Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

I didn't want a woman in my life, and I sure as shit didn't want a cat.

And here I was.

As I'd feared, setting up the spicy cat in my actual house was a lesson in patience. Which wasn't something I had in abundance on a good day, let alone one when I hadn't slept in my own bed. Unfortunately, I'd also gotten one of the best nights of rest in her too soft bed.

That was the part I hated most.

Bonus punch was I'd actually enjoyed waking up to watch her getting ready for the day.

I'd never lived with a woman other than family in all my thirty-five years. And my parents had been the definition of dysfunctional. Yet I evened out the more I was around this woman. She drove me crazy, but she also was endlessly fascinating. Her brain worked on warp speed, and her sense of humor lightened the mood between us nine times out of ten.

But then she pushed and poked at me. Asking questions I didn't want to answer or think about. It was far easier to stay away from people and concentrate on the house.

Now I had a cat slinking around my space, sniffing in every corner.

"He's not going to piss on everything, is he?"

"What?" She shot me an offended look. "My cat does not go out of his box. He's a gentleman."

"Sure he is." I crossed the room to the scaffolding and plucked him off the platform and put him back on the floor.

I'd rigged up the scaffolding for the inspector to look over the windows, but also for me. I'd needed to get precise measurements for the diagram I was putting together for the glass artist I was interested in. Now I had to prove the house was a good fit for him. He had a waiting list, but he was known to let projects jump the line if they were interesting enough.

Charlie Tarrow was also a craggy older dude and did whatever the hell he wanted.

Something I envied on a level I didn't want to own up to.

She gestured to the scaffolding. "Tell me you aren't trying to work on those windows yourself."

"I prefer workmanship, not ego when it comes to this house, Hellcat. I know when I'm in over my head."

"Would have been better to realize that before you destroyed the porch."

And there was the poke. "We're not going there."

She gave me a not-so-innocent shrug. "Then what's with the scaffolding?"

I pulled my notebook out of the dusty bookcase by the window. "For this."Nerves skittered up my spine as I handed it over. Sketching was something that I'd done since I was five, but I didn't generally share them with people. It was one of the reasons I used to use a chalkboard, so they never saw the light of day. This was the second time I'd offered one up to her.

She took it and slowly flipped through the crinkly pages. It was an old, bound sketchbook that I'd had since before the accident. It had been waterlogged from the rescue when they'd used a water saw to tear apart my sculpture to get me free. It was also one of the few things I hadn't been able to cast off into my storage locker.

She glanced up at me. "Nolan, these are..."

"They're shit, I know."

"What? No." She walked over to me to show me the front window I'd sketched during the week. "This is amazing. It would change the front of the house quite a bit, but this..." She tapped her finger on the center of the circular stained glass I'd envisioned. It was a typical six petal design but instead of a geometric circle at the center, I'd drawn an owl. "Where did you come up with this?"

I scrubbed my palm over my thigh. "I saw the owl in the stained glass in Harriette's room."

She locked her eyes on mine. "You went back in?"

"No. I looked at it from the roof."

"Nolan!"

"What?"

"The roof? Are you serious?"

"Worried about me?"

I could practically hear her molars grinding. "I was perfectly safe."

"Why didn't you just go back into the room?"

"I wasn't chancing another trip into that space. Not that I could if I wanted to. The inspector tried to get in to check it out and now the opening won't budge."

"Really?" She slipped her finger into the page like a bookmark and closed it. "Maybe we could try again?"

"What makes you so special?"

"I think she likes me."

"I think you want to believe that."

She gave me a long look. "Can we try, anyway?"

"No."

The memory of those books careening around the room was still too fresh. In the center of it, there had been Dahlia without an ounce of self-preservation. What if the bookcases came down? Or the floor gave way? Regardless of the spectral component, which I still wasn't sure was a thing, it was too dangerous for her to be in there.

A seething Dahlia was rapidly becoming one of my favorite things. I wasn't entirely sure what that said about me. As reckless as she was, she wasn't stupid.

At least I chose to believe that.

She flipped the notebook back open. "I didn't notice the owl. Just the bassinet and the roses in the—" She gasped as she found the study I'd made of the stained-glass ceiling. I'd spent a whole evening up on the widow's walk, staring down at that glass.

The roof was structurally sound, as was the walk, but it needed a lot of work to bring it back to its former glory. Being in the center of that space had given me a lot of ideas about the more decorative items I wanted to bring to the house.

The whole damn house was a money pit, but it was the first thing to charge me up in too many years to count. The stained glass was one of the things I'd been most excited about working on.

I tried to take the notebook back, but she held it against her chest. "I'm not finished." She paced away as she flipped pages. I'd done quite a few studies of different parts of the glass and wanted to echo them around the house in different ways.

She set it on the scaffolding and pulled out her phone.

"What are you doing?"

She snapped photos of the sketches. "I want to do some research. I wonder who did the original glass work?"

I crowded into her and reached around her to slam the notebook shut. "Those are my drawings."

"I'm not going to steal them." She turned in my arms. She smelled of sunshine and ripe peaches today. With her hair scraped back in a braid, there was nothing but full throttle Dahlia. Her elven chin that made me itch for my charcoals, and those huge dark eyes that saw too damn much. "When I was in that room, I couldn't stop looking at that ceiling piece. And here it is. You did that."

My heart was slamming in my chest. "It's just a study, Hellcat."

"It's not. If that's all you wanted, you could have taken a photo on your phone. You drew this because it moved you, same as me." She tipped up her chin to meet my gaze.

"I'll send you photos."

"I like this interpretation more. Would you let me scan them in for a tin or glass reproduction?"

"No." My work didn't deserve to be in here. I would find real artists who would do a better job.

"Why not?"

"I just don't want to."

"There are tons of walls to decorate in here. Those are beautiful."

"They're not—" I cut myself off before I said they weren't worthy. "That's not the direction I want to go in."

She sighed. "All right. I'm really happy you want to keep important pieces of the history of this house intact, at least."

"Why buy a Victorian if you don't want to embrace the history?"

"You would be surprised how many stupid things are done when people have more money than sense. Just ask Shelby's fiancé. His house looked like a child had been let loose in a SkyMall catalog."

"And she still wants to marry him?"

Tension broken, she laughed and rested her hand on my chest. "He's learning the difference between spending to get a dopamine hit and creating a home."

I didn't know what a home was, or what it meant. But this house was more than a big art project for me. Its history and character spoke to something inside of me that I was still trying to figure out.

Similarly, I was trying to figure out this woman and why she made me yearn for things I had no business wanting.

I took the notebook away from her. "These drawings will hopefully entice Charlie Tarrow to work on the house."

Her mouth dropped open. " The Charlie Tarrow?"

"He lives in the area. Kind of."

"I know. Not that I've ever worked with him, but I know the name. Question is, how do you?"

"Not many stained-glass artists around these days. I'm just hoping this house is interesting enough to get him to take me on."

"When you go in, you go all in."

I brushed my hand along her hip to the hem of her shorts. "That's a fact."She swallowed and I couldn't drag my attention away from her throat, or the softness I knew I'd find there.

My phone blared from my pocket and jerked us apart.

Only a handful of people had my number. I stepped away from her and pulled it out to see Archer Baldwin's name on the readout. I immediately picked up. "Finally."

"Nice to talk to you too, jackass."Archer's dry as dust voice came through the line with a side of static.

"Where are you?"

"Leaving Turks."

"I thought you were in Aruba."

"I got bored. Followed a stewardess to her next location. Spent a lovely week with the incredible Celeste."

I snorted. "Why does this not surprise me?"

"She has a very interesting life, as well as a tattoo on her?—"

"Okay, I'm good without the details."

Archer chuckled. "Since when?"

I glanced over my shoulder. Since her , which was also a problem. She snaked her hand around me and snatched my notebook again. "Hey!"

"Hey what?" Archer asked.

"Not you."

"Am I interrupting? Oh my God, you finally got laid!"

"Shut up. Did you listen to my message or check your email?"

"Nope. I literally just got off my flight. I'm in..." I could hear the booming voice of airport arrival announcement. "Hell, where am I? Excuse me, miss. What city am I in?"

The honeyed voice of a woman rumbled in the background, but I couldn't make out her answer. As usual, the woman had entered the tractor beam of Archer's charm.

"Right. Thanks, love. Coffee?" Even through the static, I could hear the smile in his voice. "Depends on the coffee and where my next flight is."

"Could you wait five minutes for your next conquest?"

"Just a moment," he said to the woman. "It's a wonder you ever have company, Dev. I'm in Georgia."

Archer was one of the few people who still called me Dev. And just like that, the tangles from my past darkened my mood.

"Get on a flight for Syracuse. I have a job for you. A big one."

"Syracuse? Where the holy hell is that?"

"Central New York."

"Not even New York City? If I have to come into a city, the least you could do was give me some nightlife."

"Just get on a plane. I bought a house on a lake in the middle of nowhere." I crossed the room to Dahlia. She was looking through the front of the notebook. "I gotta go. Text me when you land, and I'll get you."

"Wait. You bought a house? Actually purchased? In your name?"

"Yep. Get here and I'll show you everything. I need your expertise."

"I'm still trying to process the purchased part. And hey, what if I already had a job lined up?"

"It's a Victorian with Gothic accents."

He whistled. "Color me intrigued."

"Get your skinny ass over here." I hung up and stuffed my phone back in my pocket.

"So, I'm not special? You actually talk to everyone like that?"

Was she actually upset about it? I couldn't quite tell by the coolness to her tone. I tried to grab the book and she shoved it under her shirt.

A flashback to the first time we met, and she'd confiscated my phone moved through me. "You think I won't go after that?"

She backed up. "Why are you hiding all of this?"

My hand fisted at my side. "I'm not hiding."

"Could have fooled me." She held the book tightly against her middle. "You have millions of dollars, and you draw like something out of an art class."

Astounded that she hadn't looked me up, I crowded into her. "What's it matter if you get paid, Dahlia?"

"Maybe I want to know more about you."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" she exploded and pushed me back as the notebook dropped to the floor. "You make me come my brains out but the idea of having a real conversation with me makes you defensive. You buy this amazing house and want to bring it back to life, you're related to one of my best friends, and I know nothing about you."

"Do you know all these details about your other clients?"

She flinched as I'd slapped her, and I cursed.

"Right. You know what? You're absolutely right."

"Dahlia—"

"Nope. Just because we stupidly decided to get naked a few times, that doesn't mean you need to share anything with me. I don't have any hold on you. I'll get out of your hair. I'll continue to look for somewhere for Gizmo, but I appreciate you letting him stay here for now."

I picked up the notebook from the floor and tucked it under my arm. I didn't know what to say. I'd already fucked it up with her, anyway.

"Right. I'm just going to get out of here." Her eyes were a little too bright.

My gut churned. I'd obviously hurt her, but it was better to hurt her a little now, than to have her get too attached to me. I fucked things up with everyone eventually.

Gizmo seemed to understand that his mistress was upset and wound around her ankles. She scooped him up. "You be a good boy, okay? I'll be back tomorrow morning to feed you." She glanced at me, but more like over my shoulder as if she didn't really want to look at me. "Could you open one of the blue cans and put it in his dish at six?"

I nodded.

Seemed inadequate, but that was where I was at right now. Anything else out of my mouth would probably hurt her even more.

She kissed the top of the cat's head and set him down before she rushed out the door.

I threw the notebook against the wall, and it dropped to the floor, opening to the page with the owl drawing. "Fuck!"

I went to pick it up and it slid away from me and across the room.

"Look, Harriette, we're going to have to find some way to live together. I ain't leaving."

The pages ruffled before slamming shut again.

I wasn't certain exactly what kind of reply that was, but I was going to take it as acceptance. She better concede since I sure as shit wasn't going to.