She climbed off the bed and moved toward the mirror, bringing her face close to the reflection so she could properly survey the strange hue. The gray eyes weren’t unappealing or anything like that; they were unique, like the silver marbles she and Nelsa had played with as children. But they weren’t her eyes, and that realization made her stomach queasy. “What does it mean?” she repeated.
He’d already entered the bathroom, but he’d evidently heard her question. “Well, that’s easy. It means you’re special,” he called.
“Special,” she repeated. Funny, she didn’t feel special; she felt confused.
Dax exited and winked at her as he crossed the room, and his stomach, once again, roared. He grinned, picked up a pair of jeans from the top of the dresser and slipped them on. “I’d love to start up again,” he said, zipping them as he spoke, “but now that you’re rested, I’m going to have to eat first. Do you know it’s past three in the afternoon? And besides, I do want us to try to talk a bit as well, and put our heads together to figure out exactly why you’re so special.”
“There’s something different about me, isn’t there?” she asked.
“Everything about you is different, Celeste. Unique and exceptional and distinctive…and addictive. And quite honestly, I’m hooked already. Hell, I don’t want to let you leave again. Ever.” He grabbed a white T-shirt from the top drawer of the dresser and pulled it over his head, then waited for her. “Wanna come down to the kitchen with me? Then maybe we can go for a walk outside and talk-try to figure some of this out.”
“And find a way for me to stay, you mean?”
“That’s the plan.”
“And then, after we talk,” she said, picking her shirt up from the floor, “we can make love.” She slipped the gauzy fabric over her head and then grinned.
He stepped toward her, then waited while she shimmied into her panties and pants. Then he gave her that crooked, sexy smile that she loved. “That’s definitely in the plan.”
“So, do you think I know something, or have seen something, that can help you figure out why my eyes are silver, and why I’m stuck in the middle?”
He opened the door and let her pass through first. “I don’t know if you can help me or not, but I know we need to try. He paused at the doorway, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved closer. “Hey, my hands are safe.”
“So they are.” She laughed, then lifted on her toes and arched against him, bringing her mouth to his and accepting another of those hot, passionate kisses that made her forget her limited time here, forget her exhaustion, forget everything but Dax.
She let her body lean completely against his, and he chuckled softly. “You realize you’re doing amazing things for my ego, if merely a kiss leaves you that weak-kneed.”
“Well, believe me, Dax Vicknair, it does.” She didn’t elaborate that she really felt the need to sit down, or to go back to sleep. And they’d slept longer than she’d ever slept in her life.
Why was she so tired?
“Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.”
He led the way down the hall, then down the stairs to the kitchen. Celeste followed, trying to focus on something besides the fact that her legs didn’t want to cooperate. She noted the warped wooden steps along the way. Some bowed slightly; others dipped inward. They creaked and groaned against Dax’s weight, and Celeste wondered if the stairs were all that safe.
He paused at the foyer, turned and saw her examining the rickety staircase. “Don’t worry. We haven’t had anyone fall through them yet.”
“I was wondering.”
“I know. They’re a hazard, but if you take a look around, the whole house is. When we go outside, I’ll show you the front porch, and the fact that all of the columns are slightly leaning in various directions, and that one side of the house actually seems to have been pushed in a bit from Katrina. All of the rooms on this floor are closed off,” he said, indicating the plastic sheeting that covered the entrances to three rooms off the foyer, “except for the kitchen. And that’s because we like to eat too much to shut it down for any length of time.” He shrugged. “I guess Charles Roussel, the parish president, does have a case for wanting to knock this old house to the ground, but we’re getting there. The new roof is done, and we’ll just take the rest of it one step at a time. Shoot, this place has been around too long, and meant too much to our family and the spirits, to let it go without a fight. Plus, I met you here.”
His words touched her soul, and she leaned toward him and brushed her lips to his. “I’d love to stay here, with you, forever.”
“Can’t think of a thing I’d like better either,” he said, those hazel eyes staring into hers, which reminded Celeste that the eyes he was seeing weren’t even remotely like hers.
She swallowed, and decided to think about something else for now. Turning away from him, she indicated the plastic-covered doorways branching off the foyer. “What are you doing to all of the rooms down here?” she asked.
“We just finished cleaning them up enough to pass the inspection from the local historical society. They were worried about post-hurricane contamination since the bottom floor of the house flooded during Katrina, but we passed the test. Eventually, we’ll open the rooms back up and restore them completely. They need new floors and some paint. And furniture would probably be a nice touch,” he said with a laugh. “We can probably take care of that with a few trips to the attic, I learned this week. But for now, we’ve kept the demolition crew at bay, and that’s what counts. Thankfully, they’re completely slated with work in Jefferson Parish for now and haven’t planned to check our status again until next year, which is good, since we’re tapped out on funds for the time being.” He sighed, then started down a hallway that led to the back of the house and the kitchen.
She followed him though the swinging door leading to the kitchen and watched him rummage through the cabinets. Like the remainder of the house, the mahogany cabinets had seen better days; they were scuffed and scratched, with many of the doors missing hardware, as in the handle to the cabinet Dax was opening.
“Are these the letters you found?” she asked, indicating a small stack in the center of the kitchen table.
“Those are just a few of them, but they’re the ones that indicated specific times and dates when one of our ancestors was living in the house during the Civil War.”
“Which is what you need, right?”
He smirked. “That’s the way I see it, but Nanette’s still deciding whether she wants to share them. See, every letter there refers to the spirits, and she can’t decide whether she wants folks to know our little secret.” He placed a long loaf of French bread on the counter and cut it in half with a serrated knife, then moved toward the refrigerator and withdrew several plastic bags of deli meat. “Anyway, enough about Nan and her dilemma. It’s the list there, on the yellow notepad, that I want you to look at.” He tossed the meat next to the bread, then removed bottles of mayonnaise, mustard and relish from the side door of the fridge.
She grabbed the edge of the pad and slid it toward her, but couldn’t take her attention off Dax, and his ease in the kitchen. She’d heard Cajun men could really cook, in the kitchen and in the bedroom. She already knew about Dax’s talents in the latter, and undoubtedly, he could fend for himself in the kitchen too. He was merely fixing a sandwich now, but she could envision him by the stove, a big pot of something spicy simmering in front of him.