Something Wicked: HarperImpulse Romantic Suspense

by Campbell, Angela

  He selected a stick from the cue rack and sauntered over to her, not looking the least bit remorseful.

  “I was hoping if you drank enough, I’d start looking good enough for you to come talk to me. Since you didn’t even take a sip before rushing right over, I’m flattered.”

  She snorted, but yeah, she was as embarrassed as heck about the way that must have looked. “Maybe I thought you were someone else.”

  “Who?”

  She said the first name that came to mind. “Robert Pattinson.” And then winced.

  His eyebrows squeezed together. He looked almost offended. “Really?”

  No, not at all, but what was she supposed to say—oh, there was a ghost coming to play with your balls? She shrugged.

  “I won’t hold that against you.” He winked. “And I should probably warn you.” He leaned in close, the tantalizing scent of raw masculine energy exciting her nostrils and causing her inner siren to sit up and sing. “The guy I’ve been playing against tonight is pretty tough. He might not go easy on you.”

  “You mean, the guy you were playing pool with earlier?” She glanced around, spotted only Derby Hat Guy leaning against the table, drumming his fingers impatiently, sending her a bored look. “Who is he, Casper the friendly pool player?”

  He grinned. “He’s the guy who sent you the beer—the one who thought to himself, ‘I think the most beautiful woman in the world is in this room, and I’d like to talk to her.’”

  Oh, mercy, that was both the best and the worst pickup line she’d ever heard. He had a sense of humor as well as being sexy. She liked that.

  She tilted her head and feigned concern. “Have you seen a doctor?”

  His eyes widened. “For what?”

  “Multiple personality disorder. I think you have it.” She smiled to let him know she was only teasing. And she gripped the cue tighter to keep from doing something ridiculous like ripping his shirt off. “Here’s a hint, Casanova. Guys who talk about themselves in third person tend to come off as a little bit crazy.”

  He leaned so close his hot breath teased her face as he tried to stifle a laugh. “Good point. And I’m a jackass. I haven’t even asked your name.”

  “Alexandra.” She held out her hand. “And who will I be crushing in this game tonight?”

  The warmth of his fingers against hers was stimulating. “Name’s—”

  The sound of wood knocking against wood startled them both, and Alexandra sprang away. Derby Hat Guy had moved to the cue rack and was purposefully knocking the sticks against one another. He stopped when Mr. Delicious turned around to inspect the noise.

  “I thought we were gonna have some fun with the rascal!” complained her newest dead friend. “Come on, already. Let’s play!”

  Ghosts. They could be so annoying.

  ***

  “You know, they claim this place is haunted.”

  Dylan Collins leaned against his pool cue and watched as his enticing opponent lined up her shot perfectly—and abruptly banged the white ball against the left side when the words left his mouth.

  She swore softly and sighed. “You don’t say.”

  He shrugged and moved to take his first shot, regretful he no longer had a good view of her cleavage as she bent over the table. She’d already sunk a number of the balls. The woman knew her way around a billiard table. “I don’t believe in that stuff, personally. If that’s your thing, Charleston has a ton of ghost tours.”

  “Hmm.” Her concentration seemed off as she frowned slightly, gazing toward the wall. Maybe she was like him and thought the whole Haunted Charleston spiel was just a gimmick to attract tourists.

  Change the topic, dumbass. He didn’t want to scare her away or make her think he was a paranormal freak when he wasn’t.

  He couldn’t believe his luck in luring a beauty like her over here. He circled the pool table and lined up his cue with the ball.

  His favorite way to unwind from a bad day at work was to come to the Southend Brewery for a beer, a game of pool, and a game on one of the TVs above the third-floor bar, but he’d never seen a woman like this one here. Usually the women he attracted at bars were young, more than a little tipsy, and as sexually aggressive as sailors turned loose in a whorehouse.

  His partner on the force liked to think of them as cop groupies, although Dylan never advertised the fact he was with the North Charleston PD before he decided to take one home. Besides, Reedus was wrong. Usually in this part of the city they were either co-eds or tourists looking for a little naughty fun before returning home to their mundane lives or boyfriends or husbands or whatever. Didn’t matter a bit to them that he wore a badge. They were more interested in what he didn’t wear.

  But this one, there was something different about her.

  Older than his usual pick up, definitely. He’d guess early 30s.

  Lifting his gaze from the end of his cue and toward the blonde across from him, he drank in the sight of her curvy figure. The ball soared forward and clanged against two others that drifted into the corner pocket. He wouldn’t stretch his credibility by saying she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, but she was close. She had something else too that had caught his attention from across the room before he’d ever glimpsed her pretty face. The way she carried herself. Confident. Classy, even in jeans. Two traits he found sexy as hell, and then to come to learn she was smart and funny, too? Hot damn.

  Normally he went for petite brunettes, but he wouldn’t mind a change of taste sampling this leggy blonde for a night or two. Especially tonight, when he needed to erase thoughts of the case that had been eating him up all day.

  Was she willing to help him with that?

  Let’s find out.

  First, he had to sink the rest of these balls to impress her. He took his time finding the right angle—oh yeah, he could nail three in one shot from here—and made a show of leaning over, sliding the stick through his fingers, oh so slowly, and then snapping forward with just enough finesse to hit his target in the right spot. The white ball clanged against the orange No. 5, sending it into a corner pocket, then spiraled toward both the green No. 6 and purple No.4.

  The white ball abruptly took a sharp detour to the left, missing his remaining targets completely.

  What the-?

  Alexandra’s eyes and mouth were wide open, probably a match to his own expression. She blinked and shook her head. “That was…a little weird, huh?” Red began spreading from her neck up through her face.

  He scratched at the hair on his head. “Yeah, weird.”

  “You sank the five though. Uh, good job. Still your turn.”

  “Right.” He bent to find his next shot, narrowed his eyes and spotted three balls clumped together near the middle pocket. That might get him at least two scores. He slid the cue forward then jerked it back when the white ball began slowly rolling toward the left.

  He straightened and grabbed the white ball, picked it up and felt its weight in his hand. Damn thing felt normal. He glanced at the woman standing on the other side of the table, her hand now covering her mouth and her eyes glistening with amusement.

  She lowered her hand and placed it on her hip. “Are you trying to cheat?”

  “What? No. Hell, no. Didn’t you see that? The ball moved—” He bit back a curse and put it where it was before.

  He sat his bridge hand on the table, kept his angle smooth, and struck it this time.

  Almost every ball on the table rolled out of its way as it bowled forward. It banked off the corner pocket and fell in.

  What the—?

  He reached a hand out over the table. Had someone turned the air conditioning on full blast? Was there a vent he couldn’t see?

  He didn’t feel anything abnormal.

  Instead of the impressed cheer he’d been soliciting, he was rewarded with feminine snickering. “Smooth,” Alexandra said, pushing him out of the way. “Let me show you how it’s done, hot stuff.”

  She backe
d her ass up, spread her legs, set up her shot and sent the white ball sailing. She clinked one into the middle pocket, then three more she hadn’t even touched flew into other pockets, one after the other.

  “How the hell did you do that?”

  She held up her cue and blew the tip. “Guess I’m just better at this than you.”

  Something weird was going on here, but hell, that was okay. She wore amusement well. It lit up her face and looked damn attractive on her. He leaned closer. “Still your turn.”

  She moved around him to find her next position. He waited until she had leaned down with her cue arranged to follow. He curved over her, resting his hands on the table edge on each side of her, and breathed in the intoxicating scent of strawberries. Mmm. Nice.

  Her back lifted slightly, pressing against his chest. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He nuzzled his mouth close to her ear. “Making sure you don’t cheat. Got a problem with that?”

  Judging by the way she wiggled her backside against him, he didn’t think so. “You’re in my way.”

  He eased up, but didn’t move away completely. He left his right hand resting on the spot above her belt.

  She pulled her elbow back, slowly, and sank two more balls. He thought she did, anyway. He wasn’t really paying attention to the table anymore. His mind was distracted by the strip of bare skin his fingers had discovered between her jeans and shirt. Smooth, silky smooth. And hot, so hot to the touch.

  She turned her head back to glance at his hand before lifting her gaze to his. “Well go on, then. Keep fondling me. I’m still gonna win despite your little distractions.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yep.”

  And then she sank the eight ball.

  Game over.

  He liked this woman, liked that she gave him a lil bit of hell. “Where are you staying?”

  Straightening, she curled both hands around her cue and considered him. “Why?”

  “Cause I’d like to know where I’ll be spending the night.”

  She laughed. “Presumptuous, aren’t we?”

  “Mmm-hmmm. And cocky too.”

  “No kidding.”

  He couldn’t resist touching the strip of skin still visible between her belt and shirt. Her breath hitched at the contact, so he knew she wasn’t as unaffected as she played. “I live just around the corner. We could be there in less than ten minutes.”

  She said nothing for so long, he started to think he’d overshot this one. Handing him her cue, she arched a brow. “My hotel sounds closer.”

  They made it there in eight, and if his steps slowed a little when he realized she was leading him to the Lodge Alley Inn, she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  Too weird.

  His place was on the next street over.

  But he kept his mouth quiet about the irony of her stay and put it to better use, nibbling her earlobe as she struggled to open the door to her room. He liked hearing her breathing quicken and turn raspy as his hands had fun, too, sliding around and beneath the hem of her t-shirt. He trailed his fingers along the silky smooth skin of her stomach as he pressed his front against her backside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this much.

  Pushing inside, she didn’t turn on the lights, just pulled him in after her, reaching up to devour his mouth like a woman starved for kisses. Man, she was hot.

  She tore away from him. “Bed is upstairs.” She toed off her shoes and hurried up the spiral staircase inside the entryway of her room. He was right behind her.

  ***

  Dylan must have fallen asleep because the alarm clock read three o’clock when a sound awoke him from a pleasant dream hours later. Alexandra grumbled and snuggled deeper into the sheets as he maneuvered his way to the end of the bed and found his phone.

  Speaking quietly, he answered, “Collins.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, but we’ve got another one,” his partner’s voice was brisk. “Same calling card as the one last month. Pretty sure we’ve officially got a serial on our hands.”

  Dylan swore and glanced at the woman sleeping peacefully behind him. It had been nice while it lasted. Reedus gave him a few details and the address while he tugged on his pants.

  Picking up the rest of his clothes, he ended the call and moved quietly to the stairs. He hesitated, glancing back toward the bed. A smile tugged at his lips as he walked over, knelt beside the mattress and just looked at her for a minute.

  He leaned and kissed her lips softly, quickly, so as not to disturb her.

  “See ya later, beautiful.”

  And he had every intention of doing so.

  Chapter Two

  She was alone.

  Alexandra wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not by that revelation when she opened her eyes, looked around the unfamiliar hotel room and stretched lazily the next morning.

  Oh, not because of the guy she’d brought back to her hotel room last night. She’d expected him to be long gone—her first one-night stand. Had she really done that? A painful tug in some of her more underused muscles reassured her she had.

  Her confusion was because she had fully expected Rebecca Collins to be sitting in the chair beside the bed, tapping her foot and waiting for Alexandra to wake so she could start complaining about her sons again.

  But Alexandra was alone.

  No one-night stand. No ghost.

  It was so quiet. How freaking weird was this? How long had it been since she’d woken up to this kind of peace? Months, maybe.

  She showered and dressed, glancing around often and expecting the dead woman to pop out of the wall and start making her please-you’ve-got-to-help-my-son demands. Nope, nothing. She’d heard someone say at a spiritual conference once that ghosts couldn’t travel over water. Was that the case here? She shook her head. Rebecca had followed her from Atlanta to Denver and back again. But not here?

  Weird.

  It was next to impossible to keep her guard up while she was sleeping, so the first thing Alexandra did each morning before leaving her apartment was close herself from communication with the dead. She hesitated in doing it now. What if Rebecca finally made an appearance? She peeked out the curtains, saw that weird gray aura shooting up, and decided she’d better be safe than sorry until she figured out what the anomaly meant.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Released it. And another. She envisioned a brick wall.

  Only the living can communicate with me. No spirits can pass beyond this barrier.

  Over and over, she repeated the mantra until she felt…almost normal. Another deep breath, and she opened her eyes.

  Alexandra’s stomach rumbled, so she set out in search of food. She found a small café serving breakfast, asked to borrow the phone book, grabbed a newspaper and sat down to make a plan.

  She started by checking for Dylan Collins in the phone book, hoping the good, old-fashioned resource would trump her Internet searches. She found only one, called and reached an older-sounding man with a strong Southern accent.

  Nope. Not him.

  She went down the list of D Collins and knew each time a woman claimed a variation of the name she wasn’t getting any closer.

  And it sucked that every time she marked off a name from the list, her mind happily somersaulted to an image of Mr. Delicious’s handsome face.

  Had he ever told her his name?

  Heat warmed her face as she realized she hadn’t noticed. She couldn’t believe she’d slept with a total stranger when she’d needed to be focused on the reason she came here in the first place. But she had.

  This would have been a lot easier to do if her mind didn’t prefer to think about Mr. Delicious. Oh, yes, he’d rocked her world last night. Was she only one in a long line of women, or was casual sex as new to him as it was her?

  She snorted. Who was she kidding? That man had been on the prowl before she’d walked into the room. If she hadn’t taken him back to h
er hotel, no doubt some other lucky woman would have been charmed into doing so. Ridiculous that she felt the hot rush of jealousy blur her vision at that idea. No one that good in bed was a saint, and she had no claim on him anyway. Nor did she want a claim on him. She’d done the long distance thing once, and her marriage hadn’t survived it.

  Slamming the phone book shut, she sighed, feeling a little depressed by that memory.

  She looked up and caught a young woman on the other side of the window staring in at her. Tiny sparks of orange electricity shot off from her body, just like they always did from dead people. Another ghost. Alexandra tensed and tore her eyes away. She’d done the proper meditation to disconnect. She knew she had.

  She glanced back and the young woman was gone.

  She must have been mistaken. Her shoulders relaxed, but a feeling of unease lingered in her belly.

  As she spread cream cheese over her bagel, she glanced at the newspaper. In a side strip on the front page with no photo, a smaller headline immediately grabbed her attention.

  Woman found murdered in cemetery.

  The sudden image of a cartoon figure dressed in a black robe and holding a scythe overtook her vision. She’d always likened the experience to someone holding up huge flash cards in front of her eyes unexpectedly. Sometimes a word was written for her to see. Sometimes it was a symbol or a photograph. Alexandra braced herself for more, but her gaze saw nothing now but the newspaper article.

  Her hand lowered to her abdomen, which rumbled with anxiety. This wasn’t good. Her morning disconnect hadn’t worked if a ghost—the young woman in the window?—was sending her this information.

  She puzzled over the image of a grim reaper that had been relayed to her, but then again, she usually did until she learned more information to give it substance. She felt an immediate urge to turn the page and found herself flipping to the article’s reference on page 3 of the Metro section and zeroing in on a different article buried in the middle of the page. Homicide investigation launched after body found in alley. Again, the grim reaper cartoon flashed before her.