Trick Me, Treat Me. Leslie Kelly

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СКАЧАТЬ man clothed all in black.

      He remained motionless. A shadow. A phantom. A spectral memory of someone who’d stood there decades before.

      She instantly thought of Hildy’s ghost friends. When the shadow moved, separating from the inky blackness in the corner, she made out more of his features and gasped. “Good lord.”

      Not a phantom. Not a ghost. And, hopefully, not a maniacal murderer out and about doing his gruesome thing on Halloween night. Because he was very tall. Very broad. Very male.

      “Don’t be afraid.”

      Who wouldn’t be afraid? Alone: check. Dark man in kitchen: check. Spooky house: check. Halloween night: start screaming now.

      “Really, you have nothing to fear,” he continued in a voice that was both soft and masculine, soothing and melodic.

      Sure. Right. Don’t be afraid, I’m harmless, says the cobra to the little pink mouse. Of course, the little pink mouse might drop dead of a heart attack before the big bad snake had a chance to even nibble on a whisker. She backed up until cornered against the countertop. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

      “I’m a guest at the inn for the weekend.”

      Her whole body began to relax. “A guest?”

      Of course. Hildy had checked in several people today. Gwen obviously hadn’t met everyone. She nearly chuckled at her own foolishness. No ghost. No ax-wielding maniac. Just a paying guest. She wasn’t used to the fact that they were an open, operating inn, and she and Hildy were no longer alone in this huge, ghostly house. “Good lord, you scared me half to death.”

      “I’m sorry.” He stepped closer, until more light from the hall spilled on to his face. His deep-set brown eyes glittered in the near darkness. Simply mesmerizing.

      Then he stepped even closer until his entire face was visible. She caught her breath, held it, then released it on a sigh, knowing she’d never seen a sexier guy in her life.

      Each female molecule in her body roared to awareness, reacting to the male sensuality oozing from his body. His cheekbones were high, his chin firm and chiseled. His thick, dark brown hair was a little long, and his cheeks sported a five o’clock shadow, giving him a slightly wolfish look.

      She’d always had such a thing for dark, rakish-looking men.

      And lordy, the man had the most glorious mouth she’d ever seen. Particularly now, with his eminently kissable lips lifted slightly at the corners as he offered her a tentative smile. The full frontal onslaught of his complete smile could probably rock the ground on which she stood.

      “I really didn’t mean to frighten you. Forgive me?”

      She’d forgive him anything. Absolutely anything.

      Even if he pulls out a chainsaw and a few various and sundry body parts? Get a grip, Gwen. Get out of here now.

      That was her inner turtle speaking. She quickly told it to shut up. “The kitchen is one of the private areas of the house.”

      His eyes twinkled as he gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Don’t tell on me. You keep my secret and I’ll keep yours.”

      Her first instinct was confusion, then panic set in. Gwen kept only one secret—Hildy’s history. But he couldn’t know that. No one did. He had to be bluffing.

      She tilted her head and eyed him with every bit of false bravado she could manage. “Why do you think I have a secret?”

      He practically tsked. “Everyone has secrets. Besides, I’m an expert,” he whispered, stepping even closer until he was only a foot away. So close she felt his warmth radiating toward her.

      She almost swayed toward him, almost let that warmth envelop her more fully. “An expert?” She kept her feet planted, even as some deep, feminine part of her ached to step closer.

      He nodded. “Absolutely. And I know one secret of yours. I don’t imagine many people know you visit the kitchen dressed so…interestingly…late at night.” His dark eyes grew darker. His jaw grew tight, and she heard the faint, ragged rasp of his breath.

      Gwen followed his pointed stare, looking down at her body, clad in the silkiest, softest white nightgown she possessed. Then she swallowed. Hard. Seeing herself as he must be seeing her.

      The deeply slashed neckline glittered with tiny pearl-like beads that picked up and reflected the meager light in the room. The fabric clung across her breasts, which were pushed high, plumped up and spilling over because of the tight bodice.

      She could have claimed it was the cold autumn night that made her nipples pucker so tightly against the gown.

      She could also have claimed to be engaged to Ben Affleck and having an affair with Brad Pitt. That didn’t make it true.

      Though she thought of how foolish she’d been not to grab her robe, a deep-rooted part of Gwen liked the admiration in his eyes. Her track record with romance was damned pathetic. The blow to her confidence brought on by her broken engagement had killed her instinct to even try to attract the opposite sex.

      How funny. She now remembered what she’d once so very much liked about attracting the opposite sex. That look in a man’s eye. The one that promised more than any words could. And hinted he could back up his unspoken promise anytime, anywhere.

      Maybe even here and now.

      “I didn’t remember to bring my robe,” she finally said, wondering how a perfect stranger could bring out the woman she’d thought was lost forever. “I should get it.”

      “Don’t go to any trouble on my account.” The intensity in his voice made the words less playful than he may have intended.

      Watching his jaw clench, she sucked in a quick gulp of heady night air. How amazing that a man’s stare could make her heart trip over itself as it beat restlessly within her chest. But not with fear. This was pure, one hundred percent excitement.

      Gwen smoothed her hand against her nightie, nervously fingering the material. Its slickness slid between her fingers. The gown fit tightly to her hips, then fell in undulating waves to the floor. Two slits made the fabric gap from ankle to thigh. With every shift, another bit of skin would be revealed. Tempting. Tantalizing. Heightening the anticipation as any self-respecting wedding night negligee should.

      Fate. Fate or one of the ghosts in this house had made the pipe in her room break right over most of her clothes, damaging all her nightgowns except this one…the one she was supposed to have worn on her honeymoon. The one she’d kept after she’d canceled the wedding, sold her dress, hocked her ring and delivered the cake to a homeless shelter.

      Because, after finding her bastard of an ex giving more than dictation to his secretary a few days before their wedding, she’d needed one sultry, seductive, feminine thing, to remind her she was a desirable woman. His cheating had made her doubt herself. The nightie gave her confidence, though no one had ever seen her in it. Until now. And judging by the raw want in his eyes, this stranger definitely thought she was a desirable woman.

      How amazing. How exciting. How…enticing.

      Still, she wasn’t stupid. СКАЧАТЬ