NOCTE (Nocte Trilogy #1) by Courtney Cole Read Free Book Online Page B

shake hands and
my father immediately heads back toward the house, a small smile on his
lips.   Halfway across the lawns, he
diverts his course and heads for me.  
    Stopping in front of me, he stares down.
    “The last few weeks have been hard. Too hard. I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going
through, because our paths are different and we feel our loss in different ways.   All I’m going to say is this.   Be careful.   You’re naïve and innocent and your
mother would know what to say right now, but I don’t.   This the first time you’ve seemed
interested in something in weeks. So all I’m going to say is be careful.   Ok?”
    I’m utterly speechless because my
father’s expression is so knowing .   It’s like he looked inside my head and saw the connection I feel toward
Dare, the interest, the intrigue.   He’s nervous for me, but yet he’s still
willing to rent the Carriage House to Dare because he
needs the money. And because he thinks Dare will
distract me from my grief.  
    I nod. “Ok.”
    He nods back, then walks into the house without another word.   From behind me, I swear I can feel Finn staring at me, his gaze beating
between my shoulder blades from the windows, but I shake it off.   I’m not doing anything wrong.  
    Or am I?
    Because as Dare looks up and meets my
gaze, he smiles a mischievous smile that makes me think I am.  
    Dare
me.  
    To do what?    That question makes me tingly.
    Dare slowly walks across the yard, and
motions to the chair across from me.   “Is that seat taken?”
    I roll my eyes. This game again?
    “No.”
    He doesn’t ask , he just sits in it, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the
ankles and stares at me, like he belongs in that chair.   I raise an eyebrow, but he’s still
silent.  
    “So, you have a British accent, but your
last name is DuBray.   How does that work?” I finally ask, desperate to
make him stop staring at me.   His
mouth twitches.  
    “Is that your third question?”
    Frustration bubbles up in me, regardless
of how cute things sound coming out of his mouth.  
    “Do I have to count every single question
I ask?   I’m only making polite conversation.”
    He shakes his head, and smiles just a
bit.   “Fine. I’ll give you this one
in the name of polite conversation.   My father died when I was a baby and he was French.   My mother was British, so we moved
there.   I’ve lived there my whole
life, hence the accent.”
    His beautiful, beautiful accent.   I nod.   “I’m sorry about your
father.”
    He shrugs.   “He was a good man, but it was a long
time ago.”
    I itch to ask him how old he is, but I resist
the urge. I can’t use another question already.   Besides, I’d bet money that he’s
twenty-one.   Or so.
    “Can you speak French?” I ask hopefully,
because Lord have mercy that would be hot.  
    “Oui, mademoiselle,” he answers
smoothly.   “Un peu.   A little bit.”
    Be
still my freaking heart.   I stare at him, enthralled.
    “So,” he finally says, changing the
subject so very casually, as though he’s not the coolest, sexiest man alive.   “How do you survive living in a funeral
home?   Have you ever seen a ghost?”
    I ignore my pounding heart and raise an
eyebrow.   “I’ll take this question
to mean that you did, in fact, have the balls to rent the carriage house?”
    He chuckles, a raspy, husky sound that
vibrates right into my belly.  
    “The fact that I have balls of steel is
now unarguable,” he announces with a grin.   “And I’m never nervous.   Not
even about ghosts.   Also, since I
gave you one answer, turnabout is fair play, right? So… have you ever seen a
ghost?”
    I’ve
not seen one, but the ghost of my mother is here… present in every picture,
pile of clothing and memory of this house.   But of course I
don’t say that.  
    I shrug instead.   “I’ve never seen one.   As far as I’m concerned, there is no
such