Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (26 page)

“Money doesn’t create happiness, Sugar.”

“Give me a million dollars and let me see fuh myself! I bet you I’d be grinning from ear to ear until I met my maker. Just plain ungrateful!”

“Now see, this attitude of yours is one of the reasons why people who suffer from depression many times don’t talk to anyone about it until it is too late… all of this stigma.”

“If it was as bad as you say, he coulda found him a head doctor and a sandwich!”

“Sugar, depression doesn’t always work that way.”

Emerald knew a thing or two about it, and this was the one thing she’d never confessed to Sugar. As her aunt unfolded her true sentiments about the disorder, she was glad she hadn’t. Sugar simply didn’t understand. She came from a place and time where you kept your mouth and feelings shut from the world. The shit would fester and bubble in your gut, and you’d better grin and bear it. You didn’t let people see you cry unless it was at your mother’s funeral, and you didn’t dare tell anyone that things seemed gray and gloomy.

Emerald had kept her bouts with the disorder close to her heart for years. She’d struggled from time to time with feelings of dread that came out of nowhere since her teenage years. She hated it, for there was little to no warning. As she got older, sometimes she could tie the emotions to an actual event or circumstance, such as being worried for her daughter. Their relationship at times proved watery and undefined—no floor or roof, just floating in outer space. They’d once been so close, but now she struggled to hold on to that little girl who’d become a grown woman she sometimes felt she barely knew. As of late, her episodes with sorrow definitely centered on the one who’d once occupied her womb.

“And didn’t you say the historian said this Peter Jones person had some valuable books ain’t nobody found, squirreled away somewhere?”

“Sugar, I don’t know; there is a whole lot of missing information, but what I
do
know is my friend is enduring something that most people wish to never experience. I’m sorry it’s happening and I hope he can find a way out of this. That’s what I’m focused on right now.”

“He knew damn well that man had died up in there but he decided to poke the bear and test fate, and now he cryin’ and moanin’ about the heat bill bein’ sky high and some invisible DJ spinnin’ records, turnin’ his pad into a juke joint. Too bad! He shoulda kept his ass in New York City.”

“And I should have not answered the phone when I saw it was you calling…”

“See? That’s how these city folks are, Emerald. You one of ’em too now but hopefully you recall the values instilled in you as a child.”

“And what would you have me take from all of this, Sugar?”

“Don’t go lookin’ for trouble and you less likely to find it…”

Something about the
way the natural folds, twists, and cottony turns of the turquoise blouse brushed against her skin became a source of his increasing arousal. He let that sight marinate in his mind for a long while; the inner warmth began at the center of his skull and travelled south, clenching to his cock, and migrating all the way down to his toes. The top button of her shirt was undone, exposing a small but delightful twin scoop serving of bosom beauty. A sweet aroma from her person mingled with the other scents in his home, causing an avalanche of happy memories from when he was a bit younger. He felt as if he had the world in the palm of his hand.

He’d prepared some homemade lasagna—his specialty, one of the few things he knew he could prepare perfectly without fault. He’d used a combination of ground beef and turkey, an array of fresh seasonings, and was proud of how it had turned out. To pair with it, he’d tossed a chef salad in a large wooden bowl, the eggs sliced thin, yolks intact, juicy cherry tomatoes from the Farmer’s Market, and shredded provolone cheese. In the middle of the massive dining room, one of his favorite yet least used areas of his home, the table was set, laden with all the things he wished her to partake in. He hadn’t forgotten other odds and ends, such as a bowl of golden, toasty garlic rolls he’d picked up from a tiny mom and pop bread and biscuit bakery; however, dessert had threatened to be a casualty. In his haste, he’d forgotten to pick something up, so on a whim he’d raced off and selected a Pepperidge Farm Italian crème cake from the Target store freezer section. It would indeed do the trick.

Picking up another glass of wine, he presented it to her and stood by her side like a protective shadow. Emerald sat in the elegant high back chair upholstered in gold, a brilliant smile on her beautiful face. In front of her he’d placed ten glasses he’d pre-poured with wines for sampling. Her eyes took in the sight, and she appeared eager to embark on her taste test.

“Now, after what we’ve gone over, I want you to taste this one in particular and tell me what you notice about the Wildhaven Untamed versus the Montoya Cabernet.”

He handed it to her and she took it, gave it a faint sniff, swirled it about, then inhaled it once again. Her full, burgundy painted lips parted and she took a delicate taste. Placing the glass on the table, she brought another one to her lips and did the same. After a few reflective moments, she turned to him, her chin high and confidence dancing in her eyes.

“The Wildhaven Untamed is less sweet than the Montoya Cabernet. The Untamed has a bit of a woodsy flavor, too.”

“Very good!” He smiled smugly like a professor whose student made him proud. She was a quick study, indeed. “That’s all true, every word of it. Which do you think you’d prefer if you had to choose between the two?”

“Hmmm, that’s a hard one.”
Not as hard as my dick got when I spied your ass before I pulled out your chair, but whatever…
“I like them both differently.”

“So, you’re a two-timer?” he joked, sliding in the chair beside her.

Her jaw dropped for a split second before she sported a grin at his double meaning.

“I’m speed dating these wines, so yes.” She nodded with a cute laugh. “I get around… at least for tonight.”

“I bet this Peter Michael, ‘Au Paradis’ Cabernet Sauvignon Oakville will make an honest woman of you yet.” He grabbed a glass he’d set to the far right and handed it to her. She did just as he’d taught her, enjoying the bursting bouquet.

“Oh…my…goodness.” Her eyes rolled back in a dramatic gesture and her enthusiasm pierced the air with bubbly exuberance.

“It’s good, isn’t it? One of my all time favorites in the last two years. This is only 2012. I’d purchased an entire case of the stuff.”

“This is
the
best red wine I’ve ever had, hands down! This is what I want with my dinner tonight.” She waved the empty glass in his direction, prompting him for more. “You’ve been holding out on the good stuff.”

“No, not at all.” Pulling in a little closer to her, he wrapped his arm around her seat. He took notice of the way her gaze darted to his fingers delicately touching her shoulder. “I just save the best for last…”

“Like dessert.” She stared him in his eyes, and he stared right back.

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?” She crossed her legs and threw him a flirtatious look.

“Are
you
dessert?”

I Can Read You Like a Book…

A
ccording to the
black and white owl-faced clock above the white fireplace aglow with ivory and sea foam blue candles, she’d been there twenty-three minutes. To Emerald, however, it felt like all of five seconds. She supposed the adage was true; time truly did fly when one was having fun. As soon as she’d pulled up to the sprawling, charming property, she’d made her way up the long driveway and simply stared at the white pillars. She was duly impressed with what he’d done with the place, especially after checking online about the upkeep of the grounds over the years.

It seemed Sloan had tried with all of his might, and budget, to restore the place to its former glory. As she made her way up the steps and approached the slightly ajar front door, she tried to forget the history of the mansion and simply focused on the present. Besides, it would do no good to work herself up and allow Sugar’s terrified, ‘boogeyman gonna getcha’ worries to season her with petrifying fear. A warm, mellow glow shone from the entrance, but as she neared, it was swallowed by a giant… Sloan. He’d blocked the light, but then restored it to its proper place via a bright smile as he’d pulled the door fully open and smiled down at her, his green eyes twinkling. She’d wondered if he knew that less than ten percent of the population had green eyes…

Stopped in her tracks, eyes locked on each other, he’d wrapped his big, warm, muscular arms around her in a heated embrace. And damn, did he smell good…

Moments later, he’d taken her on a quick tour of the home. Each room was decorated to perfection, like something out of a museum. He confessed he’d had a professional tackle the task, stating it wasn’t his forte. He wanted his home to be a place his children and grandchildren would often to come to visit.

Then, he’d led her to the dining room with promises of an Italian feast she couldn’t wait to dive into, the mouthwatering smell of the food filling up the entire house, causing her stomach to rumble with anticipation. Sloan wasn’t Italian, but he’d cooked a lasagna he
guaranteed
would make her fall in love with him.

His words, not hers, though she appreciated his sentiment all the same. After a delightful lecture on wine tasting that he somehow made to sound fascinating, he now offered a full spread of samplings from an assortment of wines, then requested she choose a winner from the selection. She did as requested and in no time flat, he let it be known he had
more
than food in mind.

“Dessert? You see me as dessert?”

“The appetizer, main course, and dessert, too. I want it
all
.” Sloan leaned in to slide his lower lip along her earlobe. She trembled at the touch…had to force her body to quiet down. In a moment, he pulled back, his brow arched, his lips slightly ajar, and his slow gaze moving over her, studying her, taking her all in.

“I guess I shouldn’t have said that. I can see I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s all right.” She smiled ever so slightly as her body kept heating up with his saucy declarations. “And it doesn’t make me necessarily uncomfortable. I just don’t think—”

“I’m rushing things? You’re not ready for that. … I understand.” He sighed, then rose to his feet. “Let me get dinner on the table, okay?”

“Well, let me help you!” She started to rise from her seat.

“No, no, no… I’ve got it. You just stay right there, enjoy your wine.” He pointed at the glass before her. “I’ll be right back,” he said with a wink, and left.

Emerald rested her arms on the table and crossed her ankles, falling into a safe place of tranquility as she swirled her glass of wine to and fro. The smells from the food were downright cruel at this point, taunting her, the quiet and warmth of the house creeping into her bones, feeling so good.

She didn’t get a sense of unease, or any sensation suggesting terrible ghosts drifted about… nothing of the like. In fact, she felt beyond welcomed. She felt at peace; and yet, she didn’t have the right words to express to Sloan in the way she wished that he hadn’t made her feel uncomfortable in any way. There were just things on her mind, troubling things, confusing things… things that didn’t quite make for a romantic mood. Sugar had pushed the wrong buttons, drudging up stuff she didn’t want to entertain.

Photos of Sloan’s children hung all around, and she was envious of the closeness he shared with them, wishing that she, too, could have that with her own daughter. Suddenly, out the corner of her eye, she noticed some movement. She quickly looked up, yet nothing was there. It was as if someone had hurriedly walked past, yet she knew it couldn’t have been Sloan. Noises were coming from the kitchen, and he’d told her they were alone in the house. Cocking her head to the side, she slowly rose from her seat, her attention piqued.

She took a step, and then another, until she was in the foyer area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. To her right rose the vast staircase, twisting and turning like hand-tied black and white silk. Right in front of her, across the way, stood the office. She hadn’t yet gone inside, but he’d pointed it out during the quick, impromptu tour upon her arrival. Two double French doors were framed by heavy, deep red curtains, layered over a sheer white pair. She remembered him saying he’d recently changed the curtains per the house designer’s suggestion, but to him, it had made no difference. The doors, albeit beautiful, allowed no light and no sneak peeks of what existed beneath the veil.