Whispering Hearts (15 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Too many nights of not enough rest were taking their toll on Garrett. He woke up to the groggy state of half-sleep, disoriented and stiff. His left arm was numb from being pinned under his torso and he had drooled on his couch.

Light was filtering into the room from the blinds that covered the sliding glass door. They had shifted a bit, enough to let the morning sun stretch across the bamboo floor.

Something was wrong. Why were the blinds open at all?

He jumped up, nearly cracking his shins on his coffee table, then ran to the door. Rachel was sitting on one of the chairs outside. She was still wearing his T-shirt. She hugged her knees to her chest and had her feet resting on the chair. And she was laughing.

Garrett paused, trying to triage the situation. She looked relaxed. Comfortable. She wasn't scared. But she was talking to someone. Her voice was too low for him to make out what she was saying through the glass.

Had she already made contact with one of the ghosts they had talked about helping? It seemed quick work to win them over so fast, even for someone as charming as Rachel. If anyone could do it though, she could.

The thought of her outside alone with a ghost was unsettling. Especially now that he knew there was more danger involved than she had let on.

He opened the door, the heat from the stone of his patio blasting him. Rachel turned at the sound, her smile stopping him in his tracks.

How long had it been since he had seen that smile? He felt an odd sense of loss that someone else had brought it out of her. He had been trying so hard to be supportive. Whatever ghost she was talking to had done a better job lifting the weights from her spirit.

“Hi Garrett. I was just talking to Misha.”

“Misha? Who's that?”

“He was a friend of Hiram's. It turns out he's been hanging around me for a long time.” She paused as if listening to something, then laughed again.

Garrett bristled. He wasn't sure why.

Whoever this Misha was, he was helping Rachel feel better. Shouldn't that make Garrett happy too? Instead, his stomach coiled up like a rattler. He wanted to get her back inside the house, safe behind the wards.

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No, I was waiting for you to wake up. Do you think I should take down some wards so he can join us?”

Chh-chh-chh-chh.
The hair on his arms stood on end. Who the hell was this guy that Rachel was talking about letting her guard down? Letting him into Garrett's house?

“I don't think that's a good idea. Misha isn't the only one hanging around.”

“Right.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking. Misha, I hope you don't mind. Would you excuse me?”

She was quiet again, her head cocked to the side, then she laughed. She stretched out her legs and put her feet on the ground, then yelped and pulled them right back up. They must have been talking for a long time, since she hadn't realized the stones had heated up.

“Hold on.” Garrett slipped on his sandals, then stepped into the sun. At least Rachel had been sitting in the shade of the umbrella attached to his patio table.

“Garrett, you don't have to—”

He picked her up before she could finish her sentence. She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, but he couldn't bring himself to smile back. Even feeling the soft skin of her bare thighs resting on his arm couldn't quell his misgivings.

When he stepped inside, his top priority was to grab the spray bottle and make sure the door was secure. Rachel leaned into him, breaking his concentration.

Holding her close against his chest felt too good. His mind was already coming up with excuses to keep holding her. He pushed the thoughts away.

When he started to set her down, she left her arms around his neck and slid down his torso. He could feel the T-shirt she was wearing bunch up against him, moving up past her hips as he lowered her. Her legs had to be completely bare—at the very least. Her T-shirt felt like it was bunched above her waist.

She was probably wearing panties. No, she was definitely wearing panties. He had to believe that. If he envisioned anything else, things would get embarrassing fast. Even that brief thought was enough to set things stirring down below.

He cleared his throat and locked his gaze on the spray bottle, stepping away from her. “I'll take care of the door.”

He slid it shut as he stepped to the counter. Then he sprayed the whole thing down and pulled the blinds shut. Rachel was heading for the kitchen when he dared to look at her again.

Those long legs stretching out past the hem of the T-shirt she was wearing caught his attention. The way she swished her hips wasn't helping, the fabric rippling against her backside. She paused by the barstools, resting one hand on the counter as she looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled.

It wasn't exactly a fake smile, but it wasn't a real one, either. It was flirty. Coquettish.

He'd seen her use that walk—that smile—before. He always felt sorry for the poor saps blasted by it. And now, he was in the line of fire.

Holy shit.

“What would you like for breakfast?” she asked.

He took a step toward her, felt his hands flex like they wanted to reach for her. But he stopped himself.

She caught every nuance. Her smile turned to a smirk, her gaze softening as it flowed over his body then back to his face. She knew she was pushing his buttons, and she was doing it on purpose. Garrett just couldn't figure out why. Why now, of all times?

She'd had years to make a move. Why do it during the storm of chaos surrounding them?

Unless that was exactly why she was doing it. Because she needed to feel in control of something when her life seemed to be in a tailspin. And she knew she could control Garrett, if she really wanted to.

God help him, it looked like she did.

“I could make French toast,” she said. “Or pancakes and eggs.”

She turned toward him, giving him a new view. He let out a little grunt, but wasn't sure she heard it. He stifled it as best he could. His chest felt constricted.

The soft fabric of his T-shirt clung to her full breasts, faint outlines showing him where her nipples had stiffened beneath. She leaned forward on the nearest barstool, both hands planted firmly on its surface so that her arms pushed her breasts together and exaggerated the effect.

Dammit, that was not okay. He could feel himself starting to get hard.

If she needed to feel in control of something, this was not the way to do it. He pulled on the anger rising up in him to help calm his body down as he kicked off his sandals.

“Cereal is fine.”

“Are you sure? You've done so much for me. I'd like to do something nice for you in return.”

He could think of a slew of nice things they could do together. None of them involved food. Wait, no there was a can of whipped cream in the fridge.

He needed to rein this in.

“I'll take care of breakfast. Maybe you should go get dressed.”

She looked confused, the seductress façade slipping. The tightness in his chest eased up enough that he could breathe again.

“You seem upset,” she said.

He could hardly deny it. But voicing his immediate concerns didn't seem like a good idea. He chose some from earlier instead.

“What were you doing out there by yourself?”

“Talking to Misha.”

“But you didn't know it would be Misha,” he said. “It could have been one of Michael's victims. The ghosts that are pissed off at you.”

“They can't hurt me.”

“Not directly. But those grasshoppers weren't having a mosh party against your window last night for no reason. And don't think I haven't figured out that's why the scorpion was in the dishwasher.”

His anger spiked as he remembered the jolt of fear brought on from that knowledge. The ghosts were already sending insects after Rachel—even venomous ones. What if they started sending something worse?

No way he was letting her go outside alone again, especially barely dressed as she was. Too much unprotected skin waiting to be bitten or stung. His stomach clenched at the thought.

“I was being careful. Besides, Misha told me the ghosts who are mad at me aren't here right now. He scared them away.”

“Did he?” Garrett didn't buy it. Something about this Misha character was off.

“I told him my plan—that I'm going to try to help them. He thinks it's worth a shot and is going to let them know the next time he sees them. If they even come back.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“You seemed pretty determined to help them last night.”

“I was.
I am
.” She sighed, then walked back to him, stopping so close he could almost feel her body heat. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

Leaning forward even an inch would bring their bodies together. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from touching her.

“I'm worried,” he said. “You wanted to let this guy into the house. That doesn't seem safe.”

“That was a mistake—I admit it. But lucky for me, I have you looking out for me.”

The playful teasing was coming back to her voice again. Garrett wouldn't mind it a bit if the circumstances were different. But they weren't.

Of all the messed up twists of fate, having Rachel come on to him now… He steeled his resolve, doing his best to ignore the way she stared at his lips, the way she radiated desire.

It wasn't happening. Not like this.

Chapter Sixteen

“Rachel, this is serious. You wanted to let a ghost into the house.”

The conversation was not going the way Rachel had expected. The fact that they were still talking at all baffled her. She'd expected them to be naked by now.

She let out a sigh and said, “Misha isn't just a ghost. He's a friend.”

“Really? You just met the guy last night. And you couldn't get away from him fast enough then.”

“I was wrong. Last night I was afraid of every ghost. But I'm seeing things differently now. You even said you wanted to help me with them.”

“That's exactly my point. You should have waited for me to come with you.”

“You were sleeping.”

“You could have woken me up.” He shook his head. “I know you're…spontaneous, but there's too much at stake for you to not be more careful.”

“
I'm
the one in danger.”

“And do you think the rest of us wouldn't be hurt if something happened to you?”

His words felt like a slap. She amended his sentence in her head. If something
else
happened to her.

Everyone in their circle of friends had been hurt. Some physically. Horribly. And it was her fault—no matter what they said.

What had she been thinking, trying to start something with Garrett? Even if he could handle her ghost issue, which he clearly couldn't, Rachel still had too much baggage.

Her eyes filled with tears and she crossed her arms. “Right. Because I'm such a terrible judge of character. That's how we all landed in this mess in the first place.”

“Rachel…” He reached toward her, but she threw her hands up and backed away.

“I'm sorry I'm not perfect like Elsa or Jazz. I don't always know what to do next. I screw up.”

And that was probably what Garrett saw in Rachel in the first place. He was a classic rescuer. An ex-ER doctor, for crying out loud.

Rachel's string of mistakes and failures gave him something to focus on. No wonder things hadn't worked out between him and Elsa. Elsa was always on top of everything.

“That isn't what I meant at all. And everybody makes mistakes,” he said.

She snorted and shook her head. “Not like this.”

She sniffed to keep her nose from running and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Listen, I said I was going to handle this myself. And I will. I'll get on your computer and find a place and be out right away.”

“No. Hell no.”

Garrett let out a huge sigh and ran his hands through his hair. Instead of leaving them there and staring at her like he usually did, he dropped his arms to his sides. He walked over to his recliner and sat, then rested his elbows on his knees.

“This is exactly why doctors aren't allowed to work on people they're involved with.” He glanced at her quickly and said, “I mean care about.”

He shook his head and laughed, then ran his hand over his face. With another sigh, he leaned back in his chair. He looked exhausted.

“I'm messing this all up,” he said. “Nothing I say is coming out right. Please let me try again. Can I start over?”

Her anger fizzled. Garrett asking for a second chance… How could she say no to that? Even if they didn't have the huge mass of things he had done for her—second, third, fifth, eleventy-ith chances he'd given her—she would have melted at the request.

He was hurting. It was probably the clearest thing they'd communicated to each other yet, etched in the lines around his eyes, the furrows between his brows.

She sat on the edge of his coffee table in front of him. “I'm listening.”

He leaned forward in the chair again, which brought him close. Really close.

His jaw was coated in dark stubble that accentuated his strong cheekbones. She wanted to run her fingertips across the coarse surface, but shook herself internally and brought herself back to task. He deserved her full attention.

“I'm just going to lay it all out there,” he said. “You've always been the first to admit that you're impulsive.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him, but realized that was true. It stung, but she kept her silence and heard him out.

“I don't know if that's your nature or how you've been dealing with these voices your whole life or a little of both. But it's who you are and I—”

He lowered his head for a moment and took a deep breath, then let it out slow. When he looked up at her again, his expression was shielded.

“I care about you. I don't want you to have to change because of this. Because of what Michael did to you or being born psychic or anything.”

“I appreciate that.”

He nodded. “What I do want is for you to be safe. I've seen your other side—the reflective, detail-oriented person who pauses and thinks things through before acting.”

“In other words, you want me to be more like Elsa.” It felt like he was using her heart as a punching bag.

“Not at all. If you'll recall, I met you first. If anyone's the baseline, it's you.”

Rachel had forgotten that she had worked on Garrett's house before he and Elsa met. It helped. A little.

“I want you to be more like
you
. I think if you let yourself stop playing the socialite and take some time to figure out who you really want to be, you'll be a lot happier. And I want you to be happy. You can stay here as long as you need while you sort it out.”

“I don't want to impose.”

“It's not an imposition. I love…hanging out with you.”

He winced as he obviously changed the direction of his sentence. She didn't dare let herself think of what he might have been about to say.

“I know I had a great time during those months when you stayed here before,” he said. “I thought you did too.”

Her throat felt thick again. “It was wonderful.”

“I'm glad.” He smiled at her, so sad it broke her heart. “I think I'm the one messing things up now and I promise I'll work on that. I just have a lot of anger when I think of what happened to you. It's hard for me to hide it and it's making everything become exaggerated. I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry.”

She lifted her hands to his face, cradling his cheeks. The prickling of his hair against her palms made her shiver. He closed his eyes and lifted his hands to her arms, taking more slow, deep breaths.

When he opened his eyes again, Rachel couldn't look away. They stared at each other, gazed into each other's eyes. It was incredibly intimate. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but he was right there with her. As always.

He was so beautiful.

She wanted to kiss him, but if she did, their friendship would be over. She couldn't fool herself into thinking that they could go back to the status quo after that.

And if they did become involved, she'd have to stay in constant crisis to keep him interested, to keep giving the rescuer part of him that hit. That wasn't any better than the way she'd been living up to this point.

She wanted to be partners with him. She wanted to take turns shopping and paying the bills and doing laundry. She wanted to live as they had when she'd been working on his house.

Wait…
That was when their relationship started—when she had been basically living with him over those months.

At first he'd been at work most of the time, but it hadn't been long before he was coming home earlier and taking more vacation days. They had spent tons of time together, talking, laughing, taking care of themselves and each other.

They had been partners then, and she had never felt more at ease in her own skin. She hadn't needed any rescuing. Her life had been calm. And he had been interested in her. Obviously, deeply interested.

Rachel had run away because she thought he couldn't handle her ability to see ghosts. Now she knew that wasn't a valid fear. He could handle it. In spades.

He could even handle her mom—who already loved him and had been pushing Rachel to try to seduce him into a marriage. Which had only inspired Rachel to run away more.

Reacting. Always reacting.

That was the impulsiveness that Garrett was talking about. It had grown the more she pinballed her way through life, bouncing off of whatever obstacles rose before her. Calling Garrett for help because she couldn't stay away from him.

She sat up straighter as another thought rocketed through her mind. Garrett might be a bit of a rescuer, but she was the one who kept initiating the problems by making ridiculously bad choices. Every time she dug herself in too deep, she had an excuse to call him. And every time, he came to help her out.

He wasn't a rescuer. She was a rescue-ee.

She had a list. Didn't she have a list? Reasons she shouldn't pursue a relationship with Garrett.

She played into his weaknesses as a rescuer. No, she was artificially creating crises to give herself an excuse to call him.

She could hear ghosts, and that would be too weird for him to handle. Well, that was impacting him, but he didn't seem too put off by it. He just wanted her to be safe and use caution when dealing with them. That was fair enough.

Her mother was…her mother. Garrett had already stood up to Mrs. Montgomery when he helped Rachel leave her house. He could handle that matter.

Didn't she have a longer list than that? She couldn't remember anything else.

Like a lightning strike, she realized there were no actual reasons for them to not be together. Nothing but the shadows she had conjured up from her own mind.

She looked at him again, sitting patiently right in front of her. Waiting.

He had been waiting long enough.