Page 15 of Haunted

“Honestly?” He placed an unopened bottle of water in front of me before moving to the opposite side of the table with his dinner. “I have no idea.”

There was such wonder in his voice, along with a hint of vulnerability I’m certain he didn’t mean to project. Whether it was purposeful or not, he’d given me a glimpse of his true self; the one he kept hidden behind carefully constructed walls. Keaton was good to his core. Ten minutes alone with the man and I knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, yet something felt off.

His revelation sat heavy on my chest long after we’d both finished our meals. When he told me to relax while he grabbed a quick shower, my feet should’ve sprinted out the front door. Instead, I used the time to try to figure out how I could feel such a powerful pull to a virtual stranger.

He had money, if the opulence of his home was anything to go by, yet he didn’t flaunt it with gold-plated fixtures and diamond chandeliers. Everywhere I looked, there were shades of black; not even a throw pillow or two on the sofa to lend a splash of color to the room.

“You can have my room and I’ll take the guest room tonight.”

My head whipped around when he spoke. Thank God I was sitting down, otherwise I would have fallen on my ass at the sight of him. He was standing at the bottom of the stairway—which he’d told me earlier led up to the master bed and bath—in a pair of dark gray sweatpants with the letters FBI printed along the right side and nothing else except a T-shirt in his hands. The tattoos I’d caught sight of earlier were on full display, climbing both arms and connecting with a larger one that spanned the width of his broad chest. There was something written in the black ink, however the distance between us and the shirt he quickly donned kept me from being able to decipher the letters.

“Um…what the hell are you talking about?”

“Sleeping arrangements.” He looked confused when he replied. “My mattress is more comfortable so you can have it.”

Getting to my feet, I shuffled toward the door, snagging my license off the counter on the way by.

“Listen, Keaton. While I appreciate your offer, there’s no way I can stay here.”

“Why the hell not?” he boomed, making me jump. “Shit, sorry. You don’t ever have to be scared of me, Henley.”

“I’m not,” I whispered.

“Christ, I’m making a mess of this.” He shook his head. “Waverly or Lanie would know what to say to convince you to stay here where you’d be safe and warm.”

“Are they your girlfriends?”

He roared with laughter and by his reaction to the sound, I got the distinct impression it wasn’t something he did very often.

“No, Little Bird. They’re my coworkers, though most of the time they act like annoying sisters.”

It was the second time he’d called me by the nickname, not that I was counting.

“Gotcha.” I reached for the doorknob. “Thank you, Keaton.”

“Won’t you reconsider? Stay the night?” he pleaded, edging a few paces closer.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

He lowered his chin in defeat, but I could’ve sworn as I closed the door between, I heard his deep voice rumble, “Not yet.”

The second time I was awakened by a knock on my window was no less startling than the first. Only this time, the dim light of day helped illuminate the man who was hunched over, peering through the glass, rather than the harsh brightness from a flashlight.

“Morning, Henley,” he called out.

I stretched my lower limbs to ease the tightness, which always came from sleeping in close quarters, before sitting up to acknowledge his presence.

“What are you doing out here so early, Keaton?” His mouth opened, except the only thing to leave it was a stream of smoke created from the contrast of his hot breath against the chill of the morning air as he exhaled. It was then, I noticed a newer model black SUV parked directly beside mine. “Wait, did you stay out here last night?”

He averted his gaze, giving me the answer I sought, which in turn, had a million other questions popping into my head. The first one slipping out so harshly could solely be blamedon the fact I hadn’t had any caffeine. I wasnota morning person.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing? Everything?” Keaton began to pace between the two vehicles. “It’s your fault, really.”

Pissed off that I was more than a little turned on over the idea he’d given up his bed to sleep next to me—sort of—I threw on a sweatshirt, followed by my worn-out sneakers and hastily exited the car. I was furious by the time I stomped to his side, mostly because I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to throw down with my federal agent or climb him like a tree.

Whoa. Mine?