Haunt Me (9 page)

She rolled onto her side and stared up at him. “Guys like you don’t really exist.”

“No?” He pulled the comforter up to her chin and tapped her nose with his index finger. “Then maybe you’re conjuring me out of that wicked writer’s brain. Go to sleep, Mac.”

Thunder stampeded over the sky and rattled the house as he reached for the bedside lamp.

“Don’t,” she begged. The last thing she wanted was to be in the dark again.

Justin frowned. “You’re safe here, Mac. The hall lights will be on…”

“I’d rather leave this one on, too. Please.” Could she get any more lame? She sucked her lower lip between her teeth. It wasn’t the absence of light that scared her, it was what her imagination could conjure up in the dark. The bloodcurdling screams and cold sweat drenching her body from the nightmares that had woken her up all throughout her childhood were things to avoid. Given that the nightmares had started again, she didn’t want to set herself up to trigger another.

A frown etched lines across Justin’s forehead. He squatted down next to the bed, bringing his face eye level to hers. “Would it help if I stay here until you go to sleep?”

“I’m not a baby.” She couldn’t quite keep the note of petulance out of her voice as she buried her face in the blanket. “Even if I sound like I’m five.”

He chuckled and smoothed a hand over the back of her head. “You had a scare. It’s okay to be scared. But we’re both beat and you need to sleep. I’ll lay on the other side of you on top of the blankets until you’re out.”

Peeking at him, she read nothing but genuine sincerity and tiredness in his face. Hell, she’d already dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night to play white knight to her damsel in distress. Hope flared at his offer, doing more for her jangled nerves than being away from Summerfield. She wanted to quash the need for him, stuff it back into the madman’s jack-in-the-box it had popped out of and never address it again.

Strong, independent women weren’t supposed to rely on the big, brawny guy to save them. But if he were there, maybe she could concentrate on that and go to sleep instead of dwelling on what the heck had happened at her house. Her mind couldn’t seem to settle on a rational explanation—the ghost hadn’t really seemed to threaten her before. Could all the weirdness be attributed to a simple problem with the power company, the way Justin thought?

Thunder rumbled again, and she sighed.
Let the man go to bed and stop being such a wimp.
“I’ll be okay.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m right next door, literally this time. Feel free to come climb into bed with me if you need to. I won’t bite.” He winked and rose to leave, pausing at the door to the room. “Unless you ask me nicely.” The playful leer on his face wasn’t remotely sexy and she couldn’t stifle the giggle at the mad way he wagged his eyebrows.

“Let me guess, it’s another guy thing?” The laughter coupled with the playful expression on his face added another layer of bunting between her and the crazy-in-the-dark episode.

“No, that’s a lust thing.” He tapped the wall. “Go to sleep.”

Her amusement evaporated with a pop and she stared after him.
A lust thing?
Heat suffused her face and her pulse rabbited again, only this time it wasn’t from fear. She gazed at the empty doorway a long time after he headed to his room, intensely aware of his nearness.

Sighing, she burrowed into the pillow and listened to the clatter of thunder and the spatter of rain. Yeah, she wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.

…

Mac arose to the rich aroma of dark coffee filtering through the morning air. Rolling onto her back, she stretched and stared at the room in confusion. It didn’t belong to her. Bit by bit, events of the previous night drifted back. She abruptly sat up.

First the ghost had scared the bejesus out of her, then Justin had showed up—and he’d said a
lust
thing. “Oh, hell.” She rubbed a hand over her face and pushed the blankets back.

Sun streamed around the curtains, which told her it was a lot later than she normally slept.
I can’t believe I dragged that man out in the middle of the night…
What had she been thinking?

That was the problem, of course. She hadn’t been. She’d reacted, a bad habit of hers, particularly after night terrors. Living all alone in that house had to be getting to her. If she could put her stamp on it, fix it up, and clear out the debris of Katherine, she could make it feel more like a home and herself less like an interloper.

Annoyed and desperate to claim the coffee she could smell, she hurried into the bathroom. One look at mirror made her grimace. Her dark auburn hair stuck up in all the wrong places. She had a pillow imprint on her cheek. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her clothes could have been washed by being beaten against a rock. What must Justin have thought of her when he arrived at Summerfield in the dead of the night?

Glancing at the sink, she was surprised to find an unopened toothbrush, travel toothpaste still in the box, a fresh box of soap, and linens. The marble vanity in front of the mirror was exquisite, as was the porcelain sink. Bit by bit, she absorbed the rest of her surroundings. The claw-footed bathtub stretched across one side of the bathroom, the other side featured a toilet tucked away in an elegant water closet and a double-wide shower.

This glorious temple to hedonism would have taken up half of her old apartment, easily.
Who is this guy? Who owns a house like this and works the way he does?
Despite the crew he mentioned now and again, he’d done all of the work at her house on his own. He brought in any equipment in his truck, did the repairs with his hands, and got as down and dirty as any construction worker on the job.

And he lives in this palace…
Reconciling the disparate sides of the man seemed impossible. She didn’t possess enough information.
I don’t really know all that much about him.

She’d initially resisted his assistance because he’d been a stranger, but she couldn’t make that argument anymore. He’d chipped away at her reserves so gradually, she’d granted him a place in her life.

A place that included him being her phone call when she needed help in the middle of the night.

How the hell did I let this happen?
Or, the better question:
Why didn’t I even realize it was happening?

Twenty minutes later, clean and refreshed from the best shower in weeks, although still wearing the shorts and tank she’d arrived in the night before, she headed downstairs.

The aroma of coffee increased and drew her on. Light flooded the place, coming through windows close to the ceiling. French paned double doors opened onto a wide veranda. Justin’s place was a veritable mansion. She couldn’t quite reconcile the image of a caretaker living in this house while the main family lived in her far smaller house on the hill. How strange.

In the kitchen, Justin stood at the stove, cooking up bacon. The crisp scent of the meat added another layer of torture to the scent of the coffee. She needed both—
now
. Toast popped up with a clip and Justin cracked some eggs into a pan. He wore jeans and a T-shirt—his customary go-to clothes—and his bare feet stood out as his only concession to relaxing at home. He paused now and then to sip from an oversize mug of coffee.

It was so very…domestic.
And he looks so very good doing it.

Folding her arms and clearing her throat, she summoned up a smile when he glanced her way. “Good morning.”

“It’s more like good afternoon.” The corner of his mouth twitched. He nodded to a wall clock. “Which it will be in about three minutes.”

“Then technically it’s still morning, so it still counts.”
Nearly noon?
It had been two in the morning when he’d fetched her from her plantation of horrors. She’d been out for ten hours straight.
The last time I did that was…never.

“I heard the shower go on, so I’m making breakfast, as promised. Coffee’s right over there.” He pointed with the spatula. “Help yourself and have a seat. We’re almost ready to eat.”

She felt as awkward as a teenager. Should she address the lust line he’d given her last night? Should she leave it alone? Did she
want
to ask him about it? For the moment, she settled on, “Thank you for coming to get me last night. I’m sorry that I was so ridiculous about it all.”

“The power going out can be scary. It wasn’t a problem.” He waved off her gratitude. “Feel better after sleeping?”

“Much.” She edged around him, but wasn’t quite ready for the brush of his hand on her hip. Tingles shot through her body, and she focused on pouring a cup of coffee and
not
staring at the way the muscles on his arms rippled with every controlled action. The domestic setting did nothing to diminish masculinity—hell, if anything, she was more aware of him now than ever. Need practically crawled under her skin, although the last thing she needed was a romantic entanglement. But everything about Justin Kent was so damn inviting.

Still cradling the mug, she followed him over to the round oak table tucked into a bank of windows overlooking a lovely garden. She stared outside, struck by the overwhelmingly pristine nature of his house and the surrounding landscaping. Perfect man. Perfect house. So what was wrong with the picture?

Justin sat down across from her after retrieving his coffee. “You okay?”

Setting her mug down, she studied him. “Justin, are you gay?”

Chapter Five

Shock rippled through Justin and he felt his smile freeze. “What?”

Mac’s shoulders lifted, and she sank down into the chair. “I know, it’s a rude and blunt question. But here you are in this gorgeous house—so perfectly decorated—and then there’s you. You’re erudite, polite, you rehab beautiful houses, and you don’t hit on me or offer any kind of crass come-ons when I call you out of the blue in the middle of the night. You’re so damn perfect…”

Uncertain of whether he was supposed to be offended or complimented, Justin settled for leaning back in his chair and studying the mercurial emotions racing across her expression. She’d been so fragile when he arrived at Summerfield the night before, like translucent fabric stretched too thin. One wrong move and she likely would have shattered. He’d seen that kind of exhaustion before, when life nibbled away at everything that made it worth living. Mac seemed like the kind of woman who expected the hits at this point—and that bothered him. A lot.

“Hasn’t anyone just been nice to you?” he asked.

“Truth be told, people are only nice for two reasons—because they want something or because they think I can do something for them.”

Mac’s words hit him like a solid punch to the stomach and took him back to the day he’d met her. The barely contained hostility and outright rejection she’d had of his intentions—she hadn’t known him then. Of course, her accusation wasn’t far from the mark—then. He’d hoped she thought more of him now, but then it was hard to be offended by truth. Hadn’t he originally set out to befriend her to get her cooperation for the town?

And yet somewhere his desires had changed. Did he still want the house? Yes, but the woman intrigued him a hell of a lot more than the town’s personal pet project.

In fact, he’d ducked out of two Founder’s meetings to avoid questions about Mac or his plans for the town, and he’d pushed ahead on a property buy on the opposite side of Penny Hollow—for an estate with a considerably less colorful history than Summerfield, but it would do for the town’s plans. So did the town really need to buy it, or even borrow it on the weekends for tours? Once the plans for Penny Hollow were in place, he could finish it all up and get back to his life. Leave the Caretaker’s Cottage empty and go back to his life elsewhere. Outside Penny Hollow.

Yet another great reason to not be involved or even offended by her supposition—he was leaving. His gut tightened at the idea.

“Sometimes people can just be friendly.”

Mac dropped her gaze to the plate and picked up her fork. “No. They can’t.”

“Who screwed you up so bad?” he asked. Clint had mentioned he’d heard her divorce had been ugly.

She avoided eye contact and selected a piece of toast. “Who says someone had to screw me up?”

“You think a guy who is nice to you, who doesn’t try to get into your pants, and who has a nice house is gay. So yeah, I’m thinking someone had to screw you up to make you think people can’t be nice.” And yes, if he were honest, the accusation stung, but her behavior set off alarm bells. If Jock pulled away like that, avoided eye contact…

Maybe he didn’t know Mac as well as he did his sister, but he had gotten to know her over the last few weeks. Keeping his hormones in check while building a friendship and trying to include her in the town’s plans had been a win-win for everyone involved. He now knew her enough to like her. And enough to know someone had done her wrong.

Color bloomed in her face. She picked up a piece of bacon before she finally glanced at him. “I think I insulted you.”

He could tease her, or he could let her off the hook. Delaying making a choice, he cut into his eggs and ate a mouthful. Maybe he should take a closer look at his motivations. Canceling his morning meetings to hang out and wait for her to wake, and pacing the house until he heard the shower, had both demonstrated a remarkable level of involvement on his part.

When she’d called the night before, he hadn’t thought twice before racing to her side. She’d sounded terrified. Besides, she’d called
him
.

“Justin,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. Apparently I suck at this whole being friends business.”

“I don’t know. I’m still wrapping my brain around the ‘are you gay’ question and why it bothers you that I haven’t, how did you phrase it? ‘Hit on you or offer you any kind of crass come-ons?’” Most of the time he wasn’t shy about letting a woman know he was interested. Mac wasn’t most women. She hadn’t been, not from the first moment he’d met her.

“It doesn’t bother me that you haven’t really come on to me.” Her protest sounded pretty flimsy, but the way her gaze slid away from his intrigued him.

“You going to tell me his name now?” He figured the person who’d caused the shadows in her eyes had to be her ex. It pissed him off to see her messed up.

“I think giving him a name gives him power, so I call him the ex-douche.”

The blunt answer both surprised and delighted him. He picked up a piece of bacon, crunched it, and motioned for her to continue.

The stiffness in her shoulders eased and she leaned back in the chair. “I got married in college to
that
guy. You know, the one you take home and your parents adore?” She shook her head slowly and cracked the yolks on her fried eggs, mopping up the mess with a piece of toast. “He said all the right things, did all the right things, and for a short time it was fun. But somewhere between then and now, I learned he wasn’t the guy I thought I married.”

Washing down his bite with a swallow of coffee, he waited for her to go on, but her silence dragged. “How so?”

“I don’t know. I can’t even put my finger on when it happened. I’ve been writing for years. I’m lucky—I was working a day job and writing at night and he always seemed so supportive. Maybe too supportive.”

Justin lifted his brows. Too supportive seemed to fly in the face of her behavior, but he waited a beat.

“It sounds weird to say that, but when someone wants you to do something for their benefit and not yours, it becomes strange. Don’t get me wrong, I loved writing, but Kevin—Kevin made sure I spent all my time writing. He’d insist that I write and would leave me alone in the house so he wouldn’t ‘distract’ me. He took everything—plans, calendars, contract negotiations, finances—so I could focus on the work.”

It didn’t sound too bad, yet the implicit “but” hung out there. “I’m going to guess his reasons weren’t altruistic.”

“My books were selling and I was making money, and instead of making my life easier, writing became difficult. Kevin pushed me to publish more and more. I thought I was making enough to quit the day job, but he always said ‘one more book, and we’re there. One more big sale.’” She nudged her plate away and drained her coffee.

This was the most open she’d been since they met, and yet his stomach tightened. Something had happened. But how bad had that something been?

She cradled her coffee mug between her palms. “So, I decided one day everything needed to change. I wasn’t happy and I couldn’t pretend that it was all normal anymore. I was exhausted, burning the candle on both ends… I went home, intending to make a new plan, get a jump-start on the life I really wanted. Idealistic maybe—I didn’t know about the money issue yet, but funnily enough the money wasn’t the worst thing he did.”

Justin winced. The wry, cynical pain in her voice couldn’t be mistaken for anything but betrayal.

“Apparently, he’d had plans for a really long time. My taking charge wasn’t one of them—He had a lot of affairs, a
lot
of them. I walked in and caught him and his current fling. Oddly, I wasn’t hurt. He packed her out the door pretty quick, and then the accusations started.” She swallowed. “I made the mistake of arguing and he hit me. It was the one time, and it was the last time. The real hurt came later when I realized he’d mired us in about two hundred thousand dollars worth of debt and I was broke as hell.”

Even expecting the bleakness of the story, he flinched for her.

“We’re divorced, but I’m still liable for a good chunk of his debt, and he gets a portion of my royalties thanks to the contracts
he
negotiated. I paid down as much of the debt as I could, but it left me barely being able to make rent.”

“Then your great-aunt passed away.” The pieces had fallen into place. No wonder Mac steadfastly refused to sell. Summerfield had become her refuge.

“Kind of sounds dark to be grateful to a woman you barely remember, but it was like the answer to everything—a real chance to start over. To get away from the humiliation… I hadn’t written in months. It was like all the ideas had dried up, and since I was fully and officially divorced, Kevin couldn’t touch my inheritance. I remember the attorney kept telling me there wasn’t much money, just the house…but that house is everything.” She lifted her shoulders and wiped at her eyes. “It’s my real second chance.”

Justin’s knuckles turned white against the cup. She would never sell Summerfield. Even if he talked her into helping the town, he recognized a true need when he saw one. Frankly, after that story, he didn’t think he could justify asking her to sell. But what he could do was show her how much fun Penny Hollow could be, how being involved could help her rebuild and give her people that would care about her. Hell, to be perfectly honest, as interfering as they all were, the folks of Penny Hollow did rally when people needed help.

Mac needed them more than they needed her.

Jock would have a stroke and the Founders wouldn’t be much better—but this was about Mac, not them. He’d find another way to satisfy his father’s will.

“Okay, then,” he said, smiling, “you can go with me to the Firefly Festival on Friday. The three-day event straddles Labor Day weekend. The locals take it seriously.” The town’s near-pagan devotion to festivals every six- to- eight weeks had endured for nearly two centuries. At each festival, everyone was expected to make an appearance—he’d been weaned on that lesson.

“What do they do?”

“Big party outside, after sundown. Dancing, firelight, good food—pretty much it’s an excuse to drink and have a good time.” He leaned forward and laid his hand over hers. “Also, it’s a great opportunity for a first date. A real one, since you didn’t count our meal at the Penny Hollow Diner as a date.”

“Oh.” She stared at him.

“And if you need me to put all the words on the page for you, I’m definitely interested.” Something inside him unlocked with the words. He’d been fighting this attraction from day one, categorically pushing it away because he didn’t need a romantic entanglement.

“Oh,” she repeated.

He stood, still holding her hand, and tugged her from her seat. Maybe it was true, maybe he didn’t need the complication—but damn, he wanted to be involved. “Just in case you still have doubts…”

He gave into the urge he’d had since the first time he watched her tongue moisten her sweet, pink lips. Pulling her closer, he dipped his head. Mac’s free hand came to rest against his chest. He gave her time to absorb his intentions before slanting his mouth across hers and whispering the barest of brushes, a kiss that wasn’t a kiss.

And yet, the moment her lips parted, he covered her mouth with his. The teasing, lightness of the gesture went up in flames. Fire licked his skin and awareness raged through his blood like a match lit to gunpowder. Coaxing access with his tongue, he groaned as she opened her mouth wider and crept her hand up from his chest to lock against the back of his neck.

A rational voice in his head murmured his point had been made but got drowned out by the desire to explore the rest of her. He couldn’t stop the low growl in his chest as she flattened against him, and his arousal made itself painfully known. At the first hint of her resistance he let her go, albeit with great reluctance.

“So,” he exhaled, still marveling at her wild flavor on his tongue. “You and me. Friday night.”

“Um…yeah.” She pressed two fingers to her lips and took another step back from him. “Friday sounds great.”

He nodded and sucked in another gulp of oxygen. “Give me a minute, then we’ll head back over to your place and fix up those lights so they don’t give you any more problems.” Not giving her a chance to respond, he turned and marched out of the room.

He needed to get his body’s raging demands back under control, or they wouldn’t be going anywhere but his bedroom.

If they made it that far.

…

Fortunately, they didn’t discuss the kiss when he returned downstairs, but at least Mac still spoke to him without too much awkwardness. He filled a cooler with ice, then added water bottles and some sandwiches. Since he would be at Summerfield anyway, he planned to finish unearthing the gazebo. He felt the weight of Mac’s gaze on the short drive back to her place, and when he glanced at her, she wore a smile. It made him want to kiss her all over again. But he had an electrical problem to fix first. He followed Mac up the steps and into the house, heading to the kitchen.

“Okay, so let’s check the power first and see where we might have a short.” He flipped the light switch down and then back up. The light turned on, and Mac glared up at it.

“It wasn’t working last night. I mean it was, but then it went out.” Impatience crept through her voice.

He patted her shoulder as he brushed past her and headed for the hall. “I believe you. I was here, remember?” It had been black as pitch when he’d arrived. If not for the work flashlight he kept in the truck, he doubted he could have found her in the dark. “Go work on your book.”

He tossed the advice easily enough. She hadn’t told him what she was writing about, but he hadn’t missed the gleam in her eyes earlier when she said she’d been writing like crazy since moving here or the happiness in her voice. He wanted to encourage her to pursue her joy.