The Fire and the Earth: Glenncailty Castle, Book 2 (27 page)

Once in a while, though, it’s safe to pretend. And that’s what she’s doing when she plays her harp on the empty stage in the castle’s theater.
 

When American folk musician Tim Wilcox spots the mysterious woman at the front of the theater, he’s enraptured. Not only by her virtuoso skill and ethereal voice, but by her dark beauty—and the shadows in her blue eyes when she insists she’s no musician.

Wary of repeating the mistakes of her past, Caera tells herself she can indulge in the pleasure of Tim’s company, his touch, without risking her heart. But she hadn’t counted on Tim’s determination to convince her she’s worthy of her gifts. Or on lingering souls who live in the castle, who are growing restless, ready to warn her that deadly mistakes are not meant to be repeated…

Warning: This book contains a variety of unpronounceable Irish words and names, a hero who believes in love and a haunted castle. What could go wrong?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Harp and the Fiddle:

As he stood in the soaking rain, he decided his day officially couldn’t get any weirder. It had started yesterday in JFK airport. Since then he’d traveled, he’d talked, he’d played beautiful music with a beautiful woman who disappeared the moment his back was turned. He’d followed an unknown feeling into an unused part of a castle, only to find a foreboding bricked over doorway that seeped cold air and activated his fight-or-flight response.
 

And now he was chasing a dark-haired angel into the rain.

Yep, it couldn’t get any weirder.

“Caera, wait!”

The exterior lights of the castle didn’t illuminate more than a few feet of the wet ground. In her dark sweater she was nearly invisible, but Tim heard the crunch of her feet on stone. He had no idea where he was. She’d gone out the rear door of the pub, exiting into what he assumed were the gardens at the back of the castle.
 

Squinting at the ground, he could make out the texture of the crushed stone path and carefully followed it as it curved.

“It’s raining, you should go inside.”

Tim jumped. “Holy crap! You surprised me.”

Her voice had come from his right, off the path. He took a tentative step that direction. The rain pounding down on his shoulders and skull was gone, replaced by the occasional fat drop. He stretched a hand up, touched a leaf of the tree they stood under.

“‘Holy crap’? That’s quite a thing to say.” Her soft lilt seemed right for the dark, rainy night.

“I’ve had quite the day.”

“Oh?”

“I think I encountered a ghost in your castle.”

“You went to the west wing?”
 

“So it
is
a ghost. I thought maybe Sorcha was playing for atmosphere or something. Do you all know about the cold, the ghost?”

“You don’t live for years at Glenncailty without an encounter at the walled room.”

“Is Ireland really like this, all mysterious women and old haunted castles?”

“Mysterious women?”

As they spoke, Tim had been inching his way towards her, using her voice to guide him. Her breathy question came from directly in front of him, so close he thought he could feel the words, cold on the wet skin of his neck.

“Yes, I met a beautiful woman playing a harp, but when I turned around she was gone.”

“I had work to do.”

“You didn’t introduce yourself.”

The swish of wind and rain cocooned them, filling the space between his comment and her eventual reply.

“There was no reason for me to be playing. I didn’t know how to introduce myself after you’d caught me where I shouldn’t be.” Her sigh was loud enough to be heard over the rain. “With a hotel full of fine musicians, I had no place on that stage.”

Tim laughed. He couldn’t help it. He threw back his head as the mirth rumbled out of him. “You’re kidding, right? You’re genius on the harp. I’ve never heard anyone jam on a harp before today, and you’re saying you don’t think you’re good enough? That’s just nuts. Plus, you sing like an angel. You had the whole bar eating out of your hand. It was magical.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” Caera’s words cracked like a whip, catching Tim by surprise.
 

“What? Why?” Had no one ever told her how musically gifted she was? It seemed impossible that she wouldn’t know how special she was. A person could have all the technical musical skill in the world, but if they didn’t have that certain presence, that real understanding of what music was, the technical skill kept them stuck in a studio. Caera belonged in front of an audience.

“Don’t say things like that,” she demanded, her tone both angry and almost…afraid.

Her anger sparked his. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s the truth.”

“I don’t play for anyone but myself; it doesn’t matter if I’m good.”

“Of course it does. You should be playing and singing with us tomorrow night, not selling the tickets.”

“Stop.”

Her hand pressed against his chest, as if to push him away. Tim caught her wrist, holding her palm flat against him. When his fingers touched her bare skin, awareness sparked to life between them.
 

He searched for and found her waist with his free hand and drew her forward. Now he could see her, just the outline of her body—dark against the gray shadows. Her sweater was damp and heavy under his hand, making him aware of how wet and cold he was.
 

She drew in a breath, one of those soft girl sounds. Tim tightened his hand on her hip. Her frustrating denial of her music was forgotten under the pressing need to kiss her.
 

“Was that your boyfriend you ate dinner with?” Tim’s voice was husky. The rain felt like shield, protecting them from the night, from other people, from reality.

“Rory? No, he works with me.”

“Good.” Tim drew her captured hand up to his face. Her fingers brushed his cheek as they curled into her palm, her hand fisting to avoid contact.

“Why?”
 

In reply, Tim kissed her closed fingers. They were cold, wet against his lips. Under the warmth of his kiss, they opened, her hand cupping his cheek.

“May I kiss you, Caera Cassidy?”
 

Tim had never asked a woman if he could kiss her. He’d always just gone in for the kiss or been the kissee, but in the dark, rain-filled Irish night, it felt right to ask this woman who seemed as wild and untamed as the rain itself.

“If I say no?” Her fingertips pressed into his cheek, her body swayed forward into his, their hips pressed together.

Tim cupped the back of her head with both hands and kissed her.

Breaking up is hard to survive.

Ruby’s Ghost

© 2013 Shona Husk

One moment, Tate Cooper is giving his ex-girlfriend a lift home on his motorcycle. The next, his soul is suspended between life and death, wandering in confusion between the accident scene and the house he grew up in.

Except it’s not his home anymore. In his old bedroom sleeps a beautiful young woman, the only person who can see him. And the only person who can keep him from succumbing to the temptation to escape the horrific pain awaiting him in his mortal body.

Eloise Jones should be studying for her college exams, but it’s tough to stay focused when a lost soul keeps appearing in her room. She figures it must have something to do with sirens she heard screaming in the night, but she’s helpless to assist—and helpless to resist.

As Eloise tries to help Tate unravel the tangled facts surrounding the accident, longing and desire grow into an almost tangible bond between them. But then a second spirit appears, one with a darker intent that could separate them before love draws its first breath…

Warning: Contains a vengeful ex and a romance that crosses the boundary between life and death.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Ruby’s Ghost:

“I should be studying. I’ve got finals next week.”

Shelby rested her head on Eloise’s leg. No doubt there’d be a drool patch when she got up—nice—but Eloise didn’t push her away. Instead her hand patted the dog’s broad black head. The dog was warm and real, unlike Tate or the shadow in the house. “I’m sure the college has a sick policy.”

He shook his head, his blond hair hanging over his forehead as he looked at the ground. “It’s not just that. If I don’t get back, I won’t wake up. If I don’t wake up…”

He didn’t need to say his life would be over. They both knew that.

“We’ll work something out. I know where your body is now, so that’s a bonus.” She forced a smile.

Tate looked at her, his lips pressed together in a thin line, obviously not believing her platitudes. “If I die, I don’t want to linger around.”

“I understand.” It wasn’t like she had any claim on him.

“No you don’t.” He turned to face her. “I have no control over anything that’s happening. I might live, I might die, I might never wake up and be stuck like this forever, I might wake up and have no memory of ever meeting you.” He went to put his hand on her leg but it passed through her, like a cool breeze against bare skin. “I can’t do anything.”

He went to stand.

“Tate, just sit with me. Slow down. When I was stuck in hospital I used it as a chance to work out what I wanted. Sure I was thirteen, but I knew I didn’t want a boring job like my dad.” She looked at Tate. “He’s an accountant. I wanted to work with animals. I’m first-year science because I took a year off to travel—that was the other thing I wanted. I wanted to see the castles in Europe. I wanted to eat pizza in Italy.”

“You made a to-do list at thirteen?”

“I was in bed for six months with broken legs and a broken pelvis. What else was I going to do but imagine all the things I was going to do when I could walk again?”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face. “I hadn’t even thought about rehab.”

“That wasn’t my point.” She took a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee. “You’re awake when you should be asleep, you have a chance to think things through so that when you do wake up you have a plan. You’re in bonus time.”

“Bonus time?”

“Mmm.” She nodded, warming to the idea as she tried to find a positive from all this for him. “You can do whatever you want, plan your to-do list, walk through every house between here and there. Hell, study if you really want.”

“I can’t turn the pages on my books or even turn on a computer.”

“I’ll help.”

He glanced at her and smiled. His blue eyes were so bright with life she wanted to really see him smiling, not just his spirit. She ran her tongue over her lip and his gaze lowered, tracking the motion.

 
“And if I wanted to kiss you?” His voice lowered, and she was sure her pulse quickened in response.

While she wanted to say,
sure, kiss me
, he’d only just broken up with Ruby and he wasn’t really here. She had to remember that. He could wake up and she’d never see him again. And she did want to see him, in the flesh. “I’d say you’re rebounding.”

“You make me remember what it’s like to be alive.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I can feel it, something more than the dull echo of pain. Maybe a kiss will make me wake up.” He moved closer.

Her heart hammered in her chest; he must be able to hear it. It was rebound and the need to feel alive, that was all, but who was she to deny him the chance to get back to his body? And if it worked? She’d go and see him and find out if he did remember her.

“One kiss, just to see if it will help.”

His fingers went to brush a strand of hair off her face, but she couldn’t feel his touch, only the gentle brush of air. “Scientific research…you’ve never kissed a ghost before.”

“Never.” What would it be like to be kissed by a ghost? She leaned forward slightly, as if he were drawing her closer.

He traced her jaw, leaving a chill in his wake, and a shiver traced down her spine. “What do you feel?”

She swallowed. “Not nothing, but it’s hard to describe, like a feather sweeping over my skin, or a cool breeze on a hot night. You?”

“Warmth. When I’m near you I don’t feel so cold, the ache in my head and shoulder lessens and I feel more like me and less like something that might disintegrate in a strong wind.”

“I won’t let you disintegrate,” she whispered. Then his lips met hers in a kiss that was so light she could have imagined the contact.

A gust of icy air swept around the back of her neck and slapped her cheek. Eloise dropped the cup. It smashed on the concrete steps, the remains of her coffee splashing up her pants. Shelby jumped up and barked, a growl rumbling in the dog’s throat as if she could sense a threat that couldn’t be seen.

“I’m sorry.” She started picking up bits of china. Any excuse not to look at him. What was she doing? He was dying and his recently ex-girlfriend was dead. Wrong. So very wrong. The hair on her neck prickled again, but as before she saw no one. But something was there, a cold shadow that radiated anger, and it made her stomach scrunch up and wrap around her spine.