Cordelia groaned. “You know what? Never mind. Maybe I can get an Uber out here. We just don’t have great service on the property, and the WiFi is spottier than a bowl of Raisin Bran. But I shouldn’t have asked.” She turned to walk away, pulling out her phone and raising it over her head, searching for those glorious bars.
“No,” he called behind her with a sigh. “I’ll take you. Just wait here while I get dressed.”
“Thanks,” she said. The amber light that filtered through the trees made her feel as if she were in an Italian Renaissance painting, stealing her breath. She lifted her phone to snap a picture. A noise sounded behind her and she turned, thinking it was Gordon. But his door stood open, empty.
Cordelia hesitated, then wandered inside. The first floor was open and airy, making the space feel larger than it was. Modern cabinets and appliances lined one side, marking the kitchen,while a sleek sofa and wood-burning stove set apart the other. It was eerily quiet. “Gordon?”
She gravitated to the stairs, tried calling his name again. When he didn’t reply, she went up. “Just checking on you. I thought I heard something.”
His room was empty. She glanced around, noting the desk and computer, the workout equipment, the bed she’d imagined more than once over the last few days. It was a rumple of dark blue sheets. She walked over to it and reached down, rubbing the cotton between her fingers, a starless sky. And then, like a woman under a spell, she lifted the sheets to her nose and took a deep, delicious breath. Cedarwood and nutmeg filled her. Her eyes flitted closed as she held it in.
The bathroom door flew open to her right.
Cordelia shrieked and dropped the sheets, jumping back from the bed as if it bit her.
Gordon’s mouth hung open. Slowly, he moved toward her and reached down to pick up a shirt that was partially buried under the top sheet. He slung it on over his broad shoulders. “If you wanted to see my bed, all you had to do was ask.”
Cordelia smoldered with embarrassment. “I was checking your thread count.”
“With your nose?”
Her eyes shot to his. “Your detergent smelled nice. I was curious—”
“I bet you were,” he cut in.
She huffed and breezed past him, storming down the stairs. But he rushed behind her, catching her arm and spinning her around before she could get out the door. “Cordelia, wait! I’ll stop, I promise.”
“It isn’t what it looked like,” she fumed, though it had been exactly that.
“I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions.” He grinned.
She crossed her arms, her face hot enough to melt candle wax. “Well, you did,” she replied, still mortified. What had come over her? “I thought I heard something. You didn’t answer when I called, so I decided to check on you.”
“You were worried about me?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“Worryis a strong word for it,” she said stupidly. “I had some vague concern.”
He smiled. “I can work with that. Let’s try this again. I’m Gordon Jablonksi,ex-musician and groundskeeper of the world’s creepiest estate,” he said in a parody of her introduction moments earlier.
Despite herself, she put her hand in his.
He gave it a hearty shake. “Still need that ride?”
She nodded.
“You have a list?”
Cordelia lifted her phone.
“All right then. Come on,” he said, heading for the truck. He paused just before the driver’s-side door. Turning, he looked her in the eye. “You sure you want to do this?”
For a second, Cordelia faltered. She’d thought his reluctance was due to the conversation they’d had last night and the confrontation at the funeral. This felt like he was hesitating for her benefit rather than his own. “Of course,” she said after a moment. “Why wouldn’t I?”
His big shoulders rose and fell. “Suit yourself,” he said, and climbed in.
CORDELIA TRIED NOTto notice how close Gordon was to her on the bench seat. If she put a hand down and spaced her fingers just so, she would touch the dark denim of his jeans. Her stomach squeezed at the thought.
“What was it like growing up here?” she asked him, desperate to put something between them.
