Page 58 of The Keeper and I

He took another deep breath. His gaze flicked over to the window, and he held it there for several long moments. The moonlight pooling through made him look like a statue—a sexy statue—but her patience was wearing thin.

“Just tell me the bloody—”

“Caroline,” he said.

Her heart folded in on itself. “You said you didn’t—”

“I don’t know anyone by that name. I swear to you, Laci,” he told her, stepping up to the bed to take her hands in his. “I meant it. I have no idea why it keeps coming up. I don’t know a Samuel either. All I know is what I heard.”

She pulled him closer, so he stood between her knees. “You’re certain?”

He nodded. “I know it sounds mad.”

“I believe you. I just…it’s odd.”

She shifted where she sat, unsure whether or not to reveal a secret she had carried with her since childhood. But he was being vulnerable, and if he could do it, so could she. She swallowed.

“When I was a little girl, I heard things around the house,” she admitted. “They sounded like voices or whispers, but I can’t remember exactly what they said. I told Mum about it once, but she insisted I was dreaming, so I never told her again, or anyone for that matter.”

“Have you heard them since you were wee?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“The night we met, you said you thought you’d heard my voice before,” he said. “Was it here?”

She blinked, breathless that he remembered such a small detail. “I…maybe? It’s not clear enough.”

She gazed steadily up at him. The room was so dim his eyes looked almost black. Perhaps it was the way his pupils dilated after he noticed her shirt, where her nipples were clearly protruding. She bit back a smirk. He was definitely going to cave.

“You alright?” she asked innocently.

“Fine.” He cleared his throat and stepped back. “Perhaps it’s best we sleep this off. We’ll have clearer heads in the morning.”

He turned and she swore she saw him adjust his crotch. She let him off the hook and climbed back up the bed to slide under the quilt as he stripped down to his boxers. A scene that rid her of any concerns about voices or apparitions. All she could think about now was Jordan’s six pack and what it might taste like if she ran her tongue across that washboard. Or maybe traced the tattoos that stretched from over his heart down to his wrists. When he faced her again, he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Are you ogling me?” he asked.

“Yes, and I’m not even sorry,” she replied with a grin. “But you looked at me first.”

With a sly smile, he walked over to the empty side of the bed and nestled in beside her. She started to move toward him to cuddle like they did on her couch, but he snatched a pillow from behind him and placed it between them.

“Oh no,” he said. “You stay over on your side, and I’ll stay over on mine.”

“We can’t even cuddle?”

“No. I know what you’re up to, and it’s not gonna work.”

“I’m not the one that needs a pillow to control myself.”

With that, she rolled over and switched off the lamp on her nightstand. She listened to him sigh and do the same with smug satisfaction.

After breakfast, Laci gave Jordan a tour of the rest of the house and grounds. From the bedrooms above to the kitchen below, even the garden despite it being rather bare this time of year. Throughout the tour, she watched his face.

He kept getting this odd, faraway expression, like he was seeing something that wasn’t there. Each time, she wanted to ask him about it, but she was afraid he’d insist it was nothing.

The last room she showed him was the library.

“This was always Tate’s domain,” she explained as they passed the stacked shelves.