Bewitching You(15)

For whatever reason, he needed to see her. Talk to her. Touch her.

Kiss her.

No, he couldn’t do this. He’d hurt her enough, and she’d made it clear she never wanted to see him again. Plus, there was the whole issue of her thinking she could see the future. The last thing he needed was to get mixed up with a nutjob who lived out in the middle of Amish country.

A cute sexy nutjob with lips that begged to be nibbled.

Stop.

Going to see her was an all-around bad idea.

He pulled to the side of the road and prepared to make a U-turn. As he turned the wheel and made sure no other car was on the desolate road, the lights on the dashboard blinked and then shut down completely.

“You gotta be kidding me.” He turned the key in the ignition, attempting to restart the engine, but it was just as dead as his cell phone had been. Just as lifeless as his neighbor’s phone. Just as useless as his front door lock.

Aggravated, Gray let his head fall to the steering wheel. The freezing leather felt good against his throbbing head. Getting stuck out here in Amish country was the cherry on top of the shit cake.

He didn’t have a cell phone to call for help. In fact, he had nothing. No one.

Go to her.

The words breezed through heavily scented air, and Gray breathed it in.

Go to her.





Chapter Seven



The liquor and wine bottles were all lined up on the yellowed Formica kitchen table. Rows of them. Sofia had dusted and organized each one of them from largest to smallest. They were all ready to go back inside the liquor cabinet she’d already wiped down. She sipped the rest of her first glass of red wine and stared at the collection.

“Nana sure does have a lot of liquor.”

She wondered for a moment if reading minds was somehow bothersome to her grandmother. Maybe getting drunk helped. Although she’d never seen Nana inebriated…that she knew of anyway.

The wine was starting to kick in. Sofia pressed her numb lips together and hummed. Anesthesia via Pinot Noir. She wasn’t much of a drinker, that was for sure. One glass would probably do the trick to take the edge off. Perhaps.

“Perhaps not.” She laughed and poured a little more into her glass.

A knock on the door startled her, and she set the bottle down with a clank.

Who the heck could that be?

The humongous old grandfather clock in the corner said the time was just past ten o’clock. Sofia picked up one of the eleven oil lamps she’d lit as soon as the sun started to set and carried it to the door.

No peephole, of course and only one deadbolt. Did her grandmother think bad guys couldn’t make their way out to the country? Sheesh.

“Who’s there?” She pressed her forehead to the door and listened closely.

“Sofia? It’s Gray.” He cleared his throat. “Grayson Phillips.”

Sofia jolted back a step as her lungs deflated.

Bad guys certainly could make their way out here.

But why? And really? Only one way to find out. She opened the door a crack to make sure the man on the other side was indeed Gray. The porch was dark, unlit, but the moonlight struck his strong profile. Shadows hit in all the right spots to make his perfectly angular face even more masculine and handsome. Yeah, it was him, all right. In all of his deceptive gorgeousness. The question was what was he doing at her Nana’s house at this hour? At all?

“I know this might seem odd,” he said. “But can I come in for a moment?”

“No.” She slammed the door and held her breath, her heart thumping against her ribs. She’d made up her mind never to see him again—hence, stopping the dreams and a future with the jerk from happening—and this little invasion was so not helping.

“I know you’re angry with me,” he said through the door. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you.”

A little too late, pal.

“Can I please come in? I promise I’ll be nice.”

Sofia glanced down at what she was wearing—pink stretchy shorts and a matching tank top, her usual pajamas. No way was he coming in.

“I know I don’t deserve any of your time.” He sighed. “I really need to talk to someone, and you’re the only someone I want to talk to. The only one I can talk to.”

Huh. He sounded miserable. Not mean miserable, like before. More like tormented miserable. Desperate.

Curiosity made her open the door again. Only a tad, though, so the light from the lamp would show if his facial expression matched the sound of agony in his voice.

It did. His dark brown hair was a mess, tousled as if he’d run his hands through it too many times. A streak of mud or grease stained his forehead. His blue dress shirt was unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows. The white t-shirt underneath was stained with a smeared handprint.

“Why are you such a mess?”

“My car broke down up the road.” He lifted his grease-covered hands. “I tried to fix it, but I don’t have a clue what’s wrong. I usually know my way around an engine but… Well, you get the picture.”

“You were on the way here? To see me?”

“No.” He answered without delay and took a step forward, standing only a few inches from the door. “Not at first.”

Sofia pulled the lamp back in and heaved the door shut.

He stopped it with his foot. “Wait. My twin brother died.”

~ * ~

Gray didn’t know why he’d blurted that out, but it got her attention.

“Really? When? Are you okay?” She let the door fall open, revealing her curvy body covered only by a tiny pair of shorts and a tank top that didn’t quite cover her navel.

God help him.

She made an attempt to pull her top down. The stretchy material snapped back up.

“Um.” Gray gathered his senses. Just one kiss. She had to let him in if he kept hustling his sob story. She was sweet like that. Wasn’t she? “It happened six months ago. I just found out my fiancée, no, ex-fiancée, slept with him a week before he died.”

“You’re kidding.” She wrinkled her nose.

Adorable.

“No. She gave her virginity to him while I was away on business.” He was pushing it, but the sob story was working.

“Oh, my gosh. You just found out today?”

Gray nodded. “I told her I never wanted to see her again. Then I drove home and found my door lock was jammed. I couldn’t get in.”

“Having a bad day?”

“You could say that.” Gray leaned forward against the doorway and tried to look grief-stricken.

Yep, he’d officially lost all self-respect.

But it was working.

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and seemed to think for a moment. “Well, I guess you can come in for a drink. But then you have to leave.”

“That’s perfect.” Yes. “Thank you.”

She turned with the lamp in her hands, showing him her backside. Across one luscious butt cheek read the word “Sweet.” The other read “Dreams.” The fitting phrase caught his eye and made him chuckle.

She spun around. “Keep laughing and you can show yourself back out the door. My Nana bought these pajamas for me.” She shrugged and added in a less confident voice, “She likes to shop the clearance racks.”

“No. I like them. Really.” He closed the door behind him without breaking eye contact. “Very appropriate.”

“Sometimes,” she mumbled, and led him to the kitchen.

Gray peeled his stare away from her for a moment to notice the many bottles that covered the table.

“I was cleaning out Nana’s liquor cabinet. It was kind of dusty.” She gestured to the cast iron double bowl kitchen sink. “Want to clean up?”

“Sure.” He washed up and then pulled out a chair at the table and sat. Not until then did he realize the lights were out. Lord, where was his head? The only thing that lit the house were oil lamps bunched together on the wooden butcher block set in the center of the kitchen along with one or two hanging from the walls.

How odd.

“Pick your poison,” she said, with her hip pressed against the table.

“What?”

“What would you like to drink?”

Without thinking, Gray handed her the bottle closest to him. “Did the electricity go out?” He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d brought his bad luck with him. Or maybe this was part of Sofia’s eccentricity.

“No.” She smiled as she poured what appeared to be whiskey into a glass. In the low light, her lips looked soft, and her eyes glistened. “My grandmother, I call her Nana, believes that electricity and phone lines give her migraines. That’s why she lives out here amongst the Amish.”

“Interesting. So this is your grandmother’s house? Is she home?”