by Karen Kelley
This was one of the first rooms cleaned. A good thing because she was starving. She opened the refrigerator. Damn it, she always ate when she was angry.
“Thanks a whole hell of a lot, you two!” She’d probably gain ten pounds while she was here.
Her nerves were stretched taut. She desperately needed to relax. Feed the mind not the body. That was what Paige’s mother had told them years ago, and it worked—most of the time.
She closed the refrigerator and rummaged through the cabinets until she found what she was looking for, then smiled. Her wanna-be psychic mother believed scented candles helped invoke the spirits. Selena just enjoyed the aroma. She had enough trouble with spirits without calling them to her.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled. Ahh, vanilla. She loved the soothing fragrance. After setting the candle in a saucer, she lit it. For a moment, she let the scent tickle her nose. This was nice, and she was already starting to feel calmer.
She turned on the radio her father had given her in case there was an emergency broadcast of some kind. Her father always saw to every detail. That was why he was such a good lawyer. He left nothing to chance.
But rather than the emergency station, she turned it to a station that played the classics. She let the romantic strains of Bach wash over her, further relaxing her tense muscles before she continued on her search.
The first cabinet yielded bounty. Bless Paige’s heart. Her cousin knew exactly what kind of wine she liked. Selena brought down the bottle of Merlot and a long-stemmed glass. What more could she ask for? Unless it was the yummy fettuccini Alfredo her mother had stuck in the refrigerator.
The dessert she could do without. Yuck, black cherry gelatin. Her mother was always trying to foist it on her. Selena didn’t eat anything that wiggled in her mouth.
Her forehead puckered in thought. She shook her head. Nope, she wasn’t even going there.
But she loved fettuccini.
Her stomach rumbled, letting her know it was time to eat... angry or not.
What she wouldn’t give for a microwave right now. The oven was definitely antique. Early fifties? She lit the pilot light and was gratified to see it still worked. After popping the casserole in the oven, she opened the wine and poured herself a glass.
“Did you enjoy the view?” Dixie asked near her, but hadn’t materialized yet.
Selena jumped, spilling some of her wine. “Can’t you warn a person?”
“I did. I asked if you enjoyed the view. I could’ve appeared beside you. Would you rather I do that in the future?”
“No, I wouldn’t rather you just appeared.” She looked hopeful. “Unless you want to show yourself to Trent. Then we’d leave and never bother you again.”
“Boring. I think I want you to hang around for a while. You two make life more interesting. Wesley can be so dull.”
Selena grabbed the roll of paper towels and tore one off. After wiping the outside of her glass, she swiped across the small spill and tossed the towel in the trash.
Great. She’d have to hope Dixie tired of having them around before the two weeks were up, or she’d be stuck here for the duration. She could’ve used her vacation days lazing on the beach. Tanning... soaking up the sun, the men. Oh, Lord, the men. Muscled bodies. A smorgasbord of tempting male flesh.
“Well, did you?” Dixie materialized. She sat on the counter with her legs crossed, waiting patiently for Selena to answer.
“Did I what?”
“Enjoy the view?” she asked on an exasperated sigh.
“The view of what?”
“Why, Trent Sanders, of course.” She gave a throaty laugh. “I know I certainly did. All that delicious hard male nakedness.” Her smile grew wicked. “And, honey, I got to see a lot more than you did. A whole lot more, and his delicious male nakedness was most definitely hard. You certainly couldn’t go wrong with him. Not very many men tempt me, but if he twitched his finger in my direction, I’d certainly come running.” She closed her eyes and sighed.
“Like you could do anything with him,” Wesley said as he popped in. “I bet pinching him drained you. That’ll teach you to fool around.” He looked at Selena. “Her fooling around is what got us killed in the first place.”
Dixie glared at him. “It was your fault and you know it.”
“Does it really matter?” Selena asked. Their arguing was starting to get on her nerves. She couldn’t imagine listening to them for the next two weeks. “It’s not like you died yesterday or anything.”
“I suppose not,” Dixie conceded with a shrug of one shoulder. But when she looked at Selena once again, there was a naughty twinkle in her eyes. “But you do have to admit he has a body that could make a... ahem... dead woman hot.”
“Funny.” But Selena knew Dixie was right. Trent had certainly left her wanting more. He’d looked even better naked.
Ohhh, and he had a nice firm butt. He had a really nice butt. One you could grab hold of and squeeze, pulling him in closer... tighter.
Her body tingled as heat swirled inside her and settled in the juncture of her legs. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip as she imagined him entering her. He’d probably slide in slow at first, making sure she was ready...
“Yes, I can see you did enjoy me opening the door.” A knowing smile curved Dixie’s lips, then just as quickly drooped. “If only sex were an option for me and Wesley.” Just as quickly, she brightened. “We’ll just have to feed off all that lovely energy you two are going to create. You know, live vicariously through you.”
In an instant, they’d vanished.
Live vicariously through her and Trent? Not if she had anything to say about it!
Lord, this was going to be the longest two weeks of her life. Especially if Dixie continued with her childish pranks. Not only did she have her ghosts, but apparently they were horny.
Well, she wouldn’t let them trap her into doing something she shouldn’t do. Trent was her enemy. She was almost certain it was taboo to like him, and she didn’t have sex with anyone she didn’t like. She was pretty certain lusting would be okay, though.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway leading to the kitchen.
Suddenly, the lights went out, leaving her with only one candle. Make that three. One on the table and one on the counter flamed to life. The vanilla scent swirled around her senses just as Trent stepped over the threshold. There was enough light that she could see one of his eyebrows rise in question.
Her gaze swept the room, knowing exactly what he was thinking—that she was trying to seduce him. Who wouldn’t think that? Soft candlelight sensuously scenting the room with a soft vanilla aroma, the bottle of wine she’d left out, romantic music, dinner cooking in the oven.
Great.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she said.
“And what am I thinking?” His words held a husky timbre telling her that he was thinking exactly what she thought he’d be thinking... and it didn’t bode well for her. Damn it, she didn’t want his body.
Okay, maybe she did, but that didn’t mean she’d act out her fantasies.
She’d kill Dixie and Wesley, except they were already dead so it wouldn’t make her feel a bit better. It was a nice thought, though.
“Could you hit the light switch?” she asked.
He clicked it a few times, but nothing happened. “The bulb must’ve burned out.”
She wanted to tell him, “I told you so,” but figured her silence said it all.
“I thought I’d run to the store and grab something for dinner. Did you need anything?”
Rat poison?
Guilt washed over her. Here he was offering to run to the store, and she was thinking ugly thoughts. They were going to be living together for the next two weeks, so they might as well be civil. After all, he was going to lose. She should cut him a little slack.
“Mom made plenty for dinner. There’s no way I can eat it all, and I hate leftovers. If you’d like to join me, then you can.” That
was the lamest invitation she’d ever extended.
He barely hesitated. “Okay.”
She motioned toward the bottle of wine. “It’s nothing expensive. There’s a glass in the cabinet.”
He strode forward and opened the cabinet door. She hadn’t realized how close she was standing to the bottle. How close he would be to her when he poured himself a glass. Or how great he would smell as he stood near her.
She inhaled. Gio. She had a very sensitive nose. Why the heck did he have to wear one of her favorite colognes? Just in time, she caught herself from leaning closer to him. She was practically plastered against him now.
She should be doing something... anything. Trent was the enemy. She couldn’t go soft. Dixie said Trent certainly hadn’t been soft. She almost groaned as that vision filled her mind. This wasn’t good. It was as if Trent filled her every thought. She wouldn’t let him have the upper hand...
Her gaze wandered to his hands. The way he held the stem of the wineglass, his thumb lightly caressing before he raised it to his mouth... Her nipples tightened.
She turned on her heel and went to the equally antiquated refrigerator and opened the door.
Think about something else!
Vegetables. That was a good topic. Safe.
Bless her mother. “Eat your vegetables” was her favorite saying. When Selena had asked why, her mother had told her so her eyes wouldn’t fall out.
She still didn’t understand the answer, but she’d been so afraid her eyes would fall out, she’d eaten all the icky leaves on her plate. Now she loved salad. Her mother might be a little ditzy at times, but she had a heart of gold.
Come to think about it, Selena’s eyes were still firmly in place, too. Well, they had been until Dixie opened the bathroom door and she’d caught more than a glimpse of Trent’s backside. That had almost made them pop out.
Darn it, she had to stop thinking about Trent, dressed or undressed.
Okay, salad it is, she thought as she brought the bag of greens to the counter. Even in the dim light, she was able to find a bowl, but for the life of her she couldn’t tear open the plastic bag. When she was just about to give up and use her teeth, Trent took the bag from her.
“Here, let me.”
His hand against hers was warm, sending tingles up and down her arms.
“Thanks,” she muttered and grabbed the oven mittens out of the drawer before hurrying to the stove and opening the door.
More heat. As if she needed any.
She set the fettuccini on a hot pad in the middle of the small kitchen table and removed the lid. The wonderful aroma of the creamy sauce drifted upward. Trent had followed with the salad, and they both inhaled at the same time.
Trent cleared his throat. “It smells wonderful.”
“Mom makes the best fettuccini. She takes it right from the box, dumps it into a bowl and heats it in the oven.” A gourmet cook her mother wasn’t.
He shrugged. “It still smells good.”
“I’m pretty sure that after thirty-two years of marriage my father has guessed Mom can’t cook diddly-squat, but he always praises her culinary skills.” She smiled. That was what she wanted someday—a marriage just like her parents’.
It took her a few seconds to realize they’d just carried on a civil conversation. Apparently, he realized it, too, because he quickly took a seat. She pulled out the chair across from him.
The silence that followed was more than a little uncomfortable. Finally, Trent laid his fork down.
“Since we’re going to be together for a couple of weeks, I think we should call a truce.”
In the candlelight, he seemed... dangerous. Dark and sexy. She quickly clamped her knees together. She didn’t want to call a truce. He was too tempting as it was. But she didn’t want him to think she was afraid, either.
She cocked an eyebrow. “A truce in the middle of a war? You’re trying to ruin my career, and I’m trying to ruin yours. I’m not sure a truce would work.”
“I’m not trying to ruin—”
“What? You’re going to sit there and tell me you’re not trying to defame my reputation and ruin my career?”
“You’re the one who offered up this stupid challenge.”
The nerve! “After you called me... let’s see if I can remember your exact words: delusional, you said I have a vivid imagination and my column is amusing!”
“There were beter ways to get even than staying here for two weeks. I mean, you do have a vivid imagination. Surely you could’ve come up with something better than this.” He slammed his hand on the table.
She wondered briefly if her mother might have packed some arsenic. “I didn’t issue the challenge,” she said between gritted teeth. “My mother did. You started it, and she thought she was helping me.”
The air seemed to have suddenly left his sails. “Oh.” He grabbed up his fork and stabbed at the pasta on his plate. His mouth was set in a grim line. Finally, he looked up. “I’m sorry about the television interview. I admit that I shouldn’t have said what I did on TV.”
She relaxed against the back of her chair. He was admitting he was wrong? That was something she’d never expected.
“At least, not without proof,” he continued.
She sat forward. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Damn it, you couldn’t admit you were wrong in one breath, then practically steal back the apology in the next.
“It means that I’m not sure if you’re out to bilk the public or if you really do believe in ghosts. Only time will tell.”
“And if it’s the latter, then I guess you’ll say I’m delusional.” She crossed her arms in front of her and once again leaned back, glaring in the face of his ignorance. She would not lose her temper and throw her plate of food at him.
Deep breaths. Relax.
“Who were you talking to before I came into the kitchen?” he asked without missing a beat.
She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. Hell, she’d already admitted to talking to ghosts. She jutted out her chin and squared her shoulders. “I was speaking with Wesley and Dixie.” She picked up her glass of wine and took a dainty sip. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Your ghosts.”
“They’re not mine.”
“You don’t see me talking to... the air. So that would make them yours.”
“Dixie was the one who pinched you,” she blurted out, then promptly realized her mistake. If he didn’t believe in ghosts, then he certainly wouldn’t believe Dixie had been the one to pinch him.
A slow grin curved his lips. She should’ve known what he would think. Was that a twinkle in his eyes? She was surprised he could even smile without cracking his face.
Her eyes narrowed. This time her psychic abilities were kicking in big-time. She had a suddenly strong premonition that he was going to say something she probably wouldn’t like.
As if he would say something she did like. He hadn’t since he’d arrived. Why the hell would he start now?
Even so, she braced herself for what he was about to say. She refused to let him get the better of her.
Chapter 4
“Dixie pinched me?” Trent raised a mocking eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Selena countered, daring him to tell her one more time that ghosts did not exist. She could almost see the wheels turning inside his head.
He picked up his wineglass and took a drink, then carefully set it down. “So tell me about these ghosts of yours,” he said, meeting her gaze without flinching.
It took her a second to realize he was actually asking her about Dixie and Wesley. Then another to realize he was humoring her.
Keep the crazy lady happy so she doesn’t slit my throat while I’m sleeping.
She knew exactly what he was thinking. “They’re not my ghosts. They don’t belong to anyone.” She finished her fettuccini and carried her plate to the sink.
“Tell me about them anyway,” he said.
She didn’t want to
talk about them, and she opened her mouth to tell him exactly that, but stopped at the last minute. Maybe if she talked about Dixie and Wesley, they would seem more real to him. Then when they finally decided to do something that would make a believer out of him, he wouldn’t have the crap scared out of him. He looked healthy enough, but the shock might cause him to have a coronary.
Wouldn’t that be a damn shame, she thought with more than a little derision.
“Fine, I’ll tell you what I know, but not in here. It’s too stuffy.” And he could take that any way he wanted.
She started out of the kitchen, but he held up the bottle of Merlot.
“Refill?”
Sure, why not. She raised her glass, and he topped it off. Again, she mentally thanked Paige and her thoughtfulness; then she headed toward the front porch.
Summer was drawing to a close. The temperature was still in the high seventies to low eighties. Pleasant, not as hot as it had been in July.
October was her favorite time of the year. The leaves were turning a golden hue. The colors of fall. A new season, a new beginning.
The sun was low in the western sky as she sat in one of the rockers and pushed it into motion with the toe of her sandal. Someone was cooking on a grill. For just a second she closed her eyes and drank in the sounds and smells of the day. The spirit of the old hotel washed over her, bathing her in peacefulness.
Like people, sometimes a place or object had an essence of its own. She sensed that about the hotel. It had a good soul, wrapping her in a sense of peace. For a moment, she let her anger toward Trent fade.
“Do you know anything about the hotel?” she asked as she opened her eyes and took a drink of her wine. She leaned her head back against the top rung of the chair, the mellowness of the wine further relaxing her.
“I’ve heard all the wild tales about it being haunted if that’s what you’re asking.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m talking about the history.” She looked at him. His mocking expression changed, and she caught a glimpse of the man he could be. Who had made him so cynical? So untrusting?
“I know some. Not a lot,” he hedged.
