Double Booked (2 page)

“Why?”

Mr. Galvez began rubbing my back in a comforting gesture, and it felt amazing. I decided I was too tired to tell him to back off.

Too tired. Mm hmm. That’d be my excuse.

“We’re completely booked.” Her high pitched voice grated on my already frayed nerves. “You can either share the room with Mr. Galvez or come back another time when we aren’t so busy.”

I slammed my hands on the counter and looked up. “I can’t come back another time. Do you understand me? My editor wants this story written and emailed to him by the end of the week. I do not have the luxury of picking and choosing my assignments because I like receiving a paycheck. I like food and a roof over my head. I can’t risk losing my job simply because you double booked my room.”

Mr. Galvez’s hand stopped its wonderful massaging. I felt relieved...and maybe a little disappointed, until he wrapped his arm around my waist as if he were giving me some much needed moral support.

Too tired to pull away. Yep!

I looked at him, and I’m sorry to say, totally began to whine.

“This out of the way hotel wasn’t even on the schedule, but suddenly my editor just
had
to have this article now. I just
had
to leave London early. I just
had
to give up my only week of vacation and spend my time here on an island I’ve never even heard of with a receptionist that probably can’t open a jar of jam to save her pathetic existence.”

He looked like he was fighting the urge to laugh.

I threw a glare at him and then turned it on the receptionist.

Tweedledumb stared at me for a few painful seconds and then popped her gum. “Does that mean you’ll take the room?”

“Oh, dear Lord give me strength,” I muttered. I turned and rested my forehead on the handsome man’s chest.

Tweedledumb: one.

Analise: zero.

There was no winning this argument. Not when logic and reason held little sway with the busty blonde. I blinked several times and fought to mentally keep that nagging spirit’s summoning at bay. This was one particularly tenacious ghost. I couldn’t let this happen now. Not in front of these people.

“I think we can solve our problem easily enough,” said Mr. Galvez as he moved his hand from the small of my back to my neck and smoothed soothing circles over knots I wasn’t aware existed.

He smelled amazing. Some musky cologne, with a name I probably couldn’t pronounce, lightly clung to his silk blue, button down shirt.

Why was I leaning into him and allowing him to touch me as if we mattered to one another?  Why didn’t I beat him off with my purse? My IQ level must have significantly dropped after my less than stimulating conversation with the receptionist.

I felt his magic reach out to comfort me, attempting to place some kind of hold upon my inner core and support me much the same way his arm had. It freaked me out so thoroughly that I instinctively dug in and beat it away as hard as I could, sending a mental “Buzz off!” message at the same time.

His magic recoiled at my reaction and then faded into the background. I let out a relieved breath and tilted my head up to look at him, trying to see if he’d been wielding his magic on purpose or if he was, as I suspected, completely oblivious.

His easy smile and relaxed stance confirmed my suspicions. His power was seriously misbehaving without him being the wiser. It made me wonder if he had any idea that he possessed it in the first place.

“I’m here on business also, and despite your ladies’ flattering assumptions, I have no one to share the room with.”

My mouth gaped open. “How can you agree to this arrangement? I could be some crazy kleptomaniac and you could be some psychotic serial killer! We know nothing about each other. You don’t think perfect strangers sharing a suite together might make this whole experience a little awkward?”

He placed his hands on my quaking shoulders and had the nerve to look amused at my outright panic. Did nothing ruffle this guy’s biceps?

“I really don’t see what the big deal is. We’re mature adults on separate business trips. So if you don’t mind looking at this situation as if we were harmless roommates sharing a suite for the duration of the week, then I can sleep on the sofa and you can have the bed.”

“Actually,” came the blonde’s perky voice from behind the counter, “the suite houses a California King Bed. If I were you two, I’d just snuggle in and get comfortable.”

My eyes widened at the thought as my soon-to-be roomie suggestively wiggled his eyebrows.

“Even better,” he said.

Mental sigh, and, dare I say, an unwelcome surge of longing?

Trouble.

Miguel Galvez was going to be nothing but trouble.

*  *  *

The Windswept Inn was a charming Victorian mansion nestled along the picturesque coastline of Galveston Island. Its interior boasted of beautiful antiques reminiscent to that of the Victorian era, a truly quaint and cozy kind of get-away for those needing a place to spend their honeymoon, anniversary or in this instance, Valentine’s Day.

A single woman like myself was going to stick out like a sore thumb in this place.

I might have enjoyed the decor and intriguing ambiance if the B&B had also housed more than one elevator. I’d never visited an inn so busy. The single elevator was filled to the brim with new people checking in, forcing me to haul my humongous suitcase up two flights of stairs. Not an insurmountable task, but I’d been awake for nearly forty-eight hours due to my previous assignment coupled with my inability to sleep on airplanes. Throw in a deploring lack of food, and my blood sugar levels were now in serious disarray.

Two flights of stairs may as well have been twenty.

The dang suite just
had
to be located on the second floor.

After reluctantly agreeing to share the room with Mr. Galvez, I’d grabbed my room key—an actual key—and my bulky suitcase and began the climb to the second floor.

Mr. Galvez had asked that I wait for him while he grabbed his items from his rental, intending to help me with my suitcase once he returned.

Yeah, right. Like that was happening. I’d get into the room first and lock myself in the bathroom. If I could turn on the shower and situate myself on the bathroom floor, then the summoning could take me with my “roomie” none the wiser.

My special gift involved astral projection. So, I’m a bit of a freak.

I had no intention of staying for the full week allotted me. I could generally tell within the first night if an area or building had a non-corporeal visitor. Unlike most ghost hunters, I didn’t need the use of EMF meters, audio recorders, digital thermometers or digital infrared video cameras to sense paranormal activity.

Nope.

I possessed the annoying ability to travel outside my body and meet with any spirit unwilling to move on to the next phase of their journey.

I guess many might have labeled me a spirit medium, but I’d never run into anyone who conversed with spirits the way I did. Some mediums could only contact or summon a ghost if the ghost in question actually wanted to make contact. My gift worked as a sort of ultimatum. My own spirit had a powerful pull on any and all things supernatural. The minute I entered an area inhabited by ghosts, it was only a matter of time before my energy called to theirs, pulling me into a deep sleep while my spirit traveled to a realm of limbo where it made contact with any other spirit present. The ghost had no choice but to communicate its unfinished business, and I had no choice but to listen.

I’d spent many years of my life playing The Good Samaritan, relaying messages to loved ones, warning people of possible threats, and leaving a few anonymous tips to the police about specific murder investigations. That’s where my run-in with witches came into play. I’d had some awful experiences in that department. Trying to help a dead witch with unfinished business was like trying to peal an onion: multiple layers with no end in sight.

All of that changed after my experience with Ian.

Though he’d been my fiancé, I’d managed to keep my supernatural abilities a secret, worried he might consider me a freak or worse, crazy.

Then his mother passed away and refused to stop summoning me until I informed Ian that she had kidnapped him from a hospital the day after his birth. She had been a nurse at the hospital and recently lost her own newborn. She gave me the names and address of his birth parents and asked me to help him find them.

I knew right from the beginning that Ian would resent me. I’m familiar with how tempting it is to shoot the messenger rather than the one who penned the message. Still, I think a desperate part of me hoped he might trust me, believe in me, considering we were engaged.

He became angry at first, refusing to visit the address given me by his mother or believe for even one second that I had actually conversed with her spirit. The things he called me, the look on his face...the way he pushed me from him and refused to ever see me again...well, I could live a thousand years and never succeed in wiping it from my memory.

Since then, I’d come to realize that my gift was just a way for others to either use me or reject me, and I wasn’t interested in experiencing either one of those scenarios ever again.

I’d quit my job at the newspaper I’d worked for and moved from Los Angeles to New York City, joining a smaller newspaper. Eventually, I created my own column of ghost busting adventures where I could use my gift to get accurate results. I then pretended my findings were all scientific through the kind of tools and technology most ghost hunters employed when detecting paranormal activity.

The column had become pretty popular with more hauntings reported to my boss every day. I found out just enough about the ghost to make the article interesting and valid to the reader and those requesting my services.

I no longer took the time to become deeply involved with the spirits I came in contact with. I didn’t care about their wants or needs or fulfilling some promise they made on their death beds. My main goal included proving or disproving claims of hauntings, writing my article and getting paid every two weeks for it. Not much of a life, I guess, but I never had to stay in one place for too long, make friends or build relationships. I worked alone, and I liked it.

I liked it.

Which was why this issue of my room being double booked with a handsome warlock left me feeling one hundred percent uncomfortable.

My progress up the stairs halted as my blood sugar levels continued to drop. I stood on the second floor landing with one hand gripping the railing and the other hand strangling the handle on my luggage. I desperately fought to hold onto consciousness as I realized that my weakened state only allowed my supernatural abilities to move in with full force.

This place was most definitely haunted. I could still feel the insistent spirit tugging on my own insubstantial form.

I took two deep breaths, opened and closed my eyes, and then let go of my suitcase to support myself with both of my hands upon the railing. I felt as wobbly as a seasick passenger on a fishing boat.

“Ms. Lavelle, are you all right? You should have waited for me. Do you need help with your suitcase?”

I cursed inwardly at Mr. Galvez’s impeccable timing. If I went down now, it would appear to him as if I merely slept until he checked my vitals. Then he would assume I’d died or was close to it. As a young child, I’d awakened in an ambulance on more than one occasion. It had taken a while for my parents and me to finally understand what was happening.

I kept my eyes closed to avoid his hypnotic gaze, not to mention the undulating floor beneath me. Dizzy. Why was I so dizzy?

“No, I’m fine. Only resting a bit.” I flitted my hand in the direction of the next flight of stairs. “Move along now. Nothing to see here.”

He made a shuffling noise and then something large hit the floor with a loud thump. A warm arm slid around my waist while another arm scooped my legs out from under me. Mr. Galvez held me, cradling me in his more than capable arms.

Startled, I threw my own arms around his neck and pried open my heavy lids. “What on earth are you doing?”

His chocolate eyes held true warmth and concern. “Carrying you, of course. It is obvious you do not feel well. Allow me to assist you to our room.”

Our room.

He said the words like nothing could be more natural.

“This is ridiculous. I’m merely dealing with low blood sugar issues. I just need to eat something, and I’ll be fine.” I hoped by explaining away my wobbliness he wouldn’t bother checking for my pulse if I actually passed out.

I tried squirming out of his vise-like grip, but his hold on me tightened, and my dizziness hit me again. I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my head against his shoulder in unwilling surrender. “Why can’t the damn place stand still like any normal bed and breakfast inn?”

His low chuckle rumbled against my ear.

“Perhaps you and I will find that this particular inn is not as normal as one might expect. Now, let’s get you to your bed, querida.”

I felt him place a soft kiss on my forehead as he started up the last flight of stairs. Exhaustion prevented me from giving this handsome foreigner a lecture on boundaries and personal space. I couldn’t help but nestle into his arms and tighten my hold on his neck as I felt myself sinking further away.