Page 3 of Come A Little Closer

“Annie, I’m sorry!” I said, spinning around to find nothing but shadow.

Cathy pulled my shoulder and we retreated toward the window as a man emerged from the gloom. Cathy squealed and leapt a good four inches in the air. My heart galloped in my chest and I had a wide smile splitting my face.

It had been a long time since someone scared me that well.

The thrill was like lightning in my veins, bringing me back to life like Frankenstein’s monster. My whole body thrummed with restless energy and it was laser focused on the mysterious stranger in front of me.

Less excited, Cathy threw her arms up in surrender. “That’s it. I can’t do this creepy tour anymore. Meet me at Hoola’s Cafe when you’re done, and we’re making it four drinks at Mardi Gras. And they better be frosty.” She shouldered her way past me and gave the tall man a shrewd look and a wide berth. “And you should have better manners than to be creeping around in the dark like that. You’re not Batman.”

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but aside from that, he remained expressionless.

Cathy clomped down the hall, clearly already regretting her choice of heels. I was about to follow her when the man spoke. “Wait.”

Shit. He’s going to lay into me for wandering off from the group.

The man flipped a switch on the wall, and old-fashioned bulbs sparked to life up and down the hall. I got a good look at him in the light. I didn’t know who he was, but he definitely hadn’t been on our tour. I would’ve noticed him and imagined what our kids would look like.

Maybe he’s the owner?

Whoever he was, if Cathy had gotten a look at him, she never would have run away. The man was hot—and very much not creepy in normal lighting. With golden blond hair styled in neat, short waves away from his face and eyes that appeared to be a glittering, sparkling blue even in the low light, he was tall, built like he knew how to move, and handsome.

His strong features were sharp as he looked at me. He had a high brow and prominent, regal cheekbones, an arrow of a nose and a slightly square chin, and right then, every last one of those features were set in a mask of iciness.

His chin was raised, his nose just a little bit pulled up, his brow furrowed, and his blond eyebrows drawn together. Yep. He’s definitely going to yell at me for snooping around.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sliding his hands into the pockets of an immaculately tailored three-piece suit. “This is private property.”

“Oh, I know.” Go for the distraction! Go for the distraction! “I grew up reading Anne Rice novels and I’ve always wanted to live in NOLA, so I moved out here about a year ago from California and I’ve been tending bar to make ends meet.”

The furrow of his brow deepened. “I asked you what you’re doing here, in this house. Not what you’re doing in New Orleans. The tour doesn’t come to this wing.”

“Right.” I nodded swiftly, my mind racing to come up with something better this time. “I knew that, actually. As soon as I realized that we were in the portrait gallery, I knew we’d ventured away from the route.”

“How did you know that?” His head was still cocked, his eyes completely focused on mine.

There was an intensity about him that made my mouth want to dry up, but I supposed I might’ve been intense too if I’d found a stranger wandering around my home. And what a home!

“Well, I, uh, I know a lot about these old houses,” I finally explained, shrugging as I lifted my eyebrows at him. “Yep. That’s it. I just know a lot about them. I enjoy researching the history, and when I moved here, I made a bit of a study of it.”

He looked at me quizzically but didn’t say anything. Shit. Keep going. Just keep going. Before he calls the cops. God, I can’t let him call the cops.

“I know more about these houses than the tour guides, and probably the owners for that matter,” I said quickly, starting to back away from him. “But enough about me. I should get going, though. Right? I should go find the rest of the group.”

“Just get out of my house,” he ground out and I nodded, finally breaking eye contact. Then I spun around and hurried back down the corridor.

I felt him watching me walk away and I glanced at him over my shoulder, wanting him to know that I’d caught him in the act. Contrary to how it might’ve gone down with most other people though, he didn’t look away when I turned.

Those eyes remained unapologetically locked on me and he didn’t move a muscle. His hands were still in the pockets of his undoubtedly expensive pants and his head was still slanted. Even his jaw was still tight. I spun around again, a smug smile spreading on my lips as I turned the corner.

I’d gotten under this homeowner’s skin and I was ridiculously proud of myself for it. I knew how much money he’d paid for this mansion when it had eventually been sold at an estate auction, and because of that, I knew the guy was frighteningly rich.

Yet here I was, a lowly bartender barely earning enough to pay the bills, and I’d gotten under his skin. For someone who’d grown up as sheltered as I had, it felt like an achievement. I grinned as I reached the foyer and made my way outside.

Maybe I should become a tour guide instead of slinging drinks. I loved a challenge and adored a good scare. Guiding haunted house tours for a living suddenly sounded like a dream come true.

As I set off down the sidewalk toward Hoola’s cafe, I wrapped my arms around myself and nodded. Yep. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I came all the way out here to live my own life, and this is what I want to do with it.

2