escape.
“No!” She looked frantically around the kitchen, backing up until she was in a corner. She held the candlestick out in front of her, as if it could protect her against the invisible foe that had just shredded Marshal like paper.
“Please, let me out,” she whimpered, hating the desperate begging coming out of her mouth. “I’ll go. I’ll leave like you asked. I’ll never come back. Please.”
A kitchen chair scraped against the tile. She was beginning to hate that sound. Anna could feel the pain tighten her chest as she gasped for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. She slid to the floor, her legs unwilling to support her anymore. And then she fainted. Exactly like dumb horror movie chick .
Chapter Four
Anna woke disoriented. She was tucked into her bed in that strange, mummified way mothers do with children. Beatrice clearly had some issues. Anna wriggled her arms out from underneath the covers. The room was dark except for the numbers on the alarm clock that read 2:15, and a tiny wisp of light filtering under the crack of the bathroom door.
She lifted the blankets and ran her hands over the smooth material against her skin. It was the satin chemise she’d worn under her sun dress. The dress had been too sheer by itself. Anna noted her bra was absent and decided she wasn’t going to think about that for the moment.
Her back hurt like hell, triggering memories from before she’d passed out. She could feel bandages covering the small wounds and didn’t know what to make of it.
As she lowered the bedspread, the bathroom light went out, casting the room in the eerie glow reserved for scary movies and bad dreams. Her throat began to constrict as she scooted against the headboard. Before she could gather the courage to speak, the floor lamp across the room snapped on.
Instead of Beatrice, it was about the best looking man Anna had ever laid eyes on––airbrushed magazine spreads notwithstanding. Dark hair fell around his face, framing an olive complexion and cold, bright green eyes that appeared to burn with a light of their own.
They seemed to pull her in, hypnotize her. They were eyes that had known violence. Whether as the victim or the perpetrator, it was too hard to tell, but she suspected the latter.
His lips were as full as any man’s had a right to be, and Anna had to stop herself from imagining nibbling on his lower lip. He had the kind of cheekbones sculptors spent a lifetime learning to chisel into stone. Rather than sitting in the chair, he seemed to drape. Casually. Sinfully.
Shirtlessly.
She closed her eyes and raised a hand to her head, feeling for bumps. After what she’d just experienced the last thing that seemed normal was lusting after a hot stranger in her bedroom. Maybe she was dreaming again.
The next words to fly from her mouth were so stupid she would later blame a mild concussion. “You should know this house is haunted, and the last guy who tried anything got beaten bloody for his trouble. So you should ask yourself if it’s worth losing your good looks over.”
His deep, familiar chuckle slid into her, too fluid to be human. Anna vaulted out of the bed, taking the sheets with her, wrapping them around her frame as she went.
“I’ve seen it all,” he said waving a hand away as if he could never be moved by such banal things as nudity.
Not while I was conscious , Anna thought. She backed farther away as he stood and advanced on her. “Um . . . so Beatrice isn’t here?” Diversionary tactics weren’t her strong suit.
There never was a Beatrice. It was him. Her throat tightened again as that thought slammed fully into her brain. She tried to shut out the memories of all the times she’d been a little too naked in the house, either ignoring the ghost or thinking it was a woman.
A slow smile spread over his face. “I’m the thing that killed her.” Fear pulsed through her at his words, and he seemed to savor it like wine. “Beatrice went to Heaven
“No!” She looked frantically around the kitchen, backing up until she was in a corner. She held the candlestick out in front of her, as if it could protect her against the invisible foe that had just shredded Marshal like paper.
“Please, let me out,” she whimpered, hating the desperate begging coming out of her mouth. “I’ll go. I’ll leave like you asked. I’ll never come back. Please.”
A kitchen chair scraped against the tile. She was beginning to hate that sound. Anna could feel the pain tighten her chest as she gasped for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks. She slid to the floor, her legs unwilling to support her anymore. And then she fainted. Exactly like dumb horror movie chick .
Chapter Four
Anna woke disoriented. She was tucked into her bed in that strange, mummified way mothers do with children. Beatrice clearly had some issues. Anna wriggled her arms out from underneath the covers. The room was dark except for the numbers on the alarm clock that read 2:15, and a tiny wisp of light filtering under the crack of the bathroom door.
She lifted the blankets and ran her hands over the smooth material against her skin. It was the satin chemise she’d worn under her sun dress. The dress had been too sheer by itself. Anna noted her bra was absent and decided she wasn’t going to think about that for the moment.
Her back hurt like hell, triggering memories from before she’d passed out. She could feel bandages covering the small wounds and didn’t know what to make of it.
As she lowered the bedspread, the bathroom light went out, casting the room in the eerie glow reserved for scary movies and bad dreams. Her throat began to constrict as she scooted against the headboard. Before she could gather the courage to speak, the floor lamp across the room snapped on.
Instead of Beatrice, it was about the best looking man Anna had ever laid eyes on––airbrushed magazine spreads notwithstanding. Dark hair fell around his face, framing an olive complexion and cold, bright green eyes that appeared to burn with a light of their own.
They seemed to pull her in, hypnotize her. They were eyes that had known violence. Whether as the victim or the perpetrator, it was too hard to tell, but she suspected the latter.
His lips were as full as any man’s had a right to be, and Anna had to stop herself from imagining nibbling on his lower lip. He had the kind of cheekbones sculptors spent a lifetime learning to chisel into stone. Rather than sitting in the chair, he seemed to drape. Casually. Sinfully.
Shirtlessly.
She closed her eyes and raised a hand to her head, feeling for bumps. After what she’d just experienced the last thing that seemed normal was lusting after a hot stranger in her bedroom. Maybe she was dreaming again.
The next words to fly from her mouth were so stupid she would later blame a mild concussion. “You should know this house is haunted, and the last guy who tried anything got beaten bloody for his trouble. So you should ask yourself if it’s worth losing your good looks over.”
His deep, familiar chuckle slid into her, too fluid to be human. Anna vaulted out of the bed, taking the sheets with her, wrapping them around her frame as she went.
“I’ve seen it all,” he said waving a hand away as if he could never be moved by such banal things as nudity.
Not while I was conscious , Anna thought. She backed farther away as he stood and advanced on her. “Um . . . so Beatrice isn’t here?” Diversionary tactics weren’t her strong suit.
There never was a Beatrice. It was him. Her throat tightened again as that thought slammed fully into her brain. She tried to shut out the memories of all the times she’d been a little too naked in the house, either ignoring the ghost or thinking it was a woman.
A slow smile spread over his face. “I’m the thing that killed her.” Fear pulsed through her at his words, and he seemed to savor it like wine. “Beatrice went to Heaven
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