A wide, round patch of overgrown grass and weeds sits in the center of the circular driveway with an empty stone fountain in the center.
He kills the engine and an unnerving hush falls over us.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
He turns slightly and I glimpse his handsome profile against the night. A faint smile ghosts his lips. “Home.”
“Home? Whose home?”
“The Sterling home,” he says, his voice raspy and intimate in the sudden silence.
“Yourhome? But you live over the tattoo shop, don’t you?”
“Most of the time.” He lifts his chin. “Climb off first. Use my shoulder for balance.”
My legs wobble like jelly as I clutch his arm and swing my leg up and gracelessly hop off the bike. Declan steadies me with a hand at my waist. His touch does nothing to settle the riot of sensations still flooding my body from the ride.
No, not just the ride. From him. An insatiable urge to mounthimseizes me.
As if he feels it too, his nostrils flare and his eyes widen.
His fingers grip the handlebars and for a second I’m scared he’ll ride off and leave me stranded at this castle in the middle of nowhere.
I back up, giving him room to dismount. He swings his leg off the bike and towers over me. “How was your first ride?”
“That wasn’t…” Heat blasts over my cheeks. “Oh, you mean the motorcycle? Terrifying.”
He frowns and reaches for the chin strap, neatly unfastening my helmet. “What’d you think I meant?”
I shift, rubbing my thighs together and avert my eyes. “Nothing.” Needing to quickly move away from my horny little blunder, I wave a hand at the house. “How come you never told me you own a home big enough to star in its own ghost story?”
“Didn’t know I needed to.” He sets the helmet on the seat of the bike and pivots toward the stairs. “I don’t ‘own’ it. It’s in a family trust.”
“Your family lives here?”
He winces, then shakes his head. “They rarely visit the Hollow.”
Obviously, this is a sore topic. “Oh.”
“Let’s get inside.” He jogs up the stairs and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. The iron ivy is actually a gate in front of the massive doors. They groan as he unlocks them and pulls one side open. Another key opens the wood door. He presses a hand to my lower back and nudges me inside ahead of him.
Inside is a cavern of shadows, dark gleaming wood, stone, heavy furniture, thick rugs. Musty air tickles my nose.
The iron gate clangs shut behind me and I jump. Declan secures the gate, then pushes the front door closed, throwing several locks. He steps to the side and flips a switch.
I gasp and blink at the sudden light shining from a giant crystal and iron chandelier above.
One corner of Declan’s mouth curls up. “What? Thought we’d have to use candles?”
Eager to explore, my gaze ping-pongs around the entryway. “Kind of.”
The chandelier’s glow doesn’t banish the shadows. If anything, it adds to them. Old maps in ornate frames line the walls, interspersed with portraits of people I assume are related to Declan.
Declan’s hand presses firm at the small of my back, steering me deeper inside. His touch shouldn’t feel this electrifying.
“He can’t cross the threshold.”
He.The Rider? My stomach lurches. I want to ask a hundred questions, but the weight of this house—of him—silences all but one. “How do you know that?”
