Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(85)

“But Colin, I can’t afford an alarm system,” she somewhat repeated, thinking the different word might permeate his dictatorial brain.

“You aren’t paying for it, I am.”

“But Colin –”

“It’s either that or live at Lacybourne with me.”

At that alarming juncture in the conversation, she’d given in though not gracefully.

He’d also, to her surprise (and hidden delight) had a survey done of the Community Centre and had some builder “pop ‘round” to look at building an office extension for her.

The oldies were beside themselves with delight and Kyle couldn’t believe his luck at the possibility of no more patched wire jobs and blocked toilets.

When she approached Colin about this he’d said, “The place is a health hazard. If something isn’t done, it’ll crumble down on your head and I happen to like your head as it is.”

Well. How could she respond to that?

She didn’t know so she didn’t respond at all and couldn’t, really, since he’d brushed his lips to hers, turned from her and walked into the kitchen.

Furthermore, a rubbish truck arrived last Friday and carted away the old, ratty chairs and couches that littered the Day Centre (and nearly every stick of furniture in Sibyl’s office). It was replaced within a half an hour with new, plush easy chairs and a three piece suite. There were brand new, sturdy yet attractive tables on which the oldies could lunch with far more comfortable, not to mention safe chairs all around the tables. Sibyl herself had a new desk, a swivel chair that could only be described as luxurious and a lovely, comfortable couch in her office.

“I’m definitely writing your mother about this,” Mrs. Griffith proclaimed, settling contentedly in a new, plump, mauve chair covered in soft velour.

Sibyl had been so beside herself with glee, she didn’t know what to say or do. When she saw Colin again after the new furniture was delivered, he passed it off like it was nothing even though she knew it had to be worth thousands of pounds.

She thought he’d demand his pound of flesh, another month, maybe two, but he didn’t say a word.

Not a single word.

Instead, the whole time, he treated her like she was, well… his girlfriend. The very idea of him having a girlfriend was ridiculous. Men like Colin didn’t have girlfriends; they had arm candy, glorious, sunken-cheeked, catwalk-model-type lovers. When he’d described himself as her boyfriend the night Mallory was shot, she’d been stunned but she thought it was simply his way of describing the indescribable. He couldn’t say what she really was to him.

However, for the rest of the week, although he was constantly authoritarian (as per usual), his usual politeness and gallantry had melted to something that was far more tender.

Sibyl didn’t know what to make of this, how to handle herself with this new Colin or who she was to him anymore. She was confused and felt vulnerable and he pressed this advantage aggressively, asking her questions about her life, her work, her friends. She couldn’t bear up against it, telling him things she never meant him to know, inviting him into her life where she never meant him to be.

She’d even told him about the incident with the animal shelter, something she promised her father she’d never speak of again, in her whole life, under threat of death or certain torture or, at the very least, being disowned.

She was on dangerous ground for this Colin, who she thought of as Royce/Colin, was something new and different and entirely wonderful.

And she feared that she was making him thus simply because she wanted it. Simply because she had decided that she was going to make the most of the time she had with him and she, as an untapped, untrained witch, was turning him into something he was not, using a power she could not control.

Of course, she could never tell him this. She could not tell him of her dreams of Royce (dreams she still had, every night) or the beautiful kiss they shared. Colin would call in the men with the straight jacket and have her carted off immediately.

Or, worse, turn away and walk out of her life forever.

But that was then and this was now and Colin was no longer Royce/Colin of the possessive, protective, tender, loving variety. He was back to Colin of the annoying, imperious, crazy variety.

Sibyl phoned his office, not his mobile, meaning only to leave him a message because she did not want to speak to him at all. She’d never phoned his office before and didn’t relish the thought. As she dialled, she even entertained the notion (quite contentedly) of spending the next four months sleeping with him but never speaking to him again.

A woman answered, “Colin Morgan’s office.”

Something about this greeting made her seethe more.

“Hello, this is Sibyl Godwin. I’d like to leave Mr. Morgan a message.”

“Oh, hi Miss Godwin. I’m Mandy, Mr. Morgan’s assistant. He told me to put you through immediately if you called. One moment.”

Then before she could get a word in edgewise, Sibyl was put on hold. This gave her the golden opportunity to seethe even more and she took it. She did not spend one second (well, maybe one second) thinking what it meant that he’d instructed his secretary to put her through the minute she phoned.

Faster than she expected, she heard his rich, attractive voice saying, “Sibyl.”

She tried not to react to the sound of his voice and without preamble she began, “Colin, you should know, for dinner tomorrow night –”