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The doll was wearing a dirty dress, its painted features were practically gone, and half its hair had been plucked out of its porcelain head, making it a truly nightmare-worthy offering.
“Probably worth half a million dollars,” I mumbled around the mouth of my beer bottle.
“What are you watching?” Tansy asked.
I fumbled with the remote, clicking the mute button and pinching my eyes shut. “It was just ... on.”
Tansy’s eyebrows popped up, but she didn’t say anything else. She set her hand on my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have done that. So I’m sorry if I embarrassed you by sending that text.”
My face burned hot. “I’m not embarrassed.”
“Okay.” Her hand patted the top of my head—very condescendingly. “Either way, it was impulsive, and I shouldn’t have done it. I just ...” She paused, emitting a quiet sigh. “It’s nice seeing you interested in something. Something good.”
I took a swig of my beer. A long one.
She didn’t say that I was interested in Charlotte, so as she said her good night and left me alone in the family room, it was easy enough for me to pretend like Tansy was talking about the house.
That was easier to admit, sitting in the dark with a beer in hand andAntiquesfuckingRoadshowon my TV screen.
My interest in the house was growing too.
I found myself thinking about their progress. Studying all the pictures she sent me.
We’d spoken on the phone a couple of times, but William was always part of the conversation. Some issue that came up. A question that needed to be answered by the person in charge of the budget.
Those conversations helped me keep Charlotte in the safest possible box in my mind.
She was the most valuable tool I had to get the house ready for sale. For someone.
If that’s what I decided to do.
She’d climbed her way out of that box over the last weeks I spent in Michigan. Every time she looked at me. Every time she argued with me.
Every time she made me do something stupid—like study tile or talk about toy trains or help her climb out of dumpsters with discarded light fixtures that I was somehow terrified of damaging—she slid out of her safe box and ended up somewhere far more dangerous.
I drained the beer and stood from the couch to get a second one.
My heart was racing inexplicably, probably because the moment I started thinking about Charlotte climbing anywhere, I got visions of beds and handcuffs and ... Fucking hell, this was not good.
I tipped my head back and let the cold beer slide down my throat. The bottle was half-empty when I set it back down. I finished it in only a couple of long pulls. Instead of grabbing another one, I went back to the couch and blew out a hard breath.
Drinking to cope with the thought of Charlotte Cunningham. At the beginning of this mess, I would’ve thought that alcohol would have been a stress release.
Now I was fighting the idea of a whole different kind of release when it came to her.
I closed my eyes.
Which was also stupid.
Red hair. Soft, silky red hair.
Long legs and a sly smile.
Pink tongue and sweet lips. She was on her knees between my legs as I sat on the couch.
My hand drifted to the waistband of my shorts—
My phone rang, and I jumped.
