The Ghost Hunter (7 page)

He was silent for a moment, watching her like he was trying to unravel a mystery. “Are ye sure ye aren’t merely angry because you’re attracted to me? Are ye worried we might…
ye
know.”

Heat shot straight to her cheeks because deep down she knew exactly what he was implying. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He shrugged, blinking those ridiculously thick eyelashes at her. “Well, it’s obvious. I’ve caught ye looking at my arse more than once.”

She gasped. The nerve!

 
He quirked a brow and made his way to the ground floor, stopping only feet from her. Close, too close he towered over her. Her mind fogged with his nearness, with his earthy scent. “I’m just saying, it’s all right to look, as long as ye don’t touch.”

She shook her head, trying to regain control of her senses. How dare he even think it! “Of course I’m not attracted to you! You…you arrogant bastard!”

He sighed. “Nope, my parents were married in the church, actually.” He started past her and out the door.

Shocked and more than confused, she just stood there. So that was it? He was going to leave? Her eyes narrowed. Ha. She doubted it. She stomped onto the front stoop and sure enough Cristian was coming her way with a backpack in hand. A large backpack. Dear God, how long had he planned on staying?

Resisting the urge to slam the door in his face, she latched onto his bicep to stop his progress…a very large, muscled bicep. “I want you to leave now. Get your things, and leave.”

“Really?” He frowned, as if he was surprised by her declaration, surprised by her anger.

The man was completely stupid, or more like pretending to be stupid. This time she did stomp her foot. “Yes, really!”

He shook his head as if disappointed in her response. “I’d think there’d be more love fer someone who’d saved yer life.”

“Saved my life?” She sputtered in a most unattractive way, yet couldn’t seem to stop herself. “When exactly did that happen?”

He shrugged, a dark lock of hair falling jauntily across his forehead. She wanted to rip out his perfect hair. “Well, on the stairs in the basement. Ye practically fell down the steps and would have certainly broken yer neck.”

She shoved her finger into his hard chest. “Let’s make three things very clear. One, you are not welcome here…ever. Two, you did not save my life. Three, I am not in the least attracted to you!”

He sighed. “
Really
? Because even a daftie could see that ye want me.”

She gasped so hard she stumbled back, using the banister as a buffer between the two of them. “Well, according to you I’m daft and I don’t see it!”

He dropped his backpack to the floor. Lord, he was tall and seemed even taller here, in her foyer. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, a predatorial smirk that sent her heart racing. She was aware, very much aware, that they were alone.

“Really? Ye feel no attraction toward me whatsoever?”

He started around the banister and her unease flared.

Ashley backed up, hit a step and fell to her ass, sitting on the staircase. “None whatsoever.”

He laughed, a deep, low chuckle that sent an unwelcome heat through her veins. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and the fact that he was stalking her didn’t help her anxiety. “I want to talk. I want answers, Cristian.”
 

“What kind of answers?” He reached the bottom of the steps.

“Like…like…” Crap, having him so near, she couldn’t even think straight.

He leaned forward.

Answers. She wanted answers….answers to what? Like how the hell his eyes could be such an intense gray? She shook her head. No, not that answer. But maybe she wanted to know how his body could be so hard, strong, yet at the same time gentle…

“Well?”

She jerked her eyes from his chest to his face. “Well what?”

He smiled and moved up a step so he loomed over her, only feet from her body…

And then he leaned down, placing a palm on the steps, on each side of her hips, trapping her. He was only inches away…so close his breath was a warm caress across her face. Ashley leaned back, the edge of the stair biting into her back.

“What answers, Ashley?” His accent was like warm honey.

She stared at his lips and couldn’t seem to think of anything other than how his mouth tasted. “I…I…”

He leaned closer, resting his weight on his arms. She could feel every muscle, every hard bulge. His weight should have been overwhelming. His chest crushed her breasts, and his thick, muscled thighs pressed to her legs. Dear God, his mouth rested against the side of her face, the scruff on his cheeks erotically rubbing her sensitive skin. “What do ye wonder? How I taste?”

Her lips quivered as she tried to force her mouth to deny the accusation. But then he pressed his lips to her neck and shivers raced over her skin...her reluctance forgotten. Her eyes closed of their own accord and she sank back, trapped awkwardly between the steps and the man.

“Or perhaps ye wonder how it would feel if I tasted ye?” His lips pressed to her jaw line, a soft whisper of a kiss.

Yes! Yes, she’d definitely wondered that. He moved upward, his lips hovering over hers, his breath fanning across her mouth. If she just tilted her head ever so slightly, their lips would touch. The temptation was almost unbearable.

“It would be good, Ashley, vera, vera good.”

Drawn by a need she couldn’t understand, she started to lift up into him, but suddenly he was gone, pushing back and out of reach. Confused, Ashley felt as if she’d just been thrown into a vat of ice water.

His face was passive as he picked up his backpack, but she didn’t miss the sparkle in his eyes…amusement. “Nay, of course ye don’t wonder about that.” He started up the stairs, stepping around her. “Because yer not attracted to me.”

Ashley stumbled to her feet, clutching the railing for support, ignoring the odd sense of disappointment she felt. “Nice try. But no way in hell I’m living with you.” Her voice came out much more breathless than she’d intended.

He paused at the landing above. “Hmm. It’s too bad we had an agreement.”

“What?” Why did she have a bad feeling about this? “What agreement?”

He leaned his forearms on the railing and gazed down at her. “In
Britain
we have something called an agreement by parol, or word of mouth. If ye go back on that, well, it not only wouldn’t be good for business, but I might be forced to sue ye. I have, after all, no where else to stay.” He started down the hall, toward the area where her bedroom was located.
 

She had no idea if what he said was true, but was she willing to risk it at this point? “You wouldn’t!”

He paused and turned to look at her. “Want to test me?”

His gaze had turned steely with determination. The bitter taste of unease coated her mouth. She didn’t say a word because she knew without a doubt he was serious. He continued down the hall and as much as she wanted to, she didn’t stop him.

Ashley leaned against the railing. Cristian wanted to be in this house and he would do whatever it took to be here. She didn’t believe for a second he wanted to buy the place and turn it into a working pub. So why then, was Cristian so persistent in staying? One thing was certain, she sure as hell wasn’t going to rest until she uncovered the truth about the man. Perhaps having him here would be a blessing in disguise.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But the person who had come up with that saying had never met Cristian Lucius.

Around her, the house settled still and silent.

For once, Ashley welcomed the solitude because it meant Cristian slept and she could be alone with her thoughts. Slumber eluded her. How could she possibly relax with Cristian right next door?

Slowly, she pushed the sheet to a pile at the end of her bed, the soft material rubbing erotically over her legs. Then even more slowly, she settled her feet on the floor and stood. The bed creaked and she grimaced. If he heard her, she had no doubt he’d come to investigate and she didn’t need him poking his nose where it didn’t belong. She needed answers and she couldn’t find them with Cristian hovering over her.

She nudged open the bedroom door and peeked into the dark hall. No signs of life. Holding her breath, she tiptoed past Cristian’s room and naturally her thoughts went to the man. Was he sleeping? What’d he look like when he slept? What’d he wear to bed, if anything?

An image flashed to mind…Cristian with rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, no clothes… No, she wouldn’t think
that
.

She rolled her eyes over her own juvenile lusty thoughts and continued down the hall. The basement, what she had seen of it, had only contained empty crates. Maybe there’d be something in the attic? Aunt Clare was a pack rat; surely she had something hidden away that could aid her in her quest for answers. At the last door on the left, she paused, listening. Blessedly silent. Taking in a deep breath, she pushed the door wide.
 

Voices rolled down the attic steps in hushed whispers. She hesitated, recognizing those accents. So, this was where her ghostly dwellers were hiding. Steeling her resolve, she started up the steps, the floorboards creaking. The large attic was lit in an eerie blue glow,
their
glow. From the far corner of the room, their shapes emerged. The three adult ghosts from the kitchen sat huddled on boxes.

Rachel, the maid, was the first to spot Ashley. The ghost still wore her long black dress and white apron, her pinched face looking even more pinched than the first time Ashley had seen her. The two men, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, were less quick to sense Ashley’s presence. Of course, she wasn’t lucky enough to come across the hot ghost,
Devon
. Where was he, anyway?

“We know you can see us,” Rachel said.

Ashley looked away, feigning disinterest even as her heart raced in her chest. “Yeah, so?”

She’d done it. She’d started communicating with spirits once again. Her old psychologist would've said she’d taken one step forward and thirteen steps back. Never mind, she wouldn’t think about her past.

“So why the pretense?” The man wearing a long brown coat surged to his feet. He tilted his chin high while puffing on a pipe that looked the better side of two hundred. The other man just stood there stroking his long, black mustache.

She looked directly at them. “Because maybe I didn’t feel like being annoyed.”

“Ha,” Rachel huffed as she crossed her arms over her flat chest. “As if we’d bother wit the likes of ye.”

Ashley shook her head. “Whatever. Why aren’t you with Maggie? She shouldn’t be alone. She’s just a child.”

Rachel snickered. “She’s a ‘undred years auld an’ a spirit, love, ‘he can ‘andle ‘erself.”

Ashley snorted, disgusted. “Of course, just what I’d expect a ghost to say.”

Selfish bastards. They’d never cared that their presence meant she couldn’t lead a normal life. As a child, when she’d begged them to leave her in peace, they’d repeatedly ignored her request. Heck, maybe Cristian was right. Maybe ghosts were ghosts because they didn’t want to go to the other side knowing there’d be something terrible waiting. She shivered and glanced at each of them in turn. What could they have done, these three, to fear the afterlife?

“What’s that supposed to mean? What do ye expect from ghosts?” Rachel snapped, her hands fisted at her sides.

“Easy love,” the man with the pipe said, as if they were two women about to get into a cat fight.

Ashley ignored them and ran her hand along the wall, flipping a switch and lighting the long room with bulbs that hung exposed from the ceiling. Lord, the place was immense, running the length of the house. Boxes, crates and trunks were piled to the ceiling in spots while the middle of the room, at least, remained free of debris. Determined to uncover answers, she pulled a sheet from the closest box, sending a puff of dust into the air.

“She’s looking for something, all right,” the man with the pipe proclaimed.

“The question is, Bill, what could ‘he possibly be looking fer?” Rachel floated toward her with a smirk on her face, as if she knew exactly what Ashley wanted.

“No,” Ashley said, jerking another sheet from a box. “The question is, if you’re already dead, what do you three have to fear?”

They looked at each other, but no one responded. Was it her imagination, or did their glow weaken? Perhaps it was a trick of the light.

“Really,” Ashley said, dropping the sheet to the floor. “You won’t go onto the afterlife. What the hell has you so scared to go?”

“We don’t fear the afterlife,” Bill grumbled, releasing a trail of gray smoke from between his lips. “Merely don’t want to go there, is all.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Ha, really. Why?”

“Much more fun ‘ere,” the other man said, pulling again on his long, black mustache. He had a creepy look to his beady black eyes that made her feel unclean when he glanced her way.

Bill nodded. “Precisely, Samuel, precisely.”

Ashley held her arms wide. “How? How could it possibly be fun to be stuck here?”

Samuel frowned, his beady eyes narrowing. “We’re not stuck, we can go into the garden, if we wish.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ohhh, the garden. You’re right, what a blast.”

“Used to be fun, when yer Aunt owned the place,” Rachel grumbled.

“Why?” Ashley asked, trying to keep the eagerness from her voice. If they knew how badly she wanted to know about the past, they’d probably disappear without a word. Had they seen her Dad when he’d been here? Did they know what had happened to him?

Bill nodded, rubbing his round belly. “Aye, she knew how to throw a gathering, she did. The entire town would attend. What a group, what a group.”

Mindlessly, Ashley started through a box of old clothing. For some reason that surprised her. The way the place was falling into disrepair and based on the state of neglect, she’d expected Aunt Clare to be a recluse. She knew her father had come here to visit Aunt Clare. But what had happened to him after Aunt Clare’s death? It was as if he’d just disappeared.

“Aye, was fun until the rumbling started,” Rachel murmured.

“Shhhh,” Samuel hissed.

Ashley’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t pause, but pretended extreme interest in the boxes. So the rumbling had only started recently? Her ghostly dwellers fell silent, and she could feel them watching her, waiting, no doubt for her to question them further.

Well, she wasn’t about to let them know how interested she was. They’d totally lord it over her. She pushed the box aside and started through another, hoping they’d continue with their line of conversation.

“We don’t care for the new man who moved in,” Rachel proclaimed.

Ashley glanced back at her, surprised in the change of subject. How bad did you have to be if evil ghosts didn’t like you? “Yeah, well, join the club. I don’t like him much either.” She pulled open a box to reveal old, wooden toys. Another dead end.

“There’s ‘omething off about ‘im, there is.”

“Aye, a power,” Samuel added.

Surprised, she turned to face them fully. “A power?”

“Other worldly,” he added.

A shiver of unease raced over her skin. She dropped a wooden horse and it went clattering across the floor like it was trying to escape. “What?” she whispered. Were they pulling her leg, trying to get her worked up over nothing?

Bill nodded, drifting closer and settling on a box next to her. “Don’t you feel it?”

She started to shake her head, but paused. She’d thought she had felt something that night she’d first met him…that night at the tea shop. Every time they came into contact the attraction was certainly electric, but wasn’t that just plain old lust? “No, he can’t be…otherworldly.” Whatever that meant.

Rachel shrugged. “Seems to me ye’ve got some competition.”

“Competition?” Ashley chuckled harshly and pulled a wooden doll from the box, needing something to hold onto.

“’e sees us, ‘e does,” Samuel added. “We’re sure of it.”

Ashley shook her head. She refused to be pulled into their paranoia. She had enough to deal with. “He can’t. I mean, if he could why wouldn’t he say anything?”

“Why didn’t ye say anything? ‘cause ye ‘ad a secret to keep.”

Ashley sunk onto a box and held the doll close to her chest. What could Cristian possibly be hiding? And were they right, could he see ghosts?

“Got some odd objects in ‘is room, he does,” Rachel added.

“You’ve been in his room?” Ashley stiffened.

“Course we have.”

“So what exactly, are you looking for?” Bill asked, removing his pipe and dumping imaginary ashes to the floor.

Torn from her thoughts, Ashley blinked them back into focus. “Oh. Umm. Just looking.” She set the doll back inside the box, wondering briefly if it had been Maggie’s.

“Sounds like a load of hogwash to me. No one merely looks. There’s always a reason for everything,” Bill proclaimed, taking a long drag on his pipe.

She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “I don’t know. I guess I was just looking for information on the history of the house.” She glanced at them out of the corner of her eye, wondering if they believed her. “Do you guys know anything, remember your lives here?” It was the longest conversation she’d held with ghosts since she was a child. It felt odd, to say the least, and she wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was. Could she bring up their past life, that is, when they were alive, or was that rude?

“Can’t really remember when I was alive,” Bill admitted.

Apparently it was a typical ghost problem; she’d noticed this before when she was a child and she’d ask the ghosts where they’d come from. They never seemed to know.

“Magistrate would remember,” Rachel said.

The man who’d accosted her with a sword that first night? Fanfreakingtastic. “Why would he remember and not you?”

“Because ‘e doesn’t know ‘e’s dead,” she replied. “Of course, you’ll ‘ave to deal with ‘im differently than us.”

Ashley frowned, immediately suspicious. “How so?”

Rachel slid the others a quick glance, as if Ashley wouldn’t notice. “Well, ‘e’s got a bit of an identity crisis, ye see. Ye’ll ‘ave to bow and stammer. Act generally impressed.”

“Hmm.” Were they joking? She wouldn’t put it past them.

“Dress the part,” Bill added after releasing a puff of smoke that lingered around her face.

She coughed and waved away the foul scent. “What?”

“Aye,” Rachel nodded. “Most assuredly wear a dress so you’ll look appropriate. Tis what your aunt did when dealing with ‘im.”

Bill stood tall, rocking back on the heels of his brown boots. “We’ll get you righted out well enough, just see. Rachel here will take care of you and Sam and I will find the Magistrate.”

“Why?” she asked, of course suspicious. “Why would you help me?”

“Why?” Bill looked offended. “Why, because this is our home and we’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.”

She watched them float away, leaving her behind with Rachel. His little speech should have set her at ease. But she didn’t believe for a second they’d truly help. Still, if she wanted answers, what choice did she have but to play along?