Hourglass (5 page)

Chapter 8

I
t took a few seconds before I remembered to blink.

He didn’t bother hiding his grin. “So you can show me the lofts?”

“Oh, right, yes, lofts. Good. Lofts. You ready to go?” I stood, knowing my cheeks sported a ridiculous shade of red.

We walked through the restaurant to the bar area, and his hand accidentally brushed the small of my back, the heat so focused where he touched me that the rest of my body felt chilled. I looked up at him from the corner of my eye. He put his hand in his pocket.

Behind the bar, Dru counted bottles of red wine while the bartender loaded them into a teakwood rack. “Dru? Michael wants to see the lofts. Can I use the master?”

“Sure.” She pulled a set of keys from her pocket and removed one from the ring, giving it to me. Her gaze darted back and forth between the two of us as her face registered surprise, or maybe concern.

I was sure she noticed her flawless makeup application was smudged.

We walked through the town square in silence. My emotions were ridiculously close to the surface, as if my insides were flipped to the outside, but the feeling of vulnerability didn’t scare me. As I showed him the two lofts, the energy still hummed between us, keeping all my senses on overdrive. Even though the mood was intense, I was experiencing an unknown. For the first time in a long time, I felt … safe.

We stepped into the hall, and I locked the door to the last loft before turning to face him.

“I like both spaces. Thomas and Dru can put me wherever they want.” Michael rocked back on his heels. He stared into my eyes for a few seconds, those seconds stretching into what felt like hours as he reached out until his fingertips were an inch from mine.

“Are you sure?” I asked in a low whisper.

“It’s not going to go away,” he whispered back. “Might as well get used to it.”

Bracing myself for the jolt of energy, I gave him my hand.

It was better than I remembered.

I was grateful that the hallway lights were more ambient than bright. I didn’t know where to look when they flickered.

Michael seemed to be fighting some sort of internal battle, his face full of indecision. I started to tremble. The jolt settled into a low hum; even so, with all the sparks we were throwing off, we could possibly light the Southern Hemisphere.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, full of regret. His hand felt warm and solid in mine.

“For what? It’s definitely different, but I’m fine.” Basically. Getting a full-body buzz with a guy I’d just met was as weird as seeing dead people. But much more enjoyable.

“Not the … touching thing. The ripple thing. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all of it by yourself.”

“Thanks, but alone is kind of how I work.” Carefully extracting my hand, I stepped back slowly to make sure my knees were working and that my legs would hold me up.

“Just remember I’m here to help.” Michael dropped his hand down by his side. “I plan on sticking around until you tell me to leave.”

Or until my brother stopped paying him.

“Well, I should probably”—I gestured toward my door—“go. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I watched him walk away and held on to the doorknob, trying to keep myself upright, feeling the connection between us stretch down the hall and all the way out the front door.

I used the master key to get into the loft, laying it on the cold marble counter in the kitchen.

Intending only to take a quick shower to wash the powder from my arms and chest, the warm spray and the quiet seduced me. My skin was pink and pruned by the time I emerged and slipped on my pajamas. I pulled back the down comforter and ran my hand over the snow-white sheets, appreciating the concept of high thread counts.

The family pictures on my bedside table caught my eye. One was of Thomas and Dru—tan and smiling—and the other was of me. Mine was hollow, empty. It was from some vacation taken in an attempt to distract me after my parents died. From Disney to the Bahamas, none of them had.

Another was of my parents, from their last Christmas. I picked up the heavy silver frame and looked into the familiar faces I would never see again, unless my parents appeared to me as rips. I didn’t know if I feared that or desired it.

Tonight’s conversation about my past had opened a wound. The wide hole my parents’ deaths left had been sutured by time, but talking with Michael loosened the threads. Seeing the picture tore them open.

I’d never been as honest with anyone as I’d been with Michael. He made me feel safe, like I could be real—shattered and fragmented and wholly imperfect—even though he was the polar opposite. Intact, complete, fully perfect.

And totally off-limits.

I looked back at the picture, tracing the outline of my mother’s face, thinking that if she were still alive I would go to her room, curl up on her bed, ask her for advice.

Instead, I lay down, turning off the bedside lamp and holding the picture close to my heart.

Just before I drifted off, I sensed someone, but I was too close to sleep to tell if it was a dream or reality. I couldn’t think of any reason why a long-dead man from the past would be worried about me.

But Jack appeared to be sitting on the foot of my bed, a look of intense concern on his face.

I blinked, and he was gone.

Chapter 9

I
woke up the next morning feeling raw, like my usual armor was missing. My comfortable layer of protective sarcasm had slipped. I needed it back to be able to deal with everything I’d learned. More sparring with Thomas was just the ticket. He always brought out my A game. Between a good argument with him and my Chucks, I should be able to get my life back on track.

He sat at the table in the kitchen with his silk tie thrown over his shoulder, comfortably eating the same breakfast he’d eaten every morning since I could remember: Fruity Pebbles. The smell of sugar and fruit flavoring permeated the air around him, food coloring and preservatives beginning the embalming process where he sat. That seemed like a good enough place to start.

“It’s so encouraging to see an entrepreneur such as yourself starting the day with a healthy breakfast.” I walked behind him, intending to flip his tie into his bowl. “The economic future of our little town hinges on whether or not your blood sugar drops before your morning snack of Ho Hos and a Yoo-hoo.”

Thomas snaked a hand up and grabbed my wrist before I could get to his tie. “Good morning, little sister. I hope we aren’t grumpy because we didn’t get a good-night kiss?”

I ran my free hand through his perfectly groomed blond hair just to piss him off. “How do you know whether or not I got a good-night kiss?”

“Excellent security in these buildings. Security guards, security systems, security cameras.” He pulled me around to face him. “That way I won’t have to worry about anything inappropriate happening. Since it is strictly a professional relationship.”

“You were spying on us? Are you trying to start a fight?” I asked, jerking my arm away. The bowl of Fruity Pebbles hovered dangerously close to becoming an accessory. “What does it matter if we run off to Vegas and get married—all you want him to do is help me be ‘normal,’ right?”

“Michael and I have an agreement. No employee/client relationships. He has a job to do, and I expect him to do it. I’m not kidding, Em.”

My upper lip trembled, and I had an irrational desire to cry. What was my problem? I considered unloading my frustration on Thomas, but he was saved when Dru came running into the kitchen from their bedroom, waving something in her hand and screaming.

My brother jumped up from his chair, cereal forgotten as he scooped Dru into his arms. With all the laughing and crying, I couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

“Put me down, Thomas!” Giving him a smacking kiss, she wiggled until he placed her feet tenderly on the ground. I finally realized what she held in her hand.

A pregnancy test.

Several emotions passed through me as the truth hit. Gratitude, because I knew they had wanted this for a very long time. Joy, because I knew my family was expanding in the best possible way. And finally, my familiar nemesis, anxiety, because where would I live once the baby was born?

Dru must have read the concern on my face, because she pulled me into a tight hug.

“Don’t worry! We’ve been holding out on renting the third loft for this very reason—in case we needed to expand. After all this time, we didn’t want to set ourselves up to be disappointed, but we couldn’t help it. Auntie Em isn’t going anywhere. Unless you want to.”

“No! No, I want to stay.” It was true. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“We want you here with us. All three of us.” Thomas reached out for my hand and gave it a quick squeeze. I hadn’t seen him this happy in a long time. The way that he looked at Dru made me feel the need to disappear.

“I think I’m going to head out for a run, give you two some time to, um, talk about nursery colors. Congratulations. You’re going to be amazing parents.” I hurried to my bedroom, tears close to the surface, threatening my badass reputation. I quickly changed into a sports bra and running shorts, grabbing a hair elastic and carrying my shoes and iPod to put on outside. Dru and Thomas were nowhere to be seen as I walked through the living room. The closed door to their bedroom suggested they were celebrating the way I thought they would.

Good thing I ran distance.

I cranked the volume, letting classic alternative rock numb my brain. I didn’t want to think about anything but running and breathing. The late-summer day was perfect, leaves just tinged with color, stirring in the slight breeze. I couldn’t wait until they blazed red and gold and the shop fronts were decorated with fat orange pumpkins and spicy-smelling mums.

I wondered if Michael would still be around then.

People were out en masse, walking dogs, pushing babies in strollers, enjoying runs of their own. I cruised along the sidewalk toward Riverbend Park, settling into a moderate pace as I followed the path some genius developer I was related to put in place a couple of years ago to appeal to local families and tourists.

Thomas and Dru brought so much to our town. They met when he left a prestigious architectural firm and started his own business, his main goal to renovate downtown Ivy Springs. She was new to the design business and consulted on his first job. It began as a professional relationship, but it didn’t take long for that to change. They’d been married for six months when my parents died.

I fiercely loved both of them, and I knew they felt the same way about me. The guilt of not being completely honest with them about the medication situation ate away at me. But I really didn’t want them to worry, and now that a baby was on the way … well. They had other things to think about, even though Thomas had apparently appointed himself as the boss of my love life. Maybe now he’d be so consumed with picking out names and setting up a college fund that he’d leave me alone. Kicking my pace into high gear, I kept my eyes to the ground to avoid any surprises and settled into my rhythm.

Until I slammed into a solid wall of muscle, hitting it so hard my teeth rattled. Clenching my fists in front of my face and jumping back into a wide stance, I faced my would-be attacker.

Michael.

My scream died in my throat, and I jerked my earbuds from my ears. “What the—you can’t scare people like that!”

Michael’s mouth formed an O of surprise, and then he doubled over, laughing so hard he gasped for breath. Staring down angrily at him, I couldn’t help but admire the muscle tone in his tanned arms and legs. When he looked up at me, his gaze turned appreciative. Wishing I’d thrown on a T-shirt instead of just a sports bra, I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping it made me look pouty instead of self-conscious.

Michael tried to arrange his face into a serious expression, going through several before finally settling on one. “I’m sorry. Jumping out at you was not a smart move.”

“It’s fine.” It really wasn’t.

“I just didn’t expect you to go all ninja on me.” Michael lost the battle and gave himself over to laughter again. I found myself wishing I’d managed to land at least one solid kick before I figured out who he was. I glared at him for another moment then resumed my run.

It took him a few seconds, but soon I could hear him pacing me. It had to be hard for him since his legs were so much longer than mine, but I didn’t care. He deserved to suffer. We ran in silence for a while until I snuck a sideways look at him. He was still laughing. I stopped so fast he ran right past me.

Spinning around, he clasped one hand over his mouth. He would have been wise to put the other hand over his eyes because they were giving everything away.

“Michael, knock it off.”

He reached out, hooked his arm around my neck, and pulled me to his side. I waited for him to give me a noogie and tried not to be intrigued by the full-body tingle.

“I apologize,” he said, but I heard the smile in his voice. “I really do. You’re just so damn cute.”

“And so damn sweaty,” I said, looking up at him sideways.

Maybe it was our close proximity, or that he had his arm around me and we were both sweating and breathing hard. All I knew was that even though I was hotter than hell, the second our eyes met my whole body convulsed in one giant chill. Our gaze stayed locked for an endless moment before he released me and gently pushed me away.

“Truce?” Michael asked hesitantly, holding out one hand.

I struggled to catch my breath, willing my gooseflesh to disappear. When I finally regained control, I gave him a sweet smile and reached out to shake.

Then I flipped him over my shoulder.

As he lay on the ground panting, I walked to stand over him, looking down, my smile still in place. “So I’ll see you later?”

He blinked once. I took that as a yes.

Chapter 10

W
hen I got back to the loft, Dru and Thomas were gone. I felt great. The sass was back. It’s amazing what flipping a grown man over her shoulder does for a girl.

After a shower, I borrowed Dru’s laptop, taking it to the cushy chair in my room to settle in, enjoying the rich scent of the buttery leather. I got cozy—good thing—since I searched for an hour before I found what I was looking for. Just when I was about to give up, I came across a blurb in the
Bennett Review
about a scholarship funded by the founder of the Hourglass, Liam Ballard. I searched his name.

Jackpot.

I uncurled myself from the corner of the chair, placing the computer on my ottoman and leaning over so I could better focus on the screen. When I clicked on the first article, a huge picture of a completely devastated building popped up below the caption: No Answers in Laboratory Fire.

The story questioned the death of Liam Ballard, a scientist who was killed when his private lab was destroyed by a fire. No traces of any combustible materials were found, nor were any accelerants. The building had just passed a fire inspection. His home and several outbuildings, also located on the property, were not damaged. No one else was injured.

My skin prickled as I continued reading. After a lengthy investigation by authorities, the case was closed due to lack of evidence. There was no logical explanation for the fire.

A knock sounded at the front door, and I practically jumped out of my skin.

I exited to the search results page and hurried to answer, stopping for a quick check in the mirror. Opening the door, I found Michael, looking sheepish and holding a bouquet of fragrant zinnias.

“An apology,” he said, holding out the flowers. “You
will
explain how you did that. Soon.”

I reached out to take the flowers, and our fingers touched. Electricity sizzled, and I pulled away quickly.

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” I gave him a look, before spinning on my heel and walking toward the kitchen. I was glad he couldn’t see my face—I knew I was blushing. Since my back was to him anyway, I stuck my nose in the bouquet and inhaled the sweet fragrance, creating a scent memory.

I’d never gotten flowers from a boy before.

“This place is amazing,” he said. Directly behind me, his footsteps echoed off the hardwood floor.

“Thanks. Dru is an excellent decorator. She loves to have a project. And now she and Thomas have a new one.” I made a hand motion indicating a bun in the oven before taking a crystal vase from a shelf and placing it in the sink to fill it with water, grateful I could concentrate on a task.

“Tell them I said congratulations.” He leaned back against the counter beside the sink, watching me. “That’s amazing news, especially for two people who seem to be as in love as they are.”

“They’re lucky they found each other,” I said, looking up at him.

“Yes, they are.” Focused on each other, the only sound in the room was the water flowing from the running faucet.

I broke the stare, shifting my attention back to the vase before it overflowed. “I’m supposed to tell you that you can take loft number two. But it doesn’t come cheap. I hope helping little old me pays well.”

“For you, I’d work pro bono.”

“For me?” I bit my lip, turning off the water before looking up at him again.

“You’re special.”

“That all depends on your definition of special.”

His answering smile was slow and deliberate. I stared at his mouth for a few brief seconds before giving myself a mental pinch and shoving the flowers haphazardly into the vase. “Thanks again. Zinnias are my favorite,” I said, after clearing my throat.

Twice.

“I’m glad you like them,” he said, his smile growing softer. “They made me think of you.”

More staring at his mouth.

Geez a lou.

I scooped up the flowers, and he followed me to my room, taking a seat in my recently vacated chair. I’d just finished clearing a space on my dresser when he spoke my name.

“Emerson?”

“Yes,” I answered absentmindedly, concentrating on arranging the fragrant blossoms so that the taller ones were in the back.

“Why were you doing a search on Liam Ballard?”

The tone of his voice sent chills up my spine. I stopped fiddling and answered cautiously, watching him through the mirror. “Because he’s the founder of the Hourglass?”

Maybe I caused some kind of brain damage when I flipped him over my shoulder. His expression changed, moving from concern to anger in the split second the word
Hourglass
was uttered.

“Michael?” I turned around. He was just as frightening face-to-face as he was in the reflection, his brown eyes almost black, his full lips flattened into a thin line. “What—”

He interrupted me. “How did you find Liam’s name?”

“It came up in an article about the Hourglass and Bennett alum—”

“What else did you find when you searched him?” The question sounded more like an accusation, his tone stone cold. I didn’t know this Michael.

I didn’t like this Michael.

“That he”—I paused, forcing my voice to stay level—“that he died in a fire.”

He stood and crossed the room in a few long strides. I took an uncertain step back, my spine bumping uncomfortably against the dresser.

Speaking each word distinctly, he leaned over and looked into my eyes. “You need to mind your own business.”

I swallowed the baseball-sized lump in my throat. “Why does that sound like a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” he said, placing his hands on the dresser. His forearms bumped against my shoulders. I was glad I was wearing a T-shirt instead of a tank top. I didn’t think his bare skin touching mine would be helpful in a situation like this. “Forget Liam Ballard.”

“Why?” I asked breathlessly, feeling caged in, trapped by his stare as much as his arms.

“Just do,” he answered, authoritative and dismissive, his voice as hard as steel. “I’ll handle the Hourglass. Trust me.”

“Sorry, boss,” I said, making the jump from scared to angry. “I don’t generally believe people who have to tell me to trust them.”

“You need to this time.”

Michael held still, his face close to mine. Gold flecks mixed with the dark brown of his eyes. His skin was flawless, smooth, with just a hint of stubble I wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t a whisper away. It could have been a lovely position, if I wasn’t so mad I was vibrating.

“Emerson?” The question sounded more like a plea.

“Fine,” I snapped, making my decision. “Now
back up
.”

He pulled away from me, his eyes searching my face. I wondered if he could see my pulse pounding in my throat. I could feel it. I needed to think, and when he was close to me, thinking was impossible.

“Please don’t misunderstand … I’m only trying to …” With his fingertips still on the edge of the dresser, he closed his eyes, struggling with his words.

Seeing an escape, I ducked under his arm. There were some advantages to being short. “Trying to what? Scare me? Piss me off?”

“I didn’t mean to do either of those things.” He pushed away from the dresser to face me. “I’m so—”

“Stop.” I cut him off before he could say anything else. “Whether you meant to or not, you did. And now you should probably go.”

I didn’t want to hear an apology. I just wanted him out.

Our eyes met again, and unspoken words hung in the atmosphere. His face was a strange mix of emotions—the set of his mouth angry, his expression regretful.

“Was there something else?” I asked, and then held my breath. He shook his head and left my bedroom without saying another word.

The front door to the loft opened and closed before I exhaled.