by Emerson Rose
I’d rather not see a ghost, but a tour of the house sounds like it would be nice. “Sure, I’d like that.” He leads me through the house with his hand on the small of my back as I’m learning is his way. I try to take in the beauty of the ninety-year-old house, but he is on a mission to feed me, and there’s no time to stop and smell the roses.
The dining room is spectacular with its high ceilings, intricate molding, and a gorgeous view of the forest. It’s dark out, but the grounds outside are lit up with magical twinkle lights like the front of the house. The table is long, capable of seating at least twelve people but only set for two at one end.
I jump when a woman enters the opposite end of the room with a large covered tray. Alex moves to the end of the table and pulls out a chair for me. “That will be all, Greta. If we need anything else, I’ll ring for you.”
I glance at the pudgy middle-aged woman with gray hair and smile apologetically. Alex’s tone and bossiness are overboard, and the woman is working on New Year’s Eve. I feel bad for her.
A small smile crosses her face when Alex isn’t looking, and she excuses herself without a word. Alex sits down and removes the cover from the food. He is chatting and serving while I sit and stare at him with hard eyes.
He notices my lack of participation in the conversation and looks over at me.
“Is something wrong, Olivia?”
“Yes. Why were you so rude to that woman?”
He jerks his head back and sits up erect in his chair surprised. “Rude?”
“Yes, the tone you took with her…”
He interrupts my complaint holding up his hand. “Greta has been working for me for twelve years. I can assure you she is happy here and quite used to my tone.”
“I would never let anyone speak to me like that.”
“That’s why you are your own boss. You have the streak.”
“What streak?”
“Some people have a strong streak of independence. They cannot tolerate being ruled over, and their soul naturally opposes all forms of restriction. You have that streak, and it’s difficult for you to see others who don’t have it suffering, so to say, what you cannot stand yourself.”
“Are you a mind reader or something? How is it that we hardly know each other, and you seem to have me pegged so well?”
“I’m good at reading people, and I see a lot of myself in you. I, too, have the streak.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“You should, it was intended as one. I may be curt with the staff, but as I said, they’re used to it and are well compensated for their time and tolerance. Now that that’s out of the way, are you ready to eat?”
I nod and place my napkin in my lap looking around the dining room again. I’ve never been into old houses or buildings and their decor. I prefer industrial with a touch of Bohemian flair myself. Alex’s home is decorated in pure 1920’s period pieces to match the mansion. I don’t think I’d like any of it in another environment, but in here, they are exactly right.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Nine years. The neighborhood is historically preserved, and no one wanted to put the time and effort into restoring this beast, not to mention it’s known to be haunted. I saw it as a labor of love.”
“Haunted, huh? I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I didn’t either until I moved in here.”
“So you think they’ll change my mind?”
“Perhaps. I think they’ll enjoy having you around, though.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I say looking around for signs of the spirit world. I wasn’t lying about not believing in ghosts, I don’t. I do, however, believe in evil.
“You look worried. I thought you didn’t believe.”
“I don’t believe there are ghosts per say, like spirits caught between heaven and hell. I do believe in evil and demons. I think they trick us into believing we are seeing ghosts or spirits of loved ones to upset us.”
He looks thoughtful and removes my plate to serve me what I think is a rack of lamb. “So you believe in heaven and hell and angels and demons, but you think human spirits go one way or another and don’t linger.”
“Yes, more or less.”
He hands me my plate. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you? It hadn’t occurred to me to ask until now. I apologize.”
“No, not at all. Lamb?”
“Yes, Greta is the best cook I’ve ever employed. You’ll beg on your knees for the recipe. I guarantee it.”
On my knees, huh? That comment conjures up all kinds of images, but none had anything to do with recipes or his sweet cook, Greta.
He stops serving suddenly and asks, “What are you thinking?”
“Um, nothing, why?”
“Your eyes went from hickory brown to almost black with lust.”
“They did not.”
“They did. Would you like a mirror?”
I roll my eyes and huff. “Why would a recipe for rack of lamb fill me with lust?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Do you have a love of cooking or lambs? Please tell me you don’t have a lamb fetish.”
I chuckle, a lamb fetish? I don’t even want to think about what that means.
“Neither. I’m not much of a cook, and I don’t even know what a lamb fetish would entail, no pun intended.”
His face relaxes, and a smile slides across his face. “It was the part about being on your knees then, wasn’t it?”
I look away embarrassed. How does he do that?
“Don’t be embarrassed. This is us getting to know each other, and I quite like knowing that intrigues you.”
“I never admitted to that. You’re assuming, and you know what they say about assuming.”
“I know I’m right, and it shouldn’t upset you.”
He pours me a glass of champagne, and I give up on arguing, something I’m not known to do, but with Alex, it’s easier than the alternative. I don’t want to have a conversation about submission at the dinner table on our first date.
“Thank you. So, are you from Seattle originally?”
“Yes, born and raised.”
“Does your family still live here?”
His posture stiffens, and he sets the bottle of champagne down harder than necessary. Family problems. Great. Him, too? “My mother does, my father died when I was in high school.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be, it was a long time ago.”
“No siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child. You?”
“No, I’m an only child, too.”
“We won’t have many people to invite to the wedding, will we?”
My hand freezes holding a forkful of lamb halfway to my mouth. He did not just say wedding, he couldn’t have. I’m hearing things.
“Relax, I’m playing with you.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and he covers my free hand with his. “I do like you a lot, though, Olivia, and I intend to get to know you intimately.”
Whoa, he has to stop with the innuendos before I go running out the front door. “I like you, too. You’re a little overwhelming, but I like you.”
He squeezes my hand before letting go and raising his glass for a toast. I do the same. “To overwhelming intimate moments,” he says clinking his glass with mine. I’m not sure how to take that, so I keep quiet and drink my champagne.
After dinner and a bottle of champagne, we start our tour of what I have now learned is the Highland Wolfe Estate. It’s ten thousand square feet of elegance and style that I can’t imagine living in.
“The gardens are beautiful in the spring and summer. I spend a lot of time on the back patio then. I love the outdoors, but unfortunately, I don’t get to spend much time outside with my work schedule.”
“What are you into?” I realize after I’ve said it what a loaded question it might be, but I don’t care. I find myself wanting to know mor
e and more about him. Anything he’s willing to share, I’m eager to eat it right up.
We are walking along the length of one of the living rooms. It has floor-to-ceiling French doors that face the backyard.
“I enjoy hiking, mountain biking, running, most anything that can give me a break from stuffy courtrooms and offices.”
“I love to run. I don’t take enough time to do it regularly, though. Most of the running I do is my business.”
“I understand that all too well. We should go for a run sometime.”
“I’d like that, but you might get frustrated with me. I’m not in the best shape right now.”
He steps away from me still clasping my hand and twirls me in a circle. I laugh at the sudden spin. “I disagree, you look like you are in perfect shape to me.”
The lights are dim, and the reflection of the twinkly lights from outside give the room a warm, romantic glow. He pulls me to his chest pressing me flush against him and slides his hands up my arms. Goosebumps break out all over my body from the contact, and my tummy does a flip and then a flop.
He moves in to claim my mouth, and I feel my muscles go limp. The kiss begins slow and explorative, tongues tasting, sliding against each other. It feels wonderful, but I keep thinking, analyzing, and second-guessing myself wondering what I’m doing here with this man.
That all comes to an abrupt halt when he kicks the passion up a notch, deepening the kiss. I slide my hands up his lapels feeling the muscles of his chest rippling under the expensive material. His mouth is hungry as the kiss becomes molten hot. I feel his hand slide around to my nape, and the other down my back to cup my ass.
If a fire alarm went off or someone said a typhoon was only moments away, it couldn’t stop me from responding to him.
“Olivia,” he says still kissing me. “We have to stop,” he says the words, but they don’t exactly register in my mind, and he doesn’t stop kissing me, so I ignore his plea. He walks me backward to the nearest set of French doors until my back is pressed against the chilly glass panes. His hands move to my breasts and slide up to my shoulders and into my hair where he manages to loosen the updo that my stylist took an hour to create. As soon as I feel my hair fall down my back, he threads his fingers in the tangles tugging my head back gently to give him better access to my neck.
Between kisses and nips of my skin, he growls. “Olivia, I’m warning you now, if we don’t stop, I’ll be ringing in the new year inside of you.”
Now that grabs my attention. I put my hands on his chest to put distance between us to catch my breath. “Alex, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression of me. I’m into this, very much so actually, but I just met you and…”
“Shush,” he says holding a finger to my lips. “I’m sorry I got carried away. I’ve been thinking about kissing you like that since the first time I saw you.”
I kiss the tips of his fingers, and he removes them stepping away from me. I reach out and take hold of the lapel on his tux and step back into his space. “I’m glad you kissed me. I wanted you too, but I’d like to take it slow if that’s all right.”
“It is, say no more. I promise to be a perfect gentleman for the rest of the night or at least until midnight.”
I smile, and he kisses my forehead and takes my hand to lead me further on our tour. “I have a surprise for you upstairs.”
I look at him suspiciously, and he chuckles. “Not that kind of surprise. I promised, remember?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I am a man who always keeps his promises, Olivia. Remember that.”
10
Come on.” He leads me to a staircase that is hidden behind the kitchen. “This was originally for the wait staff. The architect wanted to do away with it, but I like the idea of having two ways out. I also didn’t want to mess with the original design.”
We climb the dark, narrow staircase, and for the first time, I can see why the house has been touted as haunted. It’s downright spooky in certain places, and this staircase is the spookiest of all.
“I would have let him get rid of it,” I say looking around at the exposed brick and ancient sconces. My grip on his hand is tight, and I’m following so close behind I almost trip over my dress.
“Rethinking your belief in ghosts, are you?”
“No, definitely not, but this place looks like the perfect place for a demon who enjoys playing tricks.”
He chuckles as we emerge into a brightly lit hallway. I breathe a sigh of relief and allow more distance between us. “These are a few of the guest bedrooms. A den and a library are up here as well.”
“Why do you need such a big house when it’s only you?”
“I had planned on filling it up with children.”
“And, what happened with that?”
“I never met the right woman. I’m only forty-one, it’s not too late, you know.” He winks, and I feel a hot blush creep up my neck.
“I’m never getting married,” I blurt out. Why on earth would I say that?
To him?
Right now?
“Why is that?” He places his hand on the small of my back to guide me into a large solarium.
“I never want to depend on someone else. I like my independence.”
“You’re afraid of commitment, and you don’t want to expose yourself to pain?”
He stops in the middle of the dark room and points up. I tip my head back, and as soon as I do, fireworks begin to light up the sky. The display distracts me from his comment. “Oh my God, you did this?” I say looking at him. He is staring at me with eyes full of so many emotions, it frightens me but only temporarily.
“I did this for you. I want this to be the most memorable New Year’s Eve you’ll ever have.”
I tilt my head back again and watch the elaborate show through the glass ceiling. Alex moves behind me and wraps his arms around my waist to watch. I can feel his warm breath against my ear and his heart beat against my back.
I notice music playing softly. The fireworks are timed perfectly to the beat and the lyrics. I recognize the song. It’s Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay. I love this song, and now I love it even more.
“Do you like it?” he whispers in my ear.
“I love it,” I whisper back. The fireworks seem to go on forever when the grand finale starts, and my heart skips a beat. No man has ever done anything this romantic for me, not even close. If this is a first date, what would a relationship with him be like?
Relationship, shit, we were talking about why I don’t plan on getting married when the sky started lighting up. I hope he won’t try to resurrect that conversation.
When the last of the fireworks die down, he kisses the side of my neck. “Still think you never want to get married?”
“Are you trying to change my mind on our first date?”
“I didn’t know about your aversion to marriage before tonight, but now that I do, yes, I am taking it as a challenge.”
“Good luck there, buster.” I’m trying my best to sound nonchalant and unhopeful, but the truth is, if he could keep this up, he wouldn’t have to work hard to change my mind. I’m sure I have nothing to worry about. Nobody can be this romantic and thoughtful all the time.
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Olivia. When I set my eyes on something I want, I don’t hold back.”
“And you’ve set your eyes on me?”
“I have. Prepare to be worshiped, courted, spoiled, and possessed.”
“Nobody possesses me.” I cross my arms over my chest forcing him to free me.
“We shall see. Come with me, I have another surprise.”
He doesn’t guide me this time. Instead, he walks ahead, so I am forced to follow. I guess I deserve that after shooting down what felt a lot like a marriage proposal and or a purchase agreement. What is it with this man? He’s got me so conflicted, I don’t know if I want to follow him to bed or slap him for claiming he will own me one day.
He leads me down
a long hall that ends at the grand staircase that I saw when we came in. We descend into the foyer, and he opens the front door.
“We’re leaving?”
“Technically no, we’re taking a short ride, but we aren’t leaving the grounds.”
“It’s cold out.”
“I’ll keep you warm.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and hurries me into a waiting limo. I’m only chilly for a moment when a gust of wind catches my dress and exposes my leg. Then we are inside the warm car moving down the driveway.
“The house has several smaller residences on the grounds. We are going to one of them.”
“Oh. I don’t suppose it will do me any good to ask why.”
“No, it won’t.”
We ride in silence for a moment when I start to feel anxious. I decide to ask more questions about this past. “Why did you choose to specialize in medical malpractice?”
“When I told you I was an only child, I wasn’t totally honest. I’m a twin. My brother died during childbirth due to a mistake the physician made. My parents told me about it when I was ten. I didn’t have the best childhood, and I always thought how much better it might have been had my brother not died. I guess you could say I did it for him, and then my father was an attorney, too. My parents expected me to walk in his footsteps. My mother was disappointed I didn’t go into another kind of law, something more ruthless and public. She’s all about image.”
“She should be proud of the work you do. You help people who can’t help themselves.”
“Well, my mother hasn’t been proud of anything I’ve done since my father died. That’s a story for another time, though. Tonight is about you.”
“It is? I thought it was about getting to know one another.”
“I’d rather it be about you.”
The car stops in front of a quaint stone house that could be featured on the front of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Thick green moss grows on the outside walls, and the glowing light coming from the small windows make it appear magical.
“This is it,” he says opening the door before the driver can run around. He helps me out and curls his body around mine to shelter me from the wind as we hustle toward the house.