Hot Spell. Michelle Rowen

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      He loved her with all his heart and soul. He knew he didn’t deserve her, but wanted to be with her like this always. Every time they made love was better than the last. The feel of her body clenching him as he drove into her, his hands on her breasts, his mouth swirling over the peaks of her nipples as he thrust himself into her slick heat—

      “Amanda—” she heard Jacob say from a million miles away, but she couldn’t drag herself out of the vision, her body on fire as she sank into the deep, warm pool of passion from memories that didn’t belong to her. The vision was of bodies moving together, gasps and soft moans, as Catherine and Nathan made love.

      A clock chimed. Twelve times. It was midnight.

      It was significant, that clock. Amanda tried to focus on it—a large black grandfather clock with an ivory face that stood against the wall.

      Catherine let out a soft cry, arching her back, her breasts flattening against Nathan’s hard-muscled chest as he brought her to orgasm.

      And then a blur. A flash. And they were apart. It was later, but Amanda couldn’t tell how much later. The clock was now obscured by the shape of a man. A murderously jealous husband. Words were spoken, threats and curses thrown out.

      “You’ll never touch her again.”

      There was the sharp crack of several gunshots. Catherine’s scream of pain and terror. A fight. Nathan’s furious, grief-filled gaze stilled by another shot.

      The glass on the front of the clock was shattered by a stray bullet.

      Two nude bodies were found by the police. Lovers. A suicide pact, the police decided. The husband claimed ignorance and dark grief that his slut of a wife would take up with a common servant. A nobody.

      Catherine and Nathan were bound to the house where they were murdered, but unable to see each other except for one hour a day, from eleven o’clock to midnight. When the chimes of the clock grew silent, they’d disappear from each other’s view, never able to touch each other.

      But why? Why were they still trapped there?

      Amanda let out a shaky sob as she finally came out of the vision and realized she was crying. She also realized that somebody held her tightly in his arms while seated on the floor—it was Jacob.

      “Amanda, can you hear me?” He wiped away her tears with his thumbs as he held her face gently between his hands. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine. I…I just got a little carried away there.”

      “I see that.”

      He stroked the hair that had come loose from her ponytail back from her face. His touch was electric and she took a sharp inhalation of breath. Her body still felt the aftereffects of the lust-filled vision, her skin more sensitive than normal. Hot to the touch. She braced her hands against his firm chest to try to push him away but didn’t. He felt so good pressed against her.

      Much too good.

      “What time is it?” she asked.

      “Quarter to twelve.”

      When the clock struck midnight Catherine and Nathan couldn’t see each other until the next day. For eternity. Maybe it would be an act of kindness to have them exorcised. She couldn’t imagine, after seeing the sadness in their eyes, that this existence was a happy one for them.

      Dammit. She hated her job sometimes.

      No, not sometimes. Despite her friends and the generous paycheck, she always hated her job. In her new life with David, she wouldn’t have to deal with cursed ghost lovers and chiming clocks that kept them apart.

      Chiming clocks.

      The clock had taken up a good part of her vision. That had to have some significance. Could it be possible that it had something to do with the curse? It seemed to revolve around time, after all.

      Still seated on the floor with Jacob, Amanda glanced off to the side to see Catherine standing watching her. Nathan was nowhere to be seen.

      “Please, you must go,” Catherine said. “We mean no harm. Leave us in peace.”

      “Where’s the clock?” Amanda asked.

      “The clock?”

      “The big black grandfather clock.” Amanda looked around the room. “It was once there, in that corner, but now it’s gone. Where is it?”

      Catherine shook her head. “You shouldn’t bother with that. It’s dangerous.”

      “Dangerous?”

      “The clock is enchanted. It was given to me by my aunt, a self-proclaimed witch, as a wedding gift. She never approved of my marriage, said that a marriage where there was no love was doomed.” She set her chin. “I guess she was right about that. The clock works its magic at midnight and is the reason Nathan and I are in this situation in the first place. Why we’re bound to this house and to each other forever.”

      Amanda shook her head. “But we deal with enchanted objects, especially dangerous ones. I need to assess it. Maybe we can help you.”

      Her attention moved to the other side of the room where Nathan had reappeared.

      “The clock is upstairs,” he said. “You should definitely go see it.”

      “Nathan,” Catherine said sharply.

      He cocked his head to the side. “I’m only trying to help them.”

      “Why do you have to interfere? This is none of our business.”

      Nathan’s gaze was intense. “If it weren’t for the clock, we wouldn’t be together.”

      Amanda could sense Jacob staring as her head turned from side to side as if she was watching a tennis match. She felt as though she was. One that didn’t make any sense to her.

      “I have to say it’s a bit unnerving not knowing what’s going on right in front of my own eyes,” he said.

      “Help me up,” she whispered.

      Jacob got up and offered her his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet.

      “The ghosts?” he asked.

      She scanned the room. They’d disappeared the moment she turned away from them.

      She ran through the information she’d received. Catherine’s aunt had given her the clock as a wedding gift and Catherine believed it to be enchanted in some way—the reason her and Nathan’s spirits were trapped in the house.

      It was almost midnight. If she could witness what happened when the clock struck midnight, maybe that would help in the assessment. If she could do something, anything to break the curse for the ghosts…

      Why was she allowing herself to become so involved with this? She didn’t even like love stories, let alone tragic ones that ended in murder.

      “The СКАЧАТЬ