Four Dukes And A Devil Part 10

"Thank you, too, for coming in with me tonight," she said, adding, chagrined, "I was nervous."

Slowly, he reached out, and his hands came to rest on her hips. "Are you nervous now?"

The low tone of his voice set her nerves atremble.

She looked up into his face, complex, changeable, expressive. She felt like she could look at that face forever and never be bored.

With a tightening of his fingers, he pulled her close, his body against hers, and bent his head down to catch her lips.

The fire was immediate and furious. The fire between them, that was. If she'd thought she'd smelled smoke before, this was an all-out conflagration.

His hands moved up to cup her face, his mouth probing, his hips pressing hers. Against his hard body, hers went soft, melting into him, going hot and liquid to her core.

Could she possibly be this reckless? What on earth could stop her? She had never in her life slept with someone on a first date-and this hadn't even been a date. But she was consumed by a desire so fierce she didn't recognize herself. Her hands roved up his back, then down to his hips, clutching the taut muscles of his b.u.t.tocks and pulling his hardness against her.

His hands dropped to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pushed up under her sweatshirt, then under her shirt. She felt his hot palms on her flesh and moaned with relief. She had to have him, she could not-would not-stop herself.

At first she thought he had moaned in return, and registered it as vaguely odd that she'd seemed to feel it in the floor. But when an inhuman wail vibrated up the walls, she froze.

Sam did, too.

They both looked over at the turntable. It had turned itself off.

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" Sam's voice was almost as low a rumble as the furnace.

"I...I have no idea."

You ain't heard it yet, I gather.

Fainter now, but still audible was a weary woo-ooo-ooo, woo-ooo-ooo, a sound for all the world like something a cartoon ghost would make at a Halloween party. a sound for all the world like something a cartoon ghost would make at a Halloween party.

"Do you think this is this what Covington Burgess was talking about?" She gripped his arms with rigid hands.

Sam pulled back and raised one brow. "Let's not go invoking ghosts just yet. Seems to me it has to be the heating system. Have you used the furnace before?"

"Yes, I've had it on most nights since I got here. So, five nights, not including tonight."

He looked at her in bemus.e.m.e.nt. "Gray, it's June."

"Sam, it's cold. Don't forget, I come from Virginia. Where summer means warm warm weather. Besides, I've never heard anything like weather. Besides, I've never heard anything like that that before." before."

The sound had stopped, but inside Gray's head it echoed like a threat.

Sam's eyes scanned the room. "I'll go check it out. Is there a bas.e.m.e.nt? And a flashlight?"

"Yes to the bas.e.m.e.nt. I'll look for a flashlight."

She rummaged through some drawers in the kitchen until she came up with an old but solid Maglite. She watched him make his way down the wooden steps to the bas.e.m.e.nt. It was really more of a cellar, with a packed-dirt floor and rough stone walls that looked as if the long-ago builders had chipped the foundation out of the earth with miners' picks.

"I'll wait here," she said, as Sam opened the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

He glanced back at her, amused. "Good idea."

As Sam disappeared into the dim light of the single-bulbed cellar, Gray sat on the top step. The sound had stopped, but the chill in the house remained. Didn't they say you felt a chill when a ghost was around?

She laughed at herself. She didn't believe in ghosts. Besides, it seemed pretty obvious this was a furnace problem. But what about the smoke smell, she wondered, then shook her head against the thought. This was what came of getting way overheated only to be left to cool off on her own.

Which brought her to the bigger issue of Sam. Ten minutes ago she'd been ready to jump into bed with him. Had he felt the same? Certainly he had seemed to.

A puff of air brushed by her cheek, and she smelled smoke again. She sat up straight, put a palm to her face, and sniffed the air, her heart racing. A second later the hairs on the back of her neck rose, as if someone stood just behind her. She twisted, pushing her back against the doorjamb.

The kitchen behind her was empty. Silent.

In fact, the bas.e.m.e.nt was silent, too.

"Hey, how's it going down there?" she called, peering down the stairs. She was starting to creep herself out. "Sam?"

The ensuing silence sent her pulse racing. She stood, one hand gripping the handrail, and stared at the six square feet of bas.e.m.e.nt visible from the top of the stairs as if she could conjure him.

She heard a rustling, briefly imagined Sam wrestling with an ethereal n.o.bleman, and took one step down the staircase.

"Sam?" Her voice was reedy. She cleared her throat. "Sam!"

A moment later he appeared at the bottom of the steps. His hair was tousled, his shirt collar askew, and what looked like a large spiderweb clung to one sleeve.

"It's definitely your furnace." He wiped at the web with one hand, making a face as it clung to his fingers. "The filter looks like it's been there since the turn of the century, but there's a valve on it I've seen go bad before. That's what made the woo-woo whistling sound. I can come back tomorrow with my tools and fix it up."

"Oh good." She took a deep, relieved breath. Just seeing him put her at ease. She looked at his hands, imagined them taking their time...exploring...She shook herself, dragged her eyes to his face. "It's strange that it was so loud, loud, though. Do you think that's why people have said this place is haunted?" though. Do you think that's why people have said this place is haunted?"

"Maybe. The noise travels up through the ducts, so that probably amplifies it, makes it echo. And then there's your smoke problem."

She noticed he held something. "What's that?"

He grinned and lifted the narrow box in one hand. "The ghostly pipe. An old carton of cigarettes hidden behind the furnace. Somebody here must have been a closet smoker."

Gray tilted her head. "I don't think Robert smokes, Rachel would hate that."

He shook his head. "These are old. The box and a couple of the packs inside are a little singed from the heat, but you can still see that this is not modern packaging. Take a look. They're probably ten years old."

"Is the furnace that old?"

He made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. "That furnace is ancient. I'm surprised they haven't had to replace it. I can patch it up, but it's a miracle it's still working."

He started up the stairs, holding out a deep purple box with the words Pall Mall Pall Mall on it, along with some sort of crest. on it, along with some sort of crest.

"Ooh." She took the box in both hands. "My grandfather used to smoke these. I was devastated when he died."

"Lung cancer?"

She gave a dire laugh. "Yeah. Go figure."

"I guess we've solved the mystery, then. Laid the ghost to rest, as they say. You going to be around tomorrow?"

She startled. "Uh. Around? Sure. Maybe not awake, considering it's going on 2:00 A A. M M. now." She laughed, dragging her mind back to the problem at hand. Her brow furrowed. "You know how to do that? Fix furnaces and stuff?"

"Sure, I do it all the time."

Ah, she thought. she thought. He must be some kind of plumber. He must be some kind of plumber. "Well, great." "Well, great."

She stepped back from the doorway as he reentered the kitchen, unsure what to do. Gray placed the cigarettes on the counter, and the flashlight, then they stood there for an awkward moment.

Gray thought he might move in to kiss her again-pick up where they left off when the "ghost" moaned-but instead he pushed his hands into his pockets and looked toward the door.

"Well, I guess it's getting late. I should let you get to sleep."

"Oh." She didn't mean to sound surprised, so she covered it quickly. "Yes, definitely. I'm exhausted. It...was nice to meet you."

She cringed inwardly. If that wasn't the most clumsy thing she could have said, she didn't know what was.

He looked at her, brows raised. "Yeah. You, too. Bike's in the garage?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes. Are you sure you'll be all right riding back? It's so late..."

"Oh sure. You should turn that furnace off for the night, probably, just to keep it quiet. Wouldn't want you getting spooked in the middle of the night." A grin shot across his face.

She laughed. "Too late. It is is the middle of the night." the middle of the night."

"True." For a second he looked as if he might kiss her again, but he just took a deep breath, and said, "All right, then-"

Steeling herself, she blurted, "You could stay, you know. On the couch I mean. Because it's so late. If you wanted."

He pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze. "I appreciate it, but I should probably just take the bike."

Disappointment sank in her gut as she followed him. "Okay."

"Hey, what's your phone number?" he asked. "I'll call you tomorrow about fixing that thing."

She nearly stumbled over her feet to write down her number, wondering if she should offer to pay him. She'd cross that bridge tomorrow, she thought, glad that she would see him again despite this awkward ending to the evening.

Once at the back door, he turned and gave her a crooked smile. "It really was nice to meet you, Gray."

"Yes, it was. Nice to meet you, ah, too. As I said." She grimaced when he turned to open the door.

What an idiot. How could she be so shy with him now when not half an hour ago she had her hands on his a.s.s while his were under her shirt?

He had just walked down the steps and taken the bicycle from where it leaned against the wall when she felt the p.r.i.c.kle of someone watching her again. She glanced behind her into the kitchen, but of course it was empty.

"Hey, Sam?" she called, just before he got on the bike.

"Yeah?" He paused, looking at her with brows raised expectantly.

"What year was it that the duke supposedly died here?"

He furrowed his brow and thought a minute. "Around 1813, I think. Why?"

She swallowed hard. "And when was that Beethoven piece written? The one you played tonight?"

A slow smile started across his face. "Written around 1810, but I don't think it was performed until close to 1812."

She nodded, stomach quaking with nerves.

"You're not thinking we woke the ghost with his favorite piece, are you?" Sam asked with a grin.

She forced a smile in return. "No, no. I was just...curious. Good night, Sam."

He waved a hand and, with one foot on a pedal, swung his other leg over the seat and took off into the moonlight.

Little had she known this morning when she was cycling madly home naked that the very same bike would be carrying a handsome stranger back to town early the next day.

Once he was out of sight, she moved back into the music room and plopped into the leather chair, frowning. She was tempted to play the Beethoven again because she wanted to remember the feel of Sam's hands and mouth and body on hers. Had he changed his mind? She'd opened the door to his staying, offering him the couch, which everyone knew could mean anything. But instead he'd chosen to leave.

He'd chosen a cold bike ride at two in the morning rather than staying in her house. With her. Alone.

She sighed. He might have gotten rid of her ghost but that didn't mean she wouldn't be haunted tonight.

Chapter Five

The following day was stunning. Warm and sunny, with a cooling breeze flowing through Sam's open windows. Summer was finally here.

Duke heard him stir and sat up straight next to Sam's bed, panting in his face. With his brown gaze trained on Sam, Duke conveyed to him that someone's needs were not being met, and if Sam were smart, he would attend to them fast. Specifically, Duke wanted outside.

"I know, buddy," Sam said, stretching. The last thing he wanted to do was get out of bed. Instead, he lay listening to Duke's breathing and remembering the feel of Gray Gilliam's body against his.

Had he been foolish or fortunate? It was hard to say.

He glanced at the clock, nearly nine o'clock. He'd better get a move on. Recalling Duke's early escape yesterday reminded him that he'd left the dress-Gray's dress-in the washer overnight. He pushed out of bed and padded down the stairs in bare feet. Retrieving it from the washer, he shook it out, then took it out back to hang it on the clothesline. If there was one thing he'd learned from the last woman he'd dated, it was that girl clothes often did not take kindly to the dryer. In addition to having his dog steal Gray's dress, he was not willing to compound the problem by ruining it. dress-in the washer overnight. He pushed out of bed and padded down the stairs in bare feet. Retrieving it from the washer, he shook it out, then took it out back to hang it on the clothesline. If there was one thing he'd learned from the last woman he'd dated, it was that girl clothes often did not take kindly to the dryer. In addition to having his dog steal Gray's dress, he was not willing to compound the problem by ruining it.

Not that it would matter if he never got up the nerve to give it back to her. He'd had plenty of opportunities last night to mention that he had it, but it never seemed like the right time to embarra.s.s them both.

Duke trotted around the small yard, content this morning to do his business locally. Sam scrounged up a couple of clothespins and hung the yellow sundress on the line, where it waved like a conquering flag in the freshening breeze. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman's dress in his house, and he couldn't help thinking how nice it would be to have the woman who owned this one there, too.