Page 32 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
"Rick! Oh...God...Rick," I forgot about the rule and moved my hands. I grabbed his head, running my fingers through his dark waves and pulling him up on top of me as the last echoes of the orgasm rang through my body. When I stopped writhing, he stretched out next to me, drawing me into the curl of his chest. Wrapped in his muscular arms, he held me until my breath evened out and my heart rate was almost normal.
"That's what kindred souls do," he said into my ear. "And then they eat."
"I think I might like being kindred souls," I whimpered.
He sat up and poured some wine, handing me the glass. I sipped it appreciatively. From the basket, he retrieved a baguette and spread some cheese on a corner. Then, he shifted me into the harbor of his arms and fed me. Leaning against him in the late summer sunshine, I watched as he bit into the bread right over the section I'd eaten. I can't explain why, but it was intimate, almost sacred.
When I was done eating, I moved to get dressed. I found my panties in the grass and held what was left of them between my fingers. Wadding them into a ball, I ended up going commando. I carried them home, bewildered as to how he'd managed to do the damage that he did.
They weren't just torn. They were shredded.
e The Tour
I finished unpacking my moving box and rummaged through my closet for something to wear. I decided to go with jeans, but I changed out of my comfy ones and into some that fell lower on the hip and were more form-fitting. Then I tossed on a black lace camisole. It showcased just enough cleavage to prove I put some effort into my appearance but with enough support and coverage to be appropriate for a first date.
As I finished my makeup, the phone rang, Michelle calling me back.
"I called as soon as I got your message. What's going on? You sounded frantic."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Grateful, I'm between classes. Spill the beans!"
"My house is haunted."
Silence. I could hear Michelle breathing but nothing more. Then she broke into laughter. "Very funny. But really, if you want to joke with me, do it when I don't have school. Okay?"
"I'm serious. But, it's all right. Turns out he's a friendly ghost."
"Yeah, okay, hon. Joke's over. Gotta go." The call ended, and Michelle was gone.
Well, what did I expect? It wasn't exactly a believable story. I tossed the phone down on the dresser in frustration. The gadget left a trail as it slid across the dusty wood. Jeez, I desperately needed to clean in here.
With my finger, I wrote myself a note in the filth. Clean me. Good enough. I'd get to it later. Probably. Cleaning wasn't one of my strengths. Along with cooking, it hung out in the domestic skills section in the back of my brain, a heavily cobwebbed compartment I rarely used. As I scooped the phone back up, I checked the time. Almost noon, I skipped down the stairs and snatched the borrowed mug off the counter before dashing out the door and locking it behind me.
I met Rick at his cottage, holding out the mug like the ceramic could shield me from his sexiness. He gave me the killer half smile as he accepted it, then slipped his arm through a picnic basket waiting on the small table near the kitchen and opened the door for me.
"You made lunch?" I asked.
"Of course."
"Can you cook?"
"When you live alone as long as I have, you need skills." He smiled and held out his hand. I didn't hesitate this time. I slid my fingers into his and savored the resulting ache his touch elicited.
Rick led me across the street, the basket swinging from his elbow.
"You look like Red Riding Hood with that basket," I quipped.
He paused, turning toward me. His intense stare made my heartbeat quicken. In a deep whisper, he said, "When you look at me like that, I feel like the big, bad wolf."
Damn! I swallowed hard.
He continued to an iron gate that looked exactly like the one in my backyard. This was an entrance to the same cemetery. From the street, you couldn't see the headstones because of tall hedges and a series of maple trees framing the wide, gravel path within.
It dawned on me that this was where I'd first laid eyes on him, driving into town. A heap of fresh earth told me why he'd been digging; a new signpost to the left of the gate read Monk's Hill Cemetery: trespassers will be prosecuted.
"Do you get a lot of trespassers?"
