Where The Heart Is: A Bay City Paranormal Investigations story

hair. “Same here. It’s so easy to forget about everything else when you’re with me.”
Dean’s chest tightened. The look in Sommer’s eyes made him want to chuck everything and spend the rest of his days in Sommer’s bed, which was just plain scary. Not least because the idea was so damned attractive.
With a huge effort, Dean let go of Sommer and pushed to his feet. “Okay. Well. I’m ready to go search that room if you are.”
“I’m ready.” Rising to his feet, Sommer picked up his wineglass and drained it. “Should we bring your camera?”
“Oh, good idea. Hang on, I’ll go get it.”
He ran into the parlor and grabbed his camera and a flashlight from the coffee table. Sommer was waiting for him in the foyer. They climbed the stairs hand in hand and headed into the old sewing room.
A few minutes later, they’d opened and inspected every drawer in the dresser, shone the flashlight under it, even pulled the heavy old piece of furniture away from the wall to look behind it. The whole thing was as empty as the bottom right drawer. A thorough search of the rest of the room yielded the same result.
Sighing, Dean flopped onto his back on the braided rug. “Nothing. Not so much as a damn cracker crumb.”
“Nope.” Sommer stretched out on the floor beside Dean and stared thoughtfully at the white ceiling fan. “At least we know Rich is doing his job.”
Dean laughed. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“Mm-hm.” Rolling onto his side, Sommer propped himself on one elbow and gazed down at Dean. “We have a while before Ron and Kerry come over. What would you like to do?”
Dean pretended not to notice the way Sommer’s voice went all soft and sultry. “Well, we have to make dinner.”
“I’m just making eggplant parmesan, salad and bread. It won’t take long.” Sommer slid closer and leaned over Dean, one hand on his chest. “Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m after. Kiss me.”
The heavy look in Sommer’s eyes made Dean’s stomach flutter with anticipation. Grinning, he hooked an arm around Sommer’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Sommer’s mouth opened, his tongue winding around Dean’s.
Dean didn’t break the kiss until Sommer lay clutched between his legs, their erections rubbing together through their jeans. He cradled Sommer’s face in his hands and forced Sommer’s mouth from his. Sommer let out a small noise of distress.
Dean gave him a dazed smile. “We’re both gonna shoot in our pants if we keep this up. Want to go down to your bedroom?”
“I guess we should. Rich would kill me if we got spunk all over the rug.” Stifling Dean’s laughter with a swift, chaste kiss, Sommer wriggled free of the grip of Dean’s legs and stood.
Dean took the hand Sommer offered and let himself be pulled to his feet. As they retrieved the flashlight and camera and walked to the door, he thought he felt a breath of icy air against his arm. He frowned. “Hey, Sommer?”
“Yeah?”
Dean was about to ask if Sommer had felt the brief cold, but something in Sommer’s face stopped him. A tightness around Sommer’s mouth, a flat gleam in his eyes.
He doesn’t want to tell me. He felt it, maybe felt or saw something else too, but he doesn’t want me to know.
Tamping down the automatic flash of hurt, Dean forced a smile. “Just wondering if I could help you cook dinner tonight.”
Sommer’s eyebrows went up. “Sure, if you want.”
“I’d like to, yeah. I’m not very good, but I think it could be fun to cook with you.”
At least it was true, even if he hadn’t planned on the conversation taking that particular turn. That adorable crooked smile lit Sommer’s face, nearly making Dean forget all about cold spots and misty apparitions and whatever the hell Sommer wasn’t telling him.
A hard chill clawed at his back as he followed Sommer into the hall. He ignored it. They had almost a month of investigation ahead of them. Plenty of time to solve the mystery of what was happening in this house, and figure out Sommer’s connection to it. With any luck, Sommer would eventually come clean about recognizing the voice on the audio, and tell Dean why he’d kept that fact a secret.
Dean tried to tell himself it made no difference whether or not Sommer ever talked to him about it. It wouldn’t affect the investigation much one way or another, really, so he shouldn’t feel this unbearable yearning for Sommer to open up to him. It shouldn’t matter this much.
It shouldn’t.