“I’ll wait here,” she said, as Sam opened the door to the basement.
He glanced back at her, amused. “Good idea.”
As Sam disappeared into the dim light of the single-bulbed cellar, Gray sat on the top step. The sound had stopped, but the chill in the house remained. Didn’t they say you felt a chill when a ghost was around?
She laughed at herself. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Besides, it seemed pretty obvious this was a furnace problem. But what about the smoke smell, she wondered, then shook her head against the thought. This was what came of getting way overheated only to be left to cool off on her own.
Which brought her to the bigger issue of Sam. Ten minutes ago she’d been ready to jump into bed with him. Had he felt the same? Certainly he had seemed to.
A puff of air brushed by her cheek, and she smelled smoke again. She sat up straight, put a palm to her face, and sniffed the air, her heart racing. A second later the hairs on the back of her neck rose, as if someone stood just behind her. She twisted, pushing her back against the doorjamb.
The kitchen behind her was empty. Silent.
In fact, the basement was silent, too.
“Hey, how’s it going down there?” she called, peering down the stairs. She was starting to creep herself out. “Sam?”
The ensuing silence sent her pulse racing. She stood, one hand gripping the handrail, and stared at the six square feet of basement visible from the top of the stairs as if she could conjure him.
She heard a rustling, briefly imagined Sam wrestling with an ethereal nobleman, and took one step down the staircase.
“Sam?” Her voice was reedy. She cleared her throat. “Sam!”
A moment later he appeared at the bottom of the steps. His hair was tousled, his shirt collar askew, and what looked like a large spiderweb clung to one sleeve.
“It’s definitely your furnace.” He wiped at the web with one hand, making a face as it clung to his fingers. “The filter looks like it’s been there since the turn of the century, but there’s a valve on it I’ve seen go bad before. That’s what made the woo-woo whistling sound. I can come back tomorrow with my tools and fix it up.”
“Oh good.” She took a deep, relieved breath. Just seeing him put her at ease. She looked at his hands, imagined them taking their time…exploring…She shook herself, dragged her eyes to his face. “It’s strange that it was so loud, though. Do you think that’s why people have said this place is haunted?”
“Maybe. The noise travels up through the ducts, so that probably amplifies it, makes it echo. And then there’s your smoke problem.”
She noticed he held something. “What’s that?”
He grinned and lifted the narrow box in one hand. “The ghostly pipe. An old carton of cigarettes hidden behind the furnace. Somebody here must have been a closet smoker.”
Gray tilted her head. “I don’t think Robert smokes, Rachel would hate that.”
He shook his head. “These are old. The box and a couple of the packs inside are a little singed from the heat, but you can still see that this is not modern packaging. Take a look. They’re probably ten years old.”
“Is the furnace that old?”
He made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “That furnace is ancient. I’m surprised they haven’t had to replace it. I can patch it up, but it’s a miracle it’s still working.”
He started up the stairs, holding out a deep purple box with the words Pall Mall on it, along with some sort of crest.
“Ooh.” She took the box in both hands. “My grandfather used to smoke these. I was devastated when he died.”
“Lung cancer?”
She gave a dire laugh. “Yeah. Go figure.”
“I guess we’ve solved the mystery, then. Laid the ghost to rest, as they say. You going to be around tomorrow?”
She startled. “Uh. Around? Sure. Maybe not awake, considering it’s going on 2:00 A. M. now.” She laughed, dragging her mind back to the problem at hand. Her brow furrowed. “You know how to do that? Fix furnaces and stuff?”
“Sure, I do it all the time.”
Ah, she thought. He must be some kind of plumber. “Well, great.”
She stepped back from the doorway as he reentered the kitchen, unsure what to do. Gray placed the cigarettes on the counter, and the flashlight, then they stood there for an awkward moment.
Gray thought he might move in to kiss her again—pick up where they left off when the “ghost” moaned—but instead he pushed his hands into his pockets and looked toward the door.
“Well, I guess it’s getting late. I should let you get to sleep.”
“Oh.” She didn’t mean to sound surprised, so she covered it quickly. “Yes, definitely. I’m exhausted. It…was nice to meet you.”
She cringed inwardly. If that wasn’t the most clumsy thing she could have said, she didn’t know what was.
He looked at her, brows raised. “Yeah. You, too. Bike’s in the garage?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. Are you sure you’ll be all right riding back? It’s so late…”
“Oh sure. You should turn that furnace off for the night, probably, just to keep it quiet. Wouldn’t want you getting spooked in the middle of the night.” A grin shot across his face.
She laughed. “Too late. It is the middle of the night.”
“True.” For a second he looked as if he might kiss her again, but he just took a deep breath, and said, “All right, then—”
Steeling herself, she blurted, “You could stay, you know. On the couch I mean. Because it’s so late. If you wanted.”
He pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze. “I appreciate it, but I should probably just take the bike.”
Disappointment sank in her gut as she followed him. “Okay.”
“Hey, what’s your phone number?” he asked. “I’ll call you tomorrow about fixing that thing.”
She nearly stumbled over her feet to write down her number, wondering if she should offer to pay him. She’d cross that bridge tomorrow, she thought, glad that she would see him again despite this awkward ending to the evening.
Once at the back door, he turned and gave her a crooked smile. “It really was nice to meet you, Gray.”
“Yes, it was. Nice to meet you, ah, too. As I said.” She grimaced when he turned to open the door.
What an idiot. How could she be so shy with him now when not half an hour ago she had her hands on his ass while his were under her shirt?
He had just walked down the steps and taken the bicycle from where it leaned against the wall when she felt the prickle of someone watching her again. She glanced behind her into the kitchen, but of course it was empty.
“Hey, Sam?” she called, just before he got on the bike.
“Yeah?” He paused, looking at her with brows raised expectantly.
“What year was it that the duke supposedly died here?”
He furrowed his brow and thought a minute. “Around 1813, I think. Why?”
She swallowed hard. “And when was that Beethoven piece written? The one you played tonight?”
A slow smile started across his face. “Written around 1810, but I don’t think it was performed until close to 1812.”
She nodded, stomach quaking with nerves.
“You’re not thinking we woke the ghost with his favorite piece, are you?” Sam asked with a grin.
She forced a smile in return. “No, no. I was just…curious. Good night, Sam.”
He waved a hand and, with one foot on a pedal, swung his other leg over the seat and took off into the moonlight.
Little had she known this morning when she was cycling madly home naked that the very same bike would be carrying a handsome stranger back to town early the next day.
Once he was out of sight, she moved back into the music room and plopped into the leather chair, frowning. She was tempted to play the Beethoven again because she wanted to remember the feel of Sam’s hands and mouth and body on hers
. Had he changed his mind? She’d opened the door to his staying, offering him the couch, which everyone knew could mean anything. But instead he’d chosen to leave.
He’d chosen a cold bike ride at two in the morning rather than staying in her house. With her. Alone.
She sighed. He might have gotten rid of her ghost but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be haunted tonight.
Chapter Five
The following day was stunning. Warm and sunny, with a cooling breeze flowing through Sam’s open windows. Summer was finally here.
Duke heard him stir and sat up straight next to Sam’s bed, panting in his face. With his brown gaze trained on Sam, Duke conveyed to him that someone’s needs were not being met, and if Sam were smart, he would attend to them fast. Specifically, Duke wanted outside.
“I know, buddy,” Sam said, stretching. The last thing he wanted to do was get out of bed. Instead, he lay listening to Duke’s breathing and remembering the feel of Gray Gilliam’s body against his.
Had he been foolish or fortunate? It was hard to say.
He glanced at the clock, nearly nine o’clock. He’d better get a move on. Recalling Duke’s early escape yesterday reminded him that he’d left the dress—Gray’s dress—in the washer overnight. He pushed out of bed and padded down the stairs in bare feet. Retrieving it from the washer, he shook it out, then took it out back to hang it on the clothesline. If there was one thing he’d learned from the last woman he’d dated, it was that girl clothes often did not take kindly to the dryer. In addition to having his dog steal Gray’s dress, he was not willing to compound the problem by ruining it.
Not that it would matter if he never got up the nerve to give it back to her. He’d had plenty of opportunities last night to mention that he had it, but it never seemed like the right time to embarrass them both.
Duke trotted around the small yard, content this morning to do his business locally. Sam scrounged up a couple of clothespins and hung the yellow sundress on the line, where it waved like a conquering flag in the freshening breeze. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman’s dress in his house, and he couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be to have the woman who owned this one there, too.
Then again, she could turn out to be a nut. Last night had been a lot of fun, but it was only one evening. He’d misjudged people with more time than that to observe them. Carolyn, to name one. The woman who’d taught him, by throwing an antique vase at him, that women’s clothing should not go in the dryer.
That was one thing that had occurred to him last night as he’d been looking at Gray’s furnace. She was beautiful, and intelligent, and certainly seemed nice, but he didn’t know her at all. If they had slept together, and she’d turned out to be different than she seemed, it would have made for a very long summer.
If he was honest, though, the real reason he had decided not to spend the night was that he was afraid she was everything she seemed to be. That was, the kind of girl he could really fall for, and the last thing he needed was to fall for someone who was leaving in a month or two.
That said, it had been hard to leave her. With her wide blue eyes and kitten-soft hair, not to mention her killer body, he’d damn near had to tear himself away.
From inside the house, Duke barked, and Sam jogged up the back steps to find the dog at the front window, tail sailing back and forth like the white flag of surrender. Inexplicably, his nerves jumped, as if he knew Gray was at the door. He felt the conflict of wanting desperately to see her and yet not wanting to ruin the memory of the night before by seeing her again. What if she wasn’t what she’d seemed?
He was being stupid, he thought, and opened the door. But the porch was empty. He took one step out and saw someone move around the corner of the house, clearly heading toward the back. He caught a fleeting glimpse of blond hair, and excitement rippled through his chest.
It was Gray. Had she gotten a ride in somehow? Was she looking for her bicycle? Or him?
On the heels of that thought, he realized that she was heading for his backyard. The very place her dress hung drying in the summer air.
Laying his head back, he closed his eyes and cursed.
Duke barked and ran for the back door. Sam followed, squinting his eyes as if that might change the view. Out the window he saw Gray, in a short white tee shirt and clamdiggers, standing by the clothesline fingering her dress.
With a deep, bracing breath, he opened the back door. Duke bounded out, tail high and wagging wildly.
Gray turned toward him, and on her face he read shock, then surprise as she spun toward the approaching dog.
“He’s friendly,” Sam called, sensing doom. This was the part where she suspected him of doing something awful. Where he had to explain the unexplainable—really, the dress just showed up on my lawn—with an excuse as flimsy as “the dog ate my homework.”
Duke bounded toward her, but rather than looking afraid, Gray knelt and extended her hand, palm up, for Duke to inspect.
“Is this where you live, you naughty thing?” she said, laughing. She turned a bemused expression on Sam. “This is your dog?”
He shrugged ruefully. “If I say yes, are you going to be mad at me?”
“That depends,” she said, rising. Duke sat on her feet and leaned up against her thigh, snowy head bent back to look up at her adoringly.
Traitor, Sam thought. He should be over there ripping the dress off the line, to show her how he’d done it.
“Why do you think I’d be mad?” She eyed him suspiciously.
Too late, he realized that by admitting he knew this was her dress, he was divulging that a) he’d seen her naked on the bicycle and b) he hadn’t told her. His mind worked furiously, as his face warmed with shame, but all he could come up with was the fact that he was pretty much screwed any way this played out, so it was probably best to stick to the truth.
“Are you blushing?” she asked, eyes wide. Then she closed them, putting one hand to her brow. “Oh my God. You saw me, didn’t you? You saw me riding home yesterday morning. Is that why you came and talked to me at the bar last night?”
“I—well—it’s—the thing is…” There was no way out of this. Yes, he’d seen her, but that wasn’t his fault, was it? And yes, it was why he’d talked to her at the bar, but he’d have talked to her anyway. She was gorgeous. And yes, his dog was the reason she’d had to ride home naked to begin with, but it wasn’t as if he’d trained Duke to do that kind of thing. He’d been as shocked as anyone when he found the thing in his yard.
With both hands, she covered her face and bent over at the waist. For a horrified second he stood frozen, watching her shoulders shake.
Good God, he thought, she’s crying. She’s going into hysterics.
Beside her, Duke stood up, still wagging his tail and hopping lightly off his front two feet to lick her arm.
“Gray, I’m sorry.” He strode toward her, hands outstretched. “I don’t know how it happened. Heck, I can’t even imagine how he got the thing off you to begin with. But I swear, I had nothing to do with it. I—”
She straightened and he saw that her face was wet with tears. But instead of the desperate look of unhappiness he’d anticipated, he saw that she was laughing. She’d been bent over at the waist, convulsed with laughter.
His heart lightened immediately. “What?”
“I can’t believe it.” She giggled through a hand now at her mouth. “Of all the people…” She laughed again, then tried to sober, wiping her eyes and stifling her mirth. “That is why you talked to me last night, isn’t it?”
“Gray, I would have talked to you anyway. My God, you stood out at that bar like an angel in a tar pit. But believe me—”
“Did you even think about telling me you had my dress?”
“Of course!” He threw out his arms. “But tell me, how do you do that? How do you say to someone you just met that, by the way, you have her clothes at your house.”
She arched a brow. “It beats hav
ing her find her clothes at your house.”
He inclined his head. “I’ll give you that. I’m sure it looks…odd.”
“I’ll say. Just tell me this. Were you down there? On the beach? Did you watch me…?”
“What? Oh, no. God, no. Believe me, if I’d seen Duke take your clothes, I’d have gotten them back to you right away. I found the dress right over there”—he gestured toward the spot—“late yesterday morning, after he got back to the house covered with sand. But…how did he even get the dress? What were you doing without your clothes?”
It was her turn to blush. “Acting totally out of character. For which I was punished severely.” At his confused look, she added, “I was skinny-dipping.”
The visual this statement brought with it made his lips curl into a smile. “Okay, now I have to confess that had I seen that, I would definitely have returned the dress. But I can’t say how quickly.”
Incredibly, she laughed. Then, with one hand scratching Duke’s ear, she reached out and touched her dress again. “Did you actually wash it?”
“Yeah, it, uh, looked a little the worse for wear when Duke brought it home.”
“You named your dog Duke? What is it with this town and the Duke of Dunkirk?”
“I didn’t name him after that duke. I didn’t name him after any duke. It just, well, I don’t know. Maybe I did. Come to think of it, the name just came to me, and it seemed to fit.”
“It does fit.” She leaned down and looked Duke in the eye as she buried her hands in his fur. “So you’re the guy in the long coat I’ve seen walking with him on the beach.”
Sam frowned. “Uh, no. Probably not. I don’t own a long coat, for one thing. And lately I’ve been too swamped with work to walk him much.”
“Does he go with you to your jobs?”
“My, uh, jobs?” He frowned, shook his head. “No, I work at home.”
She cocked her head. “I thought you were a plumber. Because you were going to come fix my furnace. You have—tools. You know what to do with pipes and stuff.”
He chuckled. “No, sorry. I’m nothing so useful. I’m a music reviewer. Classical, for magazines, mostly. CDs, concerts, DVD performances.”
Four Dukes and a Devil Page 9
