Grave Intentions (9 page)
Authors: Lori Sjoberg
Maybe she was in the shower. Maybe she had a hot date tonight and didn’t want to be bothered. Maybe he should just leave a note on the door—
“Well hello there, stranger,” Sarah said when she opened the door. She’d ditched the work clothes, looking much more relaxed in a pair of denim shorts and a tight fitting Miami Dolphins T-shirt. Her dark brown hair hung loose about her shoulders and her feet were bare, showing off a set of brightly polished pink toenails. When she looked into his eyes, a smile lit her face and put a lump in his throat. “Long time no see. I figured you were either dead or avoiding me.”
“Now that hurts. I’d never avoid you.” David smiled, hoping a little charm would cover the fact he was lying through his teeth. “Work’s been keeping me pretty busy.”
“I can relate.” Sarah reached out and gripped his right arm before he even realized what she was doing. “So how are those cuts healing?”
His first impulse was to pull his arm away, but he forced himself to play nice and let her search for injuries that had long since healed. Might as well get it over with, he thought with a grim sense of resignation. After dodging her for the better part of a week, he doubted she’d let him off the hook without a thorough examination.
“They’re fine,” he told her, acutely aware of the warmth of her fingers as they trailed over his arm.
When she glanced up, he met her gaze and sent out a mental suggestion.
Everything’s fine. No need to keep looking.
It failed to work, which threw him for a loop. Throughout the week, he’d tested his ability to influence the mortal mind. So far, he hadn’t run into any glitches.
Everything’s fine. No need to keep looking.
It failed to work, which threw him for a loop. Throughout the week, he’d tested his ability to influence the mortal mind. So far, he hadn’t run into any glitches.
Until her.
Why couldn’t he manipulate her thoughts? For the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out.
“How about the lacerations on your torso? Some of those looked pretty nasty.” She let go of his arm and pushed up the hem of his T-shirt. Her brows wrinkled when she found no lingering signs of injury. “I’ll be damned,” she muttered under her breath. “Unbelievable. You’re an incredibly fast healer.”
“I told you I’d be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
Sarah’s mouth curved up on one side, her expression somewhere between skeptical and amused. “So you told me.”
Her fingers trailed lightly across his stomach, and for a few seconds David forgot how to breathe. Closing his eyes, he focused on the warmth of her fingers, the exhilarating sensation of flesh against flesh, wishing she’d press a little harder, a little lower.
“How’d you get these?” she asked, breaking his train of thought. Her hand paused over the trio of faint circular scars on his lower abdomen, just above the beltline. “I didn’t notice them the other day.”
Probably because she’d been too busy picking shrapnel out of his skin and trying to badger him into a trip to the emergency room. “Oh, I got those a lifetime ago,” David replied, putting a casual spin on the words. He gently pulled her hand away and tugged down his shirt before she caught sight of the bayonet scar near his left pectoral muscle. He’d earned those marks on a frozen battlefield half a world away, moments before he drew his last mortal breath; an unpleasant reminder of how his latest incarnation began.
“I wanted to thank you for taking care of me the other night,” David said, switching the topic to one less tricky. Another couple minutes of small talk, and he could retreat to the solitude of his apartment. “I really appreciate everything you did for me.”
“No problem. It’s what neighbors do, right?” Sarah shrugged, and then her gaze tracked back to the stove, where a large pot of water bubbled at a full boil. “I was just putting dinner on. Have you eaten yet?”
He was about to say yes when his stomach betrayed him with an audible growl.
Sarah arched a brow. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Another growl, cutting off any chances of bullshitting his way back to his apartment. “Guilty as charged.”
“Well then, it’s settled. Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I hope you like pasta.” Before he had the chance to come up with a decent excuse, she turned on her heel and moved to the kitchen. She tore open a package of rigatoni and emptied the entire box into the boiling water. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty for two. Or should I say three? There’s enough for Adam if you want to go get him.”
“Adam’s out with some friends tonight.” David stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. “Besides, it looks like you’re making enough to feed a small army.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll send you home hungry.” Turning her attention back to the stove, she stirred the pasta until it reached a boil, then lowered the temperature on the burner and set a lid on the pot. “I work a lot of hours at the lab, so when I cook I usually make a big batch and freeze the leftovers for later.”
“Makes sense.” It had been months—no wait, years—since he’d bothered cooking a meal. Usually, he just ordered something from the deli or had a pizza delivered. The spicy scent of marinara sauce wafted over, and his stomach gurgled its appreciation. “So you work in a lab? What kind of work do you do there?”
“I specialize in biomedical research.” Wariness creased her brow. “You don’t have a problem with animal testing, do you?”
David shook his head. Judging by the defensive body language, he was treading on a touchy subject. “No. I have to admit I’m not very familiar with it, but I assume it has its purpose.”
She let out a breath as a look of relief crossed her face. “Good.”
He watched while she opened the cabinet by the refrigerator, her trim body stretching to reach the glasses on the top shelf. Toned arms, nice legs, and damn if he couldn’t help but appreciate the way the denim rode up her cute little ass. “I could have helped with the glasses, you know.”
“I know. But you’re a guest, and I’m used to getting them on my own.” She turned around, the glasses in her hands and a bottle of merlot tucked under her arm. “Do you like wine? I guess I should have asked before I got the glasses down. If you don’t, I have milk and iced tea. I might even have some beer in the fridge—”
“Wine’s good.” He took the glasses and the bottle of wine from her and set them on the kitchen table. After he uncorked the wine and filled the glasses, he took the opportunity to survey his surroundings.
The apartment suited her: neat but cluttered, with an eclectic mix of old and new. A functional brown couch took up one wall, the faded fabric covered with a brightly colored, hand-crocheted afghan. The top of the coffee table was barely visible under stacks of books and magazines, while a modest entertainment center housed the usual electronics. A pair of wooden bookcases took up most of the far wall, their weathered pine shelves haphazardly packed with books, knickknacks, and photos in an odd assortment of mismatched frames.
Curious, he went over to check out the pictures. He’d always been intrigued by the pictures people chose to frame and display. They spoke volumes about the person, about what mattered most in their lives, and Sarah’s choices were no exception: Sarah with a group of young women in a bar, each holding a martini glass. Wearing a cap and gown with her arm draped around an elderly woman. Standing in front of the Lake Eola fountain, the same old woman at her side.
But what truly captured his attention was a faded Polaroid of a young woman hugging a coltish, brown-haired girl. Judging by the shoulder pads and big hair, the picture dated back to the late 1980s. The woman was looking down at the child and smiling, but the sadness in her eyes told a much different story.
“That’s my mother,” Sarah said from the kitchen. She picked up the pot and dumped the pasta into the colander in the sink. Her expression shifted as she watched him from across the bar, mirroring the troubled look on her mother’s face. The resemblance was uncanny. “She passed away a few months after that picture was taken.”
“Oh.” Realizing he’d stepped into a potential minefield, David set the picture back on the shelf. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Sarah shrugged. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. It happened over twenty years ago.” Still, her features remained clouded. Then she shook her head and a smile replaced the darkness. “So, how hungry are you?”
The wine bottle was soon empty, dinner turned to dessert, and dessert turned into an evening watching the Miami Dolphins get their asses kicked by the New England Patriots on
Monday Night Football
.
Monday Night Football
.
How on earth did this happen? He’d only meant to drop by for a quick thank you before retreating to the peace and quiet of his own apartment. Somewhere along the way, it had morphed into an evening of pasta, popcorn, and football.
Rowdy football.
“Come on, you idiot! Are you blind?” Sarah yelled at the screen, ticked at the ref over a blown call. “That was holding!”
The woman was a force of nature. Over the course of the evening she’d sucked him under her spell, captivating him with a carefree attitude that bordered on contagious. And for those few glorious hours, he’d forgotten all about the outside world and lost himself in her company.
“What do they pay these guys for?” She let out a huff of disgust, outraged over some perceived injustice on the forty-yard line.
“To make sure the Patriots win?” David suggested, scooping a handful of popcorn from the bottom of the bowl. The ref flagged the Dolphins for offensive pass interference, pushing the Dolphins back to their own forty-five and out of field-goal range.
“Seems like it,” Sarah grumbled, her lips pressed into an angry slash. She picked up her glass before noticing it was empty. “Damn. Oh well, game’s almost over anyway.”
Actually, the game was over before the third quarter ended. The Dolphins had fumbled on their own twenty, digging themselves into a hole that only got deeper as the clock ran down.
Next door, Buford began to howl.
David sighed, pushing up from the couch with unexpected reluctance. “I guess that’s my cue.” He walked to the kitchen and set his wineglass and the popcorn bowl on the counter by the sink. “Adam won’t be home until God knows when, so I better walk Buford before he eats my couch.”
“Yeah, it’s about time for me to get to bed anyway.” Sarah glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall and stifled a yawn. “I have to get up at five.”
“Got you beat. I’ll be up at four thirty.”
“Showoff.”
David smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed an evening so much. Something about Sarah lifted his spirits and dripped a dash of color onto his black and white world. Made him . . . happy. And at that moment, for the first time in decades, he truly felt alive. It had been so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
Amazing.
His gaze drifted right to find Sarah staring back at him, the most peculiar look on her face. And when their eyes met, he could have sworn he saw lust darkening those beautiful baby browns.
She averted her eyes and blushed.
His smile widened. Visceral sparks tore through him, filling him with an almost overwhelming desire to kiss her, to curl his hand around the back of her neck and plunder those lush lips. Would she taste as sweet as he imagined? God, how he wanted to find out.
Too bad you can’t always get what you want. Buford let out another howl, effectively killing the moment and bringing David back to his senses.
“You better go,” Sarah said as she turned off the game and set the remote on the coffee table. She crossed to the foyer and slid the chain off the door. “It sounds like Buford’s getting antsy. The last thing you need is Mrs. Buckley complaining about the noise.”
David followed her to the door, his shoes so heavy they felt like they were made of concrete. He needed to get out of there before he did something stupid and lived to regret it. Only a fool would get involved with a neighbor, not to mention a mortal. Besides, he’d probably be gone in a couple months and he hated leaving loose ends.
He paused long enough to capture the moment in his mind. He wanted to remember the way she looked, the subtle scent of her perfume, the sound of her voice when she spoke his name.
“Thanks again for dinner,” he said as he stepped into the walkway outside her door. “And for the good company.”
“Any time, David.” There was a curious gleam in her eyes as she watched him from the foyer. “Next time, bring Adam with you. He could use a little meat on his bones.”
Fat chance.
“Will do.”
“Will do.”
Later that night, David sat at his desk with pencil in hand, scratching feverishly against a fresh sheet of paper. Working from memory he recreated every line, every angle, every nuance that made Sarah Griffith such an intriguing woman. Like a man possessed, he layered depth and detail, not stopping until a two-dimensional Sarah stared back at him from the page.
Finished, he set down the pencil, leaned back in his chair, and took a moment to reflect on his handiwork. He had to admit, it wasn’t bad. Over the decades he’d honed his technique, spending countless hours drawing everything from trees to birds to random people in the park. The exercises in discipline quieted his mind, keeping the demons at bay where a parade of excesses failed.
He’d drawn her with a smile that reached her eyes, her face alight with a glimmer of mischief. Using shadow and texture, he’d accentuated her high cheekbones and full lips, gave a spark of intensity to those beautiful eyes.
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