Page 15 of If I Stopped Haunting You

Neil peeked up at her. She blinked, expression blank and carefully guarded before dipping her chin.

“I feel like we’re about to get murdered,” Daniela whispered, hands pressed to the glass.

That about summed it up. They were veering into a tunnel in a country they weren’t familiar with to spend a week at a castle that claimed to be haunted.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 5

PEN

If Scotland was already a fantastical place, the snow only enhanced it, casting a curtain of mystery over the landscape. The van lurched down the path, the snow steep on all sides. When Storm finally parked the van in the round drive with a bit of difficulty, Pen unbuckled, pulled on her jacket, and slid from her seat, landing in the snow with acrunch. She couldn’t stand another moment in that small space with him.

Despite doing absolutely everything in her power to think of literally anything else, Pen had spent the better part of the two-hour drive from the ruins trying not to think about the way Neil Storm had pulled her close.

Or the way he’d held her hand when he tugged her along after him.

Or the way he’d cupped her cheek and leaned in.

Or the way he smelled (of vanilla and coffee and something musky she couldn’t quite place—not that she’d thought about it). (Shedefinitelyhadn’t thought about it, and itdefinitelyhadn’t flooded her senses, making the bag of chips she bought when they refueled taste stale on her tongue.)

Pen could still imagine the press of his fingers on the inside of her thigh, the pressure building between her legs as he lifted her up and over the fence, and his muffled laughter when she flailedmiserably. And he hadn’t meant to, it had been an accident, but a finger had slid up even farther, applying the smallest of force against the crotch of her jeans.

And she’d liked it.

Fuck.

She breathed sharply, letting the air cool her down. She was blushing hard, heat rising from her neck and flooding her cheeks, and she felt the strange, sudden urge to bury her face in the snow. She couldn’t get him out of her goddamn thoughts.

Get it together,she urged herself. It was Neil Storm, for crying out loud. The man she’d reportedly hated for the last few years.

Fuck.

“Did you say something?” Storm asked, frowning over the hood of the van.

“Nope!”

Had she said something?For fuck’s sake, she was unhinged.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to ignore him as she pivoted to survey the purple sky. Pen could feel Storm’s eyes on her, tracking her movements. When he closed the door and angled away from her, she found her eyes drifting back to him. She considered his tousled hair and his loose sweater. Storm was hot in that probably-works-in-a-library sort of way. She didn’t know why she had a thing for the soft, nerdy look, but Neil Storm had it and more, and the longer she looked at him, the more vulgar her thoughts turned.

Because she was imagining his hand there, slipping onto that soft spot on her full thighs, squeezing gently, fingers traveling up to toy with her—

Oh, god, what was wrong with her?

She dug her nails into her thigh, trying to calm herself as the others began gathering their things. Pen could hear Laszlo and Daniela moving in the back seat, their voices muffled before they opened the doors and came out into the cold night. There was asudden change in the air, a tingling down her spine as she glanced about them.

They were well and truly alone in this place.

Blinking, snow melting on her lashes, Pen turned and surveyed the property. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. She’d never been to a castle before coming to Scotland. Oh, she’d seen them in film and travel guides with people like Rick Steves. And every time she heard the word “castle,” she imagined tall turrets, gardens, and large, wooden doors.

This castle was none of that. While it wasn’t entirely small, it wasn’t huge either. Larger than the last, this one rose out of the ground, towering over the trees and blotting out the purple clouds in the sky. After a day spent looking at ruins, it was a breath of fresh air.

And for a castle in Scotland, it was in great shape. The snow illuminated it at night. Stone stacked up in two small turrets on either side of the rectangular base. It was two stories in height, windows littering the front and the towers.

The garden, however, was a different story. It was overgrown, dried, and withered to the left and right of the castle. The trees had snaked their fingers over it, leaving little room for the sky and natural light to make the stone building known. Powdery snow was sprinkled over the lot of it, covering the castle in a bit of mystery. Stone stairs led up to its entrance, where a set of small wooden doors were opened inward, casting a soft glow over the steps. A figure waited impatiently on the upper landing, back hunched and hands fiddling with a large ring of keys.

“Let’s go!” Daniela said. She dropped her bags beside Laszlo and made a run for it, pausing on the first landing to catch her breath before weakly jogging the rest of the way and stopping beside the figure.