, I couldn’t fully absorb the situation. I had to kick myself to remember Ryan Kelly was standing in the middle of my guest bedroom, running his hands through my hair, while his tongue mated with mine.
“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said in a husky voice as he pulled away from me and caught his breath, shaking his head as he apparently thought better of what had just happened between the two of us. “I ... I shouldn’t have done that . . .”
He ran his hand through his hair and took a few steps away from me. I immediately closed the distance between us and reached for his arm. “Ryan, it’s okay.”
“No,” he interrupted and pulled away from me. “It’s not.”
I shook my head, not understanding him at all. “Why?”
“Because you and I are friends,” he answered immediately, as if having to remind himself of the same fact.
I felt the frown working on my lips. “I don’t understand,” I started, shaking my head as I figured I was about to put myself out on a limb but I was so dumbfounded by his reaction that I couldn’t even say I cared. “Didn’t we just go out on a date a couple of days ago?”
He nodded and glanced at me quickly before returning his attention to the ground. “Yes and I don’t ... I don’t know what the hell I was thinking,” he finished.
“You regret our date?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Yes,” he answered before shaking his head. “I mean, no, I don’t regret it.” He cleared his throat and finally brought his gaze to mine. “This isn’t easy for me, Peyton. I can’t deny that I’m attracted to you. I am.” His eyes searched my face as he paused for a few seconds. “God, am I attracted to you but I also haven’t allowed myself to feel close to any woman since ... Elizabeth died.”
“Oh,” I said and dropped my attention to the ground.
“Every time I start to think something can happen between you and I,” he started, reaching for my hand but then pulling back at the last minute, as if he thought touching me might burn him. He shook his head. “I don’t know ... I just get overwhelmed with feelings of guilt.” He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. “I haven’t fully dealt with Elizabeth’s death, Peyton, and until I can, you and me ... just can’t happen.”
I swallowed hard as I realized I empath
ized with him. Even though my feelings were hurt and I was still reeling from his announcement that we were just friends and that he basically wanted things to remain that way, I couldn’t really be angry with him. Not when I could see the battle brewing in his eyes. “I understand, Ryan,” I said softly.
“I’m sorry, Peyton,” he responded and offered me a hurried smile. “I thought I was ready for this, for you.” He shook his head as if he were angry with himself or the situation. “I really felt like I was ready to put the past behind me and move on but kissing you . . .” His voice trailed as he focused on his calloused hands.
“Kissing me what?”
He shook his head and brought his stricken expression to my face. “Kissing you reminded me of the last time I kissed her.”
I was spared the need to respond when it sounded like an explosion came from the bathroom. At first, it was a low zapping noise, which erupted into something that sounded like it came from Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory. A high-pitched, electrical hissing sound eventually gave way to the noise of a lightbulb exploding with a final, bright burst of light.
The only thought in my mind was that maybe Trina’s cleansing hadn’t worked.
Chapter Two
“What the hell was that?” Ryan shouted as he reached out and gently pushed me to the side as if the bogeyman was lurking in the bathroom and he didn’t want me to go anywhere near it.
“I think a lightbulb burst,” I answered, coming up behind him. He thrust the bathroom door open and, apparently not finding what he was looking for, scratched his head in obvious wonder. His head moved in a perfect circle as he took stock of all the light fixtures in the bathroom, finally settling his attention on the ceiling. What was left of the two lightbulbs that had been sticking out of the sockets was now reduced to nothing more than the filaments, wires, and the screw caps. The rest of the lightbulbs lay in shards of glass on the floor.
“Well, they definitely burst,” he announced, cocking his head to the side.
“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious,” I muttered with a small laugh as I tried to renew a sense of lightheartedness after the disaster that was our first kiss and now these blown lightbulbs, which seemed in a word ... suspect.
He glanced back and me and simply raised his left brow as if to say he didn’t approve of my name-calling. I shrugged and played innocent. “Maybe if you’d put the ceiling fixture up, they wouldn’t have burst?” I asked.
Ryan narrowed his eyes so he looked all the more sarcastic. “Maybe if you’d chosen a ceiling fixture for me to put up, they wouldn’t have blown.”
It was more than obvious that we were both ignoring the enormous elephant in the room. But it was just as well because I had bigger things to worry about than bemoaning a lost relationship with a still-grieving Ryan, which had never really even had the chance to become anything.
“Hmm,” I grumbled and bit my tongue because I figured he had a point. Instead of arguing, I watched him turn the light switch off and then step onto the lip of the bathtub; owing to his incredible height, he was able to reach the lightbulbs, which he then unscrewed. I started forward, intending for him to hand the remains of the lightbulbs to me but he glanced back at me sharply and adamantly shook his head. “Go put some shoes on so you don’t cut up your feet.”
“Okay, Dad,” I answered with a mock frown and, thrusting my hip out in a decidedly attitudinal way, returned to the bedroom where I spotted my sneakers sitting beside the bed. Once I was out of his line of sight, I exhaled, feeling like it was next to impossible to wear the façade that everything was fine when I felt like crying inside.
Putting my shoes on, I tried not to focus on the fact that they looked ridiculous when paired with my gold, sequined halter dress. Just looking down at the dress made a lump form in my throat. Ryan had gone from hot to cold in a matter of minutes. To say I was frustrated was an understatement because I completely understood where he was coming from. Even though I’d never had to suffer the death of a spouse, I could easily put myself in his shoes and, in so doing, I understood his hesitation.
Try as I did, I couldn’t concentrate on much more than the memory of Ryan’s kiss. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I could still feel the warmth of his lips. His kiss had been so soft and yet so demanding at the same time, like he wanted to yield to his more wild side but also thought better of it. Kissing Ryan had just felt so natural, so right, and yet the situation had ended so wrongly. I shook my head, forcing myself to stop thinking about it, to just accept it for what it was—Ryan obviously wasn’t over his grief—it was pretty apparent that he couldn’t move on. Those had been his own words. So what did that mean for me? That meant that I needed to get over this crush I had on him because it would only lead to disappointment and pain.
Focus on yourself, Pey, I told myself. First and foremost, though, I needed to refocus on the current question plaguing us both—why the lightbulbs had exploded.
The more I thought about it, the more worried I became. It just didn’t make sense—as far as I could tell anyway—that brand-new lightbulbs would just blow up ... and for no good reason. Once I laced my sneakers up, I headed into the hallway where I remembered seeing a broom leaning against the wall.
“How long does it take to put your shoes on?” Ryan called from the bathroom.
“I’m getting a broom!” I yelled back and, retrieving it, returned to the bathroom. Ryan had stepped down from the tub and was now studying one of the broken lightbulbs in his palm as if it had an answer for him as to why it had blown up in the first place. It wasn’t lost on me that there was a definite sense of unease existing between us which we both were doing our damndest to conceal by acting as though everything between us was just the same as it always had been. But it wasn’t.
“What do you think?” I asked as I started sweeping the broken glass that was scattered clear across the bathroom floor. Ryan stepped out of my way and headed for the bedroom where he turned around and watched me sweep all the pieces into the center of the room.
“I don’t know,” he answered and shook his head, his eyebrows crossed in clear confusion. “Everything looked like it was wired correctly which leads me to believe it could have been a power surge.”
“Would a power surge actually blow the lightbulbs up though?” I asked, my tone of voice clearly displaying the fact that I wasn’t convinced. “I mean, of course I’ve seen lightbulbs go out before but actually exploding?”
Ryan frowned. “It would be incredibly rare but it’s possible.”
I took a deep breath, the words “incredibly rare” sticking with me. Given everything that had been happening to me lately, “incredibly rare” seemed too coincidental to believe. Instead, I was beginning to worry that something not of this earth was responsible for the blowout. And, yes, it wasn’t lost on me that a month ago I did believe in coincidence whereas now I was starting to blame just about everything on those things we can’t explain.
“Where’s the dustpan?” Ryan asked me, interrupting my worry.
I glanced down at the glass I’d swept into a mound and suddenly realized I’d been standing there, doing nothing, like someone had simply pressed “pause” on me. It was because I was fully enveloped in my apprehensive thoughts. As to the dustpan, I hadn’t even considered where it might be. “I don’t know.”
“I think I saw one. Just a second,” he answered and then called out over his shoulder, “I’ve gotta throw what’s rest of these bulbs out too!”
Then he started for the hallway and disappeared through the doorway. I glanced up at the empty ceiling socket and shook my head as I wondered what could have caused the lightbulbs to burst. I just couldn’t get away from the idea that something within my house was at fault—that some sort of ghostly energy was the answer. And that would have to mean that Trina’s cleansing hadn’t worked. I felt slightly guilty by the fact that I wasn’t that surprised that Trina’s attempts might not have worked. She just didn’t really scream “voodoo priestess.�
� So that meant that if there really was some sort of negative energy in my house, my next hope was that Drake was the one behind this poltergeist activity. Granted, I still wasn’t completely sure that Drake was even real but at this stage, I was beginning to wager he was.
“Here you go,” Ryan said as he handed me the red dustpan and I nearly leapt right out of my skin because I’d been so consumed by my thoughts, I hadn’t heard him come back into the room. “Whoa, there, Peyton, it’s just me,” he said with a slight laugh. He placed a consoling hand on my shoulder. “I, uh, I hope what just happened between us won’t change your feelings toward me,” he said softly. “I mean, I hope we can still be friends like we were before. I care about you, Peyton, a lot.”
I smiled up at him and nodded sadly. “Of course we can still be friends and I care about you too.”
He studied me and his eyes were so searching, I felt naked. “Thank you,” he said finally. “And, for what it’s worth, you have no idea how much you’ve helped me get through the pain.”
“I’ve helped you?” I asked, obviously surprised.
He nodded and smiled down at me. “Your smile is therapeutic, Peyton.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Actually everything about you is therapeutic.” He took a deep breath and just stared down at both of our hands for a few seconds before he brought his gaze back to my face. “I haven’t been this close to another woman since Lizzie. I don’t even think I’ve actually had fun since she died.” He took another deep breath and I could see the sheen of unshed tears glistening in his eyes. I felt a lump forming in my throat. “So, yes, being around you is therapy of its own sort,” he finished. “Thank you.”
I didn’t say anything but simply nodded, wishing I didn’t have the feelings I did for this man. Was I in love with him? I wasn’t sure but it wouldn’t have surprised me if I were. Really, it would be very easy to fall in love with Ryan. I took a deep breath and forced myself to concentrate on other topics, topics that didn’t hurt so much. “Do you think there’s a chance that the whole lightbulb thing could have something to do with this house being ... haunted?” I asked.
Afraid of the Dark: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Spirits Series Book 1) Page 2
