The lights blinked three times in rapid succession. The bulb at the other end of the hall burst, shrouding the path in darkness.
Shit.
Just then I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the wall nearby.
It hadn’t followed me all the way to Whit’s apartment, stopping several feet behind me, perfectly still.
Watching.
Waiting.
Oh, my God.
Too terrified to move, I could only observe helplessly when my shadow rippled, and the silhouette of a woman stepped away from the wall to turn toward me.
“Zellie?”
I jumped, inhaling a jagged breath as my attention snapped back to Whit’s door. I was so relieved to see him standing there, I wanted to throw myself into his arms. But I could only stare at him, trembling, eyes wide, suddenly forgetting why I’d come.
He stood in the doorway, his lids heavy with lingering sleep, dark hair mussed. He was barefoot and wearing only a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, probably having just thrown them on when I pounded on his door.
His concerned gaze drifted from my face to my shaking hands.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep. His eyes flicked past me, just for a second, like he was checking for something in the shadows. “What’s wrong? Do you want to come in?”
I blinked a couple of times, then checked the hall behind me again. But it wasn’t necessary. I could already feel that it was empty. The heaviness had lifted the moment Whit opened the door.
I gave myself a mental shake and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have come. I just…”
…am a victim of multiple ghosts who are terrorizing me?
“I just…I wanted to…apologize,” I stammered, still too shaken to think coherently. “I mean, for earlier. But I guess also now for waking you up at three in the morning.” I vaguely gestured at his bare chest and torso. “Obviously.”
He shook his head. “Zellie—”
“I don’t want you to think that I was throwing myself at you to get something in return,” I said in a rush, cutting him off. “I’m not that kind of person, Whit. I hope you know that. Despite what happened earlier.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. “There’s no need to apologize, Zellie,” he said, his voice quiet, tense. “It wasn’t your fault.”
His words were comforting, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Frustration? Anger? With himself? Withme?
My heart sank and tears pricked the corners of my eyes, my emotions worn raw. “I should go.”
I turned away, but his fingers caught mine. “Wait.”
His touch trailed along my palm as he released my hand, lingering just a second too long when he reached my fingertips.
I swallowed, the brief contact still burning on my skin.
“Zellie, I never want you to feel obligated to me in some way because you live at Dawes House. I hopeyouknowmewell enough now to understand that.” He took a half step toward me to lean on the doorframe, so close to me I could feel the warmth of his body, and dropped his gaze to the floor, exhaling slowly as if taking the time to carefully consider his words before lifting his head, his gaze locking with mine, his already dark eyes growing even darker as he rasped, “I only turned you down earlier because you weren’t thinking straight tonight.”
I searched his face, gauging his sincerity. Then, my voice little more than a whisper, I spoke the words that I knew could change everything between us. “I’m thinking straight now.”
He went completely still for a long, torturous moment. Then he lifted his hand, hesitating just a beat before the back of his fingers skimmed along the line of myjaw, his touch light, almost reverent. When he reached my chin, he gently tipped my face up. He flicked a glance down to my mouth then lifted his eyes back to mine, questioning. I nodded, my lids drifting shut as he slowly bent to press his lips to mine.
It was a sweet kiss, tentative, just a light brush.
But it ignited a powder keg of desire.
