Page 29 of Liars and Liaisons

So, instead, I give a little smirk and withdraw, shifting back in my seat so suddenly that he blinks several times before he seems to notice I’m gone.

“Either you’re all talk, Professor, or you don’t mind the idea of inexperience.” I bat my eyelashes, now reaching for the door handle. “Is that it,sir? Would you like to teach me how to be bad for you?”

His nostrils flare. “You should be careful what you ask for, Little Echo. Don’t promise what you can’t deliver.”

9

He gets outof the car before me, and I scramble to follow, catching the door before he can slam it shut on my fingers. His back is stiff as he approaches the front door, and I’m too busy admiring the property’s mountain views and the lake through the trees to stop before I run into him.

My nose bumps his shoulder blade, and I reach out to steady myself. An arm comes up, wrapping around me, plastering me to his form.

His fingers press gently into the grooves of my spine, and for a split second, neither of us moves. Electricity seems to come alive in the spot he touches, and a shaky breath escapes me when he finally pulls away—though whether it’s relief or disappointment, I can’t be sure.

Grayson clears his throat as I step back, folding my hands together. He unlocks the door, and a wave of unease tingles at the base of my neck, like a sudden infestation of fire-pinching ants. It travels slowly through my limbs, wrapping around my spine as I move past the threshold behind him, and I try not to stumble as the door swings closed on its own.

Note to self: stay far, far away from this man.

The sound of it slamming into place echoes off the tall, vaulted ceilings and bounces off the dark, paneled walls. Sitting rooms flank either side of the wide-open entry hall, both complete with green and cream-colored wood-finished furniture, wrapped in clear plastic, and their own fireplaces.

Beautiful crystal chandeliers hang in every room, each piece glinting off the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, giving panoramic views of the property. Abstract art hangs on some walls while mounted deer and bear heads hang on others, and even though I’m a lifelong vegan, it’s not even the animals that creep me out.

The house is stunning—there’s no doubt about that. It somehow balances a quaint early-twentieth-century charm with a few modern, updated features—like the swimming pool off the back loggia and the smart appliances in the kitchen.

Yet there isn’t an ounce oflifeto be found. No plants thriving—or even wilting—in any of the prime spots of sunshine real estate. No photos or discarded glasses or pens left lying on tables. Any mirrors we pass are covered in old, ratty sheets, and there’s a chill in the air that feels unwelcoming.

The house is full, but somehow completely empty.

I don’t even spot any instruments, which seems positively odd for a composer like Grayson James. Someone whose entire existence revolves around making music.

But I don’t question it.

“The east wing is the staff quarters,” Grayson says as we turn a corner off the eat-in kitchen and head up a wide mahogany staircase. “You’ll meet them later, I’m sure. Micah and Willow waste no time with introductions.”

“You have staff?”

“Unfortunately, someone has to look after the place. Not to mention the goats.”

“Goats?”

He leads me down another hall, at the end of which is a series of doors. Picking the one on the last right, he pushes it open, revealing a large bedroom with floral-patterned curtains, a matching rug, and a comforter tucked into the canopy bed, where sheer curtains are tied to each post.

A chaise lounge in one corner and a working fireplace across from the bed complete the set, and my mouth falls open as I move inside.

The cathedral-style ceiling meets at a peak in the center of the room, and soft sunlight spills in from the volume of glass lining the exterior walls. Tall, paneled windows overlook the mountains and lake on the south side of the house while twin skylights loom in above the bed, their partial stained-glass patterns casting a mellow glow on the surroundings.

“It’s a bit dated,” Grayson says, and I swear I detect a hint of color in his cheeks as he leans against the doorjamb, glancing around. “I can have the girls order some new linens, though I assure you, everything in here has been freshly laundered and deep-cleaned. If you don’t like something, we can—”

“I love it,” I rush out. That must be what the unnatural sensation swimming through my veins is—excitement. The thrill of something new even if it’s being acquired while under duress.

“You do?”

Nodding, I walk to the bed and run my hand over the comforter. It’s soft, plush, and I’m immediately ready to curl up beneath it. “The room’s perfect. Don’t change a thing.”

He stares, unblinking, like he doesn’t really believe me. Then, finally, he gives me a curt nod. “I’ll be down the hall. When Micah and Willow find you, they’ll inform you about house rules and etiquette. You pretty much have free rein of everything, except the southern wing of the house and the sunflower field outside. Those are off-limits.”

“Creepy.”

“I’d also prefer if you made yourself scarce during parties.”

---