Page 187 of Haunt Me

How could I, when I had never been to this house for Christmas?

How could I, when I had never experiencedthis?

The road in front of Walter’s house is white; a light snowfall has already started. My security vehicles trudge black lines as they circle the block. All three of the Elliot apartments are a few blocks apart, and I have assigned teams to each of them, just to be on the safe side.

As we approach them, I compare the different decoration styles.

Walter’s house is pure class. It looks beautiful and festive, decked with lights lining the windows and a simple bow on the front door. But a block over, outside the building with Manuela and Faith’s apartments, it looks like Christmas has exploded. The lawn is an extravaganza of golden, blue, and green inflatable decorations and light installations. I smile, imagining Faith, Justin, and their tiny son, Noah, running around decorating this place as if it’s Times freaking Square, and Manuela shaking her head at them. I’m pretty sure she gave her men free rein, and that’s what resulted in this monstrosity; I’m pretty sure she won’t want to talk about it.

So I’m definitely going to want to talk about it—in detail.

A rush of emotion washes over me as I realize that these people were complete strangers to me only a few months ago, and now I can picture their facial expressions just by driving up to their houses. It’s making me lightheaded.

My car stops and assistants flutter around me, carrying my massive luggage. I am bringing at least three guitars, my violin and about a thousand presents—most of which are books for Eden. I don’t care if I’ve gone over the top.

I haven’t had Christmas with my family—or any family—in over six years, and I can’t help myself: I’m so excited I can barely stand it. The snow keeps falling, a thin layer of ice already coating my car’s window. The Elliots’ mailbox is piled with snow, which tells me it’s been snowing all week. The tree branches overhead are painted white, and the grates are billowing with smoke on the pavement. I look up at Eden’s window, and my eyes mist.

This is not a house; it’s a home. Through a flutter in the curtains I can see the fairy lights lining her bookshelves. Downstairs, it looks like there’s an orange glow in the fireplace and a small Christmas tree that looks like it’s been decorated by a two-year old. I bet it has been. The familiar ache in my heart knocks the wind out of me for a second.I want this. My gloved hand rests on the door bell before I press the button.

Eden opens the door.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly, her face lighting up with a huge smile. She’s wearing no shoes, only socks—again—and one of her huge sweaters that reaches mid-thigh. Black leggings. I don’t dare look down. Her hair is piled on top of her head, little tendrils falling over her ears and eyes. She has tinsel wrapped around her wrists, as if she’s in the middle of decorating. “Isaiah, you’re here!”

“Stop calling me Isaiah,” I murmur, and the bag I’m holding drops onto the icy steps with a thud. I don’t even notice.

I close the distance between us in two strides, and I lower my head to hers. The tinsel falls from her fingers as I pull her to me, my arms going around her waist and her neck. She freezes for a split second, but then her hands are up in my hair, pushing my head down to her lips frantically. Next thing I know, she is panting almost as hard as I am, opening her mouth to taste me. I explore her mouth hungrily, and then…

Sensation erupts inside me with so much force, my breath is knocked out. I moan. She is doing this thing with her tongue that makes my knees buckle.

I brace a hand on the wall behind her and press her into me until my chest becomes hollow, my body melted to hers. As I sink into her, a sigh escapes me, guttural and hoarse. The physical relief of being this close to her, of tasting her, of kissing her, is so great, that the sigh turns into a shuddering sob. Into her mouth.

I sway against her, and she catches me around the waist before I can fall.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern thick in her voice.

“Nothing, baby,” I murmur, in a daze, “it’s just… I’m starving.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place. We have been cooking all morning.”

“No,” I close my eyes, try to take a normal breath. Fail. “Not that kind of starving. Starving for you. I have been surviving on our old kisses for years, Eden, but they are only memories. They can’t compare to the real thing.”

“I have been starving too,” she says. I tuck her hair behind her ears and run my hand down the smooth line of her cheek. I tip her head up to kiss her again.

“You have?” I murmur over her lips.

“Of course,” she replies. “But I thought you wouldn’t be. I mean, I thought you would have found someone… Or many girls…”

My hand drops abruptly.

“You thought wrong,” I say acidly.

“So many girls throw themselves at you daily,” she says, her voice quiet in disbelief.

“I want you,” I reply.

“You don’t.” I think I am slowly losing my mind. “Isaiah… It’s ugly, what’s going on with me.”

I pull her into my arm and press my lips to her temple, crushing her body against mine.

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