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that’s the reason.”
    “I don’t think the inn would appreciate that,” Jeremy said as he steered me toward the parking lot.
    “Then you’d be dead wrong, my friend. Pun intended. Being haunted is a marketing bonus with places like this. People love to stay in a haunted house. The trick is that you can only have a room or two with ghosts, so guests have the option.” He paused. “Which room were you in?”
    “My room was not—”
    “Of course it wasn’t. But imagine the publicity. Oh! Hold on. We need to film you guys leaving. We’ll use digital. Make it seem very spur-of-the moment. You’re freaked out and fleeing—”
    “Michael?” Jeremy said.
    It may have been the use of his full name that stopped Mike mid-spiel, but I think it was the tone. It wasn’t loud or angry. But it’s a tone that’s been known to stop Clay mid-temper tantrum. It worked for Mike.
    “I know this seems like a wonderful opportunity,” Jeremy said. “But are you certain it wouldn’t actually detract from the feature? If Jaime flees from an inn twenty miles from the set location, it’s clearly unrelated, and I would think it’s only going to dilute her reactions at the real house.”
    Mike paused. “You have a point. How do I explain you leaving, though?”
    “Don’t explain it,” Jeremy said. “There’s nothing wrong with a little mystery, particularly if you make it very clear that the inn did nothing to make her leave. Let people draw their own inferences.”
    “Ah, that’s a good idea…”
    “We’ll see you on set then.”
    Jeremy left Mike standing there, thinking it through, and ushered me to his SUV.
     
    …
     
    We walked down the corridor to our new hotel room. I turned to say something to Jeremy and for a second, I forgot what. I just stared at him, that moment of “hot damn” that never seems to go away. I remember when we first got together, thinking, “Well, at least now I won’t be gaping at him like a love-struck teen.” Nope. Still was. Maybe always will be.
     
    Jeremy was fifteen years older than me. With a werewolf’s slow aging, he doesn’t look it. Not that it matters. I think when he’s ninety, I’ll still be thinking “hot damn.” He’s good-looking, of course, not cover model material—thank God, had enough of those—but with the kind of face that catches your attention and holds it. Arresting. Dark eyes, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, sharp chin. A face more fox than wolf, which isn’t surprising. He’s also a kitsunegari, meaning he has Japanese kitsune—fox spirit—blood.
    “Not exactly what you’re accustomed to,” Jeremy said, gesturing down the motel hall.
    “I’ll live,” I said. “Amityville isn’t exactly booming with five-star hotels.”
    We’d ended up in a Best Western or Days Inn or something like that. I hadn’t paid much attention. We’d driven past a few mid-range chains before I chose one that seemed a little less rundown than its brethren.
    “There was the Hollywood Motel in Farmingdale,” I said. “Though it would have been a tough call, deciding between the Cheetah room and the Arabian room.”
    “Arabian,” Jeremy said as he unlocked our door. “I’m not keen on cats.”
    I laughed and let him usher me in. “Well, the website did mention an exotic dancer room, too. Complete with stripper pole.”
    He paused in the open doorway. “Stripper pole?”
    “And stage.”
    “How far did you say Farmingdale was?”
    “Not far, but I think we’d better pretend it is. Considering I am officially in town…”
    “ Jaime Vegas Checks into Stripper Room with Lover isn’t quite the headline you’re looking for?”
    “No, sorry. Especially since, by the time it got through the rumor mill, I’d have checked in with three guys, all half my age, and invited the rest of the motel to watch the show.”
    “Ah, well…” He pushed our bags aside and pulled me into the room. “I would defend your honor. In fact, I would go so far as to provide