banister. “I really appreciate your coming to my rescue tonight. But I’ve taken enough of your time. You should get back to your boxes.”
“If you’re still nervous, I could hang around, have a beer and keep you company until Jordon and Mike are finished.”
“I’m fine,” she said. And she didn’t have a beer in the house.
She walked him to the door. Nick lingered, leaning against the door frame, his gaze locked with hers. Awareness slithered through her, warm and a tad unsettling.
“Thanks again,” she whispered, hating that her voice held a throaty rasp. Just the dust, she told herself.
Yet when he leaned in closer, a tingling sensation danced up her spine. Instead of a kiss, he trailed a rough finger down her cheek. “I’m not quite through moving in, but I’m staying in the carriage house tonight. If you need anything at all, just call.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She closed and locked the door behind him, leaning against it to regain the equilibrium his touch had destroyed. Seconds later, she stepped to the front window in the stuffy parlor, pulled back the heavy drapes and watched Nick swagger back to his truck.
When he turned toward the house, she stepped away quickly, feeling a bit like she used to when her mother had caught her reading under the sheet with a flashlight long after her bedtime.
The imagery evolved and instead of a book cuddled beneath her sheets, she imagined Nick there. She closed her eyes and willed it away. She had just inherited a whole new set of problems and the last thing she needed was a sexy neighbor she knew absolutely nothing about to complicate matters.
Chapter Three
Nick shucked his jeans and hung them on the back of the antique rocker in his new bedroom. The bedroom was larger than what he was used to, more windows, higher ceilings, newer carpet. And neater. He hadn’t had time to litter the place with his newspapers, shoes and dirty clothes yet.
The bed looked comfortable, not that he ever slept soundly or long. He’d be lucky if he got more than a few hours’ sleep tonight.
Nothing wrong with the Findleys’ carriage house, except that he hated the strangeness, especially when he had a perfectly good house on the Westbank.
But when he’d spotted the Furnished Apartment for Rent sign on the Findleys’ front yard, he’d jumped at the chance to rent it. It was perfect for what he needed.
Jacinth’s leaky pipe couldn’t have fit better with his plans if he’d taken a monkey wrench to it and released the deluge himself. The decapitated head he could have done without.
The last thing he’d expected or needed was a new murder to intersect with the old one. The situation would complicate matters, but at least it had gotten him inside the crumbling mansion and closer to Jacinth. It was a start.
Which was why he couldn’t let Jacinth get to him on a personal level.
He just had to remember she was a Villaré. That should be enough to quell any lustful vibes she inspired, as long as he didn’t look into those bewitching dark-chocolate eyes of hers.
He shook his head as he threw back the sheet and collapsed onto the bed. Thinking of Jacinth’s eyes—or any other of her body parts for that matter—would not help him get to sleep. And he’d have to be up at dawn for the one date he always kept.
A date that would serve as a bitter reminder that Nick was running out of time.
JACINTH WOKE WITH A START as the piercing ring of her cell phone broke through the layers of sleep. She’d lain awake until after four. That seemed only minutes ago, but already slanted rays of sunshine pushed through the half-closed blinds.
Jacinth fumbled for the phone, knocking her paperback novel to the floor. She cringed at the thud. Her head hurt. Her sinuses were clogged. Her mouth was so dry it was difficult to swallow.
She mumbled a hello.
“Jacinth?”
Caitlyn. Jacinth took a deep breath and tried to sound enthusiastic. “What are you doing calling this time of the morning? Don’t tell me the honeymoon’s grown boring.”
“The honeymoon is sheer perfection, and the beach condo we rented has a marvelous view. When the sun hits the water, the Gulf appears striped with the most regal shades of emerald and turquoise I have ever seen.”
“Sounds divine.”
“It is, and you sound hoarse. Are you coming down with something?”
A case of crumbling drywall overload. Jacinth would have loved to spill the whole story and get her sister’s take on last night’s gore.
But Caitlyn had been through her own nightmare mere weeks before, barely escaping with her life before she married Marcus. She deserved this period of unadulterated happiness.
“I feel fine,” Jacinth said, “but my allergies are kicking up. Probably some fall-blooming plant we didn’t have in Ohio.”
“Maybe you should see the doctor.”
“I will if it gets worse. Now tell me about the Florida Panhandle. Is the sand really as soft and sugar-white as they say?”
“Absolutely.” Caitlyn raved on, excitement and happiness radiating from her voice. Jacinth only half listened, her mind already jumping ahead to the promised visit from a homicide detective and the CSU unit.
And hopefully a visit from the plumber. She needed a shower in the worst way.
As soon as they’d said their goodbyes, Jacinth threw her legs over the side of the bed, tiptoed to the window and stared out at the dew-kissed lawn. The St. Augustine grass was still green and growing in spite of the scattering of leaves that had fallen from the aged live oaks that grew on her and the Findleys’ property.
Her gaze moved to the carriage house where Nick had said he’d be if she needed anything at all. A tinge of awareness titillated her senses, just as it had when he’d leaned in so close last night.
It was a schoolgirl response brought on by over-wrought emotions. She did not get giddy over men she barely knew, no matter how helpful and sexy.
At any rate, his promise to be there if she needed him apparently didn’t extend to the daylight hours. His truck was gone from the driveway. If he was working, he’d definitely gotten an early start.
She needed to, as well. But first, caffeine. The stairs creaked and groaned as she shuffled down them. When she’d first moved into the house, she’d reacted to every ghostly rasp and moan, thinking someone was behind her.
She thought of them as the whispered secrets of the Villarés who’d lived and died in the house for generations. At least she had until last night. Now she wondered if the walls were merely preparing to drop another body part on her.
And this after the building inspector she’d hired had assured her the foundation was sound and that with loving care and timely repairs the house might stand another hundred and fifty years.
Sin
