“If I tell ye, do ye swear to remain calm and not get mad at me?” I stroll back to her side of the car and open her car door, all the while waiting for her to answer me.
She thinks about it and narrows her eyes at me. It feels like forever before she finally answers. “I promise not to get mad at you.”
“Remember what ye just said,” I say with a chuckle, more for my sake than for hers. I lean in and give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She eyes me for a moment before sliding back into the car. I shut the door and slide over the hood again, only this time, I fall right on my ass. I lie there for a solid minute, groaning and thoroughly hoping that she didn’t see me do that. Until I hear her door open.
“Oh my god. Are you okay?” she calls.
I hold up my thumb instead of verbally responding because, truth be told, I’m not able to speak yet. My lungs are still screaming from how hard I hit the ground. That’s what I get for trying to show off. I try to stand up on my shaky legs, keeping my hands on my thighs, and take a deep breath.
Her giggle makes me look up, and this time, my breath is taken from me for a different reason. Her laugh sounds like music. It instantly soothes the pain I feel. “What’s so funny? Shite. That kinda hurt, ye know.”
She laughs even harder, causing me to chuckle. I wince when a sharp pain stabs my side, but other than that, I was actually fine.
“You should have seen your limbs.” She can barely breathe because of how hard she’s laughing. “They were all over the place. You looked like… ‘Oh, shite!’” she says, mimicking me as she flails her arms like I did when I flew off the car. “And your face. Oh my god, your face. I. I can’t. Breathe.” She wipes away the tears escaping from her eyes.
I straighten up and try to ignore the pain in my back. As I stroll over to her, I intentionally bypass the hood of my Mustang. “Ye think that’s funny, huh?”
Gwen's laughter starts to slow as I begin to get closer to her. I push her up against the car. “Yeah,” she stutters, staring at my lips. “But are you okay?”
“Nothing ye can’t fix,” I say. I cup her jaw and rub my thumb over the apples of her cheeks. There is an extra tear that had broken free, so I wipe it away from her olive-toned cheek. “Ye truly are beautiful when ye laugh, Gwenie. Ye stunning.”
My other arm snakes behind her back and pushes her to me, aligning our bodies together just like they had been the other night. My nose kisses her nose, and I tease her like that for a minute. Her hands settle on my hips and her fingers flit under my shirt, rubbing the flesh right above the waistband of my pants and making my body tingle.
“We better get going. I don’t want the food to get too cold,” I whisper against her lips. She arches her back, pushing her hips over my hardened cock. It takes all I have to resist. I push her gently away, leaving her gasping for breath.
I step around the hood of the car, careful not to try that party trick again for quite a while. I slide back into the driver’s seat as Gwen lowers herself into the passenger seat. Once she shuts the door, I notice that her nipples are taut against her shirt. I have to squeeze the steering wheel to make sure I don’t reach over and rub the hardened nubs between my fingers.
“You never told me how you knew I always wanted to open those gates and come see this house,” she reminds me.
I swallow hard, hoping that what I’m about to say won’t earn me a slap across the face. After all, it was quite a big invasion of privacy.
Chapter Fifteen
Gwendolyn
I start to wonder how Reilly found out about my love for this place, especially because he got really quiet as the car rolled through the iron gates. We drive to the top of the old, concrete driveway. Leaves cover the cracked pavement and a few of them swirl with the breeze, creating a small funnel.
The old mansion looks like something out of a horror movie. Everything is run down. The trees sway and the weeping willow branches tickle the roof, drooping down past the windows and covering them like the inside of the house is a secret. The beautiful stone has grown black with dirt because it hasn’t been cared for all these years.
Once the car comes to a stop, the lights beam off the gothic, cathedral-like front doors. They are covered in cobwebs and bugs, I'm sure. I don’t do bugs.
“I’ll answer all of your questions inside.” Reilly opens the trunk and takes out a picnic basket, a blanket, and a big flashlight.
I grab the flashlight from him and turn it on. “Are we here to see if this place is haunted?” I point the light at a bush when I hear a noise coming from within the branches.
He chuckles. “No. This place isn’t haunted. It’s just old.” He inserts another key into the door and turns it, the door creaking open and displaying nothing but darkness.
My heart pounds in my chest as I shine the flashlight inside. I gulp, but Reilly just steps inside like it’s nothing, even as the floorboards creak under his weight. “Be careful,” I whisper.
His boots leave footprints in his tracks as a result of the buildup of dirt and dust. The coffee table in the middle of the foyer has layers of cobwebs on it, too, kind of like a veil. I move the flashlight in every direction, but I don’t leave the doorway. Without taking a step in, I see the slightest reflection of crystals hanging from the chandelier. The place definitely needs to be aired out with all that grim gunk floating in the rooms.
“Are ye coming?” he asks, stepping toward the staircase.
“I’m good here.” My voice shakes with fear. The staircase starts out narrow at the top, curving at the bottom like an elegant Victorian stairway leading to a ballroom. There is a haunting beauty about it, but fear of the unknown is real, and we have no idea what took place here for all the decades this old house has been around. I shake my head, getting rid of those thoughts. I’m starting to sound too much like Mills.
Reilly comes back to the entrance and takes my hand, pulling me into the huge house. “Come on. Ye’ve always been curious about this place. Don’t let a little dust scare ye.”
“A little? It looks like it’s been here for a hundred years," I mutter, swiping my finger along the coffee table to prove my point.
“It has been. The old man owned it, but he didn’t live here. It’s been empty for some time. It just needs some love and it will be good as new.”
I cock my head, pointing the flashlight at him. “Reilly, what are we really doing here?” It seems a little odd that we’re just standing in the middle of the living room of this place.
He takes the flashlight from me and sets it next to the massive marble fireplace. He spreads out the blanket that he had in his hand, making clouds of dust fly everywhere as he lays it flat on the ground. “Ye think the fireplace still works?” he asks, taking the light and shining it up the chimney. “It looks alright. I’m going to go see if I can’t find some logs. I’ll be back.”
I grab his arm. “You’re leaving me here?”
He cups my face and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be gone a minute. You’ll be fine. Ain’t nothing going to get ye in this house, Gwenie. You’re safe.” His kiss makes my bones weak and my legs nearly give out. With just one touch, he relaxes my body and I become a pile of mush. “Sit down on the blanket. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply softly, watching as he walks away from me. I can’t even stare at his ass as he disappears because it’s so dark inside of this place. I hear his footsteps descending the front porch, and the silence around grows more and more eerie by the second, giving me a serious sense of paranoia.
A creak sounds from upstairs, making me tilt my chin up as I dart my eyes around. I want to make sure I’m alone. I jerk my head toward the window when I hear something tap against it. I whine at the sight of Reilly. I don’t like being in this big old place by myself.
“Come on, Reilly.”
The tapping echoes through the living room again, and I bring my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. If I could ignore how old and creepy this house was at n
ight, I bet I’d love it during the day. It seems like a beautiful place to explore, but there are too many noises at night, and a lot of things I can’t see. Sure, it was probably just an old house, settling and cracking its bones, but the noises still keep me on edge.
“Gwenie?”
I shriek at the sound of my name, burying my face in my knees on impulse. It was just Reilly, who had shouted from the front door. His boots hurry across the room, pounding on the floor as he moves. And when he gets to the living room, the wood he is carrying in his arms tumbles onto the floor. Reilly pulls me into his arms, and I crawl into his lap, hiding my face in the crook of his neck as I inhale his unique scent.
“Hey, what’s wrong? You’re okay,” he croons, rubbing my back.
“You scared me,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks blush from the silly admission.
“Aw, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was just telling ye it was me. I was trying not to scare ye.”
The sound of his voice slows the rapid beat of my heart. His Irish accent is familiar and safe, making me feel like I’m home. He wraps his arms around me pretty tightly and scoots closer to the fireplace with me still on his lap. “Why don’t ye tell me ye favorite thing about Portland while I build the fire? Don’t move off me lap, though. I like ye there.”
I nod, hiding my smile in the place where his neck and shoulder meet. When he leans forward to pick the wood up off the floor, I tighten my grip around his neck, ensuring that I don’t fall off. Something falls. I assume it was the wood being tossed into the fireplace. “I loved the view from my balcony. There were trees galore and a beautiful river. The sunsets were the prettiest I had ever seen. I sat out there every night, with a cup of tea or a beer, and I watched the sun go down, painting the sky a beautiful combination of orange and pink. It was peaceful, and the sound of the river flowing nearly put me to sleep.”
“That sounds amazing.”
After the strike of a match and a few seconds later, we have a small flame going in the fireplace, trickling and popping as the flame tries to take over the big logs. The orange flicker glows, sending a hue throughout the living room. Some light is better than none, and it’s certainly less creepy than the flashlight, for sure.
“It was amazing," I respond, "but the apartment was so small. It was a studio apartment, so I hardly had room for anything. Which doesn’t seem like an issue in this place. So, tell me again. Why are we here?”
Reilly picks me up and sits me down on the blanket as he rummages through the basket. He starts to pull out a few containers, all of which are full of food. My stomach takes a moment to growl, and I slap my hand across it, trying to silence the noise.
“It seems it was a good idea to bring food. Someone’s hungry,” he says with a smile. He opens the lid to reveal loaded baked potatoes, still steaming with heat, and some drumsticks. “And I know ye like your baked potatoes with ranch dressing—ye weirdo.”
“I’m not weird. Don’t knock it 'til you try it.” I grab the bottle of ranch dressing from his hand, pouring it over the fluffs of potato.
“That just looks sick.” He opens the bottle of wine and takes out a pair of glasses from the basket.
I lick my fingers. “Is that basket never-ending?” When he doesn’t say anything, I look up from my fingers to find him staring at me. The wine continues pouring into the glass, and if he doesn't stop soon, it will overflow. “The wine," I point.
That shakes him from his thoughts, and he stops just in time, saving us from a mess. “Here ye go.”
“A nice full glass. Just how I like it.” I take a large sip to make sure the wine doesn’t spill. "We don’t need any wasted drops!" I exclaim. I set the glass down on the blanket and scoop a large spoonful of potato in my mouth.
“How did you know I’ve always had an interest in this place? I never told anyone. Not even Mills," I explain. "Not that it was a secret or anything. It was just something I never voiced.”
“Sounds like a secret to me,” Reilly says with a smirk, biting into the thick meat of his drumstick.
I roll my eyes. “Well, it sounds like it is a secret, but if someone were to ask, I’d tell them without hesitating. So many other people were interested in it, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to hear that I was, too. I appreciate the building's beauty from afar, even if right now, it's giving me the creeps.”
He clears his throat. “A little love and this place will be right as rain.”
The word ‘rain’ makes my body shiver. His accent tends to be a little heavier with ‘r’ words. It makes me wish my name was Rachel or something, just so I can hear it more. “Yeah, this would be an amazing house to live in.”
He rubs his hands on his pants and takes out his wallet. “Please don’t hate me,” Reilly says as he unfolds an old sheet of paper. It has a yellow tint to it, and it seems like it might fall apart at any second. He takes a deep breath and hands it to me.
I shove another scoop of baked potato into my mouth and then I take the paper from him. “What’s this?”
“Just look.”
I open it up, and what stares back at me shocks me. “This is a page from my diary, Reilly,” I say in total shock. I can barely make out what it says because the ink has faded, but at the bottom of the page, my name is still visible. “How did you get this? I know this page. I went to add to it once, but when I opened my diary, it was missing. I thought I had torn it out and lost it. You mean to tell me that you had it all this time? Why?” My voice starts to raise as panic sets in. If he has this, then it means he could have easily read other pages in my diary, too. Pages that expressed how I felt about him. “You read my diary?” My heart breaks with the knowledge that he would clearly disrespect my privacy like that. “I kept this hidden on purpose.”
“I can tell ye getting mad but hear me out. I had climbed into your window again when you were out with Camilla. Me and your brother were going to hang out even though your parents said no, but he unlocked your bedroom window and told me to come in that way. When I did, at the time, your desk was by the window, and my foot hit it as I entered your room from the window. Your diary fell off and landed on that page. It wasn’t hidden. I swear to ye, Gwenie. It wasn’t. When I turned it over, I saw a name that I recognized. Gredence Place. This place. I read it and I shouldn’t have. You are right about that, but we shared the same passion for this place.”
I fold the paper and give it back to him. “Why keep it all these years?” I place my hands in my lap. I’m not mad, but I’m not, not mad. I don’t know how to feel at the moment. It happened so long ago, and I know it’s stupid to be angry about a silly piece of paper.
“I don’t know, to be honest. I guess because it made me feel closer to ye. I already felt like there was something between us, but I knew I couldn’t act on it. Maybe I thought that one day, I’d be able to get ye the house, and we could live happily ever after in it.”
Well, it’s hard to be mad at that. “And are we? Are we going to live happily ever after, Reilly?”
“I sure hope so. I didn’t buy this place for us not to be.”
I blink a few times, not sure if I heard him right. “You did what?”
“I bought it.” He sips his wine so casually, especially after a statement like that.
“You didn’t buy it for us. You can’t say that you knew this would happen.”
He nods, setting his wine glass down. “I know. I hoped it would, but at the end of the day, I bought it because I love this place.”
How could Reilly afford a place like this? It isn’t my business to ask, but I’m so curious. Lucky’s does well because it’s the only bar in town. Does it really do well enough to buy a mansion like this?
“Well, congratulations, Reilly. I think this deserves a toast.” We lift our wine glasses as he scoots a bit closer to me. The hue from the fire reflects off the side of his face, brightening his hazel eyes and lightening the red hues hidden within his beard.
I want to touch him so damn badly.
<
br /> I want him to be mine so damn badly.
Chapter Sixteen
Reilly
Our glasses clink together as we celebrate my purchase of Gredence Place. I’m surprised Gwen doesn’t ask me how I can afford it, and I’m also glad that she doesn’t ask me because I have no idea what I’d tell her. The truth would be a good start, considering we’re already lying to everyone. We don’t need lies between us on top of that. And I do plan to tell her the truth. When I’m ready.
“I can’t believe you stole that page out of my journal," she laughs, giving me the impression that she isn’t angry anymore.
“It’s not the only thing I’ve had in my wallet for a long time," I reply.
She brings the wine glass to her lips, but before taking a sip, she laughs. “Don’t show me a condom, please.”
“Ye brat! Every man knows the worst place to put a condom is in his wallet. That’s how holes happen and that’s how pregnancy happens.” I pull out the photo of us that I’ve kept in my wallet ever since her college graduation. When I look at her, she has a solemn expression on her face. She doesn’t take her eyes off the wine, and her brows are pinched. Was it something I said? “Hey, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her thoughts away and plasters a big, fake smile on her face. “What? Nothing. Just counting how many times the wine rippled.”
“What?”
“Never mind. What do you have to show me?”
I hand her the picture of us. I’m apprehensive about giving it to her since it seems to be in even worse shape than the piece of paper from her journal, which is odd, because that’s older than the photo. I have taken the photo out more over the years than I have the journal entry. I missed her when she was in Portland, and I needed to see her in some way, so I’d stare at the photograph at night, trying to remember what it was like to have her in my arms. I dreamed of feeling her heart against mine as I held her close to my chest. She felt like mine for those brief moments, and they were all that I had over the years. The photograph made me feel close to her when she had been so far away.
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