Her Wicked Heart (9 page)

He’s right, of course. But I can’t take it back now.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, grabbing my purse.

He must real
ize that I really mean to leave, because he attempts to rein in his anger.

“Is this how things are going to be between us from now on?” he asks, his voice strangely calm. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“I don’t know.” I’m at the door. “Please, Ian. Please just let me think.”

For a moment I think he’s going to blow up again, but he doesn’t say anything when I open the door. He doesn’t call after me as I walk back down the stairs and unlock my car.

Only when I’m safely in the driver’s seat do I glance back up at the room. He’s standing in the doorway, watching me, but he still doesn’t say a word, not even when I turn the key.

And when I glance in the rearview mirror as I pull away, he’s still standing there, and I know the pain on his face will haunt me for a long time.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
’m a bitch.

I never should have let Ian come here. I never should have gone into his motel room. I never should have kissed him or undressed him or let him think even for a minute that I could return the feelings he has for me. But once again, I allowed myself to get caught up in my own emotions. My own needs.

Tears burn in my eyes as I drive back to the estate, but I refuse to let them fall. I don’t deserve to cry. I’m never going to change, am I? Every time I show signs of being a decent human being, my true nature has to rear its ugly head again.

I can still see Ian’s face in my mind. Still see his eyes full of anger and disappointment. Somehow in the past two months he’s convinced himself that I have the ability to change. To learn from my mistakes and become the girl he always thought I was. The girl that never really existed in the first place.

It’s past ten o’clock by the time I reach the estate, and though I know I should go to bed, there’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep. So instead of going back to my room, I head across the lawn toward the tasting room and vineyards.

Obviously, by now most of the employees have either left or gone back to their rooms for the night. But a place like this never really sleeps (and honestly, if it were physically possible, I’m sure Mr. Haymore would work through the night every night), so I have to be careful, even at this hour.

Apparently, though, even at my stealthiest, I still manage to draw the attention of one of the roaming security guards. A flashlight beam hits me in the face.

“Need something, miss?” he says.

I blink into the light. I can’t see the guard in the shadows, but as Mr. Haymore’s gopher, my face is pretty recognizable around here, even after a week.

“I’m on an errand for Mr. Haymore,” I say, raising an arm to shield my face from the light and praying my eyes aren’t puffy from unshed tears.
When all else fails, mention the name of my stuffy old boss.
No one really wants to cross him, not when he’s as stressed as he is this week.

“Ah, Ms. Thomas,” says the guard, lowering his beam. “Mr. Haymore sent you out here at this hour?”

“Well, technically the errand’s for Mr. Carolson.” The lie comes easily to my lips. “Apparently he and his wife have a special night planned and requested a very specific bottle of wine.”

It’s a risk, but it pays off. The guard nods, understanding.

“Go right ahead then. Sorry to bother you.”

“You were just doing your job.” I flash him my best smile.

The guard gives me a little wave and continues on his way, and I hurry on to the tasting room.

The building is locked, of course, but another perk to being Mr. Haymore’s assistant is that I have a whole ring full of keys.
I run enough errands that it’s necessary for me to have quick and easy access to most places on the premises. It takes me a few minutes to find the right key in the dark, but finally I’m rewarded with a
click
and I’m able to open the door.

I almost flick on the light when I get inside, but I decide against it at the last minute. The fewer people who know I’m in here, the better. Instead, I make my way across the room by touch, keeping one hand against the wall as I circle around to the cellar door.

There’s no way to avoid the automatic lights turning on as I descend into the cellar, but at least no one outside can see those. Once my feet hit the fancy slate floor at the bottom, I head straight to the back. To the rack where my favorite bottle with the gold label sits, just waiting for me.

I pick up the bottle, bracing myself for a new rush of emotion, but nothing happens. Maybe I’ve had enough
of feelings for the night. The hollowness takes root in my belly again, and it’s hard to feel anything at all when I look down at the bottle. Still, I came all the way out here, so I’m going to take this baby no matter what. On a whim, I stop and grab another bottle, too. I don’t normally drink wine, so I don’t know how much it takes to get me good and drunk, and I want to make sure I have enough.

I consider just taking the wine back to my room, but being cooped up in that depressing little dorm doesn’t sound like a good idea right now. Instead, I head around the back of the house. Toward the hedge maze.

Even in the dark, I know my way through the labyrinth. I don’t want to go all the way to the center of the maze—just that favorite little nook of mine. A quiet place where I can curl up with this wine and shut out the rest of the world and just
think.
I clutch the wine bottles to my chest. The glass is cool against the bare skin above the neckline of my shirt, but the air is warm—though far less sticky than it normally is this time of year. I glance up at the sky, at the twinkling stars and the bright, round moon.

It doesn’t take me long to get to my secret spot. The nook is bathed in darkness and shadow, so I move carefully, my hand grasping for the bench I know is here against the branches somewhere. And then my foot hits something—something large and squishy but unquestionably solid—and I fall face-first into the darkness.

And land on something undeniably alive.

I jerk back, the wine bottles clanking against each other as I try to scramble to my feet again. The thing that tripped me moves and lets out a groan.

“Seriously?” it says. “I was just getting relaxed.”

I peer into the darkness. That voice sounds familiar. “Ward?”

There are scuffling sounds as he sits up. “Little Miss Assistant? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Oh, God. He’s the last person I need to see right now. How the heck does he know about my spot? Part of me wants to turn and high-tail it out of here, but I’m not about to let someone chase me back to my dorm. This is
my
spot.

“What are you doing out here?” I say.
How did you find this place?
is the real question, but I’m not allowed to ask that.

He gives a little chuckle. “I could ask the same of you.”

“I asked first.”

“And you use clichés to argue. Not very effective.”

Too bad he can’t see me roll my eyes in the darkness. But it’s already clear that he’s not going to give up his claim very easily.

Why is that a bad thing?
a tiny voice in my head whispers.
At least you won’t be alone out here, right?
I quickly push that thought away. As…
diverting
as his presence might be, I have some things I need to sort out—and Casanova’s not going to be any help in that area.

I sit down next to him on the grass, making it clear that I intend on staying. He sighs, either because he realizes there’s no getting rid of me or because he knows that I’m not going to let him dodge my question about why he’s here.

“I just needed to get away from things for a while,” he says. “Away from all the noise.”

I frown. “Are you living on the estate?” I thought the construction crews and other day laborers commuted to and fr
om Barberville every day. They’d only reserved a handful of rooms in the house for employees—and they went to those, like me, who were basically “on call” for a good part of the week.

“I stay here sometimes,” he says.

“Why? Wouldn’t your bed be a more comfortable place to sleep? Or do you just like it here that much?”

He gives a chuckle.

“This place isn’t so bad, all things considered,” he says.

That’s not what you seemed to think the last time we spoke.
But I refuse to make any reference to the luncheon or the things that happened afterward.

“It’s not perfect,” he admits after a minute. “Sometimes I think it was a mistake to take this job. But other times… this house is different, you know? I’ll probably never see a building like it again. Some of it… like, this morning, I was working on the western side of the house in this section that was added sometime in the 1920’s. I mean, these archways were so—you’re getting bored, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.” Actually I’m shocked—pleasantly shocked—to hear him speak with such passion about the house. “I didn’t realize you were so into architecture. But I guess as a handyman, you’d have to know some of that stuff, wouldn’t you?”

“You say ‘have to’ like it’s a chore. I do actually enjoy my work, you know.”

I peer at him through the darkness, trying to gauge if I’ve offended him. The moon is bright tonight, almost full, but I’m still having a hard time making out his face.

“I’m actually saving up money to go back to school,” he says. “I’m planning to get licensed as an architect. It’s part of why I took this job—the pay is great. Plus, you know, the whole once-in-a-lifetime experience thing.”

I’m not sure why he’s telling me this. After all, in spite of the fact that we now know each other’s names and have locked lips more than once, we’re still basically strangers, aren’t we? There was a hint of something strange, almost bitter, in his voice when he called this a ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity’, but I don’t have the chance to make sense of it before he rushes on.

“I know I was a little harsh about some of the upgrading decisions the family made,” he says, “but on the whole this place is pretty fucking cool. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve found.”

In spite of myself, I’m intrigued.

“Like what?” I spent my entire childhood exploring the secrets of this place—and honestly, part of what’s scared me so much about all of these renovations was the thought that all those secrets, all those little things that made the house so special, would be exploited, laid bare for the whole world to see. I mean, this house has friggin’
passageways
hidden in the walls. There’s a whole section of the basement that can only be accessed through one of those “secret” hallways. Will every bumbling tourist now be able to explore them?

Ward shifts a little closer to me, dropping his voice. “If you want to know what I’ve found, maybe I should take you exploring.”

Exploring.
He says it like it means something wicked and dangerous. A shiver moves down my back.
This
is dangerous. I jerk away from him before I have the chance to lose my head completely.

“Exploring?” I say lightly, as if it’s a big joke. “Right now?”

He laughs. “Not now. But soon.”

Of course, that doesn’t tell me anything about whether people here know about some of the house’s hidden features.

I pick at the grass beside me. “Will you at least give me a hint about what you’ve found?”

Another laugh. “That would ruin the surprise.”

I sit back, privately satisfied by his response. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it seems like Ward shares my attitude toward the house and all of its secrets.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I say. “In the meantime, you never gave me a real answer as to why you’re sleeping out here.”

“Maybe I just like the outdoors.”

I tilt my head. “Or…?”

“Or…” he says, conceding, “maybe I’ve been sleeping on my buddy’s couch these past few months. And maybe he has a lady-friend over tonight and wanted some privacy.”

“Ah.” I rub the back of my neck. How very gentlemanly of him. “But is it really necessary to sleep out here? Couldn’t you have shacked up with another friend tonight?”

He gives another laugh, but this one is a little bitterer than the last one.

“I don’t exactly have a lot of friends around here.”

“No?” Then again, he
did
just get in a fight for getting it on with a coworker’s girlfriend. “I guess I just assumed that you construction guys were all buddies. Everyone looks so chummy.”

“The rest of them, yeah. Most of them have worked together in Barberville for years. I’m the new guy. And I guess I haven’t made the best impression.”

“You aren’t from around here, then?”

He laughs. “Jesus, when did this turn into an interrogation?” But he goes along with it. “I’m from Chicago, actually. Came down here just for the job.”

“Chicago? That’s a long way.”

“It’s a very important job.”

If it’s that important to him, then why does he risk it all by sleeping with coworkers and getting in fights? But I don’t press the issue.

“Well, now I’ve answered,” he says before I can ask him any more questions. “Now it’s your turn. Why are you out here at this hour? Midnight rendezvous with someone?”

“A rendezvous? Out here?”

“What? You don’t think people have had sex out here before?”

“Why would people have sex in a hedge maze? You know what—don’t answer that.” My cheeks flush. The last thing I want or need right now is to start a conversation with Ward about sex. Not after our last encounter and the way I threw myself at him yet again.

What I need is a very long drink of wine.

“To answer your question,” I say, lifting the bottle of Le Miel Doré, “I came out here because I wanted some fresh air. And to find a private place to indulge in a little light drinking.”

“I thought all Huntington Manor employees were forbidden to drink on the premises?” he says, a smile in his voice.