"The caretaker's cottage is a half mile back down the road.” Reed shined his light into a side parlor, where their equipment had been laid out. “Want to take a quick tour before we calibrate this stuff?"
His words dragged her back to the task at hand. “No, I need my equipment.” Especially if she wanted to have any hope of keeping up with him. Some of us don't have natural advantages, Reed.
For a moment, she thought he might suggest she get started while he looked around. He certainly appeared to be eager to see the rest of the house. Then he shrugged. “Okay.” He walked over to the table and picked up a digital thermometer. “Wonder if we'll have any trick-or-treaters."
Sara moved to the table and set her flashlight down with the beam pointed at the ceiling. “Probably not. A lot of people are pretty scared of this place. Might get some thrill-seekers though. Did you lock the front door behind us?"
"No, but Lurch did."
She surveyed the table in front of her with a slight frown. “Didn't the driver say that there would be candles and oil lamps for us? The flashlights aren't exactly meant to light a room properly."
Reed glanced up from the thermometer and nodded at the wall behind her, where a lamp rested in an artful brass sconce. “Got a light?"
Her frown deepened as she patted her pockets and then moved to her backpack. “I should have brought some matches, or a lighter—I thought you smoked...?"
He reached into his back pocket and drew out a disposable lighter. “I quit, but I thought we might need it.” He tossed it to her without looking up, the gesture as smooth as everything else about him.
It was infuriating.
She closed her fingers on the delicate glass that topped the lamp and held her breath as she lifted it. It felt fragile, as if it might really be from the eighteen hundreds. Which would make it some sort of catastrophe if I broke it....
She fumbled with the lighter, but after the third soft click a flame jumped to life. She lit the small wick and watched as the flame rose, filling the room with a gentle glow that utterly failed to illuminate the corners but at least made it easy to move around without tripping over furniture.
Reed tapped her on the shoulder and covered her hand with his. “I'll light the others,” he said, his eyes on hers as he took the lighter back.
Annoyance would have been understandable, but Sara was completely unprepared for the heat that flared between them where his hand touched hers. Warmth flooded her cheeks and her heart jumped.
No, Sara. Every other girl who looked at him might fall into his arms, but she was not every other girl. She was smart, and focused, and determined....
And still holding his hand.
He arched an eyebrow and smiled a little as he glanced down at their joined hands. “Scared, Sara?"
She jerked her hand away with a glare. “You wish."
Reed just laughed. “You're the one clinging to me like the endangered he**ine of a Gothic novel.” He placed the thermometer on the polished surface of the table and picked up a digital video recorder. “'Save me, Reed!'” The words were high-pitched and amused, but not mocking. “You'd better watch it. With the level of activity this place is rumored to have, you might have to save me."
"You keep on like that, and maybe I won't save you,” she retorted. She moved back to the table and switched her flashlight off, using the light from the lamp to study the equipment on the table. “Besides, I'm not the one with the flashy magical gift."
He pointed the camera at her. The flashing red light indicated it was on and recording. “Say ‘hi’ to the folks at home, Sara."
She rolled her eyes and reached for the digital recorder. “Can't we at least pretend we're going to be professional about this?"
Reed snorted. “And you wonder why I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a university somewhere. You have to leave your sense of humor at home.” He handed her the recorder and winked. “Or did you not have one in the first place?"
"There's a time and a place, Reed.” She hit the button to start the recorder, then tucked it into her back pocket with the microphone pointing up. Her level of annoyance rose dramatically when she realized she'd been staring at his hands, at his strong fingers and the nimble way they disassembled the electromagnetic frequency meter to check the settings.
"Right.” he agreed. “The time is never, and the place is—” He snapped his mouth shut as a crash sounded on the floor above them. “Did you hear that?” The EMF meter hit the table, and he snatched up another oil lamp and quickly lit it.
She shivered, and an icy feeling trailed down her spine. She took a deep breath and braced herself. “Sounds like something that needs investigating,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Do you use any of this stuff, or are you going to wave your hands and chant?"
He gave her an arch look and handed her the DVR. “If it doesn't work, can you scare the ghosts away with your legendary bitchiness?"
"As long as you stay close by.” There was something soothing in bickering with him. At least it was comfortable and familiar. “Okay, are we bringing flashlights or a lamp?"
"Does it matter?” He picked up the EMF meter and turned it on. “You record, and I'll carry a lamp. Maybe we'll get less reflection with a diffuse light source.” He headed for the staircase without waiting for her to respond.
"Shit.” She scrambled to catch up with the fading light from the lamp. She reached the bottom of the stairs as he started up them and swore at herself again when she caught her gaze admiring the way his jeans hugged his ass. Couldn't you be a little less drool-worthy?
He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Did you say something?"
Heat rose in her cheeks and she swore to herself again. “No. No, let's go."
He shrugged one shoulder and checked the meter as he ascended to the second floor. “The house still hasn't been wired for electricity, so we should have minimal interference.” When he reached the landing, he peered down the hallway. “Where'd it come from?"
"I think the right...” The thermal infrared recorder in her hand painted the world in a rainbow of colors, with Reed showing up in bright reds and oranges. “Pretty cold in here. Ambient temperature's only about sixty-five."
"Could be poor insulation from the elements,” Reed commented, then reached for the first door on the right. It swung open, and he shivered visibly. “Or not."
Sara moved the camera to point at the door and blinked when the temperature reading dropped. “Jesus Christ, it's sixty-one in there."
"It's probably about that outside right now,” he noted. “Maybe a window—” The curtains were still, and he held up the lamp. “Well, there's our crash.” He nodded to a candelabra on the floor beside a small, leather-bound book.
She swung the camera around, but the entire room was cold. “Not picking up anything but cold everywhere. What about you?"
"Not a peep so far,” he admitted, turning around and holding the lamp aloft. He glanced at her and looked away immediately, and Sara could have sworn he was blushing.
She glanced down a second later and realized why. Her shirt was comfortable, but not nearly voluminous enough to hide the fact that the cold—or the thoughts of Reed and his damnably dexterous hands—had hardened her ni**les to a rather alarming degree.
She wanted to be offended, but the thought of Reed staring at her br**sts was only slightly less arousing than the thought of him actually touching them. And they were alone. In the dark. In a damn bedroom...
"You're a pervert,” she snapped, unsure if she meant the comment for him or for herself.
"Hey,” he shot back, sounding indignant. “I wasn't looking, all right? It's just the ... Well, hell, it's the kind of thing you notice."
Other parts of her body were starting to get interested in the conversation, so Sara scrambled for a retort that wouldn't turn into an invitation. “How exactly do you notice things without looking? You'll have to teach me."
Reed's jaw tightened, and he gave her a pointed look. “Gee, I don't know. How's my ass tonight? You seem to have noticed it just fine a couple of times."
It should have been impossible to blush this many times in ten minutes. “Fuck you."
He took a step closer, his hazel eyes flashing. “You're the one who brought it up, Ms. Patel. And, since you're being so defensive, I have to assume that you have been checking me out all night."
"I—” She took a step back and knocked into the small dresser next to the door. “Jesus, it's not exactly news that you're easy on the eyes, Reed. How many dozens of girls sign up for your classes every semester just to check you out?"
"I don't usually ask that as part of my course evaluations,” he teased, then walked over and flopped down on the brocade-covered bed. “Though if you feel the information might be of value to the department, I will certainly consider it."
Her heart was beating too fast, and she had no idea why. Sure, Reed was attractive. And yes, being stuck in a dimly lit room with him reclining on a gigantic, sinfully appointed bed was enough to make any woman's pulse race...
But I'm here to do a job. I'm here to— “Get off the bed,” she choked out, her voice sounding high and desperate to her own ears. What in hell is wrong with me?
Reed set the lamp down on the bedside table and stretched out. “Nope. I'm going to hang out here for a while. See if anything else happens.” He gave her a wicked look and patted the bed beside him. “Want to join me?"
He thinks you won't, a tiny voice taunted, the same voice that had commented on the tight fit of his jeans earlier. A voice whose judgment was highly suspect...
Sara snapped the camera shut and stalked around to the other side of the bed, determined to prove him wrong. Or something.