Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,35

scrape on the rough floor. I look down to see that half of the kitchen flooring has been ripped up, and there are several boxes marked TILE against the wall under the small kitchen window.

“Renovating?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah, when I bought the building, there was a tenant in it. Had to wait until she was gone to move in and start renovating.”

“How land-lordy of you. A killer, a torturer, a drug dealer, and a DIY-er. Who would have thought?” I bat my eye lashes.

“Smart ass,” he grumbles. He stands straight, and for the first time, I notice something other than anger in his eyes. He looks tired. The kind of tired that wears on the soul and not just the body.

The same kind of tired I feel.

I clear my throat. “Uh, your tenant. Did she move to a better place?”

Inwardly, I grimace at the stupid and irrelevant question.

Pike runs his hand through his hair and shakes it out. “I guess you can say that if you believe in the afterlife. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her son. He still comes in the shop from time to time.”

I don’t hear the rest because I’m cringing so hard I’m worried I’m about to implode.

He notices my discomfort and smiles, leaning on the counter once again. “Don’t tell me the scientific genius is afraid of ghosts?”

Slowly, I raise my chin to see the amusement in his eyes. I huff. “Listen, I’m a logical person, and ghosts have no place in logic. I know that. My brain knows that. But knowing it’s not logical doesn’t prevent fear because fear itself is not rooted in logic. Therefore,” I take a deep breath and shiver. “I fucking hate ghosts.” I tick a list off on my fingers. “Along with scary movies. Any mention of graveyards. The afterlife. Haunted houses. And Steven King novels.”

He laughs, and my entire body freezes because his laugh is deep and genuine and even though I hate to admit it, as beautiful as he is.

“You win,” I say. “No more ghost talk.”

“You’re not even going to ask me if she died here?” Pike asks, goading me. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s enjoying this kind of torture as much as he enjoyed the other kinds.

I hold up my palm. “Nope, it didn’t occur to me. Don’t care.”

“Really?” he asks, genuinely sounding confused. “That’s what most people ask first when they come here.”

“You mean most girls who come here,” I correct.

He doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t have to. I can see him with my own eyes, and as a straight female who isn’t currently dead, that’s all I need to know I’m right. And because of my damn photographic memory, long after this nightmare is over, if it’s ever over, I’ll be able to look upon every detail of his barbaric perfection for the rest of my days and recall every second of this living hell.

“I’m not most people or most girls.” My words are a reminder to myself of the teasing I was subjected to in school.

Too smart. Too nerdy. Show off. Outcast.

Suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the small kitchen, I make my way past Pike who doesn’t make any effort to stand aside. As I turn to the side and shuffle past him, my breasts lightly brushing his back, I’m pretty sure he can feel the blush I’m currently feeling deep down in my fucking toes.

When I’m in the safety of the living room, I turn to find Pike staring at me as if seeing me for the first time. His eyes rake me over from my face down my body slowly, heating me and my embarrassment until he reaches my toes and makes his way back up again as if he doesn’t care about being caught looking at me. As though he doesn’t have a care in the world. “No, you aren’t,” he mutters.

“What did you say?” I ask, not sure if I heard him correctly.

Pike shrugs, “Not a damn thing. You’re still hearing things, or maybe, it was your sister again.” He smirks that annoying smirk that makes a dimple pop out on his right cheek. The rugged man with scars on his knuckles suddenly looks boyish, and if I didn’t experience what he was capable of firsthand I might even call him sexy.

Fuck.

“Or maybe it’s the ghost?” he teases, wagging his eyebrows. “Because Edna has been known to wander around here at…”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not that afraid of ghosts,” I reply.