Page 45 of Double Bucked

That knocks his words back into his mouth. But then he stands and closes the distance between us. My heart trips in my chest when those chestnut eyes stare into my own.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says, his voice low, intense. “Not once. Not for one night. You’re the only woman in my brain. The only woman I want in my bed.”

“Stop it,” I say. A quiet whisper.

His gaze doesn’t budge. “Do you think about me?”

“Stop.”

His hand catches the side of my face. His thumb touches my bottom lip. I fight back the urge to suck the digit into my mouth. There’s fire in his eyes, a dark rim around those soft browns. “Do you think about me when you’re with him?”

And…

I’m tired, suddenly.

So, so tired.

I’m tired of hating him. I’m tired of loving him. I’m tired of fighting both feelings battling around in my chest like pissed-off farm cats.

I feel like my muscles have been tensed and ready to fight ever since I got that call that my father was dead. And now…

I don’t have the energy to fight this. Not tonight.

I take his hand from my face. I know this hand. I remember these strong fingers between my legs. I touch my lips to his rough palm. With my eyes on his, I guide his hand to cradle my face.

We’re close. So close. His thumb strokes my cheek. I can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, as though just being near me is enough to get his heart racing.

“Daddy’s funeral is tomorrow,” I say pointedly.

He nods. “I know.”

“I need you there. So whatever you’re feeling right now…I need you to button it up and sleep it off.”

I use every reserve of energy left to put my hands on his chest and shove him. Hard.

His solid frame moves a step back.

“Claire.”

“What?”

He gives a small, nearly imperceptible tilt of his head. “Sweet dreams.”

The look in his eyes says, I’ll see you in them.

I leave the stables and don’t look back, even as I can feel Ransom’s eyes following me. I run my fingers through the tight braid in the back of my head and shake it out as I walk, letting the strands unravel until it’s just a wild, tangled mess.

I slip through the break in the hedges and walk back inside the house. I kick my shoes off in the foyer. The house is dark but not quiet. There is a presence. The creaking of old wood. The ticking hands of the clocks. Even the walls seem to have their own beating pulse.

There’s a ghost in this house, but I don’t know if it’s my father’s or my own.

James is upstairs. I can hear the floorboards creak as he walks from one end of the bedroom to the other. He’s talking to someone, the sound of his voice soft and muted. I climb the staircase and move toward him, but I find myself pausing in front of my old room.

Little ghost girl.

I touch the crystal door handle. The rough pattern bites gently into my skin as I twist and push it open.

I’m met with a gush of stale air. As though the ghosts are saying, Finally. Finally, we’re free.

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