The Ghost Hunter by Lori Brighton
“Did ye find anything of interest?” Rose asked from her wicker chair under the old oak. How long had she been there? She didn’t look up at Ashley, just held a bowl in which she ground some sort of herbs with a wooden stick.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ashley demanded. “You knew who I was, didn’t you?”
“Of course I ken ye. I’m not daft, just auld.”
“Then why didn’t you mention my father? Why didn’t you tell me he was here?” She held up the picture.
The old bat frowned. “Searching ma things, too? Fer shame.” She waved her forward with a gnarled hand. “Coome on then.”
Ashley paused only a moment to regain control of her anger. She wouldn’t feel bad; she had a right to know. Taking in a deep breath, she settled in the whicker chair next to Rose. “He was here.”
She nodded. “Aye, I thought ye knew.”
She looked at the photo, her heart breaking as her anger faded. “I did.”
“Woot’s the problem then?”
She looked up at Rose. Did she really not understand? “My problem is that I don’t know what happened to him. Why the hell he came here in the first place.”
Rose continued to grind that powder in her stone bowl as if their conversation was of little interest to her. Well, maybe it was, but to Ashley it was important, very important and she wasn’t leaving until she got answers.
“He came tae visit his sister, ah suppose.”
Such a simple answer, but she knew there was more and she didn’t doubt that Rose knew as well. “What happened to him?”
She shrugged those hunched shoulders and looked at her. “I donae ken.”
Ashley shook her head in disbelief. “You don’t know?”
She shrugged again, then shook her head, but she wasn’t looking at Ashley, just grinding those brown herbs into a fine powder. She knew more than she was letting on, but for some reason the old bat was keeping silent.
“Is there anything you can tell me?”
“Depends on what ye want to ken.”
Were all the people in this damn town insane? Could no one give her a straight answer?
“My house,” Ashley blurted out.
Rose scratched her chin, looking as confused as Ashley felt. “The pub? Aye, what aboot it?”
“How old is it?”
“Not rightly sure. Been around fer centuries. The top half is as auld as Queen Victoria.” She leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. “Boot the bottom…well rumor has its aulder than time.”
“Time?” Yeah, like that was going to help. She was so tired of these odd replies that only brought up more questions. It was like having a conversation with the Mad Hatter.
“They say yer hamme was built on a church, an ancient temple.”
That shocked her all right. “A church? Someone could have told me that.” She couldn’t say why, exactly, it bothered her, but she had the insane impulse to behave better. How many times had she prayed, begged, God to help her? He’d never responded. Then there’d been the priest who had visited the hospital. She shivered just thinking about the man who liked to give her ice baths to “cure” her.
Ashley stood and started pacing the garden. “A church.” The stone floor and stone walls certainly looked medieval, at least.
Mad Rose shrugged. “So they say. Could just be a rumor.”
Ashley brushed aside an annoying fly that seemed intent on swarming her head. “Isn’t that sort of sacrilegious? Putting a pub atop a church?”
Rose had this strange twinkle in her eye as if she found her question amusing. “Aye, boot who would think tae look there?”
Ashley sighed. “So, you’re saying whoever built the church wanted to hide it?”
Rose shrugged and set her bowl upon the ground. “Don’t know. Perhaps.” She rested her hands on the armrests of her chair and heaved herself to her feet. “As stimulating as this conversation has been, I’m awf tae the garden.”
Ashley watched her waddle away, the woman’s long blue housecoat wavering back and forth like a bell. Why would they want to hide a church? Unless, they didn’t want something uncovered. But what?
Bemused, she started through the gate, barely aware of where she was headed. Was something hiding in her house? The thought sent her heart racing. Even as she thought the words, she knew them to be true. The rumble, the supposed evil. But how could evil be hidden inside a church? Would God allow that?
Time to break out the Bible.
She found the path and started for home. Rose’s photo burned in her hand, demanding attention. What had happened to her Dad and did it have anything to do with that damn pub? A shiver of part unease, part awe raked her skin. This was so much bigger than her…so much bigger than anything she’d ever known.
She crested the hill and her pub came into view, erupting from the sweet, green earth. Her feet couldn’t seem to move. It was no longer just a pub, just a crumbling building she was in charge of rebuilding. Now, it represented so much more. Although, what…she wasn’t sure.
Taking in a deep, trembling breath, she started downhill. When she slipped between the yews that surrounded her property, she spotted the familiar silver motorcycle.
“Son of a bitch,” she whispered. What the hell was he doing here?
She shoved the photo into her back pocket. He better have a very, very good reason for being on her property. She stumbled when she saw her front door cracked open. Surely he wouldn’t just go into her home? She picked her way around the clumps of weeds to her front door. How dare he! She jerked open the front door, preparing to find the bastard and kick him out for good. Her hands curled, irritation propelling into madness. She’d never met anyone so arrogant…so incredibly self centered…so…so…
The sound of carefree whistling assaulted her ears, raking over her skin like fingernails on a chalkboard. She swore he knew she was here and was doing it on purpose. Cristian appeared at the top of the steps looking ridiculously gorgeous in a tight black t-shirt and jeans.
“What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Here?” She snapped out each word slowly, partly to regain control over her temper and partly so he’d understand just how incredibly angry she was.
Seeing her, he smiled and practically skipped down the steps. “Hullo, love.”
Okay, apparently, he didn’t get the fact that she was irate. Her fingers tightened slowly, one by one into fists and for once her anger superseded her attraction toward the man. “I asked you a question.”
He paused in the middle of the steps, his hand resting on the railing in a nonchalant manner. “Why, moving in. I do believe my secretary contacted ye and ye seemed quite fine with the idea.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He sighed, as if exasperated. “Three days ago. My secretary called, said I needed a room to rent.”
“You…you…” She was so frustrated she could barely get the words out. “You lied to me!”
He frowned and shook his head. “No, no, I’m quite sure I didn’t.”
She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “Well, tricked me! Deliberately.”
He was silent for a moment, watching her like he was trying to unravel a mystery. “Are ye sure ye aren’t merely angry because you’re attracted to me? Are ye worried we might…ye know.”
Heat shot straight to her cheeks because deep down she knew exactly what he was implying. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He shrugged, blinking those ridiculously thick eyelashes at her. “Well, it’s obvious. I’ve caught ye looking at my arse more than once.”
She gasped. The nerve!
He quirked a brow and made his way to the ground floor, stopping only feet from her. Close, too close he towered over her. Her mind fogged with his nearness, with his earthy scent. “I’m just saying, it’s all right to look, as long as ye don’t touch.”
She shook her head, trying to regain control of her senses. How dare he even think it! “Of cour
He sighed. “Nope, my parents were married in the church, actually.” He started past her and out the door.
Shocked and more than confused, she just stood there. So that was it? He was going to leave? Her eyes narrowed. Ha. She doubted it. She stomped onto the front stoop and sure enough Cristian was coming her way with a backpack in hand. A large backpack. Dear God, how long had he planned on staying?
Resisting the urge to slam the door in his face, she latched onto his bicep to stop his progress…a very large, muscled bicep. “I want you to leave now. Get your things, and leave.”
“Really?” He frowned, as if he was surprised by her declaration, surprised by her anger.
The man was completely stupid, or more like pretending to be stupid. This time she did stomp her foot. “Yes, really!”
He shook his head as if disappointed in her response. “I’d think there’d be more love fer someone who’d saved yer life.”
“Saved my life?” She sputtered in a most unattractive way, yet couldn’t seem to stop herself. “When exactly did that happen?”
He shrugged, a dark lock of hair falling jauntily across his forehead. She wanted to rip out his perfect hair. “Well, on the stairs in the basement. Ye practically fell down the steps and would have certainly broken yer neck.”
She shoved her finger into his hard chest. “Let’s make three things very clear. One, you are not welcome here…ever. Two, you did not save my life. Three, I am not in the least attracted to you!”
He sighed. “Really? Because even a daftie could see that ye want me.”
She gasped so hard she stumbled back, using the banister as a buffer between the two of them. “Well, according to you I’m daft and I don’t see it!”
He dropped his backpack to the floor. Lord, he was tall and seemed even taller here, in her foyer. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, a predatorial smirk that sent her heart racing. She was aware, very much aware, that they were alone.
“Really? Ye feel no attraction toward me whatsoever?”
He started around the banister and her unease flared.
Ashley backed up, hit a step and fell to her ass, sitting on the staircase. “None whatsoever.”
He laughed, a deep, low chuckle that sent an unwelcome heat through her veins. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and the fact that he was stalking her didn’t help her anxiety. “I want to talk. I want answers, Cristian.”
“What kind of answers?” He reached the bottom of the steps.
“Like…like…” Crap, having him so near, she couldn’t even think straight.
He leaned forward.
Answers. She wanted answers….answers to what? Like how the hell his eyes could be such an intense gray? She shook her head. No, not that answer. But maybe she wanted to know how his body could be so hard, strong, yet at the same time gentle…
“Well?”
She jerked her eyes from his chest to his face. “Well what?”
He smiled and moved up a step so he loomed over her, only feet from her body…
And then he leaned down, placing a palm on the steps, on each side of her hips, trapping her. He was only inches away…so close his breath was a warm caress across her face. Ashley leaned back, the edge of the stair biting into her back.
“What answers, Ashley?” His accent was like warm honey.
She stared at his lips and couldn’t seem to think of anything other than how his mouth tasted. “I…I…”
He leaned closer, resting his weight on his arms. She could feel every muscle, every hard bulge. His weight should have been overwhelming. His chest crushed her breasts, and his thick, muscled thighs pressed to her legs. Dear God, his mouth rested against the side of her face, the scruff on his cheeks erotically rubbing her sensitive skin. “What do ye wonder? How I taste?”
Her lips quivered as she tried to force her mouth to deny the accusation. But then he pressed his lips to her neck and shivers raced over her skin…her reluctance forgotten. Her eyes closed of their own accord and she sank back, trapped awkwardly between the steps and the man.
“Or perhaps ye wonder how it would feel if I tasted ye?” His lips pressed to her jaw line, a soft whisper of a kiss.
Yes! Yes, she’d definitely wondered that. He moved upward, his lips hovering over hers, his breath fanning across her mouth. If she just tilted her head ever so slightly, their lips would touch. The temptation was almost unbearable.
“It would be good, Ashley, vera, vera good.”
Drawn by a need she couldn’t understand, she started to lift up into him, but suddenly he was gone, pushing back and out of reach. Confused, Ashley felt as if she’d just been thrown into a vat of ice water.
His face was passive as he picked up his backpack, but she didn’t miss the sparkle in his eyes…amusement. “Nay, of course ye don’t wonder about that.” He started up the stairs, stepping around her. “Because yer not attracted to me.”
Ashley stumbled to her feet, clutching the railing for support, ignoring the odd sense of disappointment she felt. “Nice try. But no way in hell I’m living with you.” Her voice came out much more breathless than she’d intended.
He paused at the landing above. “Hmm. It’s too bad we had an agreement.”
“What?” Why did she have a bad feeling about this? “What agreement?”
He leaned his forearms on the railing and gazed down at her. “In Britain we have something called an agreement by parol, or word of mouth. If ye go back on that, well, it not only wouldn’t be good for business, but I might be forced to sue ye. I have, after all, no where else to stay.” He started down the hall, toward the area where her bedroom was located.
She had no idea if what he said was true, but was she willing to risk it at this point? “You wouldn’t!”
He paused and turned to look at her. “Want to test me?”
His gaze had turned steely with determination. The bitter taste of unease coated her mouth. She didn’t say a word because she knew without a doubt he was serious. He continued down the hall and as much as she wanted to, she didn’t stop him.
Ashley leaned against the railing. Cristian wanted to be in this house and he would do whatever it took to be here. She didn’t believe for a second he wanted to buy the place and turn it into a working pub. So why then, was Cristian so persistent in staying? One thing was certain, she sure as hell wasn’t going to rest until she uncovered the truth about the man. Perhaps having him here would be a blessing in disguise.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But the person who had come up with that saying had never met Cristian Lucius.
Chapter 9
Around her, the house settled still and silent.
For once, Ashley welcomed the solitude because it meant Cristian slept and she could be alone with her thoughts. Slumber eluded her. How could she possibly relax with Cristian right next door?
Slowly, she pushed the sheet to a pile at the end of her bed, the soft material rubbing erotically over her legs. Then even more slowly, she settled her feet on the floor and stood. The bed creaked and she grimaced. If he heard her, she had no doubt he’d come to investigate and she didn’t need him poking his nose where it didn’t belong. She needed answers and she couldn’t find them with Cristian hovering over her.
She nudged open the bedroom door and peeked into the dark hall. No signs of life. Holding her breath, she tiptoed past Cristian’s room and naturally her thoughts went to the man. Was he sleeping? What’d he look like when he slept? What’d he wear to bed, if anything?
An image flashed to mind…Cristian with rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, no clothes… No, she wouldn’t think that.
She rolled her eyes over her own juvenile lusty thoughts and continued down the hall. The basement, what she had seen of it, had only contained empty crates. Maybe there’d be something in the attic? Aunt Clare was a pack rat; surely she had something hidden away that could aid her in he
Voices rolled down the attic steps in hushed whispers. She hesitated, recognizing those accents. So, this was where her ghostly dwellers were hiding. Steeling her resolve, she started up the steps, the floorboards creaking. The large attic was lit in an eerie blue glow, their glow. From the far corner of the room, their shapes emerged. The three adult ghosts from the kitchen sat huddled on boxes.
Rachel, the maid, was the first to spot Ashley. The ghost still wore her long black dress and white apron, her pinched face looking even more pinched than the first time Ashley had seen her. The two men, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, were less quick to sense Ashley’s presence. Of course, she wasn’t lucky enough to come across the hot ghost, Devon. Where was he, anyway?
“We know you can see us,” Rachel said.
Ashley looked away, feigning disinterest even as her heart raced in her chest. “Yeah, so?”
She’d done it. She’d started communicating with spirits once again. Her old psychologist would’ve said she’d taken one step forward and thirteen steps back. Never mind, she wouldn’t think about her past.
“So why the pretense?” The man wearing a long brown coat surged to his feet. He tilted his chin high while puffing on a pipe that looked the better side of two hundred. The other man just stood there stroking his long, black mustache.
She looked directly at them. “Because maybe I didn’t feel like being annoyed.”
“Ha,” Rachel huffed as she crossed her arms over her flat chest. “As if we’d bother wit the likes of ye.”
Ashley shook her head. “Whatever. Why aren’t you with Maggie? She shouldn’t be alone. She’s just a child.”
Rachel snickered. “She’s a ‘undred years auld an’ a spirit, love, ‘he can ‘andle ‘erself.”
Ashley snorted, disgusted. “Of course, just what I’d expect a ghost to say.”