Hargrove House: The Haunted Book One

by Allie Harrison

  “Oh?”

  “The solarium on the east side of the house—the room with all the windows, it looks great—not too many plants. The piano should come soon, right?”

  “Yes,” Torrie said. She didn’t ask the question that bit at her tongue. Why was he so interested in this room when he didn’t care what she did with the bedrooms upstairs? “Did you think of something else you want out there, besides the desk?”

  She realized he held her hand again and she hadn’t even noticed him move. His touch was so electrifying it left her mind boggled and made thinking about her job a hard task.

  Absently, he moved his thumb and gave her hand a slight massage. “Well, I’d like the desk out on the north side of the room, kind of out of the way.”

  “All right.”

  “And I’d like some fun furniture out there.”

  “Fun furniture?” Torrie had to ask.

  “In one of your catalogs, I saw something that looks like a hammock seat that hangs from the ceiling. And maybe there would be a fountain or a pool out there. But, of course it has to be something that fits well in the room and far enough away from the piano. I’d like to use it as a make-shift office, but it’s still the get-away room. I’ve never liked being closed in or surrounded.”

  “As soon as I get the work underway for the bedrooms upstairs, I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know about a fountain or pool—those need special electrical wiring sometimes and I don’t like the idea of water without a drain or being close to a grand piano no matter how far away it is. But I’ll check it out, see what kind of ‘feelings’ I get in that room.” She grinned. “And I’ll see what feelings Rex Walker has, too. I still haven’t found a desk—I may really sell you mine.”

  “It would look great, and I’d promise to take good care of it and give you a fair price for it.”

  She shared his smile, knowing he’d been more than fair with what he paid her. “I know you would. Anything else? And if you have a long list of any other things, you’ll have to hand me back my notebook because I can’t remember them all.”

  He was quiet for a long moment as he thought about her question. “I’m not sure. I just wish the piano would arrive.”

  “Do you play?”

  He looked at her intensely. “No.”

  “So why is the piano so important?” she had to ask.

  “It was important to someone else.” Then he gave her a quick smile and took a large bite, letting her know the subject was now closed.

  Important to whom? His dead wife? Someone else? Again the idea of his having children and the thought of his dead wife burned in the pit of her stomach with the roast beef she’d recently swallowed. He must really be pining over her loss if he thought a piano was that important. It shouldn’t matter; it wasn’t her business if he mourned her forever or if he had six children by six different women. By the time he got around to watching his first born coming into the world, she would be well underway into her next job or perhaps the next fourth or fifth job, and she would be occupied with something else away from Hargrove House. Yet, the idea left a bitter taste in her mouth no matter how good the dinner was.

  Before she could change the subject, he asked, “Do you play the piano?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I took lessons for years and considered majoring in music in college. I have a keyboard at home in my apartment. I don’t have room for a real piano, but I will someday.”

  He gave her hand a slight squeeze. “Please come here and play the piano any time you like.”

  His invitation embarrassed her and thrilled her at the same time. “Thank you. I’d like that.” She really would like it, but felt as if her words were a lie. She was nearly certain that once she finished with Hargrove House and stepped out its door for the last time, she would never return. Her heart couldn’t bear it to come back, to see another woman living within the walls of Hargrove House or seeing his children with another woman running through the rooms she’d decorated.

  “Me, too. I can’t wait to hear your music. You’ll play for me as soon as the piano arrives, won’t you?”

  She smiled. And found there was no way she could deny him. “Of course, but enough about me,” she put in. “So is there anything more you’d like done with the ballroom?”

  “I want it to look as much like the photograph I showed you as possible.”

  “I know. I just wondered if there was anything else I should do. I ordered wallpaper. It may take a week or two. The work crews have refinished the columns. I also ordered round sofas to go around them. It was kind of hard to tell, but that was the idea I got from the corner of the photograph.” She didn’t tell him that most of what she’d decided about the ballroom had been her own ideas and imagination. The photograph, being filled with dancers, had shown little of the room. It had shown hardly any of the ceiling or walls so the light fixtures had been ordered on a whim. But when she’d tried to show him the catalog, he’d been busy and said the lights would be fine.

  He held her gaze. Torrie couldn’t have looked away if her life depended on it. “There are a few paintings in the attic. I’d like them hung in the ballroom.”

  Torrie looked for her notebook to jot down a reminder.

  “Don’t worry about needing to write it down. I’ll remind you,” Will said. “And wait until you see these paintings. You’ll know they belong in the ballroom, too.

  Again, he gently kneaded her hand with his fingers. A warm tingle zinged through her. It was nearly impossible to think about any kind of business when his touch sent flurries of something that felt like electrical current through her entire body. Hell, his touch was like a drug or having a few beers. There was even an odd buzz between her ears. It made her feel like giggling.

  Torrie offered him a small smile. “I will, huh?” It was hard to find her voice through his hand massage.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have some workmen bring them down tomorrow,” she said.

  “No.”

  Torrie felt her smile freeze on her lips at the sudden urgency in his refusal. “No? Why not?”

  “I don’t want any workmen in the attic. I don’t want anyone in the attic.”

  “Why not?” she asked again.

  “There’s a secret passage used to get there, and I don’t want anyone knowing about it. It’s been a secret forever, and I want to keep it that way.”

  Again, she fought the urge to giggle. “All right,” she let out as she glanced down at his hand and saw the dirt beneath his nails. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to ask him why no one could be in the attic or why he was digging in the cellar. If it was so important, why didn’t he hire some work crews down there to help him, or tell her so she could hire them? She thought again about the idea he might be digging for treasure and fought the urge to ask him. It would certainly make for an exciting story now, she thought. Yet, it was none of her business.

  The awkward moment was broken as Alice bustled into the room with a tray. A small plate holding the most delectable chocolate cake was soon placed before Torrie.

  Torrie stared at the cake and didn’t speak until after Alice had taken their dinner plates away and left the room. “I think she really is trying to fatten me up. And I’m sure she didn’t cook this in the microwave,” she said softly, leaning close to him.

  The subtle masculine scent of him—something woodsy and earthy, mixed with the spiciness of aftershave that touched her and called her to come closer. She took a deep breath and enjoyed being close to him.

  He laughed heartily. “I don’t know. Alice seems very gifted. I wouldn’t be surprised if she cooked it in a make-shift oven of aluminum foil.”

  She laughed. “You might be right.” She took a bite and let the taste of rich chocolate flow to her soul slowly. “Oh, no,” she put in. “She may be gifted, but there’s no way this came from an oven made of aluminum foil. This is way too heavenly. Fat free, too, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure it is,
too, not that you need to worry about calories or fat.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Torrie muttered.

  “I do.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  He stared into her gaze for a long moment as if he weighed his words carefully. “Because I’m certain after we finish dinner, I’m going to hold you in my arms. And I want something soft to hold on to—not just a bag of bones.”

  For a long moment, Torrie couldn’t draw in a breath. The thought of his arms around her sent her heart racing. She was suddenly so warm she thought steam might come out of the top of her blouse.

  “You’re blushing, I’ve embarrassed you,” he said.

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, I’m sorry I embarrassed you. But I’m not sorry for speaking the truth.”

  “Will—”

  “Let me finish.” He now held her hand. “I understand not too long ago, you were hurt by another man. I also understand your need and desire to keep our relationship on a strictly business professional level, but I never promised I would. I will be nothing but truthful with you, Victoria—always. And I’m being truthful now when I tell you I like you. I like watching you. I like being with you. You can rest assured I won’t lie to you and I won’t hurt you. You won’t catch me with another woman, naked or otherwise. We can take this as fast or as slow as you need.”

  Torrie felt lost—drowning in his gaze. For a long moment, she didn’t even know what to say. “It will have to be very slow.” She spoke so softly, her words were little more than whispers, and why she even spoke them or allowed him to believe there could be something between them was beyond her. All she knew was while she looked into his eyes, she could deny him nothing.

  “As slow as you need then.”

  It was a short time later when Will saw her to the door.

  “Gosh, I’m stuffed. Dinner was delicious.” And the awkward moment where she thought she might need to unbutton her blouse and let the steam out had passed.

  “I’ll relay your compliments to the chef.” Will nodded to her.

  “Thank you—and I do mean thank you, but honestly, you don’t have to feed me lunch or dinner.”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t insult me. Just accept my generosity, please.”

  She offered him a genuine smile. “All right. Thank you.”

  “You know,” he said slowly, “you could stay.”

  His offer shocked her. At the same time, it didn’t. He was a man who went after what he wanted, said what he thought. He was certainly a mystery, but his desires and intentions were not. She had known he watched her. Nor was he afraid to take her hand when he wanted to touch her. And because he’d just shared his feelings, she knew he felt more than simple concern for her. Still, the offer caused her heart to skip painfully in her chest. And when she spoke, her mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert. “No, I can’t stay. Slow, remember? You are still my employer. This is still my job. To stay would make my job hard to do,” she replied honestly. She knew other people in this day and age had no qualms about staying or sleeping with their bosses, but she did.

  “Hmmm, I see,” he said thoughtfully.

  She let him help slide her coat up her shoulders. And she said nothing when his hands lingered on her upper arms for too long. She let out a heavy breath. “Good night. I’ve got some planning to do before tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said.

  His hands on her arms and his offer should have been a warning. And still when she suddenly felt his lips on hers, she thought no warning could have prepared her for the onslaught of emotions that tornadoed through her. The need, the want, and the drive for more were most prevalent. The idea he was her boss faded like smoke, and she wanted him. She didn’t care that he was her boss.

  His kiss stole her breath and sent her heart skidding. The heat of him was like a warm fire on a bitter cold night, a hot knife that could easily slice through butter. His tongue danced with hers as if they’d been doing this dance for a hundred years.

  And she felt his arms around her, holding her close, just as he’d promised. He held her so close, Torrie thought she might melt right into him.

  Never had she felt so safe, so needed, so wanted, and so desired.

  Never had she felt as if she were home, where she belonged, under the roof of Hargrove House and in Will Dalton’s arms—as she did now.

  Never had she ever had the drive to turn her back on a job as she did just then when his lips assaulted hers.

  How easy it would be to take him up on his offer and stay. How easy it would be to make his kiss last all night.

  She felt his body press against the entire length of her, his chest against her breasts and his firm belly against hers. The hardness of him pressed into the juncture of her thighs with a mixture of heat and lust, need and desire.

  How easy it would be to remove the few barriers of their clothes so the heat of his skin could mix with the heat hers.

  Torrie couldn’t breathe. But hell, she didn’t need to breathe. She only needed to feel him. She felt his heartbeat as well as her own.

  If he didn’t hold her so tight to him, her knees would have given way, and she would have fallen.

  How had he managed to slip under her skin so easily and quickly?

  When he finally pulled away, he left her breathless, weak all over, and uncertain as to where she was. It took her a moment to recognize the foyer, to feel the floor beneath her feet, to stop swaying and to recognize the now-familiar touch of his hands on her arms.

  “Good night, my Torrie.”

  His voice was deeper, huskier than usual, letting her know that the kiss affected him, even if he wasn’t swaying. The gentleness of his fingertips lightly resting on her face, chin and neck sent tiny jolts of electricity through her. She should turn and leave, move out the door, head for home. She couldn’t move.

  She didn’t move until he opened the door for her. How she ever made it to her car, she had no idea. And it wasn’t until much later after she was at home, thinking she could finally think coherently enough to draw some sketches and write some notes, that she realized she’d left her notebook, computer and everything else job related at the Hargrove House. Well, there’d be no work done tonight. Instead she sat down in front of her keyboard and allowed herself the luxury of exercising her fingers and allowing the music to fill her.

  She didn’t realize until the next morning when she found her notes that she’d jotted down several pieces of music she planned to play just for Will.

  Three days later, Torrie stood in what she thought of as the pink bedroom. It was finished, beautifully finished, exceeding her expectations. The small table and chairs sat waiting for a little girl to set up a tea party. The window seat patiently waited for that same little girl to sit there and read. The shelves needed books for the girl the read. The bed was new, inviting. The furniture was as Torrie envisioned—perfect for the room. It had been a quiet day all in all, as workmen worked on the ballroom floor one story up. Except for painting in the next bedroom, little was done on the second floor today. Torrie had just seen the last of the work crews leave. Why she lingered, she had no idea.

  She just felt she needed to see the pink room in the falling light as dusk settled over the house. Again, she looked around the room. All it needed—besides the books—was a little girl. Absently, Torrie picked up the doll that someone had placed on the dresser. She placed the doll in its rightful place at the small table. “There you go, Miss Velvet,” she said. “Now all we need to get is a little tea set. And don’t worry; we’ll have real China, none of that plastic stuff in this room. Do you take cream or sugar?” Torrie pretended.

  “You found Miss Velvet.”

  At the sound of a soft voice, Torrie jumped and nearly knocked the doll off the chair, let out a startled cry and looked toward the door. Then she stopped short and stared at the young girl who stood there. “Who…Who are you? And how did you get in here? Where
did you come from?” Torrie knew she sounded like a balloon letting out its air, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The child had startled her so badly. And damn, she looked just like the little girl Torrie envisioned could inhabit this room. With Miss Velvet in the girl’s arms, the picture Torrie saw when she walked into this room would be complete. The idea the girl could be a child fulfilling a dare touched her. Torrie tried to tell herself the girl was too young to venture into the Hargrove House on a dare. But hadn’t Torrie, herself, been about the same age when she stepped over the threshold?

  Could the girl be a ghost? She wasn’t transparent. She appeared as real as Torrie. Torrie even felt a strange pull to reach out and touch the child, to see if her hair was as soft as it looked.

  “Eleanor,” the little girl said. She wore what was previously a green dress. There was a smudge of dust above her left eyebrow.

  Torrie took a step toward her.

  The girl stayed rooted to her spot.

  “Eleanor who? And how did you get in here? What, did someone dare you?”

  “I live here. I’m Eleanor…Dalton.”

  “What?”

  Then the little girl who claimed to Eleanor Dalton turned and left.

  It took Torrie eight steps to reach the doorway. And the by time she did, the hallway was empty and the little girl was gone.

  Chapter Four

  Torrie found William in the kitchen. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he just came up from the cellar. His face was smudged with dirt. His shirt was hardly white any longer, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

  And hadn’t the little girl—Eleanor—had dirt smudged on her face and clothes? What had she been wearing, a green dress and black shoes? Torrie suddenly couldn’t remember, she’d been startled by the girl’s sudden appearance and identity to take it all in at once.

  Under normal circumstances, she might have questioned his appearance. She might have even given in to the urge to question him about what he might be doing in the cellar.