WHEN SHE FELT she’d teetered long enough between giving Ryan time to recover and being downright rude, Emma walked into her office to find him on her sofa, thumbing through a book on Rumford chimney designs.
He looked up at her as she entered and closed the book. “This would put anyone to sleep.”
She sat down in front of the computer. Pulling a folding chair up next to her, she motioned for him to take the seat. “Why do you think it’s here and not in my bedroom?”
Emma brought up the pictures of the brownstone she’d taken her first day there. She’d decided to show them to him without any explanation. She didn’t want to cloud his judgment.
She offered him the mouse. “I’m not a very good photographer, but I thought they came out fairly well.”
Tensing when Ryan put his arm along the back of her chair, she swallowed hard as he leaned even closer, squinting as he clicked through the images. “These aren’t bad, although they don’t quite capture the feeling of the house, do they?”
Emma said nothing, catching her breath as he clicked onto the pictures of the master bedroom. He paused, studying them.
Then he sat back with a frown on his face, his eyes still focused on the computer.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, hoping she sounded nonchalant.
He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “No, I just—well…no, it’s nothing.”
When he pointed the cursor to the next picture, Emma put her hand over his, preventing him from clicking the mouse. “Ryan.”
He studied their hands, but she refused to let his go. Then he looked up at the picture again. “I think—what is that gray haze? Dust?”
“Um, it could be.”
“Can you zoom in on it?” He slid the mouse over to her.
She took the mouse and zoomed in on the mist.
Ryan caught his breath. “Emma. Please tell me you see her.”
She wanted to cry with relief. “So I’m not crazy? You see it too?”
“It looks like a tall, thin woman in nineteenth century clothes.”
Her excitement grew by the minute. “Yes, yes, that’s exactly what I thought!”
Ryan clicked back a few pictures. “And what’s this thing over Carlos’s head?”
“I think it’s an orb.”
“Can’t it just be dust or a reflection off the mirror over the mantel?”
“It seems too big and too solid to be dust or a reflection, plus if you study the other two pictures, it doesn’t move.”
Ryan’s eyes bored into hers. “Dust moves.”
She nodded slowly.
“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go through the pictures you took earlier today.”
By the time they were done downloading and were sorting through the pictures, both Emma and Ryan stared, their mouths agape, at the computer screen.
“What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know, but I know for sure I didn’t see that when we were down there.”
What they hadn’t seen, but the camera had, were two mists, one a deep red, the other a dark blue. One picture captured the blue mist as if it were trying to swallow the red one. The next picture showed the red had grown larger, overtaking the blue. Neither held an apparition like the one in the picture Emma had taken on the first day.
Ryan drummed his fingers on the desk. “We both felt cold and smelled musk.”
“Yes, but I’ve seen the red mist before.”
“When?”
“Do you remember when I tripped over that tan satchel?”
Ryan’s fingers stilled, his eyes lowering to her lips. “Yeah.”
Emma turned away just in case she started to drool. “Earlier that day, I saw that mist down in the cellar. It was not a pleasant feeling.”
“No warm fuzzies, huh?”
It was amazing that, even faced with something that could be paranormal, he could still make her throb. “Not even a little bit.”
“Did anything else happen?”
Emma thought for a minute. What was she forgetting? She remembered the cold, that was for sure, and the horrible feeling of someone touching her. The smell, the darkness, the fact her flashlight didn’t work.
Then she remembered.
Someone had called her by name.
Emma slapped her forehead with her palm. “The recorder! It’s in my car. I’ll be right back.”
Ryan flipped through the pictures again, waiting for Emma to return. He really hoped it wouldn’t take long for them to go over all this stuff. It certainly made him think, but nothing he saw convinced him there was something paranormal going on.
The pictures flew by as Ryan clicked the mouse. He paused on the photo in the master bedroom, staring at the misty figure. Dust, or better yet, cigarette smoke. Yes! He’d bet anything one of the guys had been smoking and the camera caught the image. Like seeing the face of Abraham Lincoln in a corn muffin.
Sitting back, he grinned in satisfaction. He knew there had to be an explanation for everything. Except how being near Emma made him feel, as if he were trapped in a locked room that was slowly losing air.
The smell of her hair, the intense look in her eyes, and having her so close made it nearly impossible for him to breathe. Let alone stop himself from running his finger down the smooth skin of her arm.
God, what he’d give to be able to touch her, kiss her. To be able to give her the kind of relationship she deserved.
He should go. He should just get up, leave her home, remain a safe distance from her for the next four weeks and encourage Tag to take his relationship with her to the next level. Even though they’d only had that one date and coffee this afternoon, he knew Tag really liked her.
The same feelings he was beginning—okay, who was he kidding?—feelings he already had.
Ryan was about to come up with an excuse to leave when Emma walked back in. One look at her had him sitting back in his seat.
She settled herself into her chair with a big smile, so beautiful it shook him.
“This is kind of fun, isn’t it? I mean, even if all this is explainable, it’s fun to do the investigating.”
For the first time that evening, he allowed himself to study her. Her long, silky hair, down and parted over her face like a matinee curtain, was tucked behind her ears. She was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt with a cartoon shovel and pail on it, but for some reason, she looked different. Her face glowed with excitement. He wondered what she’d look like if she ever directed that excitement toward him. He watched her hands as she played with the recorder. Even though they weren’t classically feminine, they moved with the grace of a pianist.
“Yeah, especially since I think whatever tripped you is also what wrecked the master bedroom.” He breathed in, wishing he could relieve some of his tension. God, what he would give to see her eyes glaze over as he brought her to orgasm. He shifted as his jeans tightened.
Her pretty face frowned as she waited for the recorder to rewind. Why is it taking so long?
“You think what we’re dealing with is a malevolent spirit?”
He chuckled. “I was thinking more along the lines of some mischievous kids.”
“Kids, huh? Sounds like you’re a skeptic.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I go back and forth between ‘it’s impossible’ and ‘what else could it be?’”
She took a second before speaking. “I’m leaning more toward ‘what else could it be.’”
Ryan nodded but didn’t answer. She pressed a button on the recorder and held a finger up to her lips. They listened closely.
At first the only sound he heard was Emma taking pictures. Then her asking questions. He strained his ears, but all he heard was the shuffle of her footsteps.
“What are you doing down here?”
Emma nearly jumped out of her skin. Turning to him, she smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t expecting to hear anything.”
He lifted one side of his mouth, happy there was something besides Emma he could blame his pounding heart on. “Neither was I.”
Ryan remembered how he’d surprised her by asking if he could help. He also remembered how much he’d wanted to kiss her—
His breathing stopped as he swung his gaze to the recorder. No. He couldn’t have heard what he thought he’d heard. “Emma, rewind that!”
She looked at him in confusion. “What?”
“Didn’t you hear it?”
“I-I guess my mind was wandering.” Emma did as he instructed. This time he listened very carefully.
“How’s your head?”
“It’s perfect. Thank you so much for what you did.”
There was silence, but his heart thumped. He remembered how his hand had cradled her face and brushed her skin.
Then his blood turned to ice.
He heard his short intake of breath, Emma’s concerned voice, and then something else neither of them had heard earlier.
“Get away from her!”
This voice was a harsh whisper, cold and angry.
Ryan stopped the recorder. “Did you hear that?”
Emma nodded. “A woman’s voice saying ‘gettie way fro mare.’”
Ryan stroked his chin. “It sounded more like ‘get away from her’ to me.”
Emma stared at him, some of the color leaving her face. Then, without a word, she turned the recorder back on. They had started asking questions. All went unanswered until Emma inquired, “Why do you hate me?”
Ryan held his breath, and then the harsh voice spoke.
“Because you released her!”
Emma turned to Ryan, startled. “I released her? What on earth does that mean?”
Ryan placed a comforting hand on her arm. “I don’t know.”
“The fireplace. Mrs. Morris was right. I revealed a secret I wasn’t supposed to. Now the house is angry with me.” Fear bubbled up in the form of nausea.
Ryan swiveled her desk chair until she faced him. “It’s not the house. I think someone’s playing a trick on you.”
“A trick? Are you kidding?”
“You need to relax. There’s a logical explanation for this.”
Emma sat back, her arms crossed and lips pursed. “You’re right. I’m being silly. I mean, anyone could’ve said those things while we were down in the cellar alone.”
He chuckled. “Obviously we weren’t.”
“Don’t laugh at me, Ryan, or I swear I’ll—”
“Kiss her, you fool!”
Both Ryan and Emma turned to look at the recorder. This voice wasn’t harsh or cold. It sounded soft and girlish, yet frustrated.
She turned her face toward him, but her eyes never left the device. “Did that just say…”
Ryan licked his lips. “Kiss her, you fool.”
So he did.
Well, who was he to argue with a voice on a recorder?
Intense and hurried, he moved his lips against hers, his hand fisted in her hair, afraid she’d pull away.
Ryan’s first reaction to the kiss was purely primal. In an instant, his jeans felt two sizes too small. He’d wanted to do this since the moment she’d nearly fainted in the kitchen. He’d tried to talk himself out of it.
But he couldn’t.
Over the last five years, he hadn’t taken any chances, hadn’t really lived his life for fear of what the outcome would be. He hated it. He wanted his old life back.
He wanted Emma, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t have her.
For the first time in years, Ryan jumped without looking and found himself wanting more. The intensity of his reaction at being so close to her overwhelmed him.
Then he remembered he’d been good at this once. He was damn well going to show her how good.
He leaned forward in his seat, pulling her closer. Running fingers through her hair, he slowed the kiss, teased her until she whimpered and leaned into him. On impulse, he stood, bringing her up with him. Emma’s hands traveled up his chest to wrap her arms around his neck. Slipping the band from his hair, she gently dug her fingers into his scalp, pulling him closer.
In one fluid motion, he opened her lips and speared his tongue between them. She tasted like chocolate and coffee. He’d never be able to drink another cup without thinking of her.
He traced his lips across her cheek to the nape of her neck, kissing the flutter of her pulse, smelling her fruity shampoo. She gasped. Her heart raced as fast as his. He needed another sip of mocha. His lips moved back to hers.
Their haggard breathing found its own special rhythm. Ryan’s hands ran over her arms, caressing the soft skin. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts before he rested his hands on her waist. He moved closer, leaning her against the desk.
A loud clanking filled the room. They stiffened, his lips frozen against hers.
Emma pulled back, her hand behind his head. What he saw on her face felt like a dose of dry ice in his veins. Her eyes were wide with horror and shock.
Before he could say anything, she turned from him and grabbed the recorder. With fumbling, shaky fingers, she rewound it and then pressed play.
Ryan squatted to pick up the digital camera that had fallen to the floor when he had leaned Emma against the desk. He shot to his feet, his eyes staring at the recorder.
Apparently, when they’d left the cellar earlier that day, she hadn’t turned off the device. It had recorded their conversation as they’d made their way up to the garden floor.
When they heard themselves in the kitchen, Ryan understood her look of horror. On one hand, he was glad it wasn’t directed at him. On the other, he could understand her fear.
Heard over their voices was the soft girlish voice, but this time it was a soulful whisper, pleading with them.
“Emma, Ryan, please, find them!”