Part 10 (1/2)

”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 sweats.h.i.+rt, then under her s.h.i.+rt. 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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+rt 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.”