“I think you were taken into the spirit world.” I wrap my hands around hers. “You’re even colder than before.”
“Time probably stopped for you out here, and I was in there for like an hour at least, getting my soul sucked out by demons.”
“That is the most likely explanation.” Before I can stop myself, I push a loose strand of her hair back out of her face. She shivers, closing her eyes in a long blink and then inches closer. “I’ll turn up the heat. Jackson runs hot too.”
“He gets it from you.”
I nod, eyes falling from hers to her breasts. “My brothers are the same way. My mom and Quinn were always freezing, but they learned to deal,” I add with a laugh. Goosebumps break out along her arm, and I slide my hand up, feeling each tiny bump covering her flesh. My heart hammers loudly in my chest as I fight against every fiber in my being.
I want to pull her close. I have the perfect opportunity screaming at me. It’s like the universe is throwing me a bone, trying to make up for the shit I’ve trudged through before. There’s no denying the attraction between us, and maybe I’m out of practice, or all together too damn hopeful, but I feel something with Scarlet.
Something I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
Something I never even felt with Daisy.
But I can’t. She’s Jackson’s nanny. She’s here for him, and he’s the only thing that matters.
Chapter Eleven
Scarlet
I forgot about conning this man. I forgot about wanting to squeeze every penny I could and leave without so much as a look back. I forgot about my old life, about the shit I have to deal with on a daily basis.
For the last four episodes of this scary-as-shit show, all I’ve been able to think about is 1.) we are probably going to die at the hands of evil spirits tonight and 2.) Weston is so big and so warm and it’s taking every ounce of self-control I have not to move over and lean against him.
I want to feel his hands on me. His lips against mine. I want to at the very least press my hand to his muscular chest and see if his heart is racing, because mine is. And it’s not only from being scared of this show.
It’s because I know I’m walking a fine line, one that puts me at risk. And I don’t take risks, not like this at least. When my heart is involved, I’m out. It hasn’t been an issue for me before, because I’ve come to believe my heart is shriveled and small like the Grinch’s, but unlike a children’s story, no amount of singing and kindness can make mine grow and start beating inside my chest.
It can’t.
Because beating hearts get broken.
The floor creaks above us and I tense, turning to Wes with wide eyes. “Please tell me you have a cat I don’t know about.”
Slowly, he turns his head to look at me, eyes vacant. “No cat. Just the Tall Man.” He looks at me, unblinking. My heart speeds up. I swallow hard, waiting for him to crack.
He doesn’t.
“The Tall Man’s coming for you,” Weston whispers, almost scaring me before he starts to laugh.
I throw a pillow at him. “Jerk!”
“I totally got you,” he says, still laughing.
“Not funny!”
Wes picks up the pillow and tosses it back at me. I tuck it behind me and scoot a little closer to him.
“But really…what was that?”
“When the heater kicks off it causes the whole house to creak. There’s a lot of sounds you’ll get used to. The pipes rattle when someone is in the shower. Or the dishwasher is running. If you open the windows upstairs, a draft comes down the stairs and blows the front door shut, and sometimes when you turn on the back porch light, it makes the hallway light come on.”
“And you say this house isn’t haunted.”
Wes laughs again, and dammit, I need to look away. Because this man is beautiful when he smiles. “It’s faulty wiring and a drafty old house with poor insulation.”
“Keep telling yourself that, mister.”
He leans back and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s three AM. You’re sleep-deprived and it’s making you paranoid,” he teases. “We should probably call it a night.”
I grab his arm before he gets up, and the moment my fingers touch his warm skin, I regret it. Because now I know he’s as warm as I imagined, and I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Though, unlike the moth, I know what will happen if I succumb and fly right into the bright light. I don’t feel like burning to a crisp today, so I pull back.
“We have two episodes left. I won’t be able to sleep until I know how this ends. Stay with me?” I meant to say stay and watch it with me, but somehow the other words got lost on the way out.
Wes is standing above me, with the light from the TV illuminating his back. He’s so big and so tall, and with his long, messy hair hanging around his handsome face, it’s like I’m sitting before Thor himself. I swallow hard, lips parting, preparing myself for him to go up to bed.
Alone.
Which would be a good thing. The right thing.
For him.
For me.
And for Jackson.
But I’ve never been good at doing the right thing.
“Sure,” Wes says, and I watch his beautiful lips curve into a smile. My body is reacting hard to him, and I have to reel in my libido. Trying to convince myself his physical attraction is the only thing that’s pulling me to him, I put a pillow in my lap and tuck my legs firmly underneath myself.
Wes settles back onto the couch, and the TV show cuts to a scene of a bright and sunny day, contrasting with the dark and gloomy mood of the rest of the show. The light illuminates Wes’s face, and I take a few seconds to study him.
It’s the middle of the night. We’re both tired, and if he’s anything like me, he’s questioning the existence of ghosts and demons right about now and feeling very vulnerable.
Very human.
He rests his head against the back of the couch, and this is the most relaxed, the most real I’ve seen him with the exception of the moments he’s with Jackson. Right now, sitting here in the dark, the walls have been lowered, and he’s not resisting the fact that I’m here. I get not wanting to admit you want help, but what I don’t get is why Wes seems resentful of the fact that he needs a nanny.
Maybe it has to do with Jackson’s mother, who walked out on them?
“I didn’t see that coming,” Wes says, pulling my attention back to the TV. I look away from his face, and it takes me a few seconds to catch up to the twist that was revealed.
“That’s fucked up,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Yeah, it is. But it explains why the shadows always followed her.”
“Ohhh, it does.”
Tiredness grips me, and if I were to lay down and close my eyes, I’d be asleep in minutes. I want to see how this show ends because I know once I get up and walk up to my room, I’ll be awake enough to lay there terrified the shadows cast by inanimate objects will manifest into dark spirits.
And I like being here next to Weston.
It’s weird. It doesn’t make sense. We’re not talking. Not touching. Yet his presence is calming, and the faint scent of his woodsy cologne clings to his muscular body, and I know if I were to inch close and snuggle up, resting my head on his chest so I could count his heartbeats, the smell would fill my nostrils and I’d be a goner. There’s something about an attractive man who smells good that makes them irresistible.