by Jacquie Gee
“Edgar,” I say to the air with a jerk of my head. “Kitchen. Now!”
Jules looks perplexed.
I leave, cool breeze ruffling along on my coattails. I pass through the archway and whirl around, the saloon-style doors swinging between the rooms. “Just what do you think you are up to?” I accost the air.
It morphs into a trembling green glow. I choke on my own spit. “Look,” I say. “You can’t keep doing this. She’s not your—”
I stop myself.
The glow becomes fully formed. Edgar appears as he did to me briefly in the hallway, head bowed, hands rolled, like a scolded child’s. Slowly, he looks up to me, through glossy eyes.
“What is it?” I say. “Edgar? Edgar!” He disappears into mist. I wave my hand through it. “Edgar, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on!”
“Everything all right in here?” Jules’ head pops through the swinging door.
“Fine. Everything’s fine,” I stutter, my eyes darting about the room, no sight of Edgar, or his mist anywhere. “I was just checking on dessert.” I gulp.
Chapter 19
Jules
Jayden serves me first and then himself, taking an extra helping of cranberry sauce, and gobbling it down, stuffing even more in his mouth to prove the food's safe. I think he's picked up on my apprehension. "Mmmmm!" He chews making a spectacle of the fact that he's swallowing the food.
“Mmmm.” I mimic him, letting him know it’s okay, I got the message.
“So,” I say, starting the conversation out casually. “How’s it going in the new place?”
I’ve decided to try to extract some more pertinent information from him, to help me better gauge the level of danger I might be in. So far, things around here seem pretty normal, except for the odd extremely cold draft. But I suppose that comes with houses of this age, doesn’t it?
“Tell me, what have you been up to?” I lean in. “Anything new happening?” I feel my eye flash on that comment. Way to be obvious, Jules.
“Oh, not much,” he answers, chasing peas around his plate. “Just the usual, unpacking and dealing with a ghostly roommate stuff.”
I laugh at his funny, though it’s not really funny. “Do you see much of him?” I chew. “The ghost, I mean.”
“No, he’s not around often. When he is, you know it.” He eats.
“Oh?”
“And then there’s dealing with the laughter.”
I gulp. “Laughter?”
“Mm-hum. Seems my little friend finds a good many things funny. In particular, anything I do.”
“So, he’s not an angry ghost. He’s more of a prankster, is he?”
“So far, yes,” Jayden says.
A far cry from the reports in the papers.
“So, what do you suppose he wants? Why does he stay here?”
Jayden looks up from his plate. “I don’t know for sure.” He shakes his head. “But I get the feeling I’m gonna find out soon. More foie gras?” He lifts the plate.
“Oh, no. No thank you.” I wave it away. “So, you don’t think he’s dangerous, do you?” My voice sounds timid. I wonder if I should be asking that in mixed company. I glance around the room.
“I think he can be whatever he wants to be,” Jayden answers matter-of-factly. “So far, he’s not choosing to be. If that’s what you’re asking?”
“Good,” I swallow. “I mean, I suppose that’s good for you.”
He nods.
“Anna said something about him tossing you across the room.”
“Yes, there was that.” Jayden swallows.
“But he hasn’t done anything like that since.”
“No. We seem to be communicating better now.”
A cool breeze twists through the room. I’ve shed my jacket and now I’m regretting that move.
“So, all in all, you’re enjoying it here, then?”
Jayden face brightens. “It’s not a bad place.”
Conversation continues to bounce between us like a mad game of ping pong, light and happy and buoyant, now that I’m settled. I can see how this place has grown on him. The light is nice and the rooms are big and cozy, not cramped and stuffy like in our apartment above the bait shop.
Jayden is great company. He’s smart and witty, and just a little bit sharp-tongued, which I think is the thing I like the most about him.
It just might be his best quality. Though he has tons.
What am I saying? It’s like I’m evaluating livestock for purchase or something. Is that what all women do when they’re looking for a mate?
Oh, my gosh. I slap a hand to my mouth. Did I just say, mate?
I'm feeling strange, not at all myself all of a sudden.
I blame the stress from the building. Or the ghost.
“So, no answers yet?” I jump right to the good stuff.
Jayden looks at me perplexed.
“About your heritage, who you are?” I clarify. “Remember, you told me when we were—”
“Right.” He nods.
I take a slug of wine. I’ve clearly made him uncomfortable. I have a knack for doing that to men.
“Not so far,” he finally answers, but that’s all he offers.
“How infuriating,” I add. “Well, maybe soon.” I lean forward onto elbows, clasping hands beneath my chin and lean.
"Yeah." He grins. "I'm convinced it's going to happen." He raises up. "I can feel it in my guts." He taps his belly. "You know how you get that feeling about a place like you're just meant to be there."
“Um-hum.”
“Well, this is number one on my top ten list.” He leans back, relaxed. “And trust me, I’ve been a lot of places.”
“Have you?”
“Um-hum. I’ve been trying to find answers to this puzzle for a very long time.” He takes another healthy slurp of his wine. “It’s only a matter of time now, I’m sure of it.” He glances at the ceiling, and I track his gaze trying to see what he’s looking at.
"And that's the only reason you came to this town? To find out that information," I propose, feeling sly.
“The only reason initially, yes. Why, isn’t it good enough?”
“I suppose.” I giggle, throaty-like. Actually, that was a test to see if you’d lie to me again.
"What?" he says when I can't stop admiring him.
“Nothing.” I giggle more. The wine must be getting to me. We shouldn’t have opened it. “So, what’ll you do, when you find out what you’ve come for?” I run a provocative finger around the rim of my wine glass.
“I dunno,” he says, cautiously, gazing at me across the table through the candlelight. He’s lit a full candelabra. Their wicks licking and hissing the darkness between us. He looks particularly stunning by candle light. Sizzling hot, in fact. I could almost drag him into the next room and…
Oh, my, there my mind goes again.
I fan myself.
“Go back to work, I suppose.” He downs the remainder of his wine. “Unless of course, I'm persuaded otherwise." He lifts a sensual eyebrow, and I think about dragging him away all over again.
“Work. You never did tell me what you do for a living.” I sip on my wine. “Presuming ghost hunting isn’t your only occupation.” I cradle the glass’s bowl in my hands.
“No, it’s not.” He slides back in his chair.
I hope he can’t see the relief in my eyes.
“I’m actually a journalist by trade.”
“Are you?” I let my lips brush my glass, and I can see that it drives him wild.
“Perhaps we should retire to the parlor for tea,” he says.
“Retire to the parlor?” I screw up my face. “Who are you, now?”
Chapter 20
Jayden
Good question.
I shudder like I’ve momentarily shed my own skin. It’s a very strange sensation, like I’ve dropped out of it and someone else has dropped in. Even my tongue feels foreign and strange. I flick it in and out of my mouth, trying to work th
e stiffness out of it.
“Are you okay?” Jules stares
“Yeah.” The word comes out hollow. I’m still working my tongue around my mouth. “I am, it’s just… I’m experiencing some weirdness, you know? It might be the wine.” I put my glass down. “Anyway, shall we go?” I jerk a thumb toward the hallway. “Try a new room.” Referring to the parlor. “I’ve got so many of them, we should at least give them a test drive.”
Oh, that came out bad. I hope she doesn’t think I mean—
"I'd love to." Jules flashes her eyes at me. She drops her napkin into her lap and snaps to a stand, her long, shapely legs stretching out from under the table.
“Allow me.” I shoot forward around the table to help her out of her chair before she’s had the chance to fully rise. Again, I’m feeling strangely struck by old-world debonair. Edgar, again.
I move back her chair and our hands touch in an almost manifested way this time, as she moves from it. If I wasn't so taken with warmth of her skin, I would stretch my eyes to the ceiling, and curse.
A monitor in the corner goes off. Just a slight bleep, but both our heads crank toward it.
“What was that?” Jules looks alarmed. All lust has left her eyes.
“Nothing. Just a blip,” I bite my lip, hoping she’s not catching onto my lies. I need to get on with the questions. The list Edgar surreptitiously fed to me, subliminally in my sleep last night. The list he insisted I get the answers to, right after super. Or he’ll never give me mine.
Jules recoils from our touch and the monitor light on a second meter flashes. Edgar has joined us in the new room. In fact, he's more present than ever. His presence seems to be growing stronger and stronger the closer I get to Jules.
It must be what he wants. He wants us to be close, and I have no problem accommodating his wishes, but if he keeps jumping into the picture this way, he’s gonna drive her off.
“So,” I say, dropping down in a chair, dust enveloping me. The new coverlets aren’t cutting it. Everything about this building smells like something’s died in here. Maybe that’s because someone did die here.
The thought scuttles through my bones.
Jules graces the chair next to me, sitting uneasily on the cushion’s edge like the chair is made of pins or something.
“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself,” I say. “We’ve been talking too much about me.”
Rule number one on a date: Don’t talk too much about yourself.
Guess I’ve failed that miserably.
I rise and head over to the tea caddy, as Jules searches for her words, back in her chair.
"About myself?" Her brow furrows. She looks taxed like I've just asked her to open Fort Knox. The Fort Knox of her soul.
“Yes, you know… just something about yourself. Something I don’t know.” I realize what I’ve done the second I’ve said it. She already suspects me of researching her. I’ve got to win back her trust. “Doesn’t have to be big, just,” I shrug. “You know, just something?”
I hesitate, hanging around the tea urn, making it look like I’m waiting for the hot water to brew, trying to cover up the fact it’s already been made and waiting for us by you know who.
I check my palm for specifics. I scribbled down the list of questions Edgar insisted I extract from her, on the inside of my hand in ink. Number one, ask her how she got here.
“I guess, I could say I like to make things,” Jules says after much thought.
“What kind of things?” I press, not really caring ’cause I’ve got to get on to the questions that matter.
“Dresses, specifically.” She rolls her hands like she’s almost embarrassed to admit that. This is truly a painful process for her.
“What kinds of dresses?” I pour out the tea.
“W-wedding dress,” she murmurs into a hand, so I don’t quite catch what she says.
“What was that?”
“Ahem.” She clears her throat. “I said, wedding—”
“Wedding what?”
“Dresses.” Her voice cracks. “I’m a designer. I make wedding dresses.” She sounds like a drunk at the front of AA stumbling through her introduction.
“Cool,” I say.
“Oh, good.” She raises a hand to her chest. “I’d thought you’d think it was weird.”
“Why?” I scowl.
“Oh, I dunno, cause you’re a guy.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I just mean, some guys might find that intimidating. You know, a chick that’s so into weddings.”
“I’m kind of into weddings, myself.” I grin. “Sugar?” I turn to her.
“No thank you.”
“Cream?”
“A titch.” She wrinkles her nose when she says it, which is so danged cute. I turn back to the tea—it’s already made. Of course. I look up at the ceiling and down at my hands. What’s happening here is not normal. Even in the grand scheme of ghost chasing, I’ve never had one be so helpful.
I pick up the steaming hot cups and travel back to my chair, offering Jules the prettier adorned saucer. “So, how many dresses have you made?” I plop down and lean back in my chair.
“Oh, about a dozen.”
“And for whom?”
“I beg your pardon.” She blinks.
“Who do you sell your dresses to?” I slurp my tea. Her modesty is unbelievable.
“I haven’t yet.” She looks away.
“But you’re a designer. An up and coming one.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“All right, I will.” I smile. “How long have you been designing dresses?”
“Since I was ten—”
“Ten? You’ve known what you wanted to be since you were ten years old?” I suddenly feel very stupid. “Wow, that’s pretty amazing.” I sip on my tea. And I still don’t have a solid direction pinned down.
Jules blushes like I’ve just paid her the greatest compliment ever. She wriggles uncomfortably in her seat.
“I’d like to see one of your dresses.”
“You would?”
“Of course! Why not?”
“I dunno.” She plays with her hem of her skirt. “I just didn’t figure most guys were into that.”
“Yeah. Well, most guys are dumb.” I raise my pinkie finger.
“Hm.” She laughs. “I’d have to agree with that.” She sips her tea. “And, what about you?” Her wide, round eyes rise slowly from her tea, peering out from under sultry half-mast lids. “What don’t I know about you, that you haven’t told me?”
The question is loaded for bear, not only with sentiment but with seduction. She does that thing again where she rolls her tongue over her bottom lip, and I feel its impact in my pants. The movement drives me wild.
Okay. Let’s figure out the long-term implications if I end up in bed with this girl tonight.
A) I get to sleep with her
B) I get to sleep with her.
C) I get to find out what else is under that slinky, sexy dress.
And D) When she finds out what I’m really doing here in Heartland, she’ll probably never speak to me again.
So, I guess the real question is, do I want her, or do I want her.
Like, now, or long term. I drum my fingers on the arm of the chair.
Wait a minute. This wasn’t supposed to be my interrogation, not mine. I need to expose her secrets, not my own.
Dabbit, that sensuality of hers.
An uncomfortable current ripples beneath my skin. “Oh, I don’t know.” I avoid the question, stirring the cream around in my tea.
"Oh, come on, there must be something you can share with me," she pries tilting her head precociously.
I’m starting to wonder if Edgar has a list for her, too.
Or whether she’s after something else.
Her thick, dark lashes bat as I look up from my cup. The gleam of her gaze is intoxicating. I feel my cheeks reddening, as she bites on her lip, the gloss sticki
ng to her teeth.
That’s it, I’m taking her upstairs.
The ceiling groans in response to my thought.
Jules shoots forward, chin lifted, firm, round breasts peeking out over the severely cut neckline of her gorgeous dress, and every cell in my body is attuned to her vibration.
I need to get these questions over with. And quick. I’m not going to be able to hold out much longer. I can’t make a move on her until all the questions are answered.
For goodness sakes, mate, you’ve only just met her!
“Did you hear that?” she asks, settling back in her chair, her movements slow and enticing. Everything about her is enticing.
I can’t take my eyes off of her. Face, chest, face, chest.
I feel like such a voyeur. This is worse than when I was standing in the street the other day, peering up at her in the window.
There’s just something about her I can’t leave alone.
I long to touch that skin. My eyes trace over the lines of her tattoos again, following the intricate artwork up her arm, around her shoulder, across her chest, to the base of her other ear. I have the urge to press my lips to her lobe and nibble it down. The urge is so strong, I can barely control it.
I cross my legs in a haphazard attempt to stop what’s begun to throb there. I need to move. I need to change the subject in my head. Quick. Before I charge across this room and have my way with her.
I close my eyes and envision the two of us heavy in the throes of passion… but it’s not me in the picture—it’s Edgar’s face in the frame.
“Would you like to dance?” I spring to my feet.
Oh, s’mores, that's not gonna help matters.
“I’d love to.” Jules shifts forward, exposing a generous portion of her thigh below her skirt when she does. My eyes fix on that part of her skin, light and creamy, spackled in lovely, salmon freckles. I feel as though I've touched them before. I've run my hands over them.
All number of feelings inside me become unhinged.
Oh, my gosh, what’s going on here.
The cool breeze drifts back between us, sauntering slowly through the room. It sweeps past the curtains, causing them to dance, then ruffling the ends of Jules’ severely cut bob. The tendrils of her hair flit back from her cheeks, like a finger tussling through it.
