"Of course, we—" He stopped; his shoulders slumped just a touch and then he laughed as he pushed his hair back behind his shoulder. It was a bitter laugh, and when he turned back to her, his eyes held a sheen of moisture. "You're right, of course. I only meant perhaps you'd like to have a party here. I'd be happy to watch you enjoy yourself," he said, clearly covering for his lapse.
She bit her bottom lip nervously and wondered how to respond to that. The truth probably was the best. "John, all the friends and family I have in the world wouldn't even fill a quarter of this room, and I doubt they'd come. People don't like women who sometimes know what's about to happen; they tend to vanish when they find out," she said. It was said calmly, almost neutrally, but there was an undercurrent there. The rejection had stung deeply, and more than once.
He frowned and a hand came up to brush her cheek, before sliding into her hair. "Then they are fools. We'll find our own uses for the room. I was teaching you how to dance, you'll recall," he pointed out.
She laughed and tilted her head to lean into his hand, enjoying the sensuous feeling of his fingers curling in her hair. "It would be a little lonely dancing in here, just the two of us, but I suppose it could be fun. Or maybe we can find other things to do in here." She had an amusing image of teaching John to roller-blade through the room. The floor might never recover but there was certainly enough room.
John's mind went to less innocent pursuits. "Oh, other uses? Perhaps we should christen this room as we did the kitchen," he suggested as his face took on a lecherous cast, eyebrows waggling like a cartoon villain.
She couldn't help laughing; her hazel eyes sparkled as her head tipped back so she could stare up at him "Is that the only thing you ever have on your mind?" she teased.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, dragging her up against his hard body, and his lips curved in a wicked smirk. "Perhaps, just since your arrival. I had somewhat of a long dry spell prior to that and I have a lot of time to make up for," he pointed out. His hand tangled in the long raven tresses that hung nearly to her ass, wrapping the silken strands around his fingers as he returned her stare. There was ownership in that glance, but also deeper emotions, like love, tempered it into something that made it easier for her to accept without struggling.
Her eyes roved over his face, memorizing every detail, every fault that somehow added up to perfection. His handsomeness was always a distraction when she examined him too closely and her full lips parted in a soft sigh as she stared, lost in the moment. Taken separately, he would seem almost unattractive. His nose was slightly crooked with a bump on the bridge that suggested it had been broken, once upon a time. The line of his jaw was hard, unyielding, and just a shade too wide, but his lips were full and sensuous—almost too feminine in their lines.
His wide-spaced eyes were currently the darkest blue she'd ever seen them and framed with thick lashes that any woman would be jealous of. They were his best feature, but there was so often a melancholy brooding look lurking there that made her want to wipe all the hurt from them. But now, that pain had been replaced by heat, and their eyes locked for a long, silent moment before she let it end by allowing her gaze to slide down to the shadow of stubble that trailed the line of his jaw.
"You seem thoughtful this evening," he commented, leaving the question there if she wanted to acknowledge it.
"Just admiring your beauty," she assured him as the serious look was chased away by an impish gleam.
He stared at her and then snorted. "Beauty?" he asked incredulously. "I think you are seeing my face through kinder eyes than I deserve, if you find me beautiful."
"No? Um, how about ruggedly attractive?" she suggested.
"Better, I suppose," he agreed, mollified. His head bent and he leaned in to brush his lips across hers. His hair, which was as dark as her own, curled lazily to spill forward over his shoulder, tickled her neck and she squirmed, laughing. Both hands slid down to cup her gently rounded ass through the denim as he held her close for another kiss. She was breathless when he finally released her. "Shall we make it our goal to christen each room, starting with this one?" he asked, his voice lower than usual, husky with desire.
She cleared her throat, trying to catch her breath. "I believe we already began with the kitchen, and also the library, and the bedroom, of course."
"I suppose if you want to stand on technicalities, that's correct." He frowned, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Actually, I'm not entirely sure the library counts," he said. "We may need to revisit that room."
Her face flamed, cheeks growing hot as she thought about him pushing her against the bookshelves, his knee between her thighs pressing up as she… "M-maybe so," she agreed, stammering in embarrassment. It was true that the experience had been rather one-sided and she wouldn't mind him spreading her across the huge desk; it would give her something to smile about when the lawyer sat there and leered at her.
She pulled back, stepping out of the circle of his arms, and he let her. Her heart had sped up, and she was flustered; she needed the space to calm down or they really would end up having sex in the cavernous room. She turned slowly, distracting herself with mundane thoughts of decor as she examined the room, but his suggestion kept pushing back. "You know," she said thoughtfully. "That's not actually a bad idea."
"Making love in the library?" he asked, eyebrow going up in question.
"That, too, but, no, I was thinking—maybe it would be an interesting idea to do it in every room. We have two weeks left for Elizabeth to gather material for this game. And as much as the idea of it makes me queasy, we do have a vested interest in it succeeding, since I negotiated a cut of the profits. That money could help us pay the taxes, which, I can tell you, aren't going to be cheap."
His eyes narrowed, as he thought this over. It had been a romantic idea, perhaps something to do after the cameras were gone to reclaim the house as their own, but she was right, the large chunk of money she was being paid would be spent quickly keeping a house this size going. The utilities that the living needed would be high, and, of course, the taxes on the value of the property would be a drain, as well.
He'd had a few ideas for garnering more assets, but if this game was a success, they would have a steady income. If they were to be forced to carry out their affair on camera, anyway, he supposed it should at least be for their benefit. "There is merit to this plan," he agreed. The words were plainly reluctant but he was in agreement. "A different room every day?"
April rolled her full bottom lip under, biting it as she thought about it, finally nodding her head. "Yeah, I mean…" She drew the words out slowly. "Elizabeth wanted variety. She even suggested this, kind of. I think she was joking but, if you think about it, it does make sense. The more of the house she can use in her 'erotic experience', the more expansions she can make."
She wasn't excited about the prospect any more than he was; she couldn't help but feel it would make the sex clinical if they planned it out like they were on a schedule. She wondered if there was a way to make it spontaneous while still managing to end up in a different room each day. And, was she really willing to commit to sex on camera every single day? She'd been dragging her feet, so far, giving in only when her own body overwhelmed her with need. Maybe it was time to stop that; she'd agreed to it and this constant dread was just making her miserable.
"April, I would be happy to take you in every single room in this house, for any reason. So, if this is what you want, we can do it. Though, I have little care for how pleased that woman is." His mouth twisted in disgust over Elizabeth's plots. "You're right; we should do our best to make it a success, for our own benefit."
"I guess we're fully invested now," April whispered. There was a nervous tremble in her voice, echoed by the roiling in her stomach, but she pushed it away, straightening. It was time for all or nothing. She could do this, even if it made the honeymoon period of their relationship boring. But then, suddenly, a thought struck her out of the blue. "I've got an idea," she
said as she spun around to face him.
He didn't ask what it was, but waited patiently. Whatever it was had to be amusing, since she'd begun to smile, and her eyes were sparkling again. "We're going to play a game. But no cheaty ghost powers from you, John! Pretend you're mortal," she said sternly, placing her hands on her hips and eyeing him.
Both eyebrows went up in surprise and his mouth twitched, torn between annoyance and amusement that she was trying to give him orders. "Assuming I agree, what is this game you have in mind, and what do I get if I win?" he asked neutrally.
"Anything you want, and it's called Tag! You're it!" She slapped him lightly on the arm and took off running. Her sneakers made very little sound as she dashed across the polished wood floor, grabbing the doorframe to catch her balance as she made a sharp turn at the exit, and vanishing out of sight in an instant.
"Tag?" he asked. "What is…April?" It was too late. She was already gone and he was alone. "Ah, it's a game of chase, I believe," he muttered to himself. He was familiar with the concept, if not the name. He started to vanish, to reappear at her side and grab her, but then remembered the rules she'd given him. While he hadn't technically agreed to them, it was clear this was just harmless fun and he felt no desire to ruin it or end it too quickly.
Still, he had the advantage over her. After more than a hundred years in the house, he knew it well—every room, every corridor. He rubbed his hands together, relishing the eventual end of the game, and began to stalk his prey through the house. He took his time and deliberately avoided using his special awareness to feel where she was.
Chapter 4
She headed for the back stairs quickly because she knew she'd have an easier time evading him on the ground floor. The house, for some reason, had been designed with at least two entrances to every room, sometimes three, so it would be hard for him to trap her down there. The second floor, having been somewhat redesigned and modernized, had a different lay out. Some of the bedrooms connected to others and some shared bathrooms, but she'd noticed others didn't and she couldn't remember which would be easy traps.
But standing there on the landing, she looked up, considering. She'd never yet been on the third floor; she'd planned to go upstairs once she finished exploring this floor. She knew that she could lead him on a merry chase downstairs simply by keeping one step ahead of him until she tired, fleeing from one room to the next in a giant circle until, eventually, she simply gave in, but the third floor was a mystery that called her. And maybe he wouldn't expect her to head for uncharted territories.
Besides, the idea was to eventually be caught some place where they hadn't already had sex. Making him chase her had been the only way she could think of to put some element of impulsive fun into things. She feared that simply picking a new room to play in daily would take away all the spontaneity and romance of the relationship, and while it would only be for a couple of weeks, she was still enjoying the newness of sex too much to want to lose that.
Knowing she didn't have much time to decide, she threw caution to the wind and raced up the stairs. The confusion she'd left behind her gave her a small head start as it was meant to, but it wouldn't last for long and she wasn't sure where she was going. The third floor, not surprisingly, was something of an attic space. The mansion contracted going upwards, leaving the top floor the smallest, with low ceilings and slanted sides to make the rooms seem almost claustrophobic.
Judging by the furnishings, she suspected the first she peeked into had been servants' rooms, at one point. Watching British shows about Victorian times had romanticized her idea of what it had been like to live as a servant back then, but these cramped and stifling quarters gave her a more realistic idea. Tiny narrow beds, with thin padding tied into rolls at the base, were packed two apiece into those rooms, with barely space for a washstand between them. The windows were small and probably wouldn't have been enough in summer to make things less miserable. Clothing hung from nails on the wall, abandoned and somehow lonely seeming.
She forgot she was playing a game and stared, lost in a time capsule. While the rest had been renovated, these tiny bedrooms had been left nearly untouched, except for boxes piled on each bare bed frame. Those could have held anything, and she ignored them, reaching instead to tug an old worn apron from its hook. The moment she held the dingy aged fabric in her hands, she was hit with a flash of its history. Her gifts didn't just allow her to see the dead; they also allowed her glimpses of an object's past.
She swayed with vertigo as a series of images rushed into her mind, immersing her until she barely knew who she was at that moment. She was Caroline, a young maid with frizzy orange hair and dark brown eyes. It was her first job and she'd been grateful for it. Her mum was a harsh woman, tired and overworked, and there were too many mouths and never enough food at home.
Here the work was hard and the master was lecherous but, at least, there was always plenty to eat, and she'd a small bed all to herself, not to be shared with two sisters. She was a hard worker, everyone said so, and there was a boy who worked in the gardens who stole her a flower on occasion. She—
April's hands gripped the apron too tightly and shredded the ancient fabric without noticing; pieces drifted to the floor when she forced herself to open her fists, sucking in a giant gulp of air. She stepped back out of the room quickly and placed one hand on the wall for balance as she tried to get her racing heart under control. The memories hadn't been bad, but they'd been overwhelming, probably because no one had touched the apron since Caroline.
Impressions tended to dull over the years from being handled, disappearing eventually, though emotional attachments lasted longer than most. Caroline's mother had made her the apron so she'd look proper for her first job. It was important that the girl work and send her wages home to the family. There'd been an element of pride along with the current of exuberant independence that clung to it and April felt guilty when she looked down at the scraps of disintegrating cloth she'd destroyed.
She'd started to think that her talents were more than a curse she wanted to be rid of until she'd come to this house, but since then, her opinions had changed somewhat. They'd allowed her the opportunity to meet John and fall head over heels in love with him. Without them, she would never have gotten that chance, but there were still downsides. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that though the memories she'd gleaned from the abandoned apron had been innocent and clean, the girl in them had ended up a victim here. She'd felt the darkness coming, even though it wasn't attached to the apron itself. Whatever had happened, the girl hadn't been wearing it then. She closed the door to the cramped room quietly and considered asking John if he knew what had happened to her.
"Oh, shit," she blurted as the thought of John reminded her of the game. She wanted to find a comfortable place to hide, or at least, a place that wasn't a dead end so she could run when he finally realized where she was. She gave the next couple of rooms just a cursory glance to confirm they were the same as the first, but then, she came to a stout door that opened onto a long hallway. The rooms were larger on this side, the decor nicer. There was one that was clearly a nursery, furniture thick with dust and years of neglect.
Halfway down the hall, she walked through a cold spot and her blood seemed to freeze in her body. There was a dropping feeling in her stomach and she got dizzy for a second as a sense of dread crawled over her skin. It wasn't an entity. Not a spirit but an echo of something bad happening. Maybe more than one bad thing. She turned, confused, trying to figure out where exactly it was coming from but there was only a blank paneled wall.
Frowning, she reached out a hand to touch the wall for more detail—a hint of what she was feeling—but she changed her mind. Her hand dropped back to her side and she shook her head. Whatever it was, she didn't need to know right now, and she wasn't going to let a century old mystery ruin the game. She turned resolutely and stepped out of the cold.
At the far end, the hallway opened into a room. She stopped sho
rt, eyes widening as she took it in. It almost resembled the prow of a ship in a weird way. Before seeing the ballroom on the second floor, she'd have said it was huge, but now, her perspectives had changed. It was merely a vast open space, with a large bank of tall windows. There were no curtains and she could see the deepening purples and growing shadows of dusk outside. She left the lights off and moved across the empty room to stand in front of the thick glass and look out.
The moon was full but still hung low on the horizon with a slight pink tinge from the last of the deep red sunset. She shivered, bumps rising on her arms from the chill that emanated from the glass. The windows were old and not well caulked, letting in the cold, but the sky was so lovely, she couldn't help but stay to look.
Of the house, that third floor was the one place that hadn't been touched by Elizabeth's remodeling. She felt surrounded by history and the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise. The temperature started to drop, slow enough that she didn't notice at first, until she began to shiver. Her breath puffed out in a visible cloud. A small hand patted her cheek, almost a caress.
She jumped, startled, but there was no feeling of danger. The touch came again and another hand curled in her hair, tugging gently. One of the babies she'd felt before, she told herself. "Hello," she whispered softly. She had no experience with children, no younger siblings, no babysitting, and she wasn't sure how to handle the spirit of one. But there was no ill intent, only curiosity, so she relaxed slowly. "Can you let me see you?" she asked.
"They're not strong enough, April," John said, standing behind her in the doorway. She could see a reflection of him on the window, watching with a bemused smile on his face. "They aren't much more than wisps, but they like you."
"Why?" she wondered.
"They find you comforting. Something about you soothes them," he said. He was curious, too, but shrugged. Perhaps she reminded them of their mother. "If you were to help them to pass over, it would be a kindness," he said, after a moment.
Awakened with a Touch (Gifted Affinities Book 2) Page 9
