Many men could be fooled into thinking they got the job done, but from the utter conviction in his tone, I suspected that Austin Steele delivered. He made sure he delivered, even. Just like he’d made sure I got home safely the other night. It was becoming clear that when Austin Steele set out to do something, he did it. End of story.
I let out a long, slow breath, my face as hot as my blood. My whole body humming. I wasn’t supposed to be the one who flicked the red light to green. I had to watch myself around him.
“What did you mean about you choosing a solitary life?” I asked, not facing him so he didn’t see the impact of that little tête-à-tête.
He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “That’s not something that’ll make sense yet. Let’s wait until we have our talk, then you’ll hopefully forget to ask about it.”
“I never forget.”
“No?”
“Okay, yes. I forget everything. Since having Jimmy—my kid—I cannot keep a thought in my head. It’s a problem. It seems like it’s even worse in that house. You know, Ivy House without ivy. I just get lost in a carving and lose all track of my thoughts. Or go up to the library—which is unreal awesome, by the way—and forget what I was doing there. That kinda thing.”
“Tamara Ivy is the one who built the house. When she was murdered within its walls, she imparted her magic to the house. That magic lives there still, on loan to its master. When its master dies, the magic retreats into the house’s walls, waiting for its next master. And the next. And the next. Thus, the house retains the name of its creator. Which winery do you want to start at?”
“First, the nearest winery, obviously. If we don’t like it, we don’t buy anything. Second, what? She was murdered in the house?”
“Yes.” He started walking as I wrapped my mind around that.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. It was hundreds of years ago. More than a thousand, actually.”
“But this town isn’t that old.”
“It is if you read the right records.”
I shook my head, frustrated and already regretting agreeing to this excursion. He hadn’t seemed as crazy as the others, and then this came…
I checked my damaged phone, the screen spiderwebbed with cracks. I’d apparently dropped it on my run without realizing it. Niamh had found it on the sidewalk and brought it over this morning. I owed her one. The poor phone hadn’t fared very well, but it was still working. Mostly.
“What do you mean, she imparted her magic to the house?” I asked. “Is that your way of saying she haunts Ivy House? Because you said you hadn’t heard any rumors about the house being haunted.”
He stopped in front of the second winery along our path, having apparently decided to be choosey. “You’ll need to forget everything you’ve ever known for this conversation.”
“Pretty hard.”
“You’ll need to keep an open mind.”
“I can do that.”
He jerked his head at the tasting room. “The woman who works here knows everything I am about to tell you. That is the only reason I’ll be frank with you when she’s in earshot.”
I felt my eyebrows lowering, suddenly very uncomfortable. Maybe it was because we’d gone from that whole genuinely situation to talking about some woman knowing everything, but my mind jumped to places I did not want to go. Sexual places that were sticky and raunchy, and honestly I didn’t want to know him well enough to throw open the closet doors and see all his skeletons.
He opened the door to the tasting room and stepped aside. I looked into the cheery interior and thought about running.
“Come on, I won’t bite,” he said.
Shivers coated my body. The glimmering blue of his eyes and the definition of his muscles made another genuinely curl through my mind.
“Sure, yeah, why not,” I mumbled, skulking through the door.
A twenty-something girl with dirty blonde, lazy curls falling past her shoulders gave me a professional smile.
“Welcome,” she said. Her eyes lit up when Austin walked in behind me. “Austin Steele, hello! Finally got you in for a tasting, huh?”
If he noticed her fawning he didn’t show it. His expression was flat, his eyes hard. “I need to talk business. Just the essential information to get us set up will do.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.” With flustered movements and a flushed face (probably not unlike mine from a moment ago), she busied herself behind the bar. “I’ll just open fresh bottles, if you’ll give me a moment.”
Taking stock of the situation, I lowered an elbow to the counter. On second thought, I could hear about a couple of skeletons if it meant getting preferential treatment. Who was I to say no to fresh bottles and eager staff?
The glasses clinked as she placed them on the counter. “I’m Donna,” she said for my benefit. “Should I start from the top of the pouring list?”