Page 50 of The Haunting Plot

“You feel it too,” he muses.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “You better not be talking about ghosts again. I swear to…” My words trail off when his warm palm cups my face, tilting it up. When my eyes blink open, his brilliant blues meet mine. I’m vaguely aware of the paint he’s smearing on my cheek, but for once I don’t care. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming. Penetrating. It’s exactly how I’ve described it in my books. I want to look away, but I can’t.

He leans in slightly, and my head involuntarily tilts up as if he’s the sun and I’m a thirsty plant starved for vitamin D. My eyes dip to his lips, and his tongue darts out, wetting them. I’m vaguely aware of the buzzing, but it sounds muted as my pulse pounds loudly in my ears.

“I’m talking about this energy between us.” He shifts closer, his warm breaths tickling my skin. I don’t realize that he’s pinned me against the door until my back hits the wood and his hips press against mine, holding me in place.

I want him to kiss me, to put his hands on more than just my face. The urge is foreign and new.

The instant his hips shift against me, I have to swallow the moan fighting to escape. He steps back, dropping his hand as he removes his phone with his clean hand, answering it without dropping eye contact. “This is Sawyer.”

An irritated female voice chirps from the speaker, but it’s muffled as he presses it tighter against his ear.

“I lost track of time. I’ll be there in fifteen to pick them up.” He hangs up and backs away.

“Where are you going?” I internally chastise myself for how needy I sound.

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I glare at him, frozen in place as he collects the paintbrushes and does a quick cleanup of the space. When he approaches me again, I awkwardly shuffle to the side so he can get by. He points to his cheek. “You’ve got a little…paint.” He smirks as he exits, leaving me still trying to wrap my head around what just happened as I struggle to catch my breath.

Once I hear the front door click, I walk over to the bathroom and scrub the paint off my face. I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Summer.

I need your help.

What’s wrong?

Fuck, this is hard. It feels like I’m being dramatic. I think through how I want to communicate this to Summer without causing unnecessary panic. Normally, I’m the calm, rational one in our dynamic, and Summer is the one who excels in expressing emotions. I don’t know how to do this. Several texts come through in rapid fire.

Raven?

What’s going on?

Are you okay?

Answer me.

I’m okay.

I’m just feeling things I normally don’t.

And I don’t know how to process it.

Or explain it.

I need more than that.

My heart is fluttering.

Like palpitations?

Do I need to call 911?

No.

Jesus.

Okay. Phew. What’s going on?