Page 43 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

THIRTY-FOUR

I down the last dregs of my champagne flute before walking to the auction table, eyes popping at some of the generous bids.

The most popular by far was donated by a local cabin resort.

It’s an all-inclusive weekend stay in one of their treehouse cabins.

If I had more money, I would have bid it all on that.

A weekend in the trees with no one bothering me but room service and spa treatments sounds like a dream.

The dollar amounts listed under each auction item loosens the little knot in my chest. The silent auction still has thirty minutes before it closes, so those numbers might even rise a bit more before the end. This isn’t a long-term solution, but it’ll give us a little more breathing room.

I press a hand over my sternum and look at the crowd bedecked in evening gowns and suits, overwhelmed with gratitude that this town showed up for us.

Everything has gone well tonight so far, but I don’t want to think about it too hard in case I jinx it.

Many of the local business owners have made an appearance, as well as a few tourists who were drawn to the glitz and glamour of the night.

I worked hard on advertising this thing online, and I’m glad to see it paid off.

I pop my head in on Aunt C, making sure she’s doing okay and not in need of anything.

This is the most readings she’s done back-to-back in a while, and I know they can be draining for her.

Even though she doesn’t have the Gift, she works hard on interpreting the tarot for her clients, trying to help them find meaning in them.

Luckily, she seems to have a small pause in clients, so I can chat with her for a second.

“Hey, Aunt C. Need anything?” I ask, stepping further into the room and watching as she deftly shuffles the deck in her hands.

“I’m alright, darling. Thanks for checking in.

Are you ready for your…ah, work?” she asks, stumbling a little over the words she’s trying to avoid saying.

We’ve managed to keep my little secret from the town so far, and I don’t want an eavesdropper to be the reason everyone suddenly knows I’m a medium.

“Yeah. I think I’ll be able to sneak in without much notice.

Wren is still planning on being the guide, right?

” We had planned for her to take Aunt C’s place tonight in explaining how the medium thing works for my clients and leading them into my Medium Meeting Room.

I circulated the party for a good hour or so because I’m sure people would have thought it strange if I hadn’t shown up to the ball that I’ve worked so hard for.

I’m just hoping no one will notice my little disappearing act.

“Yes, she’s ready to go. She should be hovering outside your door as we speak,” Aunt C replies, just as Yuri, the local florist, bustles in, long gown trailing behind her.

“Clarissa! It’s been far too long since my last reading.

I have a new question I want to focus on,” Yuri says, hardly paying me any attention in her excitement.

She sits down in the chair opposite my aunt, sets a handful of bills on the table, and launches into a detailed account of what she’s seeking answers on.

I laugh under my breath at the line of her questioning (something about pursuing two men and wondering which one she should go with), and leave them to it.

Outside the door in the short hallway, I briefly meet Dean’s gaze and smile.

He’s been flitting about the party all evening and has been whispering the gossip he picks up in my ear like an old lady intent on sharing their prized intel at bingo.

The little gossip monger has revealed that two of the tourists are cheating on their spouses with each other, someone else is close to losing their house because they have a gambling problem, and another person got caught sending nudes to a model from LA.

I’ll never be able to look Marcus, our local pharmacist, in the eye again.

I gesture with my chin to the door at the end of the hall that leads into the narrow alleyway. Dean follows me out, and I keep one foot hooked around the door so it doesn’t lock me out.

“Listen, I’m about to do my readings, so don’t pop in there and confuse things, okay? I think you would freak the other ghosts out,” I say, glancing around to make sure no one is eavesdropping.

He gives me a mock salute and says, “You got it, boss. I’m going to go follow that man in the pin-striped suit. I saw him slip off his wedding ring earlier.”

“You know, I should probably be disturbed by how much you’re enjoying this.”

Dean smirks. “I’m a lawyer. I love gossip.”

I laugh a little and head back inside, hoping to slip into my room without notice.

I’m scanning the store for Wren, so I don’t see the man who backs into me until it’s too late.

I bump into his broad back, knocking him off balance.

“Shit!” he exclaims. He turns around, holding the front of his shirt out and away from his chest. Even in the dim lighting, I can see he spilled champagne all down the front of his dress shirt.

I look up to offer an apology when my mouth runs dry because damn this guy is attractive.

Like, model or actor attractive. His chiseled jaw, perfect pout, and deep-set green eyes all press into a scowl, and it’s only then I realize I’m gawking.

“Sorry!” I squeak out. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you, and just bam!

Walked right into you. Please come with me so I can help you clean up.

This is my party, so it’s the least I can do,” I babble.

“It’s fine. Really. You just surprised me,” he says, sultry voice wrapping around me like a velour blanket. He drinks me in and smiles appreciatively. I should be flattered or excited for the attention, but I find that I’m just not.

He’s not Dean.

Which tells me just how much trouble I’m in if I have no interest in this very attractive, very alive man who likes what he sees.

“I insist. Let me at least get your shirt dry for you. Come with me to the bathroom. I think we have a blow dryer in there.” He nods and follows me back through the crowd toward the hallway. I knock on the door, and when no one calls out, I push it open.

The door swishes shut behind us, and I bend at the waist to rifle through the vanity cabinet. I push past a mountain of toilet paper and cleaning supplies before my hand closes around the metal handle of our ancient blow dryer. I pull it out and plug it into the outlet by the sink .

I turn around and find that he’s close behind me. Not quite in my personal bubble, but I could reach out and touch him if I wanted. I didn’t think about how small this bathroom is, and with his well over six-foot frame, there’s little room for much else.

“Okay, can you give me your shirt? I hope your undershirt didn't get soaked too,” I say, holding my hand out.

“Would you mind holding my suit jacket?” he asks politely, shrugging out of it. I take it from him with a smile and surreptitiously step back, trying to gain even an inch more of distance between us, my butt bumping into the counter in the process.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt and I look skyward, feeling immensely awkward and regretting my insistence on helping.

I narrow my eyes at the overhead fluorescent lighting, trying to think of anything but the man getting half-naked in front of me.

When he holds the cream-colored shirt out to me, I switch his jacket for it.

I turn my back, running the tap so I can rinse the champagne out first, grateful to have a task.

I get the hair dryer going, and its loud screeching reverberates off the walls and drowns out the sounds of the party.

I turn my gaze away from the nearly dry shirt and look in the mirror, where I see the man has stripped out of his undershirt as well and has his jacket draped over his arm. The air shimmers behind him, and I stifle a sigh when Dean materializes looking furious.

I’m studiously ignoring Dean’s glare, but he makes it much harder to do when he presses up behind me and whispers in my ear, “Why are you alone with a half-naked stranger? I was just with you five minutes ago.”

“Sorry, this got wet too,” the man says sheepishly, raising his voice to be heard over the hair dryer .

I give a tight-lipped smile when I shut off the hair dryer and reply, “No, it’s my fault. I’m the reason you spilled your champagne in the first place. Almost done.” I look at Dean in the mirror with raised eyebrows, hoping that answers his question.

I hand the man his dress shirt and get to work on the soft cotton undershirt in my hands. Luckily, this has a much smaller stain on it, his dress shirt having taken the brunt of the champagne splatter.

“I can’t believe you got yourself in an enclosed space with a man you don’t know. Willingly! Don’t you know better than to trust strangers?” Dean lectures through gritted teeth, never looking away from the shirtless man.

I roll my eyes so hard it’s mildly painful. The undershirt dries quickly, and I shut off the hair dryer, unplugging it and tossing it under the sink in one smooth motion.

I spin and hand the shirt to the man. “Here you go. Sorry again, but hopefully the last five minutes in our spa-like accommodations have made it up to you,” I say, gesturing around the very small bathroom with its cracking purple paint and age-worn tile floors.

He smiles wryly, throwing his undershirt on in a fluid, practiced motion. “No problem. Any excuse to spend some time alone with a beautiful woman is fine in my book. Although if I’m shirtless, there’s usually less laundry being done,” he says with a chuckle.

“Hold on there, buddy,” Dean says, stepping up to the man and getting in his face. Too bad he can’t see Dean. He’s putting on quite the alpha-male, squawking-territorial-rooster show.

My red-painted lips curl in a smile. “I’m sure. I’m taken, though, or at least have the whole ‘it’s complicated’ thing going on. ”

He looks a little disappointed at that but finishes buttoning his shirt and slipping on his jacket. “Ah. No problem then. I had to shoot my shot or I’d have regretted it. Whoever has your attention is very lucky.” With that, he sends me a wink and leaves, shutting the door lightly behind him.

“What a piece of work,” Dean grouses, folding his arms over his chest.

I snort and ask, “Oh, are we looking in the mirror?”

“He was coming onto you!”

“Fairly respectfully, if I do say so. And I can handle myself. I know how to tell a man no. And when I did, he left. So, why are we throwing a fit again?” I lean back against the vanity again, crossing my arms in amusement.

Suddenly, he’s directly in front of me and pressing me harder into the vanity.

I have to throw my hands back to catch myself against the counter.

“Because you’re driving me insane in this dress, Rae.

I’m using petty town gossip to distract myself, but every time I look at you, I fantasize about tearing this off of you.

” His fingertips spark along the seam of my bust, and I inhale sharply, annoyance forgotten.

“Why aren’t we doing that again?” I ask, running a hand through his hair and giving it a playful tug.

“Because you have a job to do,” he says, leaning in and pecking my nose before flitting to the other side of the small room.

“Rude,” I say with a scowl.

He smiles, but it looks more devious than friendly. “Well, now we both get to have a one-track mind. See you out there, Alderwood,” he says with a salute before fading through the wall.

I take a breath to steady myself and press my cool hands to my cheeks, hoping to dull the flush a bit. A knock at the door startles me, and I push myself away from the vanity.

I walk past the woman dancing from foot to foot outside the door with a muttered apology and weave through the crowd toward my sister.

She’s waiting impatiently, arms crossed, a singular talon tapping quickly on her forearm.

“There you are! I was about to send out a search party,” she says reproachfully.

“Sorry, I got sidetracked. I was talking to Aunt C and then I accidentally spilled champagne on a male model, and then Dean got all jealous, which was frankly very hot…” I trail off when I notice her expression darken further.

“Oookay, never mind. Let’s get this show on the road.

” I give her a meek thumbs up and then, with a glance around to make sure no one is watching, I slip inside the Medium Meeting Room.