High Energy by Dara Joy Read Free Book Online

boxes were filled with fresh pastel
    flowers. The wrap-around porch was designed with intricate fretwork banisters.
    Several stained-glass windows reflected the afternoon sun.
    Zanita didn't know whether to label it a dream or a nightmare.
    She parked her car in the circular driveway in front of the house. When she had
    closed the car door, she leaned back against it to gaze up at the facade of the
    painted lady in front of her. The house was a fabulous example of Victorian
    architecture, brilliantly restored and lovingly maintained. She decided it was
    definitely a dream and was now very eager to see the interior.
    Climbing the few steps up to the wide veranda, skirting the hanging swing, she
    approached the wooden double front doors, wondering where on earth Tyber had
    found these beautiful stained-glass panels. She had no doubt that they were by
    Tiffany. The scenes depicted were celestial in nature, showing stars, comets,
    heavenly bodies, a few angels, and Cupids cavorting amongst the stars.
    Before she could ring the bell, the door swung open to a smiling Tyber Evans. He
    was barefoot, in faded jeans and an old white tee shirt. His long gold-streaked
    hair swung free around his shoulders.
    So that's what torture looks like.
    As usual, his sexy appearence was licensed to kill.
    "Hi—glad you could make it." He held the door open for her, gesturing to her to
    enter.
    "You know, Tyber, you really should make an effort to break out of your
    introverted mold," Zanita quipped as she walked past him.
    He rubbed his ear. "I take it you don't appreciate the nuances in my subtle
    foray into design?"
    "Subtle? Tyber, next to you, an elephant wearing a pink pinstriped suit dancing
    on two legs down Wall Street is subtle. I love it."
    He gave her an ear-to-ear grin. "Somehow I knew you would, Curls. Come on, let
    me give you a tour of the house." He casually draped his arm around her
    shoulders as he led her out of the foyer into the living room. She was soon to
    find out that it was one of the few rooms in the house that looked normal.
    The room was a tastefully recreated late-1800s drawing room decorated with dark
    maroon carpets, heavy emerald-green upholstered chairs sporting antimacassars,
    tables in dark woods, a large pouf, lots of hanging fringe, and elaborate
    drapery composed of yards and yards of rich jacquard material. On the highly
    polished wooden mantel of a large fireplace was set an inlaid cabinet containing
    a collection of antique music boxes.
    It was altogether lovely and she told him so.
    "Did you design and decorate the entire house, Tyber?"
    "Most of it. I love Victorian architecture—the flights of fancy, the imagination
    run amuck appeals to me. When I found this house several years ago, I was
    intrigued. My real estate agent tried to talk me out of it. You should've seen
    it then— it was a real mess, but I knew the house was structurally sound. When I
    saw that most of the original fixtures and detailing were still intact, I
    immediately put in an offer. The main house was restored, then I let my
    imagination loose on the twenty-five acres of grounds. After that, I decided to
    let my own flight of fancy take over. I added several wings decorated in what I
    call Neo-Victorian Evans." He smiled at her engagingly. "It was a lot of fun."
    Tyber's own version of Victorian turned out to be peculiarly fascinating. Rooms
    led into rooms, corridors took strange twists and turns, and stairways led into
    solid ceilings or around corners before going down or up.
    Every room they passed in the wings had a different theme; there was a cave room
    with rock walls, a medieval room with a bed hanging from the ceiling on chains,
    an observation deck with a telescope on one part of the roof, a room done all in
    black except for the ceiling, which had tiny phosphorescent stars painted on it,
    and other rooms all unique in theme.
    The feature he seemed most proud of was a doorway on the third floor that led to
    nowhere; it