Haunt Me (8 page)

“I’m not going to lie, I enjoy the work.”

“So it’s only work?”

He was playing with fire. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Well, that’s an improvement.”
Don’t kiss her.
But, damned if he could take his gaze off her delectable lips.

“What is?”

“Not that long ago, you didn’t want a stranger on your property, poking around in your stuff. Now you don’t want to take advantage of me. I’m saying that’s definitely a step in the right direction. Up you go.” He opened the truck door, gave her a gentle nudge, and helped her up.

“Justin…”

“Yeah?” Their gazes locked. Something indefinable pulsed between them.

“You’re not a stranger anymore.”

He exhaled slowly. “I think I like the sound of that.”

A hint of amusement danced across her face. “It must be a guy thing.”

It took him a moment, then he remembered his offer to pay for dinner, and he laughed.
Don’t get attached,
he warned internally.
The point is to get the house, not the girl.

So what if he wanted both?

Chapter Four

The sound of a door slamming had Mac shooting straight up in bed, aware only of the surrounding darkness. Her breath came in short, panting explosions and ice crawled over her flesh. A second bang. And then a third…each slam sounded farther than the last. This had to be another one of her nightmares, trapping her in the moment. She pinched herself, but the pain was too sharp—too fresh to be anything but wakefulness.

The utter darkness of the house seemed suffocating. She pushed the blanket away, slid to the edge of the bed, and fumbled for her cell phone. Using the flashlight app, she found and switched on the bedside lamp. Light flooded the room, dazzling her eyes, and then the bulb burst, leaving her with only the weak light from her cell.

She flinched, then blinked rapidly, unable to clear the retinal burn, and listened. A fourth door slammed, banishing the last traces of sleep from her foggy brain. Using her cell as a flashlight, she padded to the closed bedroom door. She’d left it open when she went to bed, not wanting another repeat of when she’d been locked in the drawing room.

Maybe someone had decided to break in. It wouldn’t be terrifically hard.
But
why the hell would anyone break into the house?
The locals were even more impressed with the history than she was—but maybe it had been teenagers. She’d done stupid things at that age, too. It was a ridiculous thought, but latching onto something mundane meant she didn’t have to consider paranormal sources for the noise. She lived with a ghost—she’d known that from the first day she’d moved in—but the ghost had mostly left her alone.

Hadn’t it?

Her breath sounded incredibly harsh in the oppressive silence, and she quickly held it. Leaning her head close to the door, she listened intently for other sounds in the house, then had the eerie sensation of someone holding their breath on the opposite side of the wood. Fear shivered up her spine and her heart thudded. She backed away, then quickly chided herself. Sometimes her wild imagination sucked. The house was old. Old houses had quirks. Justin had said so. The slamming doors were probably caused by a draft. Lord knew she’d been intending to work on a lot of projects.

And yet, no matter her intentions, she always ended up back at her laptop, writing. Even the night she’d gone to dinner with Justin, she’d retreated to writing after Justin left, and had worked late into the night every evening since—except twice when he’d stopped by with pizza and forced her to take a break and eat.

Probably a good thing, since her clothes had started to hang unattractively and she kept forgetting to eat more often than not. Her fingers were crisscrossed with cuts and blisters. She’d filed all her nails down after splitting them repeatedly from all the typing she’d done.

Exhaustion, obsession—they all conspired against her. The family ghost wasn’t unfriendly, just sad. After all, wasn’t that what Nana Taylor had always said? So there was nothing to be afraid of.
Nothing to fear.

Not wholly convinced, she turned the handle and opened the door. No light in the hallway. She let out a shaky laugh. Of course there was no light. Replacing the bulb was another unchecked box on her to-do list.

As she walked down the hallway, the echoing sound of another door slamming behind her jerked her around. Her phone’s screen went dark, and it took her a moment to thumb the flashlight app back on. Looking back the way she came, she could see nothing moving. She resumed her course for the kitchen to find the flashlight she’d stashed under the counter and heard a footstep whisper in the hush.

Heart in her throat, she rushed to the kitchen. All the bulbs in there worked—Justin had replaced them the same day he’d fixed the basement window. She flipped the wall switch and the hum of electricity echoed loudly. The filaments in the bulbs practically sizzled in the uneasy quiet. Trembling, she stroked her thumb across the phone and pulled up the keypad for dialing.

Justin’s right next door…

Of course, if she called Justin about her friendly family ghost, he’d probably laugh.

“Friendly,” she murmured. “Remember that. It’s a friendly family ghost.”

Whoever—
whatever
—was in her house would be able to guess where she was—the only room with a light on. She jerked open a drawer and fished out a heavy meat mallet. Adjusting her grip, she listened. No footsteps thudded. No doors slammed. Only the relentless buzzing of the lights sounded over her head.

When a couple of minutes passed in quiet, she relaxed her vigilance. Still, she kept hold of the mallet. Friendly ghost or not, she’d seen enough abandoned-house horror movies, and being trapped alone in the dark…? Yeah, playing victim was not in her repertoire.

Especially not dressed like some horror-movie victim in a too-thin tank top and lace panties.

It took her a moment to find replacement bulbs for the lamp in her room. Armed with the mallet, her phone, and the lightbulb, she crept back up the hall. Nearly every single door in the hallway had been closed—again. “Change out hallway lightbulbs. First thing in the morning,” she promised herself.

At her door, she had to juggle the phone and mallet into one hand to open it—but the damn thing stuck. “Oh, come on.” She twisted the handle and shoved, but it didn’t budge. Her phone light went out again, but at least with the kitchen’s lights still on, a long finger of illumination down the hall cut the blackness.

And then the kitchen lights cut out, plunging her into darkness.

Her pulse rabbited and her breathing grew shallow, but she twisted the knob—which moved. The door did not. Leaning her forehead against the wood of the door, she tried not to swear.

“Dammit. What is wrong with you?” She backed away and kicked the door. Pain shot up her leg, followed by numbness, and her foot throbbed. The lightbulb slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wood floor.

Standing there in the dark, locked out of her bedroom, her foot throbbing, and surrounded by broken glass, she wanted to cry.

And then a hand brushed against her back.

Screaming, she swung the mallet, only to feel and hear the distinct crack as it came into contact with the wall. Fumbling to turn her flashlight app back on, she braced herself, but after shining the light around, she saw nothing in the murky darkness.

“I’m losing my mind.” She tiptoed as carefully as she could around the glass shards and broken filaments and made her way back to the kitchen. Propping the refrigerator open for light, she sank down to the floor.

Scrubbing a hand against her face, she huddled in the cold light of the appliance—loads better than facing the darkened house. A thunderous
boom
split the night and the whole house shook. Mac gave up pretending everything was fine.

She called Justin.

…

Mac waited on the porch until Justin showed up, a burly, spotlight-sized flashlight in his hand. Fortunately, she’d found a pair of shorts on the washer, or she’d have been standing out there in her tank top and panties.

“Hey,” he said, sweeping his gaze over her.

Laughter gleamed in his eyes, but she couldn’t fault him for making fun of her. She hopped from foot to foot. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure thing.” He turned the beam from the flashlight toward the darkened house. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating his amused face. “Ghost chase you out?”

“The power went out and the door is stuck.” She crossed her arms, mallet in one hand and phone in the other. She wasn’t letting go of either. Her heart continued to race, and she tried hard to keep the sob catching in the back of her throat from making an appearance.

Justin paused and turned the flashlight back on her. “Hey,” he said, taking a step toward her. His humor sobered to concern. “It’s an old house. We’ve got a storm coming. Chances are it’s just a blown fuse. I’ll fix it, okay?”

Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.

“Mac.” Justin gave her arm a squeeze. “Really. Happens all the time. You want to come with? Or go wait in my truck?”

At least he’d managed the offer without making fun of her.
Stop being a chicken…
But she couldn’t resist staring up at the dark house. It seemed so much more ominous in the occasional flash of lightning. “I’ll go with.”

“Okay.” He held out his hand, and she passed him the mallet.

To his credit, he simply nodded and took the lead. She followed him and fought the urge to grab his shirt and hang on. He went to the fuse box first, but a few minutes of fiddling didn’t earn them any results. When he would have left the mallet behind to head out to his truck, she picked it up.

Justin glanced at the mallet but didn’t say a word. He put a hand on her arm, and the contact soothed the nerves doing jumping jacks in her belly. Supplies in hand, he went back to the kitchen, but the lights still wouldn’t come on. “All right, chances are it’s something at the power station’s end. I’ll make a couple of calls. Let’s check the door next.” Halfway down the hall, he motioned for her to stop. “Watch your feet.”

She glanced down at the shards of lightbulb glittering under the powerful beam of his flashlight.

“Stay right there,” he told her. Glass crunched as he made it to her door. It opened the moment he twisted the knob.

Mac wanted to cry. “I swear it wouldn’t open.”

“I believe you,” he said swiftly—almost too swiftly. “It’s late, you’re exhausted, and I think you could use a break from what goes bump in the night—especially with the storm rolling in.” Despite his tone, Justin wasn’t laughing at her. He could have—particularly after their conversation about ghosts. “C’mon, why don’t you come back to my place? You can have a guest room. We’ll come back and fix this in the morning.”

She really should say no, but lightning filled the sky at regular intervals, followed by powerful
thuds
of thunder. And she
so
did not want to be by herself. “Fine,” she acquiesced.

Thankfully, the rain held off, letting them drive to his place and make the dash from his truck to the door of his house without either of them getting soaked. Justin ushered her inside, and Mac could barely keep from gaping. This place was beautifully lit, stately, and well-decorated. Expansive.
Expensive
. So different than Summerfield.

She stood barefoot and bedraggled, staring at the wide entrance hall with its gleaming dark oak floors and heavy, hand-thatched rugs that perfectly coordinated with the dark, wood-paneled walls. Everything gleamed, and a hint of lemon and wood oil clung to the air.

The foyer itself was wide enough to host a huge party. They’d come in through the back door, but the wide hall extended the length of the house to the double doors at the front. Beyond the entry hall, like a bright, cheerful and brilliant counterpoint to the dark wood, his dining room glowed pastel green opposite a sitting room done in the same minty color. But it was the paintings above the crenellations along the ceiling that took her breath away; paintings of cherubs like one might find in a chapel.

“And
this
is a caretaker’s cottage?” she whispered. No wonder Justin winced whenever he saw the half-stripped and peeling wallpaper in her overcrowded kitchen, which was still littered with unpacked boxes shoved into the corners.

“More or less. Took some time to get everything restored to how it would have been after its original construction.” Justin motioned to the stairs. She’d failed to notice them, considering they blended beautifully with the wooden walls.

“
And
you get a second floor.” Why did he have a second floor when her home was supposed to be the main house?

Justin patted the railing and chuckled. “Come on. Let’s get you to a room so you can sleep. We’ll check out your place in the morning and see what’s up with the wiring.”

The wiring, the walls, the doors that open and shut themselves—could all that activity be due to her ghost? But she’d thought the ghost was supposed to be friendly, a charming addition to her home. Something to help push her writing along. Why the sudden change?

How does one have a meeting of the minds with a ghost?

She climbed the stairs slowly. On the landing, Justin had placed lamps on corner tables, which provided warm illumination and turned the whole place cozy. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated and waited for him to point her in the right direction. A pair of double doors stood wide open at the end of the hall and a black-sheeted bed stretched out invitingly, but she knew that had to be his—so she wasn’t sleeping there.

He opened a door to a room a few feet from the master suite. She looked inside and gaped yet again. The floors were a lighter wood—raw, without a polished sheen. A giant four-poster bed dominated the center of the space, done up in creams and earth tones to compliment walls of a similar shade. Red throw pillows and lamps added a splash of accent color to the room but kept it perfectly neutral—neither feminine nor masculine—and so utterly inviting.

“I’m starting to think you
should
buy my house. Apparently I suck as a home owner.” Feeling small wasn’t a new experience for her, but it humbled her to think the man who lived in this gorgeous altar to elegance worked in her garden and repaired her windows.

“Now you’ve proven you’re exhausted.” The deep timbre of his voice, softened by the amusement coloring his words, soothed her rattled nerves. He placed his hand on her lower back and nudged her into the room. “Let’s go, missy, into bed. Get a good night’s sleep, then when you get up in the morning, I’ll cook you breakfast.”

He didn’t wait for her answer, and instead pulled back the sheets. When she crawled under the covers, he all but tucked her in—shorts and all.