Better Homes and Hauntings (30 page)

“This is great,” he said, placing the frame right next to his laptop. “Really, it’s one of the most thoughtful presents I’ve ever received. Thanks very much.”

Nina beamed at him, making his chest ache.

“Now, what was the second thing?”

Her grip around his wrist was unexpected and quite strong. “Well, Deacon, I’m going to lure you out so you can get some fresh air. You’ve been in here all day, after being in here all day yesterday. It’s not healthy.”

“That’s very sweet, but I have a lot of work to do. My unanswered e-mail count for the day is now in the triple digits.”

“Deacon, get out of the chair.”

“Did Dotty send you?” he asked, eyes narrowed as she pulled him away from his desk.

“No, human decency and concern for my employer sent me.”

“I have work I need to do,” he said, even though he didn’t resist as she pulled him through the rooms of the house to the back door.

She paused outside of the silver pantry, near the kitchen, where they could hear Anthony’s workers installing new appliances and kitchen counters.

“But it’s raining,” he protested.

She tugged on his hand. “It’s misting. The real rain won’t settle in until this afternoon.” When he groaned, she planted her hands on her hips. “OK, Deacon, I didn’t want to resort to this, but I took your cell phone earlier and hid it somewhere on the property.”

He gasped, patting his pockets for his phone, which was indeed missing. How had she managed to walk into his office, take his phone
from his pocket
, and walk out without him noticing? Jake was right. He did have tunnel vision when he was working. “You
wouldn’t
.”

“I would.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did,” she said, completely unrepentant. And darned if she didn’t look cute when she was all pleased with herself for phone thievery. “Come on.”

“Wait,” he said, pulling on her hard enough to make her stumble back into him. He absently patted his shirt and pants pockets, pulling out a mini-tablet, an iPod, an e-reader, and a backup cell phone.

She stared at him, her expression blank.

“Don’t start,” he warned her. “Lead the way.”

She led, but every few seconds, she checked over her shoulder to make sure he was still following. Had she always been so unsure of herself? Or was this some sort of by-product of being stalked and then trapped on Spooky Island? Deacon tried to imagine her as a take-charge, ball-busting type, and it turned his stomach. He wouldn’t mind seeing her being more comfortable or even more assertive. But Nina was not made for passive-aggressive snipes or cold stares.

He could see Nina living a quiet life, sleeping late on Sundays, and taking her dog for walks to her favorite coffee shop, because the dog—Max, he was sure the dog would be named Max—and Nina were just so adorable that the baristas didn’t care if they loitered at an outside table, nursing a latte for two hours.

OK, when he started naming imaginary dogs, it was time to find something else to think about.

To his surprise, she didn’t lead him outside but through the kitchen, down the hall, toward the solarium. She pressed a panel button outside the frosted-glass door, which hissed as it opened, revealing an indoor paradise. Somehow, Nina had brought a tranquil, fragrant garden inside the once-decrepit space. The sweet, delicate scent of lemon blossoms covered the green tang of turned earth and new growth. The walls were lined with several levels of slate-gray volcanic rock, building up to a waterfall that gently fed the sunken koi pond taking up nearly a third of the room. The tiled floor was now covered in sea lavender, with stepping stones that created a path through the greenery and across the pond. Meyer lemon trees blossomed in the corners,
sending the occasional white and yellow bloom floating across the room. And in the center of the wall was a bright red button labeled “Ninja Death Squad.”

“Now, I didn’t go full Asian Modern,” she said. “I tried to stay close to the theme of the house, Mediterranean Coastal, while keeping with Catherine’s original intention of bringing a bit of the beach into the house. The koi pond is supposed to help you imagine the ocean.”

Beyond the white canvas hammock swinging lazily in the corner by the window, the only seating was a double lounge inside an alcove of rock. This was not an entertaining room. This was a retreat, a place where Deacon could hide away. Nina plucked a remote from a side table near the lounge and pushed a few buttons, playing soft flute music. She smiled, almost shy, gesturing around the room with an expectant gesture.

“I thought we were going outside for fresh air,” he said, teasing her.

“Technically, the air is fresh,” Nina said. “Anthony helped me set up a special reverse-osmosis ventilation system that circulates outside air into the room while regulating temperature and preventing condensation issues, mold, that sort of thing. The whole room is basically a self-contained ecosystem.”

“You’re trying to appeal to the science nerd in me, aren’t you?”

“Shamelessly,” she said, winking at him. “And as one final, utterly brazen ploy to capture your inner mad scientist . . .” Nina punched a few more buttons. “Instead of boring old sprinklers, you get simulated rain showers.”

Deacon felt the mist before he saw it. He looked up to see the tiny sprayers lining the casement between the ceiling and the windows, blowing out a steady drizzling rain. He chuckled, rubbing his rain-slick fingers together. “Shameless,” he told her. “This is beautiful, Nina. Really, it’s incredible. I can’t believe it’s the same room.”

“It’s what I do,” she said. “I just pictured what sort of garden Tony Stark would have wanted and went from there.”

“See, that’s not fair.” He sighed, watching as the tiny droplets clung to her silky red hair, giving it an otherworldly shimmer as she moved. “You can’t just drop comic-book references on me like that and expect me to behave in a professional, rational manner.”

“I always depend on you to behave in a professional, rational manner,” she retorted, stepping back onto the sea grass. Her sneaker slipped on the greenery, and she almost lost her footing.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, snaking his hands under her elbows and keeping her upright. “This is what happens when you walk around in the rain!”

“Haven’t you ever just walked in the rain before?”

“I will not dance in the rain with you like some hippie,” he said, laughing. “If you want Burning Man dance circles, go see Dot—”

She grabbed his face between her palms and kissed him. “Don’t call me a hippie, Whitney.”

HIS THUMB TRACED
the line of her mouth. The rainwater was cool between her lips. Deacon’s slim, elegant hands reached for her; they grasped her upper arms, pulling her close as his lips wandered up her skin.

Nina relaxed against him, shivering as his hands slid over her damp clothes. His mouth tasted like red licorice and some deep, dark flavor that should be added to everything.
Everything.

“Deac—”

He took advantage of her opening mouth, sliding his tongue past her lips to play with hers. His long, deft fingers plucked at her plain cotton shirt, tweaking her sensitive nipples through her bra. She moaned softly, dragging her hands through his dark, curly hair. His hands slid to her hips, pulling her against him. She could feel the stiff weight of him pressed against her belly. He gently pushed her back, against the wall, where he could hold her between his thighs and the stones.

“Is this us?” she whispered against his lips. “Are you kissing me, or is there someone else there?”

“Please,” he whispered, rocking her against his thigh.

She groaned, relishing the opportunity to kiss him again. “We shouldn’t,” she said, panting. “Not here.”

“Why not?” He grinned down at her.

“Grass stains.” She giggled, leading him to the partially covered lounge. She pushed a few more buttons, locking the door but not shutting off the indoor rain shower.

The real atmospheric rain was beating out a musical patter on the windowpane as he lowered her to the cushion. She sighed, shimmying out of her wet, uncooperative shorts and tossing the rest of her clothes to the floor. He followed suit, his long, lean limbs twining around her as he rolled her back against the cushion.

Deacon trailed his lips down her collarbone, between
her breasts, ghosting them over her stomach before pressing a light bite to each hip bone. He worked his way back up, teasing her nipples into pale pink peaks.

“This is us,” Deacon told her, brushing the damp crimson hair back from her face. “Just Deacon and Nina. No one else.”

She nodded. “Just us.”

And with that, he pressed inside her, stretching her with a lovely, aching tension that she’d missed in all those months alone. They moved their hips in time, the roll of raindrops spattering against the windowpane providing a pleasant cover for the squeaking frame of the lounge. She smiled against his shoulder, hardly believing her boldness, ending up in bed with her boss on a Tuesday afternoon.

They continued, unaware of the dark, angry figure outside the wall of windows, watching with clenched fists.

RELOCATED, SHOWERED, AND
curled against Deacon in her own bed, Nina dreamed. She was in the familiar maids’ quarters again. She looked down and saw with relief that she was wearing the distinctive Whitney ring on her finger as she made the bed. She bent over the far corner of the mattress, tucking the sheet tightly. And when she rose up, she felt a large hand slide down the small of her back and give her backside a pinch. She squealed, and the man’s other hand clapped around her mouth, pressing her back against his chest.

“Well, look at what I found here,” a warm male voice whispered against her ear. “A pretty piece of skirt already bent over the bed.”

A thrill of fear rippled up her spine as large, warm hands slipped around her hips and pressed her bum against a solid male frame. Teeth closed gently over her earlobe, tugging insistently.

She sighed as the mouth moved from her ear to her neck. He paused to nibble at the base of her neck, and she turned to face . . .

The scene changed, and she was standing on the roof, on the widow’s walk, looking out onto the Atlantic, the setting sun making the waves fire with thousands of golden sparks. She sighed, content, as she leaned against the railing.

“This could be our home.”

Deacon was smiling fondly at her, pulling her hands against his chest and kissing her knuckles before pulling her close and planting a much warmer kiss on her mouth. She sighed, turning and relaxing against his hands as they slid over her collarbones and around her neck.

“I built this for you. You don’t have the right to leave.”

The hands around her neck squeezed tight, and Nina turned to find Rick’s sneering face hovering just inches from hers, his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. He was dressed in an old-fashioned starched collar and vest, a golden pocket-watch chain jangling against his waist. The hands around her neck tightened, his thumbs pressing against the hollow of her throat. She wheezed, fighting for air, while he smiled, his mouth stretching into a parody of a skeletal grin. She clawed at his hands, but his grip didn’t relent, squeezing until she thought her lungs would burst.

He laughed as she sank to her knees, dropping a quick
kiss to her forehead as he whispered, “You’ll never leave me, Catherine.”

Nina bolted up in bed, clawing at her throat. Deacon sat up, wrapping his arms around her as she thrashed. Eventually, she relaxed, sobbing against his shoulder as the last of the dream pressure eased from her throat.

“It’s OK,” he promised. “It was just a dream. It wasn’t real.”

He eased her back down against the mattress as her breathing evened out. “Maybe you should get off the island for a while. It might do you some good to rest and relax a bit away from this place,” he suggested, his words so softly spoken against her cheek that it took a second for her to register what he had said. She sat up again, glaring at him through the darkness and whipping the pillow out from under his head. He yelped as she brought the pillow down against his face, ruthlessly whacking him again and again until he ripped the squishy weapon out of her hands.

“If you try to send me away for my own good, I will get one of Dotty’s Tasers and use it on your . . . hard drive,” she growled, glancing down. Deacon’s eyes went wide, and he instinctually covered the equipment in question with the sheet.

“OK, OK, I just thought you might be able to sleep better if ghosts weren’t giving you nightmares!” he exclaimed.

“Well, it’s hardly a romantic gesture.”

“I was going to put you at the Four Seasons with a personal chef, a masseuse, and your own facialist.”

Nina pursed her lips. “Maybe I spoke too soon . . . No. No! You will not tempt me with presidential suites
and shiatsu! I am not leaving. I am not going to leave you here to deal with this alone.” She rolled over him, pressing him to the mattress. “I don’t know who you’ve dealt with in the past, but I’m like a persistent little burr that won’t go away. You will not be able to get rid of me, do you understand?”

“Do nightmares always make you this assertive?” he asked sleepily.

“No.”

He yawned, sweeping her grip off his wrists and gathering her to his chest. He buried his face in her hair and rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Well, that’s too bad. I kind of like it.”

Circles on her back eventually became circles on her ass and then her hips, until he was plunging those long, talented fingers between her thighs, drawing the wet, aching response from her body into a rippling coil of sensation that had her bucking against him.

He kissed her, swallowing her cries to keep them from waking the others down the hall.

“Deacon,” she whimpered against his lips. And he answered by sliding inside her, rolling onto his back, urging her to move over him until she found just the right rhythm. It might have been embarrassing how quickly he could bring her to the edge, but she loved the way she responded to him, the way his eyes lit up when his touch elicited a particularly interesting sound from her lips. Nina wanted him to know how much she enjoyed him. And she did, loudly, giving one last shaky scream as she collapsed against his chest.