Fifth Grave Past the Light by Darynda Jones Read Free Book Online

mouth as he secured another sticky note on the door before shutting it in my face.
    I blinked, then read the note.
     
Use the key.
     
    Oh, for the love of gravy. I marched back to my apartment, grabbed the key from my bag, then went back and used the darned thing, trying to figure out what the big deal was. Though I had to admit, I liked having it. I liked having access to his place, his life. I’d been denied him so long, it was nice to have one small piece of him, one tiny token of confirmation. It slid easily into the lock. Turned like it had been recently oiled. And naturally my mind came up with all kinds of situations for which that could’ve been a metaphor. I was such a ho.
    I walked through the apartment and spotted one Mr. Reyes Farrow busying himself in his kitchen. In a domestic capacity. The image was jarring and endearing at once and I had to tear my gaze away before he noticed. I couldn’t let him get too used to the idea that I adored him. Best to keep him guessing.
    I had yet to see his new digs. It wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Of course, I really didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps something in cool tones with lots of grays and chrome. What I got was warmth, very much like the man himself. It was nice. Lots of textures with earthy colors and a freestanding black marble fireplace separating two rooms. In the next was a pool table with dark wood and a cream-colored top. It was stunning. His apartment had a homey feel I hadn’t expected.
    I looked up as he walked back in, his swagger drawing attention to his hips, up his slim stomach to a set of wide shoulders that would make any man proud. I knew they made me proud. He wore a white button-down hanging loose over jeans. The sleeves were rolled up, allowing his tan forearms to show from underneath. That led me to his hands. He had the most incredible hands, and his arms were like steel. I should know. I’d been held captive in them before. It was a place I longed to return.
    He handed me a glass of red wine. Another nicety I hadn’t expected.
    “A toast?” he asked, raising his glass.
    “What are we toasting?” I clinked our glasses together, then brought mine to my lips.
    “The fact that a girl I know named Charley survived another day.”
    He didn’t call me Charley often, and it somehow seemed more intimate than when anyone else said it. It felt nice, the syllables falling from his mouth like honey.
    When I didn’t drink, he called me by the nickname he’d given me. “Dutch?” And that felt even more intimate. His voice, rich and velvety and smooth like butterscotch, thrummed a string somewhere deep inside me. “Are you okay?”
    I nodded and finally took a sip. A fruity heat filled my mouth, warming my throat as I swallowed the crisp liquid. “I’m fine,” I said. “Great, actually, thanks to you. Again.”
    One corner of his mouth tilted, the gesture charming.
    “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
    He smiled and looked at his own masterpiece.
    “I’m still not sure how you convinced the owners to shell out the money,” I said.
    “I can be very persuasive when I want to be, and besides, they didn’t shell out anything. I paid for the remodel.”
    “Oh. I didn’t realize.”
    “I hear that the owner’s a little crazy anyway. She’s always getting into sticky situations. I was glad to help her out with this remodel.”
    I had never met the owner of the apartment building itself. The only contact I had was with the landlord, Mr. Zamora, and a light pang of jealousy spiked within me with his intimate use of the word
she
. It galled me. I was not a jealous person. Had never been jealous of anyone for any reason, but in walks Reyes Farrow and suddenly I’m that chick from
Fatal Attraction.
Next thing you know, I’ll be boiling rabbits.
    “Why haven’t you come to see me?” he asked as he stepped to an overstuffed sofa and sank into it, stretching his legs out in front of him. Like it was something he did