Page 49 of The Haunting Plot

I just need to schedule some self-care. This renovation has fucked with my schedule. That’s all.

Once we finish dinner, we resume painting. Sawyer bends, dips his roller, and then strokes up and down the wall. The muscles in his back flex with the move, and I stare, mesmerized. I’ve never been attracted to back muscles before, and I shake my head, clearing the lust, determined not to let this man get under my skin.

I grab a paintbrush and cross to the corner of the room, plopping onto the ground as I methodically paint the baseboards.

Several minutes go by when I hear a faint sound. “What’s that noise?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“It’s like a buzzing. You don’t hear it?” My phone is in my pocket, but I check it anyway. “Is your phone ringing?”

“Don’t think so, but it’s in my pocket if you want to check for yourself.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I absolutely would.” His back is to me, but the grin in his voice is evident.

“Does this relentless flirting work with most women?”

“Dunno. I don’t flirt with most women. Why? Is it working?”

“No, it’s not.” It’s an effort to hide my smile, but I manage.

“Mm-hmm.”

Rolling my eyes at his ridiculousness, I dip my brush into the paint.

“Wait, I hear something too.”

“It sounds like a buzzing, right?” I set my brush in the pan as I walk closer to the door.

“Yeah, but it’s faint.”

The sound gets louder at his words, and he locks eyes with me. “Nope. Don’t say it.”

“Ghosts?”

“There’s a logical explanation. Could it be faulty wiring?”

“Unlikely.” He sets his roller down and turns to face me.

I walk over to the light switch and flip it off, plunging the room into darkness. The buzzing gets louder.

“What the fuck, Raven?” he shouts over several loud bangs. “Shit. Shit!”

Suddenly there’s a hand squeezing my breast, and I flick the light on. Sawyer’s inches from me, his large palm covering my breast. I look down, and that’s when I notice his hand is covered in paint.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. That was an accident. I swear. It was dark, and I couldn’t see. I didn’t mean to… fuck.”

When I search his eyes, they’re sincere, and I decide not to give him a hard time about his blunder. There are several layers of fabric between his hand and my flesh, yet it feels like he’s branding himself on my skin. Beads of sweat form at the base of my neck. I’m acutely aware of every beat of my heart as it taps an erratic rhythm against his palm. There’s a tiny twinge of something stirring between my thighs, and I clench them together in an effort to stop it from intensifying.

“You can let go of my breast now.” My voice is so low and breathy, I almost don’t recognize it.

“Shit. Sorry.” He carefully peels his hand off my shirt. While several of the physical sensations cease, the emotions swirling through me only intensify.

I want him to take a step back but also crowd me against the door at the same time. My eyes fixate on one of his shirt buttons. I cannot look at him right now. I’m not sure I could hide my reaction. The fabric on his chest bunches, straining against the button with each labored inhale he takes. He’s not wearing an undershirt, and a few silver chest hairs poke out of the opening, and I’m struck with the urge to run my fingers through them.

What the fuck is happening to me?