five
peyton
I climbed from the car, still fuming over his phone call. Not that it could be called a phone call. He called for the sole purpose of hanging up on me. Who did that? Especially when I was interested in buying his house.
The bucketful of obscenities conjured since his phone call died on my tongue at the sight of the man himself. There was the slightest chance it wasn’t him, but by the arrogant set of his shoulders and the deceivingly careless way he was leaning against the black late model pickup, I knew it was him. An ironic laugh bubbled up my throat because he had been right about one thing. He was definitely not elderly and I had to begrudgingly admit that he was physically every bit as sexy as his voice. Dirty blond hair that was styled but messy; like a woman had just had her fingers running through it. His arms were crossed over his chest; I didn’t allow my gaze to linger on how the cotton of his tee pulled tight over his muscled chest or the straining of the fabric at his biceps; my attention was on the sleeves of tattoos. Swirls of colors and images that drew the eye then held them there as the patterns blended together into a mural that was both exquisitely done and sexy as hell. His lips were twisted in a sardonic grin and contempt stared out of eyes the color of a sapphire, but not a polished stone; rough, uncut and somehow even more magnificent to look at. Wait? What? Shut up, Peyton.
His eyes had been on me, intense and hard, but his focus swept Coda, an assessing survey like a lion might do if a challenger strolled into his pride. With how quickly his focus shifted back to me, he wasn’t concerned. I had intended to call him out and tell him where he could shove his house, but my gaze moved past him to the house, a house that was worth dealing with him.
I hadn’t meant to dismiss him, not really, but the draw of the house, the possibilities that rested under the chipped paint and broken railings, the stories that had yet to be written, was a stronger pull. Stone steps led up to the front door. At one time, there had been gardens. What remained of the climbing roses were gnarled around rusted trellises; weeds had long ago choked out the plants. An old ponderosa-style screen door covered the walnut hand carved one. A beveled glass window, so dirty you couldn’t see through it, softened the hard lines. Trying the knob, it was unlocked. I didn’t ask permission, just stepped over the threshold. My breath froze in my lungs, and my eyes stung. I could argue it was the dust, but it wasn’t. Even in this state, it felt more like home than my apartment. The floors were hardwood, in need of a sanding and staining, but solid. The staircase split, in true Gone with the Wind fashion, curving up to the left and right of the grand foyer. A crystal chandelier hung from the three story high ceiling, and in my head, I could see it lit up, like dripping diamonds, prisms of light sparkling off the faceted stones.
Touches like stone fireplaces and thick crown moldings added elegance and interest. The kitchen was a work of art. Huge. The island was falling apart. Something I’d likely remove, but the pantry was what caught my eye. A step down from the main kitchen, I could envision the butcher’s block, pot rack, glass cabinets filled with bottles and cans, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling.
In the corner of the kitchen was another staircase, one I took all the way to the top, to the door that led out to the widow’s walk. As magnificent as the house was, it paled in comparison to the view. The sea, churning from the storm earlier, white capped and slammed against the rocks of the cliff. Heavy hanging gray clouds reached to the horizon; the sun’s attempts to break through were in vain and still it was the most magnificent sight I’d ever seen. And even with all this beauty, something else lingered, something that brought a chill. Folding my arms to ward it off, I headed back downstairs.
Finding Coda and the reluctant seller wasn’t hard, their deep voices echoed in the large, cavernous space. Mr. Raines’ tone was not the one he took with me. The deep timbre and slow drawl of his voice resonated in places it had no business resonating. I stepped into the kitchen and that hard glare collided with mine as soon as I entered. This I could deal with, but in the back of my mind, I heard the warning. This man is dangerous. I needed to remember that.
“Would you care for a tour, Miss Morgan, I am to presume?”
Those deep blue eyes were hypnotic, think Medusa. Don’t stare directly at him. Focusing on one very nicely defined shoulder, I didn’t answer his question on purpose; childish sure, but I didn’t care. “I’m Peyton Morgan, this is Coda Long—.”
He cut me off. “Yes, Mr. Longfellow and I already became acquainted.”
The not so subtle hit on my manners wasn’t lost on me. He wasn’t wrong though; he might lack manners but that didn’t mean I should. “It’s nice to meet you, and yes, Mr. Raines, I would like that tour.”
He let his gaze drift down my body as he answered, “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Morgan.”
Did he just? No! Staring daggers one minute then checking me out the next. I had to have misread that. It didn’t stop my heart from beating just a little faster though.
Coda’s cell went off, and he glanced at it. “I need to take this. I’ll be outside.” He left me. That was telling. Whatever Coda’s assessment was of Mr. Raines, his first impression was a better one than mine had been.
“Shall we start upstairs?” He waved toward the entry that held the grand staircase.
He had me precede him from the room; his show of gentlemanly manners surprised me. He was definitely not lacking in manners, just choosing not to use them. I tried to ignore the obvious and failed; I guess the same could be said of me. We reached the staircase; it really was magnificent. I didn’t know I intended to ask until I heard the words coming from my mouth. “Did you ever slide down the banister? I would have so totally slid down that banister.”
We ascended, his voice was smooth as he told me, “As a matter of fact, I did. Many times, but my grandmother would tell me if I kept it up, I’d wind up with splinters up my ass.”
I glanced over at him not just because of what he said but how he said it. It was just a glimpse, but maybe there was more to him than I thought. I ran my hand along the banister and knew I’d be sliding down it. I’d likely break a hip, but it would be worth it. Distracted, I asked, “Where’s your grandmother?”
We reached the top of the stairs; he stopped briefly, his body tensed as he answered, “She passed on.”
Of course she was gone. Stupid Peyton. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, but it was a long time ago. Here, let’s start with the master suite.” When the last two words left his mouth, his lips slightly tipped up, and as I passed him through the threshold, he laid a hand to my lower back, guiding me in. I was surprised by the heat stirred from his touch, the same man who not a couple hours earlier inspired a litany of profanity that would impress even the most foul-mouthed sailor. Stepping into the room, I took it in, turning in a circle because it was massive.
“Wow, this is amazing.”
I moved to one door, it was a walk-in closet. Not as big as I’d like. I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud with my thoughts of taking space from the room and making the closet larger until I heard Mr. Raines’ objection.
“Miss Morgan?” I turned to him. He looked to the dusty floor before his eyes came back to mine. “Maybe you’re unaware but this house is a historical site, which means the outside as well as the inside needs to remain as is.”
I hadn’t known that. Another strike for impulsive late night drunk shopping. “I wasn’t aware of that.” I didn’t know the first thing about maintaining a historical home. My first house wasn’t just massive, it was special. I smiled to myself. I liked that it was. “I don’t know anything about historical buildings, but I’ll do some research, the dos and don’ts, and make sure whatever is done is historically accurate.”
His eyes ran down my body, something flashing through them, but before I had a chance to catch it, he scanned the room and mumbled, “I can oversee the project with you, if it makes it easier. The Ogg’s Point council can get fucking picky when restoring the town’s historical homes.”
It took me a minute to respond to his offer because my body was tingling from the sweep he’d done of it. Was it wise to be around this mercurial man longer than I should, especially with how I couldn’t seem to find my balance, running both hot and cold around him? Absolutely not. “That would be great, but I’m sure you have better things to do than oversee the restoration. Perhaps there’s a company in town that could do that?”
“Let’s keep going and we can talk along the way.” He led me out of the room, again, with his hand to my lower back. “There’s no one better than me that knows the full...” He stopped mid-step and turned his gaze back to me when he said, “Beauty of it.”
I caught myself staring at his mouth, rogue thoughts I’d no business thinking rolling through my head. Realizing what I was doing, I jerked my eyes back to his and said, “I suppose we could table that discussion, cross that bridge when we get there.”
Affable changed to anger in a blink. “Miss Morgan, I will oversee the renovations. There’s no need to table the discussion.”
My jaw unhinged, but I didn’t let it drop. Progress because it was many minutes into our discussion before irritation swept through me. So he was overseeing the renovations. We’d see about that.
Room by room he led me. Sometimes he kicked debris out of the way or moved his arm over my head through thresholds that were a little shaky. It was the unconsciously done acts, manners that were ingrained, that made me feel safe. I couldn’t lie about that. It shined a light on him that seemed in contrast to the high handed man I talked to on the phone, the same man who declared his intent of overseeing the renovations while leaving no room for argument.
I put the contradiction of him on the back burner. Each room we entered, I had visions of it completed. There was one room in the back of the house, all windows. It was huge, with a large fireplace. I could see a family in the winter, looking outside at the sea, snow falling. I stepped to the window. “This is my favorite room in the whole house. I want a sofa right there so I can look at that.” My back was to him, so I didn’t see his reaction.
“Close to Christmas, ships will sail through here, covered in lights.” His voice had me turning to him as he continued, “My grandmother would make me hot chocolate, and we’d sit here under the quilt she made me when I was kid and...” He was lost in a memory, but as his gaze swept the yard, he stopped talking; something dark entered his expression. His focus came to me, and he said firmly, “The last room is the kitchen.”
The switch in him was profound, the stiff set of his shoulders kept me from asking if he was okay because I could see he wasn’t. It was the first time since we started the tour that he didn’t wait, strolling out in long strides. He didn’t go far, waiting for me in the hall. I joined him, his focus on the floor shifted to me. His expression completely unreadable. I didn’t want to linger on the subject because something had caused the change, but I did say softly, “She sounded like a wonderful woman.”
He gestured down the long hall toward the kitchen. “She was.”
It was then I decided, despite his declaration, that I wanted him to oversee the house. If for no other reason than because his grandmother used to sit with him in that room with hot chocolate and a quilt and watched decorated boats. “I would like for you to oversee the renovations.”
His eyes moved from the fixed gaze on the floor to me. He stopped in the archway leading into the kitchen. “Thank you, Miss Morgan.”
He didn’t mention parents. Had he lost his parents too? I wanted to ask, but the man who had given me the tour was gone. The one before me now had a remoteness about him that didn’t encourage chit chat. I needed to request an inspection. I wasn’t sure how that was going to be received by him, but it was in my best interest to have one. “I suppose we need to schedule an inspection.”
He didn’t miss a beat when he announced, “I know a few people in town, let me make some calls. I’ll set it up for a time this week.”
A shelf along the one wall drew my attention. Crossing the room, I studied it. I could see plates arranged or pies cooling on it. It was such a homey visual, one I knew I wanted to recreate. Touching the wood, I indulged in the possibilities. “This is a beautiful…” The words were barely out of my mouth when I heard heavy footfalls. Turning, I caught Mr. Raines’ back as he walked from the kitchen. I could see the heavy breaths he was inhaling. I didn’t move; I stood and stared at the empty threshold. What just happened? I wasn’t sure if I should follow him, my feet answered before my head caught up. The screen door closed behind me. My stride faltered though when I saw him, his elbows rested on the tailgate of his truck, head resting in his hands. My heart twisted in my chest because I knew a pained stance when I saw it. But why? The heavy weight on his shoulders wasn’t feigned.
“Mr. Raines?” He didn’t move, didn’t respond to me at all. It was like he couldn’t hear me even though I was only a few feet from him. I debated on whether to leave him; it wasn’t my business, but seeing the man who had been the poster child for arrogant when we arrived looking so haunted had me acting on instinct.
Cautiously, I approached him. My hand shook a bit when I reached out to him, lightly touching his shoulder to offer comfort even though I had no idea what he needed comforting for. The muscle under my hand tensed; his whole body turned to stone. His head tilted slightly, a deep blue eye peeked out. The gasp caught in my throat, even as tears burned the back of my eyes. Not haunted, tormented.
“I have to go.” His whisper was like gravel; he straightened then added, “I’ll be staying in the next town over, and I’ll call you when I know something.”
He didn’t wait for a response, climbing into his truck. He didn’t peel out, but it was damn close, rocks kicking up in his retreat. I stood staring after him wondering what the hell just happened. What ghosts of his haunted that house? Coda finally appeared.
“Did he just leave?” Anger swept his expression until his gaze landed on my confused face. “What did I miss?”
“I’m not sure. I was here, and I don’t know what happened. One minute we were talking and the next he walked out.” I rubbed at the ache in my chest before turning my eyes on Coda. “There is definitely more to his story.”
He studied me in that way he had. He saw too damn much. “Doesn’t matter though, right? You’re not looking to make a friend, just get the house.”
Pain was pain. I didn’t wish that on anyone. My focus turned back to the beat-up driveway even though I could no longer see his truck. “I think maybe a friend is exactly what Mr. Raines needs.”
“Or maybe more,” Coda chuckled.
“What does that mean?” I asked a little confused.
“Well,” he drawled. “He asked if we were dating, right before he watched you walk away.”
Something moved through me at that announcement, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Coda broke the silence when he asked, “So what’s the plan?”
“I’m going to stay. I don’t have a job, and this is going to be my home. I’d like to check it out.”
“You’re doing this all backwards. You know that, right?”
“It was impulsive, but sometimes those decisions lead to the very best things.”
“That explains the overnight bag.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure I was going to stay, but I love it. Coda, I really love it.”
“It’s a great house, even better location.”
“There’s a B&B in town. I called yesterday, made a reservation.”
“All right. Keep your cell on you. I want a text when you are locked in for the night, and I want updates.”
It was hard to not roll my eyes at his overprotective ways. “It’s a small town. What possible trouble could happen here?” The glare halted further arguments. “I’ll text you.”
“Good, now get in the car. I’ve got a date with Laura tonight.”
“Nice.”
He flashed me a grin. “It’s going to be if I ever get to it.”
Before we reached the car, a beat-up van came barreling up the drive.
“What the fuck?” Coda hissed before moving to stand in front of me.
The van came to stop; the engine was cut before two men climbed from it. A chill moved through me because they didn’t look right. Their eyes were glassy and shifty. Both were dirty, their hair unkempt, their clothes old and ratty. One of them though looked oddly familiar.
Coda didn’t like the look of them either because he backed me up against his Range Rover.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
The one who looked familiar shouted, “Yeah, I’m John Raines. You thinking about buying this place you go through me.”
A chill moved through me, more like a shudder, because I suspected we had just met his son. He stumbled when he moved from his truck. Clearly under the influence of something. The man with him wasn’t any better.
“Don’t know what the fuck that boy is doing, but this is my house. You gonna buy it, you gonna pay me not him.”
I reached for my cell as John Raines and his friend drunkenly made their way over to us. Pulling up Mr. Raines’ number I called him but didn’t let him speak when he answered.
“There are two men at the house, one of them is John Raines. They’re both drunk.”