Somer swatted away another mosquito. The air was heavy, still. A symphony of night sounds joined in with the steady sound of her breathing—along with the less-than-stealthily trudging of Nash Walker’s work boots crunching on the gravel path.

A rustle in the hedge caught her ear. Instinct caused her to halt.

Not so her newly appointed videographer.

“Ooompf.” Her body staggered forward as he slammed into her.

“You didn’t say you were stopping.”

“You should have seen through the lens that I’d stopped,” she said, turning to look at him.

“I was watching where I was walking, dammit. It’s dark out here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Frustration leaked into his voice.

Another rustle in the garden hedge prompted her to place her finger over his mouth. She pulled out her EVP reader.

“What’s that?” he spoke against her fingers.

“It’s an electronic voice recorder. It records paranormal sounds not always audible to the human ear.”

“Is that like—”

She cut him off again, slapping her hand to his mouth. “Is there anyone out here with us?”

She felt him smile and fought to pinch his mouth between her fingers—as lovely as she’d noticed those lips to be. Not important. Not now. She removed her hand—and temptation—as she focused her energies on her surroundings. “Did you once live in this house?”

Silence answered her.

“We’re here to speak with you. We mean no harm. If you understand and would like to speak with us, can you give us a sign?”

“Really? A sign?” Nash whispered.

Like maybe toss a rock at the head of the gentleman behind me? “Sssh,” she reprimanded quietly. “Point the camera in that direction. Where you heard the rustle in the hedge.”

“I didn’t—”

She grabbed the camera and steered the lens in the direction she wanted. “Now, be very quiet.” A soft breeze from out of the blue brushed her cheek. Her senses piqued, she listened for the slightest sound.

“We’re hunting wabbits,” he whispered. “I’m sorry,” he said aloud, followed by a rich, deep-throated laugh.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the butterflies taking flight inside at the sound of his laughter. She sighed. “Well, this has been an exercise in futility.” She flicked on her flashlight and skirted around him, deliberately nudging him aside. “I’m sure you think this is quite funny, Mr. Walker. But I promise one day it won’t be quite so humorous.” She headed back to her quarters.

“Dr. Somer. Hey, come on. You have to admit that was funny. Be very quiet—you know, Elmer Fudd.”

She heard him trying to keep up with her pace as they rounded toward the front of the house.

“It was most likely a racoon or a snake—a possum, maybe.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Walker.” She stomped up the steps, tired, frustrated, and more than a little pissed. She needed a cup of tea and a comfortable bed. After opening the door, she turned, taking the camera from him as she handed back his key. “I won’t be needing this tonight.”

He sighed audibly and stuffed the key in his pocket. Against the minimal light of the open door, he appeared larger, more imposing. “My crew arrives at—” He stopped and stared over her shoulder through the screen door. “I’ll be damned.”

She followed his gaze to the neatly stacked bedsheets and towels placed exactly where they’d been before. Someone clearly didn’t want her there. Somer steeled her resolve. She had no intention of leaving—not now. Whomever it was had just given her reason to stay. “It’s quite all right. At least I know now where I stand.”

He stepped up to the screen and peered in. “Maybe I should step in and take a look around?”

The reality of the supernatural was beginning to seep into his logic.

“I’ve been offered a challenge.” She opened the screen. “I accept it.” She was halfway inside when she felt his hand on hers.

“Are you sure about this?”

She fought the tingles invading her body at the mere touch of his hand. He was damn near every fantasy about a man she’d ever had, and she tried to fight the desire to break her two-year celibacy and give in to the blatant sexual energy she felt at his touch. She’d tried to convince herself that their paths crossing was merely coincidence, but as much as Nash refuted the paranormal, she didn’t believe in coincidence. Still, the fact remained that after her research here was done, she’d be heading back to Salem. She moved her hand from his. “I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”

He narrowed his gaze for a moment. “Is that why your hand was trembling just now, Doc?”

Somer swallowed. “It’s been a long day, Mr. Walker.”

“Nash.” He grinned then, and she wanted to throttle him—then possibly jump his bones.

“Nash. A cup of tea and some sleep is all I need,” she answered. The way he’d called her ‘Doc’ had caused her heart to do a little flip.

“Okay, then.” He headed down the steps, stopping at the bottom. “You’re sure?”

She was becoming less so by the minute, imagining the strength in those shoulders—wondering what firm muscle lay beneath that tattered old T-shirt. Somer licked her lips and breathed deeply. “Absolutely.” To confirm the message despite her treacherous body, she added, “Goodnight, Nash.”

“If you have any trouble, I’m just across the way.”

Leave before I change my mind. By virtue of the erotic dream that had left her breathless and wanting, and the up-close-and-personal view of those whiskey-colored eyes she wanted to drown herself in, she was already in trouble.

“Goodnight, Doc.”

She slammed the door shut before she could blurt out something stupid, like take me now, I want to have your babies kind of shit.

Much later, after she’d remade her bed and stationed her bath linens where they belonged, Somer had performed a smudging, lighting a stick of white sage, lavender, and sweet grass to cleanse the negative energies in the cabin. The aroma aided in bringing her thoughts and spirit back into balance. Her studies had taught her about the ancient practice dating back to Egyptian times, but it was not until she met a shaman tribesman while on a trek to Wounded Knee that she began to carry a smudge stick with her. There was a presence here—there was no question of that. She hoped that it was friendly. Sitting cross-legged on the bed in her comfy pajama pants and T-shirt, she sipped her chamomile tea and leafed through the pages of a used book she’d discovered in one of the old bookstores in the Quarter. Her positon on the bed lent itself to seeing through the slit in the curtains covering the front window. In the inky black of night, the light in the garçonnière shone like a beacon.

With a sigh and a determination to put her curiosity at rest, she picked up her cell phone, grateful for any signal at all. She moved around the room, finding a stronger signal on the other side of the bed. Lowering herself to the floor, she leaned against the wall and typed in his name, along with Evermore Plantation. She was delighted to find the local paper was online and had covered his arrival. She skimmed through the article, catching the highlights…

A Texas native, after receiving his master’s in historical design he’d gone on to establish a team of specialized restoration experts. His list of notable projects was impressively extensive. He’d come to Louisiana to work on another plantation project, when Evermore came on the market. His love of history and his desire to preserve it for future generations was key in his decision to purchase and restore the property—in particular, the roof and back corner of the house damaged during a severe tropical storm earlier this year.

She logged off. If she’d thought to find a way to make him less attractive, reading his credentials hadn’t been the answer. Aside from his rugged good looks, it was apparent that he also possessed philanthropic values beneath that tool belt he wore on his hips like a gunslinger.

A knock on the door startled her. And while the odds were good it was Nash, she was, after all, in a strange place, in the middle of nowhere. She’d locked the door. The lights hadn’t flickered again. The hairs on the back of her neck were fine. “Who is it?” She pushed to her feet and waited.

“Nash. I made some mac and cheese. Thought you might like some with those crackers of yours.” There was a pause. “I’ll just set the tray here—”

Somer hurried to the door and opened it. She flipped on the porch light, grateful for the added modern touch, and caught Nash in a fresh T-shirt, well-worn jeans, and moccasin loafers about to go down the steps. His hair, wet from a recent shower, sparkled under the glow of the porchlight. “Well, don’t just stand there, letting all the bugs in. Come on in.” She hoped her fake devil-may-care attitude was believable. Truth was, she was even more curious about him after reading the article. The paradox of this down-home, rugged country boy being renowned in his field of historical design intrigued her.

He picked up the tray and stepped inside, placing it on a small side table. His gaze landed on the bed, its covers littered with books and articles. “Couldn’t sleep?”

His amber eyes glittered with mischief. A hint of a dimple played on the shadow of his unshaven jaw.

A low rumble of thunder echoed in the stillness. She fought to keep her thoughts in check. “New places do that to me sometimes. Do you have a fork?” She swallowed, sensing a tension between them, chiding herself for her overactive imagination.

“Spoon. There in the napkin.” He pointed to the tray and stood for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I should let you get back to your work.” He frowned and sniffed the air. “Is that sweet grass?”

She eyed the crockery bowl of cheesy goodness and dug in, taking a spoonful into her mouth. Nodding, she relished the warm, gooey pasta and melted cheese. “I did a cleansing earlier,” she said, realizing that one taste wasn’t going to be enough.

“A cleansing?”

“Yes, I learned it from a Sioux tribe shaman. It’s used to cleanse negative energies, bring balance. I use a smudge stick.”

He eyed her, then glanced around the room. “Have you had any other…issues tonight?”

Other than not being able to stop thinking about you? “No,” she said, averting her eyes from his inquisitive gaze. “Did you eat already?” She wasn’t quite ready to give up his companionship. Finding the linens folded neatly earlier had been admittedly unsettling. Nothing had ever happened like that in any place she’d visited. The fact that someone knew she was there and why and made it clear she shouldn’t stay was a little disconcerting. She poked at the small bowl oozing with melted cheese. “My goodness, is this a special recipe from down here?”

He settled himself on the small love seat facing her chair. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

“Oh, how lovely.” She swallowed another bite. “Yum.” She caught a piece of pasta with her tongue. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything quite so delicious.” She was rambling—something she did when she was overly nervous. “What’s in it? Cream? Butter? The blend of cheeses is amazing.” She glanced at him through hooded lids, pretending not to notice how he was watching her.

A small smile played on his lips. He chuckled. “Yeah, well, not exactly. It’s from this guy called Kraft. Comes in a blue box.”

She went back to stirring the pasta. “Well, whatever it is, it certainly hit the spot, thank you.”

“You’ve never had Kraft mac and cheese?” he asked rather dubiously.

She shook her head. Devin never would allow quick-fix meals. He insisted on only fresh and preferably organic. Which is why he did all the cooking and she obliged by being the guinea pig for his culinary skills. “Nope.”

He tipped his head. “Do I make you nervous, Doc?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She looked back at her bowl. “Don’t be silly. Of course not,” she lied. A guy like him was probably used to the attention of lots of women, and probably not the nerdy, ghost-hunting variety like her.

His eyes narrowed on her.

Somer felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose, then whipped them off. “Well, certainly if you continue to stare at me like that, anyone would be nervous.”

He leaned forward and clasped his hands over his knees. “Really? And how am I looking at you?” he prodded, his gaze intently on hers.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re looking for another way to poke fun at my profession,” she answered, tapping her glasses nervously against her chin.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, ma’am. Not after what I saw here tonight with my own eyes. Truth is, I might have brought that over as an excuse to make sure you were all right.”

Reeling back her indignation, mostly an excuse for her attraction to him, she nodded. “I assure you I’m perfectly fine.”

“Perfect,” he said with a smile. “I have a confession to make, Doc.”

Already the room temperature had risen by ten degrees. “You don’t need to confess anything to me, Mr. Walker.”

“Nash,” he said. “It’s about your glasses.”

“My glasses?” That was unexpected.

“I find them extremely sexy.”

She met his gaze. “You don’t really mean that.” Somer felt an odd frustration at this game of cat and mouse they seemed to be engaged in. She’d never been the type to flirt with men. Good lord, she didn’t know how. Her experiences with men had been with those primarily in her field—scientific men, bent on quickly finding their objective, Tab-A-into-slot-B types. He was different, slow and easy, more about the journey than the destination. Was it getting warmer in here?

His amber eyes darkened. “Put them on.”

Somer placed the bowl on the tray and eyed him. It was the single strangest request she’d ever gotten—of that she was certain. Licking her lips, she rolled her eyes and sighed as she slid them into place. A deafening moment ticked by and she dared to look up. “This is awkward. No man has ever requested I put something on before.”

The corner of his mouth curled, along with one cocked brow. “We’re just getting started.”

Okay, things were happening in places that hadn’t seen action in…awhile. Her heart sped up.

“The thing is, you could’ve sent me away,” he said.

“That’s true.” She cleared her throat, even as her breasts tightened, aroused by his smoky gaze and the lingering remnants of her erotic dream.

“But you didn’t. Why?”

She shrugged, tearing her gaze from his. Hoping he couldn’t see what he was doing to her. “I—couldn’t sleep. I wanted some company.”

“Did you wonder what it would be like?” he asked.

She stood, eyeing him, restless, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” he answered. “That day I bumped into you on the sidewalk. Tell me you didn’t see something, feel something, when our eyes met.”

Somer shook her head, brushing her sweaty palms over the pajama pants. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he asked, pushing to his feet. He didn’t come near her. “You want to know how many times I’ve watched that section of video where I taped you doing that little dance?”

She glanced over her shoulder—curious, sure, but afraid to ask.

“Plenty.” He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I was racking my brain trying to figure out how to reach you when I heard you getting mugged. Right there below me in the Quarter. That’s pretty odd, don’t you think?”

“Coincidence.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Nonetheless, hardly the fodder for romantic tales. “And I did—do—appreciate you getting my bag back from that little hooligan.”

“I ran ten blocks, at the very least.”

“Ten? Was it that far, really?” She pointed a finger at him. “I was wrong not to give you a reward for that.” She stood, reaching for her backpack. He put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Tell me what you thought when you opened the door and saw it was me tonight?” He took a step behind her, letting his fingers glide up her arm. He toyed with a strand of hair

“Well,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “I was surprised, certainly.”

“I don’t want your money, Somer.”

She swallowed, fearful that what he wanted would cost her a lot more—perhaps even her heart.

He lowered he head, nuzzling the curve of her neck. She felt his smile against her bare flesh. “You smell like mac and cheese.” His tongue touched the pulse in her neck.

She sighed and reached up to remove her glasses. He stopped her hand, crooking her arm behind her back as he continued to leave a trail of hot kisses along her neck. Her bones liquefied as his hands brushed over her sensitive breasts. Instinctively, she moved against him, fully away of the hardening length beneath his zipper, fairly certain he was commando. Her skin was on fire. Delirious heat pooled between her thighs. “What do you want, Nash?” She looked over her shoulder, her gaze dropping to that mouth she wanted to taste.

He cupped her neck, turning her face to look at him. “Same as you, Doc.” He touched his mouth to hers.

Somer melted into the sensual kiss.

He lifted his head, his hand still cradling the back of her neck. A low rumble of thunder rolled across the night sky. “Heat lightning,” he answered to the curious look in her eyes.

She didn’t understand the dream that, even now, she felt a part of—only that she remembered waking and needing him in such a way that her body ached. Reason scolded her recklessness, but desire filled her with an intoxicating heat. No more excuses. She just wanted his mouth on hers again.

“Doc, the way you’re looking at me right now—and God help me, through those glasses—is driving me nuts. It’s your call. Tell me to go, or—”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Absolutely.” He grabbed her face, plunging his hands into her hair as he captured her mouth in an unrelenting kiss. He leaned back. “Doc, I—”

“I need you naked, now,” she said, surprising herself with her demand.

He grinned. “Race you.”

Clothes scattered in a whirlwind. Somer reached for her glasses.

He pulled her to him and stopped her. “Leave them on.” He brought his mouth down hard on hers, backing her to the writing desk. With one arm, he swept aside the few items and leaned her back, sheathing himself as he held her gaze.

“Are you—”

“For the love of all things merciful, fuck me, Nash.” After two years with only her electric friend for satisfaction, she was on fire. Parting her knees, she leaned back on the desk.

“Next time,” he said, his words stilted as he entered her, groaning with pleasure.

Somer snaked her arms around his neck, drawing him deeper. “Forget about next time,” she said, her body spiraling toward heaven with each thrust. “Just keep doing that.” Tears stung at the back of her eyes. For too long she’d been without the warmth of a man, and never with one who seemed to want her as much as she wanted him. Where this would end up was anybody’s guess.

Lightening flashed, causing the lamp to flicker. Fat drops of rain began to splatter against the window panes. The wind had grown fierce, whistling around the corner of the tiny cabin. Caught in a vortex of passion, she barely noticed when the lights went out, plunging them into darkness.

Nash braced against the desk, driving into her with a fury that she would have never believed to be romantic, but more animalistic. Yet, she welcomed him, wrapping her legs around him, surrendering deliciously in abandon. She freed herself to enjoy their union, to push one another, transcending to where only they existed—and nothing else mattered.

A flash of light splintered the night. “Nash,” she cried out as her body came apart in a shattering climax. He pulled her butt toward him, driving deep twice more before tumbling over into his own release.

“The lights went out,” she blurted out, still in shock as the rain and wind continued to batter the tiny cabin.

He turned his head, his face inches from hers. “Are you all right?” His hot breath fanned against her skin. He stepped away and, in the flash of lightning that followed, she saw him searching for his clothes.

“You?” she asked, already saddened by the loss of his body against hers.

“Good, yeah.”

Good? Not the most amazing sex I’ve ever had? Then again, his situation may not have been as dire as hers had been. Her body tense and sore, she managed to find the floor and grope through the darkness to the bed.

The sheets and quilt were once more folded at the end of the bed. “Damn you, I’m not leaving.”

“Who are you talking to?” came Nash’s voice.

Clearly, there was no warm fuzzy snuggling going to follow on the heels of said monkey sex. “Our friend apparently wants me to leave.”

All at once, the light came on. Mid-reach of grabbing the folded sheets, she gave out a yelp and realized that, while she stood there in her birthday suit, Nash had already redressed. Seeing his confusion, she quickly wrapped the sheet around her.

He rubbed his fingers over his forehead, looking away, as though searching for something to say, some sort of explanation for his actions. Excuses were the last thing Somer wanted to hear.

“Maybe you should go.”

He glanced at her, his hand already circling the doorknob. He didn’t look up. “I’m not sure what just happened.”

We had sex and it was amazing. Powerful. Mind-blowing.

“I better go check the fuse box,” he said.

“The fuse box?” she asked.

He kept his gaze to the floor. “Uh, yeah. Listen, about this…”

Oh, God in heaven, she didn’t need him to say it was a mistake. “Just go, Nash. Please.”

He opened the door and stood there a moment, as though assessing the ferocity of the storm.

“Nash?” Her voice was lost in the din of thunder and rain. He slammed the door and her heart leapt. What had happened between them had been consensual, hadn’t it? Though in reality, she couldn’t remember how it started, only that she’d wanted him like she needed her next breath.

She pulled on her pajamas, re-made the bed for the second time that night, and crawled in under the security of the covers. Her body thrummed with need. She chided herself for being needy, vulnerable. But in those few moments, it was as though she wasn’t herself, that they hadn’t been strangers. Rather, lovers in desperate need to appease a desire burning so hot that it was worth the risk at any price.

She had no idea how she’d face him in the light of day. But at this moment, logic warred with sensations she hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever. Deep emotional ties to a man she barely knew. Her hand drifted over her breast, tender from his lavish attention, and she closed her eyes and dreamt of when they might be together again.

***

Nash barely slept. Just before dawn he showered, dressed, and headed over to the main house alone, hoping to get a start on replacing the flooring upstairs. Walking the red brick path, his gaze scanned the grounds. He noted how the storm had shrouded the pre-dawn with a heavy mist. He could barely discern the majestic oaks standing beyond the hedged garden maze at the back of the house. The air was stagnant, sultry. Sweat had beaded across his forehead just walking the short distance from the garçonnière to the house. A quick glance at the closed curtains of the guest cabin confirmed, to his relief, that she was still asleep. He needed time to think about what he would say to her today. Hell, if only he knew how to explain the explosive lust that ignited between them. He admitted that, when he’d gone over there late using food as an excuse, he’d only meant to gain an exploratory kiss. Then all hell broke loose, and it was as though his body craved her. He considered himself a considerate lover. Taking his time to get to know the woman first, taking things slow, seducing her.

This was a damn flashfire. This nimble, bespectacled nymph had turned his head around and before he knew it, he’d had her spread-eagle on the writing desk going at it like there was no tomorrow. Seduction be damned. He was bent on hearing her scream out his name, like that was what mattered. Like he might never see her again.

Even more strange was that she never wavered. Sure, there’d been an attraction. He’d seen it the first time when their eyes met in New Orleans on the square. But this…this defied explanation. In fact, it seemed that her need was every bit as insatiable, as consuming as his. Still, he was stunned by the sheer animalistic sex. It was the only way to describe it. Frantic. Driven. Forbidden. Certainly not to a degree that he’d ever before experienced with a woman. It was off-the-charts. And the worst part of it? The emotions that had ignited such a heated response, pummeling him to claim her, had disappeared almost instantaneously. Fuck if he understood what was going on.

Nash reached the second floor and set to opening a few windows, praying for a breeze. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the house, leaving a vacuum.

Turning his mind to restoration, he measured and cut the planks for the floorboards, carrying them from the work station on the second story sun porch to the bedroom.

His mind, however, swirled with broken images—the woman in the maze, the second line parade, turning to stare into those lapis-blue eyes for the first time. He compared it to how she’d looked at him last night in the throes of passion—as though she might never see him again. Which, if he were smart, he’d honor and keep his dick in his pants for the remainder of the time she was visiting. Then again, there was always the distinct possibility that last night—his behavior and how he’d reacted, albeit poorly—might have cinched things. It was highly possible that even now, she was tossing her little green backpack into that rental car of hers….

Nash shook his head as he hauled the wood on his shoulder and carried it into the bedroom, his mind not clear, his boot narrowly missing a gaping hole in the floor. He dropped the wood at his feet, mentally admonishing himself to get a grip on his wandering thoughts. He grabbed his travel mug that kept the chicory coffee he’d brewed that morning piping hot. He needed the kick of its strong, black richness, and he needed to get focused on finishing what he was there to do.

 

It wasn’t long before he was lost in his work—measuring, breathing deeply the scent of fresh-cut wood, enjoying the sound of the table saw as it echoed in the big silent house. This he understood. This he could control.

“You’re up early.”

His heart did a somersault at the sound of her voice. He glanced over his shoulder as he tapped the first of the new planks into place. She hadn’t left. Nash swiped his hand over his mouth. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Somer stood at the entrance to the bedroom. She wore a plain, gray T-shirt and a ratty pair of blue jeans. Black converse sneakers covered her feet and her hair was caught up in a perky ponytail. But in his mind he pictured her on that desk, her blues eyes challenging him.

He blinked and cleared his throat. Better to cut right to the chase, get things out in the open.

“About last night…”

The words came from the both of them at the same time.

She smiled. At least she hadn’t thrown a hammer at his head.

He stood and avoided her gaze as he scratched the back of his neck. “Listen, I guess maybe things got a little out of control,” he said, sneaking a quick glance at her reaction.

She stepped into the room. “I guess maybe it did.”

He chewed the inside of his lip and sighed. “I can’t say I’m sorry.”

She shifted her glasses and a hint of a smile played on her lips. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She took another step, her gaze curious as she looked through the gap in the floor down to the room below.

“Careful, I haven’t nailed some of these down yet.” He held up his hand to caution her.

“You don’t mind if I look?” Her eyes were wide, curious—almost innocent. Lord in heaven, he knew better.

“Sure, just be careful,” he said, staying close enough to lend a hand if something happened.

Lowering herself to her hands and knees, she inched her way to the large opening in the floor and peered down. “Oh, that’s quite a bit farther down than I thought.”

“About twenty feet,” he replied, his heart speeding up as she seemed to be looking at something. “Hey, what are you doing?” Never mind the pretty little tatt of a Scottish thistle on her lower back.

She glanced over her shoulder. “There’s something over there, tucked in between the floor joists.” She braced her shoe against the edge of the opening and leaned forward, stretching to reach the object.

Nash’s heart stopped. With a sigh, he walked over and grabbed her by the seat of her pants.

“What the he—?” She glanced up at him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I’m saving your ass. What are you doing?” he shot back.

She looked back, searching the murky shadows. “It looks like…” She wrestled with something, finally tugging it free. Her foot slipped and Nash grabbed her around the waist and rolled her away from the gap in the floor. He landed on his back, as did she, atop him like a turtle, her hands and legs flailing in the air.

“If you dare call me ‘Mr. Walker,’ I’m liable to toss you right down that hole. Understood?”

She sighed. “Understood.”

He sat up and she rolled off his lap, taking a seat on the floor facing him. “Look.” He searched her face. “About last night—I figure there are two ways we can handle this.”

Amazingly, her glasses had slipped only slightly on her nose. She blinked and pushed them up.

God almighty, he had to jumpstart his brain to remember what he’d been saying. “One, we can pretend like nothing happened. Let it go. Never speak of it again.”

“Just one of those things?” she offered, blowing a wisp of hair from her face.

He nodded. “Exactly, just one of those crazy, unexplained things.” He narrowed his gaze, hoping she’d go for option two. To him, it seemed the more logical of the two. “Or we could sit down later today—say, over dinner—and talk about it.” In the silence that followed he could all but hear the gears clicking in her brain.

Finally, she stood, brushed off her backside, and hugged the brown-wrapped parcel to her chest. She peered down at him. “Option one.” With that, she turned and walked out of the room. What the hell?

“Okay, then. Sounds good to me,” he called out after her. “Hey, whatever that is, technically it’s my property,” he added.

“I’m aware, Mr. Nash,” she said loudly.

“Great,” he muttered. Summoning his pride, he got up and adjusted his tool belt. “Fuck that.” He sure as hell didn’t need the crazy-ass drama that woman brought with her, anyway.

He worked at finishing the floor, catching glimpses of her below, walking and reading from a book. He was so caught up in his endeavor to ignore her that he realized he hadn’t checked his phone all day. Pulling it from his pocket, he swore silently when he saw all the missed calls and text messages his friend, Mickey, had left him. He noted a couple of weather app alerts, as well, but would check those later.

He dialed his foreman. “Mickey? Hey, sorry, man. Phone was on silent.” He checked his watch, surprised, too, by the time. “What’s up? Why aren’t you here?”

“We’ve had storms here in the city since about four this morning. It’s coming down pretty hard and showing no signs of letting up. The local news doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal, but I’m telling you, you can’t see your hand in front of your face its pouring so hard.”

Nash checked the radar on his phone and saw the giant yellow and red blob over New Orleans. The skies over Evermore had remained dismal all morning—never fully recovering, it seemed, from the storm that had popped up last night. If nothing, it had gotten more humid, a good indicator that a storm was headed their way later in the day.

“Some of the streets are flooding. I’m not thrilled about the idea of leaving my wife alone here. What do you think?” Mickey asked.

“Call the guys. Tell them to stay put. We’ll start earlier tomorrow after this all blows over,” Nash said.

“Sounds good. That ghost doctor ever show up?”

Nash glanced over his shoulder. Hell, yeah, she did. He wasn’t sure exactly where she’d wandered off to. Didn’t really care. He lifted the curtain and searched the gardens below, still partially shrouded in a ghostly mist. He hoped she hadn’t wandered too far. He made a note to see about hiring someone to come out to clean it up, trim it properly.

A soft hand brushed the back of his neck. He smiled. She hadn’t really meant what she’d said, after all. “Hey, I’m glad you’re—” He turned and found himself alone.

“Nash? Who are you talking to?” Mickey asked.

A chill washed over Nash, causing gooseflesh to rise on his arms. Her rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Suddenly, the humidity seemed more oppressive. He was having difficulty catching his breath. “Mick, you all stay safe. I’ve got to run.”

“Will do, bro.”

Nash shook off the odd feeling that something—or someone—had touched the back of his neck. He walked through the parlor and out onto the sun porch, leaning on the windowsill, gulping in the stagnant air. He stood there in the silent narrow corridor, fighting off the unease that he was being watched. Glancing at the dark clouds on the horizon, he forced himself to get the tarp up in case there was the slightest chance for a leak with heavy rains. Setting up the scaffolding, he retrieved a large tarp folded in the sunroom and, in short order, managed to tack it into place.

He hadn’t seen or heard from Somer all day and, somewhere along the way, he’d decided that, rather than wallow in his pride, he’d be smart to realize that she’d chosen to pretend nothing had happened.  Maybe he should do the same.

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Finishing the job, he climbed down and dropped his tool belt on the floor as he walked through each of the upper rooms and began to shut the six-foot windows. He stopped to take a healthy pull from the extra bottle of water he’d stashed in his tool bag. Though warm, it wet his parched throat. Sweat soaked through his T-shirt. His skin felt hot. A strange dizziness caused his eyes to drift shut. He’d worked years in all kinds of weather and it’d never affected him, not like this. He blew out a breath. It was possible he was coming down with something.

Glancing ahead, he saw the open bathroom door. Behind him, the stairwell appeared a million miles away. Walking with a listing gait, he tore off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. Pausing briefly, he toed off his boots and left them in his wake. Reaching the bathroom door, he thought only of the tepid water sluicing over his heated flesh. Shoving jeans and boxer briefs to his ankles in one fell swoop, he stumbled to the old claw-foot tub and yanked back the shower curtain.

He stepped in, twisting the old-fashioned porcelain knob. The pipes, long out of use, shuddered—groaning, it seemed, at being awakened. What began as a slow rusty trickle soon gave way to a steady clear stream. He turned his face into the refreshing spray, letting the water pound his chest. The nagging nausea of the stifling heat eased into blessed relief. He braced one hand against the wall, brushing the water through his hair, lavishing in the liquid decadence. He’d never felt anything quite as good as the water gently caressing his body. Images of Somer glided into his mind—her soft curves, the swell of her hips, the sound of pleasure emitted low in her throat as he drove into her. Where had she been all of his life, this mysterious woman whose intellect he admired, whose beautiful eyes captured him so completely? He glanced down, not surprised at his rock-solid erection. He let out a low groan, sliding his hand down his shaft.

The soft rustle of the shower curtain sparked a fire in his soul. He looked over his shoulder and smiled as he drew her in. His body craved her, couldn’t seem to get enough of her. As he framed her sweet face, she gazed into his eyes. Was that love he saw? He sighed, holding her gaze as she slid her fingers over his erection. His back teeth clenched as he fought for control. Pulling her face to his, he met her mouth in a hungry kiss, tasting the spice on her tongue in an erotic dance.

She turned in his arms, rubbing her ass against his cock, then leaned down to brace her hands on the wall. “Take me, Nash,” she said, glancing back at him. Her hair spilled over her face.

He had no protection, but she needed him. The water drizzled over her heart-shaped butt, making it easy to slide in deep. He grabbed her rounded hips, unable to control the need blazing inside him. He wanted her to remember him, to remember this. To spoil her for anyone else. He leaned over her, pressing his hand over her mound, her sighs driving him faster. Water cascaded over his body, drenching his upturned face. She was so tight, so sweet.

“Never leave me, Nash.” Her words were broken by his insistent thrusts.

“No, darlin’, never,” he breathed.

“Mr. Walker?”

The stern voice jarred him to a full alert. He looked down, seeing his hand wrapped around his semi-aroused state. The water poured down over him, as did guilt and confusion. He swallowed, staying behind the curtain. “Doctor Ingler?” he said, once he was able to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth. What the hell?

“Yes, Mr. Walker. Were you expecting someone else?” she asked.

“What was in your coffee cup the day I ran into you?” He needed to be sure this wasn’t a fever-induced hallucination. He’d had enough of those for one day.

“A coffee from Café du Monde…why?”

“We need to talk.”

“That’s one of the reasons I came back up. But I noticed your clothing is scattered throughout the rooms. Is everything quite all right?”

Satisfied it was truly her this time, he considered now the distinct possibility that he was going bloody mad. “Fine,” he said. “I’m fine,” he repeated, more to convince himself than her. He wrenched off the water and realized too late that the cold water was still on. All at once, a great surge of power rattled the pipes and a spray of frigid water riddled his body. He raked his teeth over his bottom lip, stifling a scream.

“You’re quite certain?” she asked.

“Y-yes,” he answered, scrambling to shut off the faucet. He glanced at his dick. At least the cold water had at least aided one of his issues.

“I wanted to speak with you about the journal I found in the floorboard. It appears to be from our resident female specter.”

His body felt as though he’d been through a round of boxing. He stood naked in the shower, gaining back his strength.

“I’ll be down in a moment,” he said.

“Very well. Can I get you anything? There doesn’t seem to be…oh, look here. There are towels right here in the linen cupboard.” The rustle of the curtain startled him and he grabbed it to prevent it opening further.

“In all fairness, I’ve seen everything there is to see, Mr. Walker.” The towel, shoved inside the curtain, dangled from her hand.

He grabbed it, wrapped it around his waist, and tore open the curtain. “You have immaculate timing.”

Somer blinked in surprise, her gaze drifting over his chest, stopping short of going any lower—to her benefit, since the towel was thin, at best. She adjusted her glasses, spun on her heel, and left.

He toweled off and dressed quickly, not trusting the hallucinations he seemed to be having. As he picked up the towel, a handful of withered petals fell to the floor. He picked up a few and, upon further examination, caught a whiff of jasmine. Such bushes grew outside the house, and according to Micah had been planted in memory of the young woman who’d once tutored the owner’s younger children. The story went on to say that she’d died there—centuries ago now. He’d never thought much about it, but Dr. Ingler’s presence seemed to conjure up several things he’d set aside in his life.

Nash drew the shower curtain shut and hung the towel, mentally making a note to retrieve it when he did laundry next. He heard another low rumble roll across the sky and realized through the stained-glass window that it had grown darker outside. It was going to be a bumpy night and he’d best be prepared for it.