Page 25 of Cursed
He went still. Without turning to face her, he answered, “My night was the way it always is.” The way he said it was like a warning—don’t go there.
She might have pressed him, but she’d been worried about her dreams. What if he’d had the same dream?
As that thought flashed into her head, she was glad his back was still to her.
He couldn’t have had the same dream! That was impossible. And if he had, she didn’t want to know about it. With her teeth clenched, she tried to force that outrageous idea out of her head.
In the next moment, she had something else to focus on. The room beyond the doors took her breath away.
His office had been full of modern equipment. This room was like something she might have imagined in an old British university It was all dark wood and floor to ceiling shelves with beautifully carved moldings. As she walked inside, she could smell the unmistakable aroma of old books. It was obvious that he’d inherited a sizable collection of volumes along with the estate.
Scanning the shelves, she saw that some of the books were obviously old and rare. But he’d added to the collection, because others were modern. When she walked closer, she saw all kinds of nonfiction subjects including what she would have called coffee table books. In another section were some of the latest bestsellers.
The focal point of the library was a polished stone fireplace. In front of the hearth was an almost threadbare Oriental rug, forming a conversation area for two comfortable chairs arranged to take in a view of the leaping flames. But as in Andre’s office, the chairs were also positioned to look out over the beautifully tended gardens. While the office view had been restricted by high shrubs, the library windows looked on a used-brick patio and a wide green lawn rimmed with flower beds.
“So, do you spend a lot of time here?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She walked over and ran her hand along some of the spines of the books. “You must haunt the bookstores in New Orleans.”
“No. I used to get catalogues from various bookshops. Now I mostly order online.”
“Oh.”
More books were piled on a polished library table. His recent acquisitions. Or maybe they were volumes he had taken out and hadn’t put back yet.
She picked up a slender book on Fermat’s Last Theorem and flipped it open. It was full of math equations. “You understand this?”
He laughed. “Barely.”
“But you find it interesting?”
“Yes.”
She examined other books, amazed by the diversity. Everything from alternate energy sources to auto repair to something calledThe Myth of the Werewolf.
“Why are you reading this?” she asked, thinking she wasn’t going to tell him about some of the men who worked for Frank Decorah.
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It sounded interesting, so I bought it.” Picking up another volume, calledThe Great Sailing Ships, he flipped it open. “About the same level of interest as this.”
“You’ve never seen a werewolf, have you?”
He stiffened. “That’s an odd question.”
“Your swamp would be the perfect place for one,” she heard herself saying.
“I’ve never encountered one there—or a sailing ship, either.”
She laughed, trying to get a handle on the man. He was a mystery. For all she knew, he had caused the problems with the town, and she had stepped into the middle of the mess he’d made. Now he was counting on her to bail him out
She didn’t want to believe that. She wanted to be on his side. Because she was living at his estate? Because she was attracted to him?
“What are you thinking?” he asked suddenly.
She felt her face heat. “Why do you ask?”
“You looked like you were working on an important problem.”
