Page 37 of His to Haunt

Perplexed, I watch him adding my image on canvas, only glancing at me briefly in intervals.

“What was your job for the family funeral business?”

“We all had our talents and contributions,” he says, telling me nothing.

Eyes closed, I go quiet, my thoughts warbling with fatigue. The heaviness of sleep calling, slowly pulling me under. The feel of my jaw slackening wakes me—I must stay awake and not drool. I close my mouth, eyes dropping with consciousness once more.

“For tonight, I am only blocking you in.”

Startled, I jump, blinking my eyes open. In an instant, Zand moves from his easel to standing right over me, eyes downcast, his masculine scent wafting.

I sit up, pulling the straps of my dress over my exposed bra while he shamelessly watches me with that strangely beautiful face of his and those moody eyes and mean brows.

Kimmie makes a sound, and I glance over at her. She’s out cold.

“Are you available tomorrow, Leena?”

I look up at him. “I…didn’t agree to—“

“We must finish,” he says with finality.

If I tell him no, he will surely hate me. I sigh, my shoulders dropping.

“How many times will I need to come?” I ask, defeated. Pathetic.

“Mm, depends.”

Assert yourself, Leena!

“You’ll give me the key tonight, Zand. Or I won’t come back.”

I spit the words out, but at least they came out.

“The basement is off limits, in ill repair. It will be the death of you if you are stupid enough to go down there.”

His tone has such gravity when he says this; chills creep down my spine and arms. He must have told the same thing to Stacy, which better explains why she did not complete my sister’s request.

But I will.

“I have no interest in the basement,” I lie. “But the key comes with the house. The gallery key is also missing. Do you happen to have it?”

Kimmie makes a mumbling sound, and we both glance over.

“The sofa pulls out into a bed. You can both crash if you need to.”

My brows raise in surprise. This is the first neighborly gesture he has offered. But I have no interest in staying over, and I’m certainly not leaving Kimmie here alone.

“Thanks, but we’ll go.”

I go to her, nudging her shoulder. “Kimmie, it’s time.”

When that doesn’t work, I try to sit her up, but she’s as heavy as a bag of beans. Dammit. She drank too much.

I sit down beside her, exhausted and wanting this night to end.

Zand goes to the fridge, pulls out a glass juice pitcher, and pours himself a glass. Maybe cranberry juice, but it’s an unusual color. Blood red, just like the wine.

“I’d offer you some of the best stuff. But it’s too strong for you,” he says in a low, hypnotic voice like an echo to my tired mind. He almost sounds high.

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