Lucian saw Julia before she realized he was standing there. She was in the process of closing the porch doors and her back was to him. He knew she had no idea he was standing there and he also knew he should probably announce his presence, but he remained quiet as sin as he leaned against the doorframe.

It was the first time he was seeing her hair down while it wasn’t wet and clinging to her skin. Her hair was as long as he imagined, reaching down to the middle of her back in messy waves. Her arms were bare; the skin showing was a pale pink. His gaze roamed over the black pants that hugged the curve of her ass. He remembered how she felt pressed against him every damn second of the day.

She appeared to stiffen for a moment and then slowly, she unfolded her arms and she spun around.

Their gazes locked.

Several seconds stretched out between them. Neither of them spoke, and once again, Lucian found himself utterly entranced by the idea of mapping out her features on a board of untouched canvas.

His sister wasn’t the only painter in the family.

But before he could perfectly capture her with paint and brush, he figured he’d need to get up close and personal to really know the curve of her cheek and the line of her jaw. For the sake of art, of course.

“God,” she gasped, finally breaking the silence as she placed her hand against her chest, drawing his avid attention. The material of her shirt did very little to hide those swells or the enticing peaks beneath. “I didn’t even hear you walk in here.”

Closing his eyes at the sound of her voice, he inhaled deeply. Her tone was soft and husky. He would capture the tones in shades of red and brown. Opening his eyes, he dragged his gaze to hers. “Believe it or not, I can be very quiet when I want to be.”

“I can tell.”

“I’m not going to even ask why you’re out of bed,” he said, smiling slightly.

“I thought I heard something,” she said, glancing back at the sleeping Madeline. “I thought I heard someone walking around up here.”

“And did you find anyone walking around?”

Her brows pinched together. “No.”

“I’m not particularly surprised by that.”

A look of confusion flickered across her face. “And why is that?”

“You haven’t heard, Ms. Hughes?”

“Heard what?” she asked after a beat.

“Heard the rumors about this house—about our family?”

One single brow rose as she tilted her chin to the side. “I have no idea where you’re going with any of this, but—”

“They say our house is haunted.” He couldn’t help himself as he continued, “And that our family is cursed. Or it’s the land that is cursed and our family that is haunted? I always get those two confused.”

She stared at him for a moment and then gave a little shake of her head. She didn’t wince this time, so hopefully that meant she was feeling better. “All righty then,” she murmured, and then spoke louder. “I didn’t find anyone walking around, not even a ghost, but the doors to the porch were wide open.”

Well, that was . . . odd. Frowning, he glanced at his sister and then to the door. No one would’ve left that door open. “They were closed when I left her.”

“When you left her?”

He nodded as he pushed away from the doorframe and walked across the room. “I read to her.”

She turned, watching him. “You’re the one reading Harry Potter to her?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?” He opened the closet doors and checked inside, doubting he’d find anything. When she didn’t answer, he glanced over his shoulder at her. She looked adorably dumbfounded. He chuckled. “Actually, why do you look so surprised?”

“I don’t know.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I just didn’t think it was you.”

“You thought it was Gabe?”

Her lips pursed, and when she didn’t answer, he knew why.

“I try to do it every night. Sometimes I can’t,” he explained even though he really didn’t have to as he scoped out the bathroom. “But I think when I read to her it makes her . . . more comfortable.”

“It probably does,” Julia replied after a moment. “It’s always good to do things like that. You should keep doing that.”

Rubbing his palm across his chest, he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Well, no one is hiding in the closet or bathroom, waiting to jump out at us.”

“That’s good to hear,” she remarked, and he grinned at the dryness in her tone. “Would Gabe or Devlin have left the doors open?”

“No.” Facing her, he was dismayed to see that she’d moved closer to the door leading out to the hallway. She was going to leave. There was nothing left to do. Maddie was asleep. It was in the middle of the night and Julia should be sleeping, but he wasn’t ready for her to disappear back into her room. And he was selfish. “They wouldn’t have even come up here to visit her.”

She opened her mouth like she wished to respond, but thought twice. “Well, someone left those doors open.”

“Probably the ghost.” He walked to Madeline’s side and brushed a strand of hair back from her cool cheek. Stopping, he peered up at Madeline. “Or ghosts.”

She rolled her eyes.

His grin returned as he bent down and placed a quick kiss on his sister’s forehead. Rising, he found Julia watching him. “You must be a very light sleeper, Ms. Hughes.”

She blinked rapidly and he’d swore she blushed. “I . . . I wasn’t asleep. And please, stop calling me Ms. Hughes.”

“But what if I like to call you Ms. Hughes?”

Her brows snapped together again. “I guess if you like you can, but . . .”

“But what?” He came around the corner of the bed, heading straight for her, slowing down. He had a feeling she’d bolt if he got too close, too quick.

“But it sounds a little weird.” Her shoulders squared as he took another step. “I’d prefer that you call me Julia.”

“So . . .” He inched closer. “You’d prefer that I was more familiar with you? I like that idea. A lot. Especially since it would make more sense, all things considered.”

An explosion of pink covered the centers of her cheeks. “That’s not what I was suggesting, and it’s really late. I was just—”

“It wasn’t what you were suggesting?” He was about a foot from her now, close enough to see the smattering of freckles under her left eye.

She took a step back. “Absolutely not.”

“That’s a shame.” He moved forward.

“I don’t know why it is.” Her chin lifted again. “Look, we had . . . a brief thing, but you really don’t know me well enough to feel that way.”

He would not call what they had a “thing.” “Well, based on that theology, you don’t know me either, but you assumed that it couldn’t have possibly been me reading to my sister—my twin sister.” He got in close then, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of lingering perfume. Vanilla? “The same sister that I demanded we hire a nurse for? The same sister I traveled all the way to Pennsylvania for the morning after my father died?”

Her lush lips parted on a sharp inhale. A moment passed as she held his stare. “That’s a good point . . . I can’t argue.”

Lucian lowered his chin and his voice. “I am really good at winning arguments.”

The corners of her lips now twitched as if she fought a smile. “I’m sorry about making a snap judgment about you.”

“I have a feeling there’s a ‘but’ in there, Ms. Hughes.”

She took another step back. “You’d be incorrect in that assumption.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, propping his elbow against the doorframe, above her head. “I have this sinking suspicion that you’re lying just to prove me wrong.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And I have this sinking suspicion you have no value for other people’s personal space.”

“I don’t think you had a problem with that before.” He lowered his head toward hers. “But you’d be a hundred percent correct in that assumption.”

“Not something to be entirely proud of.”

“But at least I can admit when you’re correct. Can you admit when I’m correct?”

She drew in a deep breath that raised her shoulders. “Maybe I’m not admitting anything because I’m trying to be polite.”

“Where’s the fun in being polite?”

Her eyes widened as she stared up at him like she was dealing with a five-year-old. “It may not be fun, but since you’re my boss—or one of my bosses—I figure polite is the way to go.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he wondered once more how those lips would feel against his . . . and against other places on his body. “You know what I think?”

“Not really,” she replied wryly.

“I think impolite is way better than polite. You know why?” He plucked up a piece of her hair and ran the strand between his fingers. Soft like cashmere.

She reached up, snagging her hair free from his fingers. “Why?”

“Because people are usually being truthful when they’re being impolite.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “And they’re usually lying when they’re being polite.”

“I don’t think you know a lot of decent people if you really think that.”

“Maybe.” He cocked his head to the side. “Do you know a lot of decent people?”

“Used to,” she muttered, eyeing him warily.

Catching what she was saying or not saying, he chuckled deeply. “Are you suggesting that I’m not decent?”

One delicate brow rose.

“Well, Ms. Hughes, I am rather indecent most of the time.”

A look of surprise shot across her face once more. “Well, I guess acknowledgment is the first step?”

“That’s what they say.”

She flashed a quick smile and then slipped out of the doorway, into the hall. “It was . . . nice chatting with you, but—”

“Why were you awake?” He followed, closing the door to his sister’s bedroom behind him.

Now standing in the middle of the hall, she still had her arms wrapped around her. “I . . . I have a little bit of insomnia.”

“Really? So do I.”

“Oh.” She glanced down the hall. “Is that why you’re awake?”

Partly the reason. Tonight, he’d just been sitting in the small room off of the living area, a space that used to be a large walk-in closet before he converted it into a studio. And all he had been doing was staring at a blank canvas for the last three hours with clean hands and a crowded mind full of thoughts of his so-called father, his brothers and his sister, and of course, of Julia.

Normally when his head got like this, he’d spend the night at the Red Stallion until he found a woman to screw away the troubled thoughts. Except when Gabe told him he was heading there, Lucian had passed on the invite.

It had to be because he didn’t feel right leaving Julia in the house alone after taking such a crack to the head. And he also didn’t want to be gone too long from the home since Stefan had been sniffing around today. Checking on Madeline out of genuine concern? Bullshit.

That’s what he’d been telling himself.

“You know what I find really helps when I can’t fall sleep?” he asked instead of answering.

She looked at him like she was half afraid of his answer.

“There’s this tea Livie has in the kitchen. I believe it has chamomile in it. Always helps me. At least, to just chill out.”

“Oh, chamomile.” She unfolded one arm and tucked a strand of hair back. “That makes sense.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and said, “Also, fucking until sweat covers every inch of your body and you’re near exhaustion also helps. I find that way a lot more fun and indecent way of falling asleep.”

Her mouth moved without sound. “That . . . that is really . . .”

“Inappropriate? Yes. I know.” He winked. “Come on, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“Yeah, that’s not necessary.”

“I know, but I want to. Plus, I’ve gotten really good at making the tea. You’ll be asleep in no time.”

“Thank you, but I think I will just go back to my room.”

He caught and held her gaze. “But I insist, Ms. Hughes.”

Everything about her seemed to freeze as that order hung in the air between them. He could tell she got that it was no longer a request. A good, decent person wouldn’t do what he just did, but Lucian hadn’t been lying when he said he was indecent. He wanted more of her time and he’d used whatever means necessary to get that.

She exhaled roughly. “Just a quick cup of tea.”

“Of course,” he repeated, unapologetically proud of himself. “Just a cup of tea, Ms. Hughes.”

Julia cursed herself the whole way down the stairs to the lower level. How in the world did she allow herself to be coerced into a late, late night cup of tea with Lucian?

And Lucian totally coerced her into doing this. Which out of the possible things she ever feared that an employer would twist her arm into doing, drinking a cup of chamomile was not one of them.

The house was quiet as they made their way toward the kitchen. She was a couple of steps behind his tall frame. The whole way down the three levels, she watched the muscles along his back and spine flex and roll with each step. She hated herself for that, just like she hated herself a little for picturing him earlier, but seriously, he was truly stunning.

Julia couldn’t help it.

Passing the room with an oval table and fancy chairs around it, he pushed open double doors, catching one before it could swing back and smack into her. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to keep moving as he flipped on the overhead lights.

The kitchen was just as ridiculous as she suspected. Larger than half her apartment back home, it had gray cupboards reaching all the way up to the ceiling, stainless steel double ovens and a gas grill, and one of those space-age looking fridges that probably tracked what went in and left it. The countertops looked like white marble with gray veining, the kind of countertops she’d only ever seen on HGTV.

And the kitchen didn’t even look used—oh my God, a new thought struck her. Were they one of those super wealthy families that had, like, two kitchens? One for looks basically and another where the real cooking was done?

Who needed two kitchens?

“Grab a seat,” he said as he crossed the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the slabs of tile covering the floor.

She dragged herself over to one of the bar stools lined up in front of the large island. She pulled out the stool, surprised by how heavy it was. She winced at the horrible scratchy sound it made. She froze and peeked up.

Lucian’s back was still to her as he grabbed a small box out of one of the cabinets.

Sitting, she watched him pick up a kettle out of the cupboard and she almost banged her head off the marble countertop, but the last thing she needed was a second head injury. “You can’t just microwave the water? I’m fine with that.”

“Microwave?” He shook his head like she’d suggested they drink pond water. “You have to do it the correct way. It makes all the difference.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. My methods work.” Filling the kettle up, his lips curved up at the corners as he walked toward the grill top.

That grin.

Goodness.

That was what got her in the bar. There was something teasing and charming, downright sexy and daring about his grin.

She had to look away and ended up staring at the stove top and his hands, which she guessed was better than gawking at his face. He flicked his wrist along the controls and a whoosh of blue flames followed the rapid clicking of the gas igniting.

Because she had no willpower, she lifted her gaze. He was staring right at her as he placed the kettle on the stove, watching her in that intense way she was quickly becoming familiar with.

Did he stare at everyone like that—like he was committing every minute detail to memory?

Thoughts scattered and pieced back together, forming images she tried to block—images of him doing things she really shouldn’t be thinking about.

This was a bad idea. “You really don’t have to go to all this trouble.” Placing her hands on the island, she started to rise. “Besides, I’m feeling sleepy.”

“It’s no trouble.” He came toward the island, and he didn’t just walk. He prowled forward, stopping to stand across the island from her. “And we need to talk.”

“We do?”

“Yeah.” He placed his forearms on the island and leaned in a little. The faint stubble along his jaw seemed to have darkened. As close as he was, she thought his eyes were more blue then green at the moment. “I want to tell you about this land—about us.”

Her brows rose. “About the whole cursed or haunted thing?”

He nodded and the glimmer in his eyes was straight-up devious. “I think if you’re going to be here for a while, you need to know what they say about this house, about us and . . . about the women who come here.”

The women who come here?

Okay.

That sounded like a bucket full of all kinds of wrong.

Julia liked to think she had a healthy curiosity just like any other normal person. And even though the glint to his eyes screamed that he was teasing her, she wanted to know where he was going to go with this.

“All right.” She eased back down, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her palm. “Tell me about the ghosts.”

“You sure?” He bit down on that plump lower lip and slowly let it pop back out. That was cute. Also kind of sexy. Okay, a lot of sexy. “It might scare you.”

She smirked. “It’s not going to scare me.”

His lashes lowered as he brought one hand to the countertop. “Legend goes that only two things can happen to women of the de Vincent family or to women who come here. They either end up . . . unstable.” Tracing a gray vein, he looked up at her. “Or they end up dead.”