Your Magic Touch (7 page)

She handed one to Willie Jo, then paused as she took in Thomas sandwiched between Maury and Merry. Mrs. Drundyl’s mouth pinched. She pulled a taper from her pocket, lit it, then handed it to Merry. “It may be a while before the electricity returns. Go to the kitchen, Merry, and get out the rest of the candles.”

The attractive maid dashed off down the stairs. What a relief. For the moment at least, they’d be spared the screaming.

“Before the lights failed, the chef asked me to let you know dinner is ready.” Mrs. Drundyl nodded at the ghost hunters. “Follow me.”

Frannie’s stomach grumbled at the word dinner. She’d almost forgotten her plan to run up her expense account by feasting on lobster. “I was planning dinner in town.”

“No need,” said Sinclair. “I instructed the chef there would be five for dinner.”

Lightning and thunder encircled the house, followed by heavy rain pounding the roof.

“Ah. But we can’t take advantage of you. Consider the neighbors. What would they think if you dined with blackmailers?”

“It’s my aunt’s fervent hope they’ll never learn. You won’t wish to venture out in this downpour. Shall we?” He gestured for them to follow Mrs. Drundyl.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” said Frannie. “At this rate the bridges are probably all washed out.”

The ghost hunters, then Frannie, followed the housekeeper, with Sinclair taking up the rear. Frannie remembered she hadn’t called her foster dad yet, and she’d left her cell phone in her room. When they trooped into the dining room, Frannie asked, “Can I use a phone? I need to call home.”

“I’ll show you the way,” said Sinclair. He sounded a bit huffy, and she couldn’t understand why.

Mrs. Drundyl handed her candelabra to Sinclair. He led Frannie to a nearby room set up as an office. He gestured toward a phone on the desk. Just as they reached the half-way point into the room, the storm intensified, and a sudden cold draft of wind swirled around them.

The candles went out.

The door slammed closed.

Now she was the one who felt like screaming. Hell’s Minions. She was alone in the dark with Sin Boy.

Once Mrs. Drundyl disappeared again
, Maury glanced at his fellow wizards. “What should we do now?”

Thomas rose from his seat at the table and stepped toward the room just off the dining room that Frannie and Sinclair had disappeared into. “It’s the perfect opportunity, don’t you think?”

“You’ll lock the door?” Willie Jo asked.

Thomas pulled out his wand and made a circular motion toward the office door, calling up a gust of wind and making the door bang shut.  Another motion and the door locked with a resounding click. “That should do it.”

“Your magic is in far better working condition than mine,” commented Maury with a tone of approval. “I need more practice.”

Thomas quickly pocketed his wand as Mrs. Drundyl returned to the dining room carrying two covered platters. She dithered at the sideboard rather than serving, and Maury suspected she was waiting for Sinclair to return.

His stomach grumbled at the smell of the food. If their plan was successful, there was no reason for them to wait to eat. It could be hours. He cleared his throat to draw Mrs. Drundyl’s attention and cover his nervousness. “M-M-Mr. Haliday indicated you should go ahead and s-s-serve us.  It may be a while before he can return.”

Willie Jo tittered, almost giving them away. He covered his mouth to mute his laughter.

Maury relaxed when Mrs. Drundyl began placing dishes of salad in front of them, and putting salads at the empty seats. Before long, she left the room.

Thomas was the first to speak. “Not only did I lock the door, but I extinguished the candles, too. With any luck, we can cross our first love match off the list before dinner tonight.”

Maury wasn’t convinced it would be so easily accomplished, not with the way Frannie and Sinclair appeared to disapprove of each other.  But then, animosity had often been known to turn into something more, and lasting. He just wasn’t sure it could happen in hours rather than days or weeks. But he kept his thoughts to himself and settled down to consume the delicious salad.

Frannie could barely make out
Sinclair’s shadowed form in the darkness of the room. The storm shrieked outside, but inside the office it was so silent she heard the ticks of the grandfather clock at the far side of the room. And the sound of Sinclair’s breathing.

It was unnerving.

She had to get out of here.  Turning, she felt her way, rather than seeing, to the door, then fingered its wooden surface until she came in contact with the brass knob.

It wouldn’t turn.

“Is there some secret to opening the door?” she asked, her whispered tones sounding more like a shout in the dark stillness.

“There shouldn’t be a problem,” came his answer.

She yanked on the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. “No luck.”

“Here, let me help you,” he said, making her jump because she hadn’t heard his footsteps, and he was right beside her.

Then his fingers made contact with hers, and again she jumped, startled by the warmth of his touch and the way her fingers reached to meet his. She moved back a pace, but couldn’t manage more space between them because the wall met her backside. Sinclair’s muscular body effectively blocked her into the small portico where the door was situated.

He twisted at the knob, then shook the door, and she heard his muffled curse when he, too, had no luck with it. “It’s never done this before.”

“Is there some locking mechanism?”

“Yes, but I turned it and—nothing.”

“Maybe it broke when it slammed?” She leaned back into the door and knocked on it, hoping the ghost hunters would hear and come to investigate.

When nothing happened, Sinclair banged on the door and yelled, “We’re locked in.”

She expected to hear one of the ghost hunters trying to help them after a moment, but instead she heard silence. She raised her hand and banged on the door, too. “We’re trapped. Let us out!”

Sinclair’s arm brushed against her.

Then something did happen, not to the door, but to Frannie’s body, trapped as it was between the door and his frame. Frissons of awareness shot through her and she stilled, taking in the unexpected pleasure.

Sinclair’s breathing grew quiet and he froze in place, as if he was also experiencing the same—something.

He leaned into her and she held up her hand to stop him, but rather than obeying, her hand fisted his shirt, pulling him even closer.

He didn’t resist. He lowered his head until his lips met hers.

To say his kiss rocked her world would be an understatement. It was tender and sweet, it was hard and demanding, it was everything a perfect kiss should be.

Wicked awesome.

When he pulled her completely into his arms, she noted the hint of stubble on his cheek, the heat of his lips and the way his chest felt so strong and hard against her softness. Her heart beat in overtime, as if trying to leap from her chest, and when he deepened his kiss, she thought she might melt into a puddle at his feet.

It was all she could do to keep from trying to crawl even more completely into him. How could someone so annoying and top-lofty totally sweep her off her feet?

What was she saying? What was she thinking?

This was Sin Boy, and the last thing she should be doing was kissing him. She relaxed her fist and turned her head, trying desperately to regain her breath. She cleared her throat. “I know you meant well— And were just trying to, um, comfort me— But I’m okay now.” Well, she would be if her heart would slow down enough and her mind would uncloud enough for her to actually think.

“Is that what you believe? I kissed you to—”

“I was starting to panic.”

His hand cupped her chin and gently turned her back to face him. His lips touched hers once again.

If ever there was magic in a touch, magic in a kiss, it was here, now. And although Frannie never wanted it to stop, she knew it must. She had no business making out with a man she didn’t approve of except for his strong, muscled arms and the beauty of his lips on hers.

She had to get out of here, away from him.  Her hand closed on the door knob and this time, thankfully, regretfully, it turned.

Frannie spent the rest of
the evening helping the scientists position their equipment and take baseline readings, snapping many photos and avoiding Sin Boy as much as humanly possible.  He’d seemed rather amused by her attempts to get the older men to snarf down their dinner quickly, obviously aware she wanted to get away from him.

She’d declined to switch bedrooms with him, supposedly because one museum-like bedroom was much like the other, but in her heart she knew she couldn’t sleep in his bed without obsessing about the kiss they’d shared.

Now seated cross-legged on the monstrous bed in the Princess Room, with her laptop in front of her, she hurriedly typed up some notes while uploading the photos she’d taken to her hard drive.

She tried to fight back a yawn, but failed, and rubbed her sleepy eyes.

The investigation would resume in earnest in the morning. When she’d questioned Willie Jo about investigating in the daylight, he’d informed her that ghosts could materialize at any time. Their investigation would continue through the following night as well, to maximize the potential results.

Sleep claimed her. The next time she opened her eyes, morning sunlight shimmered in her bedroom and glare from all the gold made the room look like the inside of a fairy castle.

Her laptop’s screensaver flickered and she shoved the computer across the bed. She hadn’t even changed out of her clothes before falling asleep. And her mood wasn’t improved by the knowledge that her dreams had revolved around Sinclair and his kiss.

Falling asleep fully dressed just proved that her lapse of judgment had been triggered by being overly tired. Traipsing all over the mansion on top of the day’s travel could tire out anyone.

At least she hadn’t had the chance to worry about sleeping in the Princess Room and whether she’d mess up anything. She leapt from the bed and headed to the en suite bathroom for a much-needed shower, determined to keep her mind on her job and off thoughts about Sinclair.

A short time later, Frannie found the three ghost hunters in the foyer taking turns saying, “Echo,” and giggling over the resulting words coming back to them.

They were supposed to be hard at work. “I thought our assignment was to search for ghosts.”

Thomas was the first to recover. “We were about to do an EVP session and needed to—ah—test the acoustics.”

Yeah, right. She pulled out her notebook. “What’s an EVP session?”

Willie Jo waved a digital recorder in front of her.

It looked like the recorder she used when interviewing people.

“We ask questions, then listen to the recording to see if we received answers we didn’t hear during the recording session. The theory is that sometimes ghosts answer at a decibel level the human ear can’t hear without assistance. A recorder can capture those sounds, and upon playback they are within the human hearing range.”