As soon as Jeffrey walked into the kitchen, he heard the growl. “Be quiet,” he whispered to the room at large.
Then he heard inside his mind: You begrudge me a little entertainment. It’s been an age since you returned.
Jeffrey knew better than to make threats, so he answered, So I’m back. And I need a housekeeper. Please stop fooling around.
You won’t need one for very long. I kept my end of the bargain, now you must keep yours.
He had known that this house would eventually claim him. He’d known it all along. He had even tried to forget about it when he lived in California, but it had always lurked in the back of his mind, like a wolf ready to spring. Now he’d have to pay up.
I will. What life was left for him anyway? He knew he’d never escape the evil within this house.
You have a month to live. I suggest you make the most of it, for when the month is up, there will be no reprieves.
The warning grated through his consciousness, then the dark aura left his thoughts. He ground his teeth and decided death would be infinitely better than having the threat of it hanging over his head.
He grabbed the hammer and crawled back under the sink. He thought of Lilly. She didn’t look twenty-seven, but that’s the age she gave him when he hired her on the internet. Her picture hadn’t done her justice. In person she looked younger, prettier. When she had stood at the door and threatened to leave, he’d felt a moment of panic. It had surprised him. Since the accident, she was the only woman with whom he felt remotely comfortable. She was flawed like he, but only inwardly so.
On the surface she was beautiful, a petite oval face, the large cinnamon eyes, thick auburn hair that made him just want to bury his face and troubles in it. He felt his body responding to thoughts of her. It had been months since he’d slept with a woman. Months of lonely hospital days, wishing he had died in the accident, reliving the head on collision that had all but destroyed his life. Now, he only had a month before he really would die, so why not make the best of it. A wry smile tugged at his mouth as he thought of seducing Lilly….
Crazy idea. For a second, he’d been thinking like his old self, the guy who had all of Hollywood in the palm of his hands, especially the women. He had forgotten his present state. Lilly wouldn’t want to touch him with this mangled body. Freak show that he was. He pounded on the pipe so hard, it broke and water spewed all over his face.
Two hours later, Lilly watched Jeffrey Carter walking in front of her, listening to the thump of his boots. He wore cowboy boots, the expensive kind, but they looked well-worn and broken in. He seemed reserved now, quietly brooding over something. She thought he’d be more talkative after he asked her to stay, but he seemed determine to ignore her. He’d grudgingly taken her on a tour of most of the house. There were six bedrooms upstairs, including the master suite, along with the lower level. Her job, as housekeeper, included getting all the rooms in the house at least livable and clean. Right now, sheets covered everything and the beds were stripped of linen. Layers of dirt and cobwebs from years of neglect lurked throughout the whole house. There was even graffiti on a hallway wall upstairs where kids had broken into the vacant house and defaced it. It would have to be painted. She’d be earning every cent of her wage.
He paused before a door. “This is my room,” he said casually. He gestured for her to go in first.
She suddenly felt uncomfortable. This was getting way too personal for her. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he wasn’t towering behind her. Her heart sped up a beat as he followed inside the master suite.
With a sweeping glance, she took in the room. A huge fireplace crowded one end. Faded gold wallpaper with a large floral print drew her eyes. Clearly the choice of paper had come from someone feminine, perhaps his mother. A four poster canopy bed sat in the middle, a huge dresser off to the side. A large writing desk filled a corner. Framed movie posters covered one wall. Their modern sleekness looked out of place with the room’s antiques.
She pointed to them, a question in her eyes.
He seemed to be able to read her silent communication, for he said, “I know. They don’t belong here. Just couldn’t part with them.” He pointed to a tiny little name at the bottom of “Love’s Whisper,” a hit romance two years ago. “That’s me…well, it used to be.”
Lilly moved closer to read the small print. She saw music composer, Demetri Braun. Her eyes lit up and she grabbed her tablet. “You’re Demetri Braun?”
“Yes, I changed my name when I arrived in Hollywood.”
So that’s where he’d been. She looked closer at his eyes and the uncovered side of his face. Now she saw the resemblance. She could hardly believe Demetri Braun was standing before her. She remembered weeping two months earlier when Entertainment Tonight said he’d died in a car crash and had shown his mangled sports car.
She had followed his career, because she loved musicals and film scores. She had checked out most of his soundtracks from the library. He was one of her favorite composers. And he was alive and standing before her!
She wrote, “But you’re alive!”
“Demetri Braun is dead.” He turned his broad back to her and looked out the window, his restlessness making him shift back and forth on his feet.
Tears burned Lilly’s eyes. She didn’t know if they were from the happiness at learning Demetri Braun was still alive, or if they were for Jeffrey Carter at having lost so much.
“He’s never coming back.” He sounded forlorn, lost in the past.
Lilly wrote furiously. “But you’re alive. You can still compose.”
He heard her scratching on the paper and turned to read it. “You think I can go to the Oscars looking like this?” He jabbed a finger at his face. “Do you?” He had practically yelled the last question.
Lilly’s first instinct was to run out of the room. But she wasn’t going to let him push her away. She decided to push back. She wrote, “There’s plastic surgery.” She wanted to say not that you need it, but he’d never believe that.
“It would take years of countless surgeries, time I don’t have.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I won’t have the press turn me into a sideshow. I just decided to die. Told my agent and manager to make it happen.”
She scribbled, “I face the world every day, and I’ve learned to overcome it. You’re still alive and hiding here.”
“Who are you to tell me anything?”
“A fan, that’s who!!!” She angrily tapped the paper as she made the exclamation marks.
“It’s not you out there.”
“Coward.” She mouthed the words as she wrote them, then she dropped the pad and waved her hands in a dismissive gesture. Before she really lost her temper, she flounced out of the room. He might have been disfigured, but she’d been mute since birth. And lying about his death to everyone was just plain wrong.
She ran to her room and slammed the door. She fell back against the hard wood and waited for her heart to stop pounding and her anger to subside. Would he fire her now? He’d have every right. She normally didn’t speak her mind to her employers or to anyone, for that matter. She was always quiet and accepting, doing what she was told. Mute and obedient Lilly, trying not to bring attention to herself. What had come over her? The fact he was deceiving his fans and throwing his talent away, maybe. Or was it she didn’t have the luxury of hiding away as he did. No, she had to face the world. Why shouldn’t he?
Tears welled and spilled from her eyes, and she wondered if she was crying for herself or him. Then she heard distinct laughter coming from the walls, the floors, the heart of the house itself. It wasn’t male laughter, but female. It sent a chill down her spine.
Lilly didn’t leave her room for close to an hour. She was convinced something else resided in the house besides Jeffrey Carter. Whatever it was wasn’t human or friendly. Definitely, supernatural. She knew about the paranormal. Since the Dawning, white magic had charmed her own people and they used their power to fight evil. So it would take more than noises and laughter to drive her away, though it still unsettled her. Luckily, the house had grown quiet after the laughter, then she had heard Jeffrey leave through the back door. He had walked to the barn. A long dirt road and several fenced pastures separated the barn from the house, thankfully. He’d left her a note on the refrigerator with instructions on fixing dinner. Nothing in it about firing her. Good, because she needed this job.
She had gone about her duties, assured that she wouldn’t suffer another embarrassing moment where she felt attracted to him, or blow up at him. To exhaust her unruly libido, she scoured the bathrooms, the bedrooms, put clean linen on all the beds. When she came to his room, she cleaned it more carefully, clearing away all the cobwebs and dust, putting lemon oil on the furniture, buffing until it sparkled. As she had worked, the atmosphere in the house changed, going from unwelcome to a placid watchfulness, as if it enjoyed the cleaning. At one point, when she had mopped the foyer, she thought she heard a contented sigh. At least she knew how to make the house contented--for the time being.
The few hours of cleaning hadn’t put a dent in all that needed scrubbing, but it was a good start.
Three hours later, she strode into the kitchen, tired, sweaty, smelling like furniture polish and spray cleaner, and looked at the dinner instructions:
Serve dinner at 7:00. Chicken scaloppini, mashed potatoes and peas. You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen. I have it stocked.
He must be anal about when and what he eats. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Six thirty, all ready. The tick of the second hand had a beat, and she followed it, the rhythm pulsing in her mind. Sounds drew her. She found a melody in everything, except in the strange noises that came from this house. There was nothing but hovering malice below the sounds, even the sigh had sounded mischievous. But right now, the clock ticked out the tempo of Flight of the Bumblebees and only made her feel more nervous and rushed.
He had left a cookbook near the note. She glanced down at the chicken scaloppini recipe he’d marked with a sticky note. She’d never made that in her life. In fact, opening a cereal box and microwaving TV dinners was the sum total of her cooking skills.
At home, her younger sisters did all the cooking. Lilly had been eighteen when both her parents died in a train accident. She had been forced to support her younger sisters by cleaning houses and doing menial jobs. Her parents had had enough insurance money to pay off their house note, but left nothing for anything else. Having worked to support her sisters, Lilly had never had time to cook. She left that to Wynona and Daisy.
The cookbook looked old and tattered, Lilly noticed, published in the 1950’s. His mother’s maybe? And it certainly was no help. She ran around and pulled out the ingredients. The tick of the clock now being felt in her chest.
Now what? She tried to follow the recipe, but she needed mixing cups and measuring spoons. She rummaged through drawers and cabinets.
Nothing.
She decided to eyeball the ingredients.
Big mistake.
The flour mixture she was supposed to dip the chicken breasts in had just become a bungled mess. Way too much pepper and salt and garlic powder. The egg had made it gummy and lumpy—No, she was supposed to dip the chicken into the egg then into the batter, not put the egg into the batter itself. She banged her forehead against the cabinet. If she could utter a sound, it would have been a groan.
He walked into the kitchen.
At the sound of his sudden footsteps, she jumped and hit the bag of flower with her arm.
The five-pound bag tumbled off the counter and hit the floor with a heavy thud, detonating all over the kitchen. Clouds of flour flew in every direction, all over her, the floor, the counter, the walls. Was there some on the pans hanging on the pot rack? She didn’t think flour could disperse like explosives in a hand grenade. Oh, god! She scrambled to pick up the bag.
Then a gentle hand touched her shoulder, the calm in a flour storm. “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t cook?” he asked, his tone amused, the gray ice in his eyes thawing.
The warmth of his palm pierced through her sweater and shirt and a tiny wave of heat shot down her arm. She gulped hard, grabbed her pad, knocked off the flour, and scribbled, “Thought you wouldn’t hire me.”
“Luckily, I can cook.” A ghost of a grin tugged at the perfect side of his mouth as he stepped over to the pantry and pulled out a broom.
She scooped up the paper bag and stuffed it in the trash, cleaned the counters and walls, while he swept the floor. She was glad he hadn’t been angry when he discovered she couldn’t cook. In fact, he’d been very gallant about it.
When he was done, he said, “Stand still.”
She obeyed his orders, the sponge frozen in her hand.
With the broom, he swept the flour off her tennis shoes, pants legs. He used his hand and beat the flour off the back of her jeans and sweater. She felt his wide hand thumping quickly along her back, arms, thighs, and it was all she could do to stand there and let him invade her personal space.
When he turned her around and reached for her chest, he stopped dead, his expression screeching to a halt. The realization he shouldn’t go any farther shown in his eyes.
A charged moment crackled between them as he looked at her breasts. Slowly his gaze rose to her face.
Lilly knew her cheeks must be stop-light red from blushing. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Her fingers squeezed the sponge to tightly it made sucking noises. She almost wanted him to touch her. She quickly mouthed the words, “Thank you.” Then she stepped as far away from him as she could.
Tension tightened his jaw. The veins in his neck bulged. She watched a pulse throb there as his eyes looked almost hurt for a moment, then they took on a harsh, guarded sheen. “Looks like I’ll have kitchen duty until I teach you to cook,” he said, his voice curt. “I prefer to cook alone. Go take a shower or something.” He waved her out of the room and added as an afterthought, “I eat alone, too. No reflection on the company.”
She nodded that she understood, then she ran to her room, glad to escape. She made a point of hurrying past the basement door, refusing to even acknowledge its existence. Her cheeks still burned from what just happened. She could still feel his hand brushing off her jeans and sweater. Dimetri Braun’s talented hands touching her, cleaning off her clothes. The worst part, when he had reached to touch her breasts, she had not wanted him to stop. Surely he wasn’t attracted to her in that way, nor was she to him. She was glad he liked to eat alone, because she was certain she wouldn’t have an appetite if she had to sit near him and eat.
She looked at her reflection in a mirror. Flour covered her right cheek, the tips of her hair, the front of her shirt and sweater. What a pretty sight she made. Well, he had noticed her in a womanly way despite her appearance, just for that one unguarded second. Not that it made him happy, or her, for that matter. In fact he seemed angered by it. Good, it would never happen again. He was her employer. She didn’t need the complications of sexual desire ruining it for her. No, she had to be more careful in the future. She decided to take a shower as he had suggested, but she wouldn’t be able to wash him out of her thoughts.
Jeffrey plopped a frying pan on the gas stove, poured in olive oil, and turned on the burner. The flame leaped. That was the first thing he’d done when he arrived, made sure the stove and plumbing worked.
He got another bag of flour from the pantry and began to make the breading. Thoughts of Lilly stayed with him. He smiled as he recalled finding her and how she’d looked like a snow fairy, covered in flour. Even though his pride still stung from her earlier rebuff at how he chose to live his life, he had felt so comfortable with her that he’d just started cleaning the flour from her clothes. It hadn’t occurred to him what he’d been doing, until he faced her and came a hair’s breadth from touching her breasts. He’d almost made a fool of himself. He could tell by her reaction that he’d caused her discomfort. Could he blame her? Disfigured monster that he was. From now on, he’d have to keep his distance, as hard as that may be.
He really wanted her to stay. He’d never liked being alone, and he never had been in Hollywood. Someone had always been at his mansion, another composer, band members, women at his beck and call. Here, all he had was the evil buried under this house to keep him company. Somehow he’d keep Lilly from being frightened away by him and this house. He scowled down at the chicken as he picked it up.