Haunt Me (5 page)

…

Exhaling, Mac shut down the laptop and pushed away from her desk. Her watch said it was a lot later in the day than she’d realized.

Oh, crap. Justin will be here in an hour…

She needed to clean up and take a shower. Bad enough he’d seen her at her worst not once, but twice—she didn’t want to make it a habit. She rolled the desk’s top closed and had made it to the door when she heard the top roll open. Frowning, she turned around and stared at the desk.
Another thing in need of repair.
She returned and pushed the lid closed, then stepped back.

A second later, the top crept up again.

Okay, so
that
was weird. Gravity meant things always fell down, not up. Justin would probably assume some internal spring or device had gone haywire. Sure, that explanation was utterly rational, but her mind had gone elsewhere—maybe the ghost wanted her to keep writing. Wanted to see where the scene went next.

“Fine, stay open,” she said, laughing.

The sudden slam of the door startled her. She turned around to see the door firmly shut, where it had been open just a moment ago. Justin had said there was a broken window in the basement, but would that cause a draft to close doors in the house?

Unease slid through her. Broken windows. Awkward springs. Doors slamming shut. She shook off the emotion, mentally noting her list of repairs was growing longer. She headed to the door, but when she grasped the handle, the door wouldn’t budge. She scowled.

Seriously?

Jiggling the handle did nothing. Tugging didn’t get her any further, either. “C’mon…” She yanked again.

Nothing.

She checked the windows, but none would open.

Panic slamming through her. Terrific. She drew in several deep breaths, working to calm herself down. Now she was trapped in the drawing room, which would be funny if it wasn’t freaking her out. She gave up on the door after several futile efforts. Muscles trembling, she went in search of her cell phone—and stopped when she realized her cell was still in the kitchen. Tired of Kevin’s text messages and calls, she’d left it on the countertop before heading in to write.

Maybe she could e-mail someone for help. After pulling Justin’s business card out of the cubby in the desk where she’d placed it after he’d given it to her, she realized he hadn’t put an e-mail addy on it, or even a website. She bit back the urge to shriek. Didn’t the man know the Internet provided a common form of communication?

Someday, she would write her experience of dealing with a haunted house into a book. The concept had an irony she would appreciate, but right now the house and its foibles were too much. Justin said he’d be by around five; would she have to wait until then to leave?

What would happen if I broke the window to get out?

Cool air whooshed around her, and the roll-top slammed shut. A fresh shiver of fear raced up her spine, and she held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, ghostie, you win. I’ll go back to work.”

Seconds later, she was seated in her chair, facing her laptop screen. Odd. She couldn’t even remember moving. And then her fingers were on the keyboard and she forgot about leaving, about being trapped, about Justin coming over, and she descended into the fog of the story.

The scene played out like a movie in her head. With her meager funds, Madeline had ordered a ball gown made. Now, well dressed and coiffed, Madeline was headed into the Duke of Worcester’s grand country manor house in the northern part of England. A party was in full swing, and due to her upbringing, Madeline found blending in with the nobles took little effort. And yet coldness gripped Madeline’s heart as she faced her practical desire to secure her future—even if it meant becoming mistress to a powerful nobleman.

So lost in Madeline’s journey through the crowd, and the profound and touching moment her gaze met the duke’s, Mac didn’t notice anything until a hand touched her shoulder.

Screaming, she wrenched around, violently jerked back to the present. She stared up at Justin’s concerned face and willed herself to breath.

He held up his hands and retreated a couple of steps. “Sorry…I called your name a couple of times but you didn’t respond. The kitchen door was unlocked. So I came in, only you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Her heart slowed its pounding. “I’m sorry I screamed.” Behind him, the once-stuck door hung wide open.

What the hell…? How did he get in and I didn’t hear him?

She caught the scent of pizza wafting through the house, and her stomach grumbled. She was starving, and hunger
so
trumped weird. Besides, she wasn’t going to tell Justin she’d been locked in her workroom by a ghost—she didn’t need Justin to think she was crazy. Or to argue with her about the ghost. But how was it he’d managed to open the door?

She cast a quick glance at the word count on her computer. Apparently, she’d written a lot of words, and maybe that had appeased the household haunt, who’d then allowed the door to open. “I guess I got caught up.”

Justin glanced at the laptop. She twisted back, then saved and closed her file. It was one thing to let him in her house, but was something else entirely to let him read what she’d written.

“You working on a new book?”

Curiosity lit his beautiful blue eyes—true blue, like the sky outside. She hadn’t noticed the bright color before. Frankly, she’d been too captivated by the hard muscles and the way he moved, not to mention his romance-novel-worthy jaw.

“Something like that.” Wiping her palms on her shorts, she grimaced at her disheveled appearance. Playing it cool, she smoothed a hand over her ponytail, hoping her hair didn’t appear as frazzled as she felt. “Thanks for coming back. Did your sister make it back to school?”

“No problem. And yes, Jock should be securely back on campus.” Beneath the impatience, affection for his sister warmed his eyes. “I’ve got the pizzas, plus I picked up beer. I would have called to see if you preferred something else, but I don’t have your number. Are you hungry?”

His deep blue cotton T-shirt set off his eyes. Dark jeans, frayed around the knees, hugged his thighs and hung low over work boots.
A knight in blue denim
. A fresh wave of shivers stormed through her—shivers that had nothing to do with fear.

“Starving, actually.”
Focus on the food
. She needed to get her mind off his body. Pizza and beer could be great distractions.

An odd tug pulled her attention back to the desk. An image of Madeline’s eyes, locking with the duke’s, sparked tension inside Mac. The urge to get back to her writing had never been more powerful.

Later…

“Thank you again for this,” she said.

The corners of Justin’s lips twitched. “If I’d known pizza was the way to your heart, I’d have brought it that first day.”

Since she deserved the tweak, she accepted it gracefully. She led the way, and once in the kitchen, Justin slipped around her and flipped open the two huge pizza boxes that sat on the counter.

Mac moaned, and her face heated at the interest that swept over Justin’s expression. “Sorry. It’s just…that smells…fantastic.”
Way to recover.

“No problem. I like a woman with a healthy appetite.” His mouth curved into a pulse-pounding grin. “How do you like it?”

Hard, hot, and fast.
Blinking, it took her a moment to remember to breathe again and a little longer to realize he meant the pizza. Clearing her throat, she tried to refocus her thoughts on a less sizzling subject. “Um, what are my options?”

“Meat lovers or vegetarian.” He spun the cartons around.

“I like it both ways.” Heat scalded her face for a second time and she groaned. “I mean, I like both types.”

He chuckled. “Understood. Got plates, or shall we eat commando?”

“Commando?”
Didn’t that mean without underwear?

He scooped up a slice of the meat lovers and leaned over the carton to take a big bite. She stared, captivated by the way his mouth closed over the piece and his undisguised enjoyment.
Holy hell on a cracker…

“Commando it is, then.” She leaned against the opposite counter. Steam rose from the slice she picked up, tickling her nostrils. She took a bite and promptly experienced the closest thing to an orgasm she’d felt in years. “Oh, my God,” she said, groaning around the mouthful.

Glancing up, she found Justin’s gaze riveted on her face. His pupils had expanded, the dark circles threatening to overtake the stunning blue. She swallowed and lifted her brows. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “Beer?” He went to her fridge and extracted a couple of brown bottles, then opened them and handed one to her.

They clinked their bottles together and she took a long drink of the smooth ale. She’d always thought herself a wine drinker, but she could get used to this. “Nice.”

“Very.” He grabbed another piece of pizza. “So, you finally made it to town.”

“Yep, I needed coffee. Didn’t realize I’d meet the whirling dervish known as your sister.”

A faint grimace twisted his mouth. “How much apologizing do I have to do for Jock’s behavior today?”

Shrugging, she bit back a smile. “I thought she was sweet, except…”

“Except?” Justin prompted.

“I’m pretty sure she ran around the town telling people about me. Encouraging them to emphasize the whole Summerfield-is-haunted thing. The baker gave me some salt to ward off evil, a mechanic gave me a horseshoe—oh, and the butcher offered me a rabbit’s foot. Don’t tell him, but I think it’s creepier that a butcher would give me a rabbit’s foot, ’cause you know…”

Justin shook his head. “Don’t let the town get to you. Jock is enthusiastic about the place, and most of the people in the town are pretty proud of the local legends—particularly the ones surrounding this house.”

She zeroed in on the key phrase in that statement. “Most of the town? Not you?”

His eyebrows rose and the fullness of his mouth thinned as he shook his head. “No. Ghost stories are what we tell around the fire. I live in the real world. ”

“So…slamming doors? Creaking noises? They’re…what?”

“Old houses make noise. The foundations were set on this place well over a hundred and fifty years ago. The land settles, wood creaks. You’ll get animals, sometimes you get plant growth. Even electricity has a hum to it if it’s particularly quiet outside. Most of what people attribute to hauntings are easily explained if you know what you’re looking for.” He picked up another piece of pizza. “The closer we get to autumn, the more prevalent the haunted stories become. It’s a seasonal thing—and in some areas, it’s a local color thing.”

“Like the Most Haunted Town in Virginia?” She hadn’t missed some of the signs in the windows, and while Andie hadn’t said anything at the bookstore, the display she’d pulled all the books from included the caveat about Penny Hollow.

Justin winced. “Our town-rebranding project.”

“Which is why you want Summerfield.” It wasn’t a question.

“Wanting isn’t the same as having.” He leaned against the counter, the easy charm in his smile captivating. “I want the house—I’m not going to pretend otherwise. The town needs it for their project, but it’s your home now. Maybe you’ll let us bring tours by, or open it up when you’re ready. I thought your aunt had agreed to sell it to us—my mistake.”

“Well, I had no idea she was leaving it to me, so we’re both surprised.” She still didn’t entirely understand why Katherine Summerfield had done so. Mac had met her exactly once—when she was seven years old, during her only visit to Summerfield. “And I get it—you had plans for the place. I’m sorry those fell through. But I’m not really looking to have a lot of people in and out while I’m on deadlines. It would drive me crazy.” And that was putting it politely.

“Fair enough,” he said, but the twinkle in his eyes belied the concession in his words. “But I think if you spent some time getting to know us, you’d change your mind.”

“Not going to happen. I
like
this place. I like what I’ve been doing here. Hell, I’ve written more in the last week than I have in months. And I have so much to do.”
I’m alive here…and why am I telling him all this?

“I’d like to help you out. Clean up the garden, check the windows and doors—make some repairs. Fix the place up, beyond just the neighborly help in repairing your broken window.”

The generosity in the offer surprised her. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to ask; I’m offering.” He held up his hand when she would have protested again. “You and I? We got off on the wrong foot. Let me make it up to you. Besides, this is Penny Hollow. You’re Katherine Summerfield’s great-niece, and you live here now. We take care of our own. You can focus on your book and that deadline of yours while I focus on getting the place back into shape.”

The very idea that she wanted to take him up on the offer worried her.
Kevin had stomped on her hard enough to leave fossilized footprints on her soul. Everyone around her had seen how he’d used her, how that use had turned to abuse, but she’d shoved all the warnings away in the name of love. Like Justin, Kevin had come across as heroic…in the beginning. Trusting another man wasn’t something she wanted to let herself do. “You’re a little too good to be true.”

“How so?”

“We don’t really know each other and yes, okay, you made an offer to the buy the house and I was a real bitch about it. But why help me?” Maybe it was a bit cynical, but people rarely did something for nothing.

“Maybe because I want to? And maybe I don’t want to be a stranger. If I help you out, you can get to know me and then you will no longer think of me as that guy who offered to buy your house. I’ll be Justin. Your friend.”

The directness in his response made it that much more believable, and she hesitated, about to respond.

“But you realize,” Justin added, cutting off her response before she could speak, “no one’s really a stranger in a small town if they don’t want to be.”