Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1)

by Tiana Laveen

  “And I should have not answered the phone when I saw it was you calling…”

  “See? That’s how these city folks are, Emerald. You one of ’em too now but hopefully you recall the values instilled in you as a child.”

  “And what would you have me take from all of this, Sugar?”

  “Don’t go lookin’ for trouble and you less likely to find it…”

  Something about the way the natural folds, twists, and cottony turns of the turquoise blouse brushed against her skin became a source of his increasing arousal. He let that sight marinate in his mind for a long while; the inner warmth began at the center of his skull and travelled south, clenching to his cock, and migrating all the way down to his toes. The top button of her shirt was undone, exposing a small but delightful twin scoop serving of bosom beauty. A sweet aroma from her person mingled with the other scents in his home, causing an avalanche of happy memories from when he was a bit younger. He felt as if he had the world in the palm of his hand.

  He’d prepared some homemade lasagna—his specialty, one of the few things he knew he could prepare perfectly without fault. He’d used a combination of ground beef and turkey, an array of fresh seasonings, and was proud of how it had turned out. To pair with it, he’d tossed a chef salad in a large wooden bowl, the eggs sliced thin, yolks intact, juicy cherry tomatoes from the Farmer’s Market, and shredded provolone cheese. In the middle of the massive dining room, one of his favorite yet least used areas of his home, the table was set, laden with all the things he wished her to partake in. He hadn’t forgotten other odds and ends, such as a bowl of golden, toasty garlic rolls he’d picked up from a tiny mom and pop bread and biscuit bakery; however, dessert had threatened to be a casualty. In his haste, he’d forgotten to pick something up, so on a whim he’d raced off and selected a Pepperidge Farm Italian crème cake from the Target store freezer section. It would indeed do the trick.

  Picking up another glass of wine, he presented it to her and stood by her side like a protective shadow. Emerald sat in the elegant high back chair upholstered in gold, a brilliant smile on her beautiful face. In front of her he’d placed ten glasses he’d pre-poured with wines for sampling. Her eyes took in the sight, and she appeared eager to embark on her taste test.

  “Now, after what we’ve gone over, I want you to taste this one in particular and tell me what you notice about the Wildhaven Untamed versus the Montoya Cabernet.”

  He handed it to her and she took it, gave it a faint sniff, swirled it about, then inhaled it once again. Her full, burgundy painted lips parted and she took a delicate taste. Placing the glass on the table, she brought another one to her lips and did the same. After a few reflective moments, she turned to him, her chin high and confidence dancing in her eyes.

  “The Wildhaven Untamed is less sweet than the Montoya Cabernet. The Untamed has a bit of a woodsy flavor, too.”

  “Very good!” He smiled smugly like a professor whose student made him proud. She was a quick study, indeed. “That’s all true, every word of it. Which do you think you’d prefer if you had to choose between the two?”

  “Hmmm, that’s a hard one.” Not as hard as my dick got when I spied your ass before I pulled out your chair, but whatever… “I like them both differently.”

  “So, you’re a two-timer?” he joked, sliding in the chair beside her.

  Her jaw dropped for a split second before she sported a grin at his double meaning.

  “I’m speed dating these wines, so yes.” She nodded with a cute laugh. “I get around… at least for tonight.”

  “I bet this Peter Michael, ‘Au Paradis’ Cabernet Sauvignon Oakville will make an honest woman of you yet.” He grabbed a glass he’d set to the far right and handed it to her. She did just as he’d taught her, enjoying the bursting bouquet.

  “Oh…my…goodness.” Her eyes rolled back in a dramatic gesture and her enthusiasm pierced the air with bubbly exuberance.

  “It’s good, isn’t it? One of my all time favorites in the last two years. This is only 2012. I’d purchased an entire case of the stuff.”

  “This is the best red wine I’ve ever had, hands down! This is what I want with my dinner tonight.” She waved the empty glass in his direction, prompting him for more. “You’ve been holding out on the good stuff.”

  “No, not at all.” Pulling in a little closer to her, he wrapped his arm around her seat. He took notice of the way her gaze darted to his fingers delicately touching her shoulder. “I just save the best for last…”

  “Like dessert.” She stared him in his eyes, and he stared right back.

  “Depends.”

  “Depends on what?” She crossed her legs and threw him a flirtatious look.

  “Are you dessert?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I Can Read You Like a Book…

  According to the black and white owl-faced clock above the white fireplace aglow with ivory and sea foam blue candles, she’d been there twenty-three minutes. To Emerald, however, it felt like all of five seconds. She supposed the adage was true; time truly did fly when one was having fun. As soon as she’d pulled up to the sprawling, charming property, she’d made her way up the long driveway and simply stared at the white pillars. She was duly impressed with what he’d done with the place, especially after checking online about the upkeep of the grounds over the years.

  It seemed Sloan had tried with all of his might, and budget, to restore the place to its former glory. As she made her way up the steps and approached the slightly ajar front door, she tried to forget the history of the mansion and simply focused on the present. Besides, it would do no good to work herself up and allow Sugar’s terrified, ‘boogeyman gonna getcha’ worries to season her with petrifying fear. A warm, mellow glow shone from the entrance, but as she neared, it was swallowed by a giant… Sloan. He’d blocked the light, but then restored it to its proper place via a bright smile as he’d pulled the door fully open and smiled down at her, his green eyes twinkling. She’d wondered if he knew that less than ten percent of the population had green eyes…

  Stopped in her tracks, eyes locked on each other, he’d wrapped his big, warm, muscular arms around her in a heated embrace. And damn, did he smell good…

  Moments later, he’d taken her on a quick tour of the home. Each room was decorated to perfection, like something out of a museum. He confessed he’d had a professional tackle the task, stating it wasn’t his forte. He wanted his home to be a place his children and grandchildren would often to come to visit.

  Then, he’d led her to the dining room with promises of an Italian feast she couldn’t wait to dive into, the mouthwatering smell of the food filling up the entire house, causing her stomach to rumble with anticipation. Sloan wasn’t Italian, but he’d cooked a lasagna he guaranteed would make her fall in love with him.

  His words, not hers, though she appreciated his sentiment all the same. After a delightful lecture on wine tasting that he somehow made to sound fascinating, he now offered a full spread of samplings from an assortment of wines, then requested she choose a winner from the selection. She did as requested and in no time flat, he let it be known he had more than food in mind.

  “Dessert? You see me as dessert?”

  “The appetizer, main course, and dessert, too. I want it all.” Sloan leaned in to slide his lower lip along her earlobe. She trembled at the touch…had to force her body to quiet down. In a moment, he pulled back, his brow arched, his lips slightly ajar, and his slow gaze moving over her, studying her, taking her all in.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have said that. I can see I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  “It’s all right.” She smiled ever so slightly as her body kept heating up with his saucy declarations. “And it doesn’t make me necessarily uncomfortable. I just don’t think—”

  “I’m rushing things? You’re not ready for that. … I understand.” He sighed, then rose to his feet. “Let me get dinner on the table, okay?”

  “W
ell, let me help you!” She started to rise from her seat.

  “No, no, no… I’ve got it. You just stay right there, enjoy your wine.” He pointed at the glass before her. “I’ll be right back,” he said with a wink, and left.

  Emerald rested her arms on the table and crossed her ankles, falling into a safe place of tranquility as she swirled her glass of wine to and fro. The smells from the food were downright cruel at this point, taunting her, the quiet and warmth of the house creeping into her bones, feeling so good.

  She didn’t get a sense of unease, or any sensation suggesting terrible ghosts drifted about… nothing of the like. In fact, she felt beyond welcomed. She felt at peace; and yet, she didn’t have the right words to express to Sloan in the way she wished that he hadn’t made her feel uncomfortable in any way. There were just things on her mind, troubling things, confusing things… things that didn’t quite make for a romantic mood. Sugar had pushed the wrong buttons, drudging up stuff she didn’t want to entertain.

  Photos of Sloan’s children hung all around, and she was envious of the closeness he shared with them, wishing that she, too, could have that with her own daughter. Suddenly, out the corner of her eye, she noticed some movement. She quickly looked up, yet nothing was there. It was as if someone had hurriedly walked past, yet she knew it couldn’t have been Sloan. Noises were coming from the kitchen, and he’d told her they were alone in the house. Cocking her head to the side, she slowly rose from her seat, her attention piqued.

  She took a step, and then another, until she was in the foyer area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. To her right rose the vast staircase, twisting and turning like hand-tied black and white silk. Right in front of her, across the way, stood the office. She hadn’t yet gone inside, but he’d pointed it out during the quick, impromptu tour upon her arrival. Two double French doors were framed by heavy, deep red curtains, layered over a sheer white pair. She remembered him saying he’d recently changed the curtains per the house designer’s suggestion, but to him, it had made no difference. The doors, albeit beautiful, allowed no light and no sneak peeks of what existed beneath the veil.

  Finding herself drawn to the room, she walked over and placed her hand upon the tempered glass. She shuddered immediately upon contact. The door was cold, like a Siberian hard winter, as if an invisible, quiet industrial size freezer were set on full blast on the other side. She’d never felt such a thing in her life, and it rippled through her core.

  “What’s up?” came a deep, rumbling voice.

  She jumped in her skin and placed her hand across her heart at the sound of his voice. The handsome fellow stood only a few feet away from her with a small wine colored towel draped across his arm like some waiter at a fine restaurant.

  “Um, nothing.” She shook her head, pairing it with a happy-go-lucky smile. “I take that back. There is something. I just thought… thought I’d seen something.”

  “Well,” he said. “You know the deal.” He smirked, though his expression was pinched with trepidation, as if he feared she might flee. “You probably have. That’s weird though. Up until now, since I’ve been living here that is, I’m the only who’s actually seen anything, just like I told you. Mike, my son, some of my other friends… my agent has even been by a few times, but nobody has seen anything except me. It’s strange, ya know? Not sure why that is; made me feel like everyone would think I’m a liar. I hate to say this. But I’m kinda glad you did… now I don’t feel so crazy.” He laughed nervously.

  “I can totally understand that. You said it doesn’t happen to you every day though…just most days.” She shrugged. “Oddly enough, I don’t feel uncomfortable. I mean, it was strange, but I really can’t put my emotions into words… I don’t feel threatened, or even scared, if you get where I’m coming from.”

  He nodded in understanding.

  “It… he… whatever it is won’t bother you though,” he said matter–of-factly, as if he were in the know.

  “And how do you know that for certain?” She crossed her arms over her chest, catching a bit of a chill in the air that seemed to begin a slow migration into the rest of the area.

  “That’s a good question, but I just know. I can’t explain it to you, but it’s like when someone tells you something will be okay, and you trust ’em. Nothing has been said to me, but it’s like when I was cooking dinner; I got a feeling of reassurance that you wouldn’t be bothered. I even asked that you not be.” He chuckled nervously.

  “Thank you for your request,” she said, amused.

  “Yeah, I would’ve never let you come over in the first place if I thought something bad would happen. Matter of fact, since you’ve been here, things feel less heavy, if that makes any sense. He must like you.” He spoke in a joking tone, though she could see in her eyes that he meant what he said.

  What type of relationship was he forming with this entity? Was “relationship” even the proper term for such a supernatural occurrence? It seemed Sloan had not only accepted what was happening, but had made peace with it, as well.

  Perhaps it was all an act, designed to make her feel more at ease. His eyes seemed sincere enough as he took hold of her arm and led her back into the dining room, pulled out her chair, then sat across from her. The table now had a large pan of bubbling, cheesy lasagna on it, a heavenly aroma perfuming the air. He cut the thing into perfect rectangles, fixed her a plate, and placed it before her. When she stuck her fork in, the cheese dripped through the metal prongs as she lifted it to her lips.

  Sloan busied himself with his own plate, making quick work of the meal while she, on the other hand, took her sweet time, savoring the delicate and robust flavors that mingled perfectly together. After two bites, she was a believer.

  “This is so delicious, Sloan. You really outdid yourself,” she stated around a third mouthful of the gooey, delectable comfort food.

  “Thank you, baby.”

  Her insides warmed and melted like drawn butter at the seductive expression on his face, because she knew he wasn’t even trying to turn her on…

  The minutes wore hats made of laughter, and the laughter cackled until it spilled out the makings of an hour. A Ray Charles tune provided their background music, the distinctive voice belting ‘That’s What I Say’ as they spoke of work matters, such as his need to visit some of the places he wrote of; but of course, Saturn and Mars were not journeys he’d been able to find a mode of transportation to, and besides, they had no notable hotels there.

  He always wrapped his words, serious and not, around a bellyful of glee; yet, she saw through him. Sloan was a reluctant walking, talking looking glass. Emerald observed his every word and move, recognizing his need to be transparent with her, as well as his desire to protect her from the ugliness inside him. Everyone was capable of a bit of malice, and despite his creativity, intelligence, and physical appearance, she was destined to see the craters in his moon, no matter how bright and magnificent he could be.

  “I was thinking about something.” He grabbed his wine glass, swirled it about leisurely.

  “What?” She mirrored his actions, taking her glass in her hand as well. Returning his gaze.

  “I remember one evening we were on the phone, talking about our jobs, and I mentioned to you how I knew I wanted to write fiction.”

  “Yes, you said you were experiencing a lot of highs and lows.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded, cleared his throat, swirled his wine one more time, and took a thoughtful sip. “And one of the lows was my divorce. During that process, I wrote my second best seller, ‘The—’”

  “‘The Green Eyes of Gypsy’.” She grinned. “I read it last week… excellent work, by the way.”

  The man’s lips curled in a proud smile. His eyes hooded, he nodded, then raised his glass. “Thank you.” He took a sip and set it down. “So, I wrote that book in exactly fifty-two days. Never in my life had I written so much and so fast. I was certain it was going to be a disaster, but,” he said, “as you know, it w
asn’t. I want to let you know, Emerald—not only are you the only woman I actually approached all on my own since my marriage ended, but you are one of the few people I’ve allowed to get this close to me in a short time. That’s not like me. I have a lot of trust issues. I smoke a lot. I have a temper, too. I think most people are stupid in this world… These are all character flaws of mine—a sense of arrogance, as my son calls it.

  “I can’t help it. I know it’s wrong, but…” He shook his head as if disgusted with himself. “I seem to have it as part of my claim to fame, so to speak. I can be jealous…” Was that a loaded look he’d just given her? Loaded like that dish on the table. Loaded with unspoken intentions… “I don’t date multiple people at once and if I really like a lady, I’ll want to be with her whenever I can, and I’ll want her to try her best to be with me, too. I told you on our first date that I was a one-woman man, and I meant that. So, uh…” He wiggled about in his seat, hand on his gut, as if suddenly uncomfortable. “What do you think of that?”

  ‘Pusherman’ by Curtis Mayfield began to play at that moment.

  “Think of you being an arrogant, jealous, chain smoker who is possessive, a workaholic, perfectionist, demanding, and works best when angry as hell and pressed against a deadline? Well, we all have our demons, now, don’t we?” She winked at the man and her words caused him to practically tumble out of his seat.

  “Did jah really have to describe me like that?!” He threw up his hands. “You make me sound so bad!”

  “You made yourself sound bad,” she quipped. “But at least you know these things already. Instead of trying to say that it’s just who you are though, if any of those traits or habits really bother you, then try to change them.”

  “But I like being a fuck up.”

  Silence reigned for a spell, then they burst out laughing.

  “Sloan, you are in need of prayer, more wine, and a good shrink.” She cackled. He agreed, his amazing eyes glossy with tears of mirth.