Page 49 of If I Stopped Haunting You

Kissing her would solve so many problems.

“From this?”

“How I can do better? As an author.”

Scrunching up her nose, Skinner shrugged. “It’s a heavy topic. Are you sure you want to have this conversation while we’re trapped together for an hour?”

Trapped.Damn it all, had he completely misread the situation? He wasn’t exactly hiding his intentions, and he’d thought she understood what was growing between them.Fuck.After everything, after all the amends, did she still hate him?

“You’re probably right.”

“Here, hold this for me.” She handed him her laptop, and he tucked it next to his, adjusting his grip. “Laszlo said it should be up this stairwell.”

“Do all rooms have secret doors?” he asked, drawing closer.

She smiled as she slid away the lock and pushed open the door to reveal a winding stairwell. Cool air hit them, and Neil coughed, the damp, dusty air filling his lungs. This castle needed a deep cleaning.

And maybe a good smudge with white sage.

“I’m not sure,” she marveled, ducking her head into the dark and brandishing her phone, “but there’s only one way to find out.”

Teeth gritted, Neil followed Skinner and her dim light up and to the right. A chill met them, and the hairs on his neck stood on end, that terrifying feeling of being watched making goose bumps rise along his skin.

He jumped in surprise at the featherlight touch of something on his shoulder, a skim of ghostly fingers that reminded him too much of the touch he’d felt in the study, but there was nothing and no one there. Shivering, Neil pushed on, forcing his eyes forward.

The passageway was so narrow that he had to duck, but she was the perfect height. Neil watched, amused, as she guided them up the winding stone stairwell, her head not quite reaching the ceiling. He pressed a hand to the cold stone for balance as he squinted up at her, taking in the wisps of hair freed from her braid, the way her sweater slipped down her narrow shoulders.

Beyond the damp smell of the passageway, there it was again, that light, sweet scent of coconut shampoo drifting around her. Neil shivered, his nails scraping against the stone. Fuck, what was it about that smell that made his mouth go dry and his hand itch to reach for her?

“I think this is it?” she said, turning to him.

Surprised, he stumbled back a step, his foot slipping over stone, and she reached out and caught him, her fingers warm against his wrist as he righted himself on the narrow stairs.

“Thanks,” he breathed as she let go and led them forward.

The door was much the same as the one in her room. It opened into the stairwell, and the plain wood was nicked and scratched as if something—or someone—had wanted in.

Or out.

The bolts squealed as she pulled it open and climbed intothe room, and Neil scrambled after her, the light from her phone fading around him. She made a small, disgruntled sound as she moved aside as she took her laptop from his hand, and he ducked through the entry.

They were in one of the castle’s narrow turrets, the walls tall and the ceiling flat. This part of the castle seemed untouched by time, frozen in a strange state of disuse. Moss was growing in between the stone, and Neil ran his hand over it, sinking his fingers into the soft vegetation. That explained the smell. It reminded him of the castle ruins, that dampened earth scent that lingered everywhere he went.

Neil spun around, considering the rest of the space. The circular room had been recently swept, blankets and pillows laid out in the center on the floor, surrounded by candles and a box of matches.

He frowned, eyes flicking over the space. It looked more like a romantic—albeithaunted—picnic than a writing exercise, but when Neil turned to say as much to Skinner, he stopped, lips parting as he took her in.

The room was lined in small, narrow windows, the light from the snow seeping into the space, giving it an almost ethereal glow. Skinner leaned against the wall, laptop dangling from her fingers as she stared out at the surrounding landscape, the corner of her lips twitching into the faintest of smiles.

With a soft exhale, she leaned back on her heels. “This weather issnowlaughing matter.”

Neil groaned. “That’s a terrible joke.”

Skinner pointed to him. “But you called it a joke.”

“A mistake.”

She snorted, crossing her arms as she peered out the window. She was lit up, a silver glow over her pale skin. And when she turned to him, mouth open to say something else, she stopped and frowned. Her gray eyes were striking in the light.