“Oh, I’ve been feeling cold drafts, seeing coffee cups spill by themselves, books falling--you know, typical ghostly stuff.” She’d tried to sound light, but her voice came out shaky. Looking at him, she asked, “What’s been going on with you?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Let’s face it: This sort of thing is easily explained. When you live in an older building, drafts and creaks come with the package. Once we’ve looked into your secret room and seen how mundane it is, our imaginations will stop running wild.”
Unless the room is so creepy that it only makes matters worse.
She kept the thought to herself as they reached the studio. While she put away her canvas and supplies, Mark went to the bookcase and studied the edges.
“I have no clue how this works.” He ran his fingers along the crack between the bookcase and the jamb. Looking toward her, he lifted his eyebrows. “Should I try opening it?”
She nodded and stood back as he slipped his hands into the gap and inched the bookcase away from the wall. After a second of sticking, the mechanism clicked into action, and the door ground across the floorboards. The automated motion made the house seem to have a will of its own. A chill drifting out of the blackness added to the spooky effect.
Mark picked up his flashlight and flicked the switch. He turned around to face her. “Are you ready?”
“Wait.” Her instinct was to cower--but she couldn’t continue living in fear of her own home. Determined to follow through with the exploration, she unplugged a floor lamp next to her and moved it closer to the entrance. Jamming the plug into another outlet, she tilted back the shade and turned on the light. “Okay.”
He pointed the flashlight into the room, which was already somewhat brightened by the lamp. Peering around his shoulder, she could see an unfinished hardwood floor. The far wall, maybe eight feet away, had wooden paneling like the studio’s but unpainted. From where she stood the room looked empty and seemed ordinary except for the coldness emanating from it.
“There’s nothing in here.” Mark stepped behind the bookcase, and she sucked in her breath. He moved away from the entrance, dropping out of her sight. She froze, staring into the black, waiting for the sound of his voice or the flashlight beam to reassure her. For all she knew, right beyond the light the floor might fall away into a pit.
“Hey, there’s a fireplace,” he called, his voice echoing, “and a window covered up from the outside. Come on in, Lara. You’ve got to see this.”
She let herself breathe. Nothing weird had happened, apart from the continuing draft. “Okay, but first I’m going to prop open the door. I don’t want to take any chances of getting stuck in there.”
Scanning the room for something large enough to hold the mechanical door, she fixed on the couch. She wouldn’t trust anything smaller. A little embarrassed, she asked around the bookcase, “Can you help me for a minute, Mark?”
He emerged without the bookcase trying to trap him in, which made her feel somewhat better. When he saw her standing at the far end of the couch, his lips twitched but he suppressed the smile. Coming around to her side, he helped her push until the opposite end slid in between the bookcase and wall. He kicked off his shoes and climbed over the cushions to get back into the room. Grinning, he held out a hand for her to grab.
She slipped out of her sandals and stretched to reach him, climbing onto the couch. The warmth of his fingers felt wonderful around her icy ones. Though she could have sat on the arm and swung her legs over the side, she let him take her by the waist and ease her down.
The comfort of his touch distracted her from her fears. For a moment they stood looking into each other’s eyes, his hands still at her hips. She thought he might kiss her--and that she would let him. Then he looked away, releasing her waist.
Karen
, she thought with a frown. She felt disappointed, even though she shouldn’t have. Moody and unpredictable, Mark certainly wasn’t the best guy for her to pursue.
He leaned over to pick up his flashlight from the floor. Once he’d turned it on he took her hand again, but she didn’t know whether he meant anything more than to try to keep her calm. The truth was that with him for company her fears were fading quickly, especially since nothing really eerie had happened. The room felt cold but not unnaturally so. Her main impression now was a keen awareness of being alone with him, alone with a man. She savored the touch of his fingers and fought a crazy urge to stroke them.
What an idiot I am
, she thought.
He has no interest in me, and I shouldn’t care about him, either.
She forced herself to look away from their clasped hands and focus on the exterior wall. A faint pattering sounded from the other side. She realized it had begun to rain.
Following the beam of the flashlight, she took in the wooden panels, devoid of any hangings. The light played on the frame of the window and landed on a wide sill--a window seat. The glass panes above stood in place, but not a speck of light seeped in through the barrier on the outside.
“Why in the world would anyone wall up a room like this?” she asked. Then a horrible thought occurred to her and she looked at Mark. “Do you think a murder might have been committed in here?”
“You don’t see any skeletons lying around, do you?” He shot her a grin that eased her anxiety. Redirecting his attention to the wall, he said, “I doubt the room’s origin is quite so diabolical. One possible explanation is that this house was a stop on the Underground Railroad. There are legends that it ran through the area.”
“Really? I had no idea.” Thinking out loud, she said, “I’ll have to brush up on local history.”
“This window should be possible to restore.” He squeezed her fingers, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation. “I wonder if the fireplace is functional. I’ll bet so. This house has so many chimneys that an extra one would probably go unnoticed.”
Telling herself not to act like a schoolgirl, she thought about what he was saying. The fireplace, fronted by a medium-size wooden mantel and slate hearth, looked intact. A strong intuitive feeling told her the chimney would work. She could picture a blaze crackling in the room, filling the small space with heat and soft, flickering light.
“A fire would be wonderful in this room,” Mark said, his voice hushed. He seemed to have read her mind. He looked down at her and their gazes locked. The light rain beat out a soothing patter, unbroken by any other noise. In this secret place that no one but they knew about, the rest of the world seemed far away. She saw him glance at her mouth and knew that this time he really was going to kiss her.
He bent and met her lips, his mouth warm and soft. She closed her eyes and let her other senses take him in. As he pulled her closer, she soaked up rapid impressions. He was tall. He smelled clean. His back felt warm and strong through the soft cotton of his shirt.
A rumble of thunder broke the quiet--as well as the moment. He drew away, staring at her as though he had surprised himself.
Her heart seemed to drop inside of her. She didn’t want him to stop. The taste of him had only tantalized her. Now she wanted more.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked away from her. Watching the beam of the flashlight, he pointed it at the floor and shook his head to himself. “I can’t believe I did that. The timing is so wrong.”
She suppressed a sigh. The timing had felt right to her. Touching her lower lip, she murmured, “Don’t worry about it.”
He turned back to her and stared as if waiting for her to convince him.
Well, too bad.
If he hadn’t gotten over his break-up with Karen, then he never should have kissed
her
.
She looked away from his puppy-dog eyes. “Maybe we should bring some more lighting in here so we can take a better look around.”
“Good idea.” His voice sounded strained. “Do you have an extension cord you could run in from the studio?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.” Before he could offer--or not offer--to help getting her over the couch, she hurried to hoist one leg over the side. In her haste to pull her second leg up, she bumped her knee on the bookcase. “Ow!”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. She didn’t bother looking back at him.
Once out of his sight, she took her time getting a cord from the parlor. Her exasperation over Mark surprised her. Just that morning she’d told Di she had no interest in him. Now she was pining over him.
When she got back, he’d come out into the studio. He stood by the drawing table, holding her desk lamp. Glancing at her, he asked, “Mind if I take this inside, along with the floor lamp?”
“The more the merrier.” Cynicism dripped from her tone. She had told him to forget about the kiss, but she didn’t want to forget about it. She had to resist the urge to demand to know why the timing hadn’t been “right.” But that would have been stupid. She already had a good idea the answer revolved around his feelings for his ex.
She bent over and plugged in the extension.
After stringing the wire over the couch, he lugged the floor lamp into the secret room. She passed him the desk light and climbed in on her own, neither of them speaking.
The rain pummeled harder against the house, and Lara’s mood deteriorated with the weather. As Mark flicked on the lamps and adjusted the shades, a roll of thunder sounded, closer than before. She crossed her arms and leaned against the arm of the couch. “Maybe we should call it a night. The storm seems to be getting worse.”
He glanced around at the bare walls. Walking to the fireplace, he stooped and looked under the mantel. He ran his hands over the surface and knocked on the wood in several places.
She rolled her eyes to herself. All he cared about was her damned house. Now that he’d seen that the secret room held nothing of interest, she wondered if she’d ever hear from him again. The way things had gone between them so far, she shouldn’t even have cared.
Standing, he stepped to the window and squinted upward. He bent and tried to push it open. The frame seemed to be stuck in the casing, but after a second attempt, it skidded up a few inches. His third try freed the stoppage, and the window slid up into the overhead pocket. He ran his hands over the wall that obstructed the opening.
“The hole’s blocked up with brick. That won’t be easy to
undo, but you might want to look into it if you want to use this room.” He closed the window and turned around, giving the other walls a last glance. “I guess that’s about all there is to see in here.”
She stood and brushed off her hands. “So much for my fascinating secret room.”
“Do you still feel creepy about it?”
She shrugged. “Not at the moment.”
“Good. Well, I’d better leave before the lightning gets any closer.” Another rumble of thunder punctuated his statement.
Turning off the floor lamp, he carried it over to her and set it down. He leaned down to pull the plug from the extension cord, and she stepped back to get out of his way. While he wound the cord around one hand, she glanced around at the walls, inspecting them a final time.
The room looked absolutely ordinary. If the window could be unblocked, the space wouldn’t seem so spooky. Viewing the area where the couched jutted through the entrance, she could see that with a few pieces of furniture it might actually be cozy.
Making these observations, she felt normal for the first time in days, despite her disappointment over Mark. In a few minutes he would leave, and she would probably never see him again. She would get back to the life she’d started building since her divorce. Maybe she would even keep an eye open for someone
reasonable
to date.
When she turned back around, she caught him watching her and felt a tingling up and down her spine.
Okay, she conceded, so life wouldn’t be simple...but she would manage. She had so far.
He looked away and picked up the floor lamp, passing it out over the couch. With his long reach he was able to get the lamp to stand up on the other side. “Do you want to climb out of here before I put out the desk lamp, too?”
“Yeah.” She contemplated the side of the couch, remembering how he’d helped her climb over it the first time.
After a second of hesitation he held out his hand to her.
“That’s okay,” she said without meeting his gaze. “I can make it alone.”
Chapter 7
The ghost of Geoff watched his lovely Lara spurn his descendent’s hand. He smirked to himself. When she’d let the fool kiss her, his heart had constricted, but now the lady was coming to her senses.
Admiring her pert nose and pouting lips, Geoff wished he could walk in Mark’s shoes, if only for a day. He would show the dear girl the sort of man she deserved--a real lover, not a bumbling dilettante who retreated with anxiety after the merest kiss. Besides having no taste in poetry, the fellow lacked the least bit of savoir-faire with women.
As Lara paused and looked around the room, Geoff’s smile withered. He wished the living pair would stop this dallying and move into the library. Here in the secret room he sensed another
spirit lurking, and the perception disconcerted him. The intruder hovered just beyond his scope. He wondered if the other ghost could comprehend him any more clearly he could it.
He frowned. The notion of an invisible Peeping Tom spying on him disturbed him--and the reminder of his own voyeurism embarrassed him. While he’d lived, he never would have resorted to such a shabby practice. Voyeurs, like critics of poetry, sank to their sordid pursuits because they lacked the capability to participate themselves.
He knew...only too well.
Ashamed and angry about his fate, he banished the other spirit from his mind and floated down closer to the mortals. In the dimly lit room, Lara shone like a diamond--though, admittedly, one “in the rough.” If only she would dress in a manner befitting her beauty, she’d be a gem of unparalleled magnificence.
Entranced by her golden curls, he nuzzled up to her neck, trying in vain to detect the scent of her perfume with his useless ethereal nose.