Author's Note: Warning, this chapter has 7,176 words. Pace yourself.

Ngome055: Of course James played Donovan! I don't know if you've read my earlier/ongoing work A Siren's Call, but I love my villains as they are and don't soften them up. At least not that early on. Just be aware that he is dark and sinister, that he does have a sense of entitlement which is explained in this chapter and will do what he needs to get what he wants. Now, that doesn't mean he will stay that way or that things couldn't change further down the road ;) Also thank you for the comment about my writing style. It is most appreciated!

PorcelainPuppetLady: As the series progresses I will always include lines or details in the story, so you can always expect to be shown a treat or stumble upon an Easter egg. Also, the Scarecrow fic is in progress! It's going to be a one-shot as I take requests on my blog, but considering the feedback I may make it a full-fledged story.

VampWolf92: Thank you for your comment. I'm glad you find it interesting. The further I go, the more I hope the story captivates you.


Baron Hill & Oak Valley

"No, I saw the paperwork and the blueprints John, none of it is up to code." Making her way down the block Rosaline continued to argue on the phone with John Feldman, owner of a new Hollywood high-rise. "That's not my concern," she told him becoming agitated. "Look, I understand that you have a vision, that you want the hotel to look nice, but you fail to understand the severity of the situation. You are not building from scratch; you want an old warehouse made into apartments which will take time, money, and the proper material and structure."

Rosaline pulled the phone away from her ear when he started shouting.

"Now I've paid a substantial amount of money for this property, Rosaline. I have a deadline to meet and everything is being held up because of you. Just sign off on the fucking permits so I can get on with my life!"

As a Consulting Engineer, it was her job to perform inspections and she did so thoroughly. It was no secret that she was every architect's and owner's worst nightmare. She didn't slack, didn't place nice, and certainly didn't cut corners to appease anyone.

"Mr. Feldman, I am an engineer. I will not forsake my skill or downplay my intelligence to satisfy your wants. If you're angry be angry at your whistleblower or more deservedly yourself. But know this, your building will not be greenlighted until it passes inspection, my inspection. If those complexes go up I will cite you and report all involved and see to it personally that you are fined an amount that equates to your ignorance."

"You bitch! If you so much as..."

"It's been a pleasure, Mr. Feldman," she said interrupting him. "Be sure to correct everything I've noted on the forms and have a good day." Ending the call Rosaline turned off her cell phone and stuffed it into her pocket. "Jackass," she muttered. While these arguments came with the territory of her job she was not going to let it ruin her mood or her day off. Determined to have a good time she shook it off, going on her way.

Maybe it was the fact that she was a cool Southern Californian or had an old soul with music flowing through her veins, maybe it was just an innate charm. Whatever it was, there was something about her that caused others to take notice. Walking down the street dressed in a white punk-rock shirt and black fitted slacks, her red wingtips clicked along the sidewalk, hips swaying naturally with her confident stride. Chic with an edge. All on her own, she looked like a force to be reckoned with; a challenge that begged to be tried. That's what James saw in her that night at the club. A challenge. A beautiful, never before won, challenge.

"Lookin' good, ma." A stranger called as she passed.

Far from being closed off Rosaline was just smart; followed her instincts. Unlike most people who ignore those red flags, those warnings in their minds she listened to hers and they grew stronger. This man, this young brotha with a twinkle in his eye and a grin, he wasn't anywhere near vicious.

Turning midnight eyes to the man she gave him a slow smile. "You don't look so bad yourself."

"Girl's feelin' you, Dawg!" His friends cheered in unison. "That's my boy, that's my boy!"

Laughing at their antics, Rosaline shook her head and continued on her way.

Tours were given to view the infamous Baron Hill Mansion and Oak Valley a few times out of the year. While the original structure was built in 1618 it was reconstructed in 1778 by architect Samuel Wyatt in the Palladium style. Old, whimsical, with an abandoned chapel on the property, it was the inspiration for many films, books, horror nights, several romances due to Oak Valley's lush grounds, and one of Rosaline's personal favorite places to visit.

Coming around the corner, she spied a familiar face and pulling the strap of her black satchel higher up her shoulder increased her pace, giddy with excitement.

"See, you're back for another tour, Rosa," Donovan called, eyeing her from above his clipboard with a knowing smile. As a history professor, he too had a fondness for historic buildings and volunteered year after year as the lead tour guide. And while Oak Valley was open to the public that day, tours of the mansion were private making possible an encounter for James.

"Of course, I'm back, tio; it's one of my favorite places."

Pushing through the crowd, she climbed up the steps of the mansion and pulled him into a hug placing a kiss on his cheek. "It's a big turnout," she stated as she eyed the large crowd.

"Of course! Everyone wants to see Oak Valley. But this should be good news for you seeing as the mansion has always been your favorite." At that Rosaline gave him a knowing grin. Fewer people in the mansion meant better pictures for her.

"Tio, when did you get over your chest cold?" She asked suddenly. That had been the cause of all his rasping.

"Oh, you know," he began, his natural voice a smooth tenor, "just your usual medicine." Along with a bottle of whiskey.

Nodding her head, she rubbed his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better." Motioning to the crowd, she asked, "Is everyone here or are you still waiting?"

As Donovan handed her a visitor badge he quickly scanned the pedestrians on the street. He had given James fair warning; given the time and the date to show, but so far there was no sign of him. Ruffling his salt and pepper hair, he withheld a sigh. Seems you lost your chance kid.

"There's a few more," he answered honestly, looking at the names on his list. "Why don't you go on ahead," he told her. "You've seen it before and I know you want to take a few pictures before we start."

Squealing she pulled him into a bear hug. "Thank you!" Pulling away, she removed her camera from her bag stating, "When it's over dinner will be on me tio. I'll take you to that Korean BBQ place you love." Placing another kiss on his cheek she darted inside.

Immediately the immense splendor took her breath away. The mansion was one of her favorite locations as she liked all the finer details such as the gold etching, elaborate furnishings, and the mural painted ceilings. It was absolutely stunning.

Stepping further into the foyer, she eyed the large crystal chandelier and moving toward the wall, ran her fingertips along the gold etched walls.

"No touching."

Snapping her hand back, she gave a small smile to the security guard. "Sorry, Walt."

Walter Jackson was the spitting image and personality of actor Samuel L. Jackson. And as ornery as he could be he had a heart of gold. You just had to look deep to find it.

"Uh-huh, sorry my ass," he said, sitting from behind his desk in the foyer. "What's the matter with you, Rosa? Touching things around here like they don't have cameras. And where is your badge?" Pausing in her footsteps, she held up her visitor tour badge. "I can't see that from here!"

Letting the badge slip back against her, she put her hand on her hip and arched a brow. "Is that because you're losing your sight or are you trying to do your job and watch novellas at the same time?"

Pursing his lips, he eyed her a split second before looking back at his tiny television set on his desk. "That's not funny," he snapped when she started laughing her way to the elevator. "It's your Uncle that got me watching the damn things," he mumbled. "Don't even get me started on this foolishness. Got me watching shows in languages I don't understand and feelin' things." Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help to smile. That was Walt for you.

Spying a large crowd coming down the stairs, she quickly made her way to the elevator, an add-on from the early 90's. When the doors opened, she stepped inside. Just as she moved to push the button for the second floor Walter's voice rang out.

"Hey! Don't be running in this damn place!"

"Hold the elevator!"

Without hesitation, Rosaline's hand shot out. Pressing against the door, she only had to wait a moment before a man darted inside, moving so fast he was nothing more than a blur.

Though the elevator doors closed Rosaline could still hear Walt's muttered cursing. "I am getting too damn old to be chasing after a Clark Gable..."

"What floor?" She asked, fingers poised above the number pad. There were only three levels, but still she had to ask.

"The second."

The button was pressed and a shiver ran down her spine. Staring at the number pad, she fought off that darkened sense of foreboding that crept up on her. It wasn't her usual red flag warning, this was like a gunshot in her mind.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she gripped the camera in her hands and stared at the elevator doors. As she did so a light hit her eyes. Blinking confused, she stared at the arc of light displayed upon the door. What the hell is that?

Glancing behind her, her breath hitched in her throat. It was him, the man from the club. Gone was the fine suit, but still in place was attire that by today's standards business casual. With the jacket gone she saw perfectly his broad shoulders and lean, muscular frame made evident by his pale blue button-down, and his narrow waistline fully emphasized by his navy blue suspenders and tan trousers that were fitted to a T, not to mention his tucked brown, blue-gold damask ascot that brought it all together for an added touch of finery.

Had she not been so taken back, she would have admired his sense of style, but instead, she asked, "What are you doing here?" The words left her mouth before she could stop them.

James looked up, his dark brown eyes clashing with her own. He had the audacity to look surprised. "I'm sorry, but I don't recall-" He broke off. "Miss Cortez?" He asked uncertainly. "Why it is you!"

Pushing away from the wall, he straightened from his relaxed posture. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise." Snapping his pocket watch shut, the cause of her earlier distraction, he tucked it away into his pocket. "I had planned to see you at the club," he told her, eyes gleaming as he remembered her spurn, "but it appears fate has stepped in for me."

Rosaline stared at him, unsure of what to make of this encounter. While he possessed a badge, a clear sign that he had booked this tour before knowing her, something didn't feel right. But for the life of her, she didn't know what it was.

As the elevator continued to rise, she said, "It was, James, right? James March?"

Smiling wide, he gave her a quick nod. "Correct."

When the elevator dinged Rosaline gave him a small smile. "Well, it was nice to see you again, James. Enjoy your tour." Before he could even think to stall her, to coax her to join him on the private tour, she strode out of the elevator.

It is said today that the generation of this time was born with a sense of entitlement. This is false. It was the men and women of his time, that old-money new-money mentality that made them all—anyone who had wealth—believe they were a cut above the company. They are the true founders of that mindset and James was no different. His wealth and connections in life gave him prestige, power, and he reveled in it. Even dead as he was Miss Evers catered to his every whim, Liz Taylor as well. It had been years—decades—since he was denied, scoffed at or turned down, and it would be an understatement to say that he didn't know what to make of it.

Staring at the empty space in the elevator, James felt a rush go through him. While most people could look at him and see a good, vibrant young men, a rare few saw the darkness. It was then that he knew she was one of those select few. Now mind you it was not a supernatural thing about her, just an added sense of awareness and a bit of a game changer. A pleasant one.

"Damn it all to hell, this is a real challenge!"

Walking out of the elevator, he could picture her future; her running down the halls of his hotel as he stalked after her, eyes glued to her curved backside, knife in hand. Shuddering with pleasure James paced himself.

"You need to last longer than this if you want to heighten the feeling James."

More than just a simple study this was to be an art form. If he wanted her the way he did, for that dark purpose, then he would need to woo her good and proper. He needed to make the courtship last for as long as possible in order to heighten the pleasure he would receive from the kill.

Pausing in the middle of an expansive corridor, he gazed in her direction.

"Alright my dear," he began, hearing the sound of her wingtips echoing down the corridor toward him. "If you want to put up a wall, please do. It will be my pleasure to knock it down and seal you back in it." Grinning like the devil, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingering the small blade he kept there and set off in her direction.

...

It was easy for him to become a shadow. Truth be told, it was much like the phrase, out of sight, out of mind. The further she moved away from his presence, his visible presence, the more comfortable she became. Of course, there were those first few glances over her shoulder as she felt the heaviness of his spirit, but when nothing happened she dismissed it. So he crept closer.

A flash of light went off as she took another picture.

Zooming in she took in another shot of an angelic statue, tilting herself at just the right angle so that half its figure was shrouded in darkness. Pulling the camera back, she studied the picture a moment before taking another.

"Goodness," she gasped seconds later when a chill swept over her.

Glancing about the room, or the princess suite as it was called for its pink, gold, and white palette and feminine touches, she rested her gaze to the window. It was closed. Brow furrowed, she stepped closer to the window and extended her hand. When the wind blew again, she could feel the draft. Keep it together, Rosa. Shaking her head over her small fear she returned her attention back to her camera.

Peering further over her shoulder James eyed the series of photos she had taken.

Believe it or not, she had a good eye. Rather than taking the most mundane of shots she took some that were captivating: the reflection of the chandelier from off the walls, the gleam of gold fixtures, off angled profiles of a dated dolls and statues. In all her photos was a balance of darkness and light. It made him wonder if she had a possible predilection for anomalous things.

Taking his eyes off the screen James leaned further into her. Eyeing a lock of her wavy hair, he gently ran his finger along her silken tresses. A smile came to his face when she scratched at her hair, running her fingers through it. Hmm... That was different, he mused. As daring as always, he came in closer and closing his eyes breathed her in.

His surprised gasp had her reaching for her neck.

It was more than her lingering fright, it was... He inhaled once more, pupils dilating. How could I have missed that?

Scents like taste did not come to the dead easily. It was mental, a trick of the mind. If you had been dead for long enough your mind could make you remember how certain things tasted, smelled. Though it always came to one with a memory of what the forgotten scent or taste reminded them of, as they could never truly smell it.

This was no memory.

This was as an actual fragrance, something he could breathe in and smell and the scent was... roses. Rosaline smelled like a bouquet of freshly cut roses with a hint of spring rain. Remarkable. Unable to help himself, he leaned into her.

Gripping her neck, Rosaline flew up from her spot against the window seat, nearly dropping her camera.

Wildly her eyes darted about the room, her heart pounding. It felt like someone had breathed on her neck like she felt lips on her skin, but that was impossible. Massaging the sensitive spot on her neck she wasted no time trying to decide if it was a draft or phantom and left.

"I should have stayed with the damn tour," she muttered to herself as she exited the parlor room and moved out into another expansive hallway. "Better yet, I shouldn't have watched Psycho and The Shining back to back." Suspense thrillers were her weakness even though they kept her on edge. Moving faster the heels of her shoes clicked on the marble floors; that spot along the slender column of her neck burning still.

With a start, she whirled around.

There it was again, that heavy presence. Midnight eyes ran along the columns, walls, and open entryways. Before she could dismiss the feeling and flee from her location she saw a shadowy figure in the distance.

Rosaline's breath hitched in her throat, the hairs on her arm standing up as she stared at the ghostly being. When the figure took a step forward seeming to disappear from sight she took two steps back, nearly tripping over her own two feet. She couldn't speak, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything but run her frantic gaze over the space around her. W-what was that?! Her mind screamed. Her mind worked frantically to try to come up with a possible solution to what she had seen, but no answer was found.

Suddenly it felt like a hundred eyes were on her person. Unseen eyes were watching her, grazing across her flesh, making her skin crawl and her stomach flip. Her heartbeat picked up and pounded like drums in her ears. Licking her lips nervously, she took another step backward and tripped along the first step of a grand staircase.

Rosaline cried out, her arms flailing in the air around her. "Aaahhhh!"

Without warning, someone grabbed her and pulled her to safety.

Precious air was taken from her when her front collided into the well-muscled chest of her savior. Closing her eyes, she leaned into the person trying her best to control her breathing. It wasn't just a trip. It felt like she had been pushed; like someone had slowly been backing her toward the staircase just so she could... Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she took in a deep breath and exhaled shakily.

Seeming to try to calm her the unknown person wound an arm around her waist, the other snaking along her back as his hand cradled the back of her skull, pulling her deeper into his hold. For the life of her, she didn't know why the action was so soothing but it was. In no time at all breathing came naturally as she inhaled the man's cologne, an odd but pleasant scent of tobacco and sandalwood.

"T-thank you," she whispered against his chest. "Thank you so much."

James smiled against her hair.

Holding her more tightly he inhaled that forgotten scent of roses and murmured, "Your heart's beating like a hummingbird."

His smooth baritone pierced her ears and she inhaled sharply.

Pulling back from his arms she looked into the eyes of the man who saved her. James peered down at her with a rare light in his eyes. Unable to hold back the hand that cradled her skull, it moved, his fingertips trailing along the surface of her silken tresses to cup her cheek.

"Are you alright, Miss Cortez?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper, yet somehow possessing enough strength to linger in her mind, to echo. "That would have been a most unfortunate accident. Good thing I was here to be of assistance."

Before she could think to push him away, he gripped her arms and backing away, guided her from the steps that were nearly her demise. "There," he told her, stopping when they were a safe distance away. "Now you're safe." Taking in her wide eyes and flushed face, he gave her a soft smile. "Enjoy the rest of your tour, Miss."

Gaping at him Rosaline's eyes fell to his broad back, watching as he walked away from her.

Perhaps she had misjudged him. Most certainly she did. That dark feeling it couldn't have come from him, especially if he saved her. Quickly her mind ran back to her earlier rudeness toward him in the elevator. There was no excuse. Swallowing hard, she mentally cursed herself and her rudeness and started after him.

"Wait!" She called. "James, please wait!"

Pausing at the foot of the stairs, James turned around giving her his full attention. Damn it all if she wasn't a sight to behold running after him like that. "Yes, Miss Cortez?" He inquired when he pulled himself together. "Are you in need of further assistance?"

Faltering in her footsteps, she nervously tucked locks of her hair behind her ear. "N-no. I just wanted to thank you again." Looking into his eyes, she continued. "Thank you, James."

"No doubt you pegged me a scoundrel," he told her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "So I must ask, is this a sincere apology or are you merely thankful and taken back that it was me who saved you and thus trying to make right your previous scorn?"

Rosaline gaped at him. The damn man had called her out. Rightfully so. Now that he had she didn't know what to make of it, how to proceed.

Softening his remark he gave her a rueful smile. "It's quite alright, Miss Cortez, you don't need to apologize profusely. I must admit that I was a bit brash when I approached you first and for that I must take the blame, not you." Placing his hand over his heart, he gave a slight bow. "So, forgive me and pardon my intrusion. Enjoy your tour."

As he descended the steps he could feel her curiosity growing and he smirked. This game had been played many times before. He knew now it was only a matter of time before she berated herself and came to apologize once more. Only a matter of time before she pursued him. Or so he thought.

In no time at all James found himself sitting on a bench in the lush gardens surrounded by lavender, chrysanthemums, and lilies, glaring at the angelic face of the tiered water fountain. Modern women, his mind seethed. There was just no peg that they fit into.

While he had called her out for her rudeness and her need to apologize more formally, he simply had no way of knowing she was not the type of person to chase after someone in order to seek an absolute form of forgiveness.

So he sat there debating whether or not she worth the trouble. Quickly he concluded that she was. After all, she was the reason for his newfound plight and more importantly, his conundrum.

The true reason for his lingering presence on that bench was to contemplate how he could scent her. Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, he couldn't wrap his mind around how it was possible.

After his death, it was months before he realized he was stuck in a wheel, an endless cycle of repetition, which took hard time to break. Soon after it was trial and error; a stubborn determination that made him call into memory forgotten scents, tastes, and feelings. How had she inspired to bring one he never cared for, roses, and how could she inspire a memory with the new scent, a new desire? James didn't know.

Rubbing at his brow, he reclined back further into the bench crossing one leg over the other.

A chorus of giggles caught his ear. Turning his head, he eyed a trio of young women. They were so bold as to wink, to bite their lips and eye him up and down with a wantonness he never preferred in a woman. Don't get me wrong, he loved a woman who was wild and uninhibited, but when it was done properly. He liked long, lingering stares from across the room, coy silences, a flash of bare skin from a parted skirt, and plenty of sexual innuendos.

"Are you here alone?" One of the girls finally asked. She was a tall brunette and by far the boldest of the three.

"Do you see anyone here with me?" James returned, taking another puff of his cigarette.

"No," she answered.

"I believe you have the answer to your question, now don't you." It was said in the most polite of tones, but there was an underlining bite to it, a warning. It was his subtle way of telling her that he was bored, uninterested.

She didn't pick up on his subtlety. "Well, we're going to Oak Valley now. You're welcome to join us," she purred.

This was exactly why he had pushed himself to pursue a kill worthwhile. Too many made his job of murder so damned easy. "What is your name girl?"

"Jessica."

"Well, Jessica," he began, tapping his ashes out onto the ground. "While you and your companions are no doubt lovely, in my eyes you are no more than children. As a man, I prefer the company of women, not little girls. So run along, child. Run along and tend to your friends, your playmates, for you are wasting your time here with me."

The girl was so dumbfounded by his remark that she didn't know what to make of it. In truth, she began sputtering. "W-why y-you..." she broke off when her friend grabbed her arm, tugging her away. "Let's just go. He's not worth it. Besides, he looks like a creep!"

"Children," he muttered, turning his attention back to the fountain. "How I would love to kill them all."

Just as he made to take another puff from his cigarette movement was detected from the corner of his eye. Turning his head, his eyes widened, lips parting at the sight before him.

In the distance, he saw Rosaline walking along the opposite side of the immense pool and fountain. At that moment, she looked every bit a vision. Sunlight reflected off the water and shined upon her face bringing a crimson hue to her cheeks and making her sun-kissed skin glow. Sitting up straighter, James took her in, eyes roaming over her person and loving everything he saw from the plains of her face, the curves of her body, to her long, graceful and confident strides.

A feeling came. It was the same feeling, that same electric shock he felt when he first saw Elizabeth, only this was stronger. Much, much stronger. More importantly, Elizabeth hadn't felt that shock, just a keen interest. Rosaline, on the other hand, did feel it.

Their eyes clashed.

Eyes locked into a stare Rosaline stared deep into his eyes as she walked down the pathway. It was like being in the arms of a lover, yet feeling the searing heat of a thousand suns on her body and earth's gravitational pull on her heart, making it soar higher than ever before. As she moved his eyes followed her, head turning ever so slightly with her footsteps. The look caused flames to dance across her skin and her lips to part, eyes burning with intensity. Lurking within his dark-eyed gaze was stark possession and raw desire, and something else she couldn't decipher. Try as she might she couldn't look away, nor could she fight the delightful sensations that his stare instilled within her. There wasn't even a warning going through her mind or a feel of his malevolent nature, just—she stumbled.

"Ow! Oh my, God, I'm so... Sorry." A statue. She had just run into and apologize to a cherub statue.

"Ha-ha, ha-ha!"

Blinking her gaze went from the statue to James. He had his head thrown back and was laughing heartily at her blunder. A fierce blush broke out on her cheeks and she looked away, tucking her hair behind her hair all the while wishing the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

"Are you alright?" James called from his position on the bench.

Rosaline didn't even try to play off her blooper. "I'm fine," she answered, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

"I know you're fine. I can look at you and see that you are quite fine," he told her huskily. "However, my previous inquiry still stands, so are you alright?"

No one spoke like that. It would be a lie to say it wasn't at the very least stimulating or desirable.

Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "I'm fine—alright. I'm good."

James nodded his head. All along his skin, he could still feel the charge of their connection and he wasn't going to let her slip away from it.

Taking matters into his own hands, James pointed at the mansion. "It's a magnificent structure," he stated honestly. "Though for the life of me, I can't fathom why each room is dedicated to a different era."

"Because of the movies."

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you," he lied. "Allow me to come to you." Rising to his feet, he put out his cigarette and quickly strode over to her. "As you were saying," he finished when stood before her.

"A-a lot of movies are made here," she told him, eyes glued to his own. "To attract more guests, they leave the corresponding rooms as is."

"Ah!" He exclaimed. "Now that makes sense. While the rest are fine that 20's themed room is definitely..."

"Lacking?" She interrupted.

James nodded his head in agreement. "It is. Very much so."

"I feel the same way," she confessed walking past him.

Following her, they fell into step, walking side by side along the garden pathways, inadvertently taking the path that led to Oak Valley.

"Those stained glass windows," he went on to say about the room, "I had seen how they were made once. It's extraordinary. A slight change in temperature or added pressure and the whole image is ruined. Though striking no doubt, the design they used wasn't around in the 20's nor those expensive colors and, therefore, doesn't sit well with the building—excuse me, I mean the theme."

"It was gifted."

Taking his eyes off the path before them, he looked at her. "I'm sorry?"

"The stained-glass was added in early 2000 by a local artist," she told him. "The owner thought it would be a nice addition, that it would draw more people to come see it."

"Did it?" He asked, genuinely curious. "Did it draw a large following?"

Rosaline shook her head. "Nope!"

"Ha-ha, I believe it," he remarked with a smirk. "If I'm to be frank allow me to say that those windows are ghastly, along with those insidious light fixtures; why they made the place look like a damn zoo!" He said making her laugh. "The owners would have done well if they would have gone with..."

"An authentic tiffany palette or a mural of a porte-cochère?" She offered as she interrupted him.

That gave him pause. "Yes," he agreed seconds later, a sincere smile forming on his lips. "Yes, that would have been a much better fit." Realizing he was staring at her like a smitten schoolboy, he quickly asked, "I'm sorry but do you like design and architecture?"

How quickly fear and a warning could be pushed aside when one found common ground.

"I do. I love it," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "In college, I minored in architectural drafting while studying to be an engineer. I can't explain it, but it's the..."

"The lines?" he offered now. "The curvature and the sleekness, how they..." He went on and on, not to ensnare or trap her, but because he truly had words to say on the subject. Because he liked it. More so because he wanted the conversation; he wanted to know all about this woman and how after decades, he could smell roses and feel a shock.

In no time at all, she found herself relaxing more and more in his presence. It was the way he talked, moved, and carried himself. How even though he spoke to her, he would give a polite, 'hello' to those who passed. Not only did they share a mutual love of architecture, but loved art, culture, travel, and music as well. Furthermore, he could make her laugh.

"...and so I said to the boy, 'If you try to hustle me for an old newspaper one more time, I will take that paper and shove-'" He broke off. "Well," he went on to say, rubbing at his jaw, "I don't believe that part is to be said in the company of a lady."

Arching a dark brow, she nodded her head. "I understand," she told him clasping her hands behind her back. "So were you going to hit him with the paper or shove it up his ass?"

James' shoulders shook as he tried to control his laughter. "Ha-ha! The latter. Most definitely the latter, only I wasn't going to stop at one newspaper!"

"Hahaha!"

Staring at her as did he had to admit something; he loved the sound of her laugh. It wasn't soft but loud, pleasing and full of life, possessing the power to make him smile and laugh harder still.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she gave him a grin. "So where are you from, James?" She asked next, guiding them, further along, the dirt path and past couples and photographers.

"I was born in New York," he told her. "Unlike you, I did not have a knack for design, a love for architecture, not yet. So I studied business like my father before me and I did well. Very well. Shortly after that, I traveled and made my home here in California." He didn't dare tell her that he owned the Hotel Cortez knowing that his background was just a click away.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Just a few years," he replied honestly, chuckling darkly at the truth of it all.

Stealing glances at him from the corner of her eye, she couldn't believe how she had misjudged him. Despite his highborn air, he had a swagger about him, a relaxed calm even though he was polished to a shine, and a manner of speaking that drew her out of herself. I guess he's not so bad after all.

As the sound of voices grew around them, they came around the last bend of the garden and saw Oak Valley.

James brows rose appraisingly and Rosaline sighed. It was remarkable. Oak Valley was famed for having continuous paths lined with oak trees that crisscrossed, their branches creating a canopy of sorts. Staring down at all its natural splendor Rosaline could easily see how it became known as Lover's Row.

"Excuse us," an elderly couple murmured as they stepped past.

James saw the sparkle come into her eye as well as the upturned corners of her lips when she saw the besotted pair. Coming closer to her side, he offered her his hand. "Miss Cortez, it would be a pleasure if you would take my hand and join me on this fine stroll which is to be the conclusion of our tour."

There was a brief hesitation. However, when the sunlight hit his face and revealed that delectably rich brown hue of his eyes, she threw caution to the wind.

When she placed her hand in his James kissed the back of it. "Thank you," he whispered against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine as he kissed it once more. Rising to his full height, he expertly tucked her hand inside his arm and led her down the pathway to join the other blossoming couples.

"Where are you from?" She asked in disbelief, a look of wonder in her eyes.

He knew the place of his birth was not what she was asking for, but that she was smitten by his conduct and so he said, "I am from a time where manners were once everything. Where one didn't gossip outright but whispered, didn't stare yet gave coy smiles, and when a man was interested in a woman," he said, pausing to look at her, "he gave her his arm and took her for a stroll in the park." With those few words, he made his intentions known and knocked graciously at the door of her heart.

Far from a walk or a leisurely stroll, they appeared to waltz on that earthen path. Light on his feet James would place his hand on her lower back and guide her around couples, seeming to dance them in and out of the crowd. She too would follow his steps, gripping his hand tighter, twisting and turning about the people as they navigated, swayed, their way to the end. With every twirl of their bodies, she brought that scent of roses to him, and with every joke from himself, he was rewarded once more with the sound of her laughter.

With his hand still on the small of her back, he listened to her, watching her attentively, liking the way the sunlight hit her golden skin and revealed the natural highlights of her hair. Though he wanted to he took no liberties, made no demands, and just... listened. It was then that he had to wonder, who was ensnaring who?

"Like I was saying, I-" Rosaline came to an abrupt halt, her voice lost.

Never before had she seen such a look in someone's eyes, such possessiveness intermingled with wonder. That look took her breath away and made a crimson hue spread across her cheeks once more. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"How am I looking at you?"

Like you own me, she wanted to say. Like you know something I don't; that you'll never let me go. Opening her mouth to speak, she answered, "Like you..."

"Rosa!"

Snapping their gaze toward the sound they saw Donovan making their way toward them. He was grinning madly of course. As Rosaline fixed her uncle with a smile, James gave him a knowing wink as if to say, 'Thanks, old boy.'

"Rosa, I tried to call you after I finished the tour, but you didn't pick up your phone," he told her, a sly smile spreading across his lips. "Now I see why."

"You finished the tour?" She blurted out. "What time is it?" She asked, scrambling for her phone.

"Nearly five o'clock."

At that she froze. In the mansion, she saw the time on her camera it was just after two when she took that last picture. How on earth could she have spent three hours in the company of James and not know it, not feel it?

"Is everything alright?" James inquired when he took in her stunned expression.

"Y-yeah. Everything is fine. I just... I just can't believe that much time went by."

Donovan had to admit that he had his doubts. That he saw the two of them in the mansion always going their separate ways and thought James had been shut down once more. But then he saw them making their way along the dirt path from the window and he knew that fate had taken its course. Why they were in such deep conversation that she didn't even notice when he walked by her earlier with his tour group in tow.

"Maybe your friend would like to join us for dinner?" He offered.

Rosaline blinked hard. Tilting her head to the side, she gave her uncle a look that clearly read, 'I can't believe you just did that.' James saw it and had to bite back his grin.

"What?" Donovan said carrying on as if the matter wasn't embarrassing to her. "I think it would be nice to..."

"Mr. Roberts?" One of the members of his tour group called. "Could you take a picture of me and my wife?"

When Donovan excused himself Rosaline turned apologetic eyes to James.

"I am so sorry," she began, wanting to fly away with the wind. "My uncle he..."

"Would you like to join me for coffee sometime?" James interrupted, his dark gaze rooted on her own. "There's a place called the Rise & Grind, located just a few blocks from the Hotel Cortez that I hear serves very good coffee. We could go and speak more about music, art, architecture... Or any topic you choose, which I am more than willing to discuss." He told her with a bashful smile.

A strange giddiness came over her. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, which James now knew was her nervous habit. "I would like that very much."

Taking down her number they promised to meet at the café next Sunday morning and with another kiss on the back of her hand, he departed from her. With the fading glow of the sunlight upon them and filtering through the trees, Rosaline stared at his broad back watching him go.

Something strange occurred then. The further he went away the more his form began to appear like a shadow and nearly translucent. Blinking profusely, she stared after him, her mind trying to comprehend what her eyes were seeing, believing it to be a trick of the light. When she focused on his person, waiting for him to blur as he did before she blinked. Opening her eyes, she found he had disappeared. Disappeared like a ghost from her sight.


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