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âAre you a ghost?â Gwen asked
The stranger smiled, his teeth glittering brilliantly white in the half darkness, making her heart trip. âNot a ghost,â he said, stepping closer. âI think youâll find Iâm very real.â
Gwen didnât move away, couldnât move away.
âWant me to prove it?â the man continued.
Before Gwen could answer, she felt him grasp her fingers, bringing them up and pressing them against his cheek. âArenât ghosts supposed to be cold?â
She nodded weakly, gauging the rough warmth of his skin. He was definitely not cold. In fact he was just the opposite. Hot. Magnetic. Seductive. Her fingertips scraped across the stubble on his cheek in a helpless, subtle caress.
Gwen had never felt so exposedâor so excited. At this moment she honestly didnât know if sheâd make one sound of protest if this total stranger took her in his arms.
And it looked as if she was about to find outâ¦.
Dear Reader,
I am a Halloween junkie. I love being scared, and I love scaring other people. At my place we go all outâbig haunted house, graveyard in the front yard, guillotine on the driveway. I have as many boxes of Halloween stuff in my attic as I do Christmas decorations.
So when Harlequin gave me the green light for a Halloween-themed Temptation novel, you can bet I was excited. But if I was going to do it, I wanted to do it rightâ¦meaning it had to have everything I love about Halloween and romance all mixed up in one tempting little package. And thatâs just what Trick Me, Treat Me is. There are costumes and quirky characters, a haunted inn, mistaken identity, amnesia, secret agents, gangster molls, arms dealers and even a few ghosts. Not to mention a lot of heatâ¦
So grab your pointy hats, hold tight to those broomsticks and be prepared for a lot of fun. Youâre about to go on a wild rideâ¦.
Happy readingâand happy Halloween!
Leslie Kelly
Trick Me, Treat Me
Leslie Kelly
This oneâs dedicated to all the talented writers
whoâve helped me so often along the weary writing road. To Marilyn, Mia and Laurie, whoâve been there since day one.
To Camille and Jill, who are always willing to
drop everything and give me a quick read.
And to Julie, Janelle and Karen,
who helped me shape this idea from the start.
Long live the Plot Monkeys!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Prologue
October, this year
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD Rosario Sanchez was destined to be the worst maid in the world. She hated washing floors, loathed vacuuming and would rather stick a spike in her eye than clean other peopleâs toilets. Sheâd long dreamed of being a hairstylist. âIâd love to take some bleach to Angel Fuentesâs head, so sheâll look like the puta she is,â she muttered.
But no. No classy hair salon job for Rosario. After high school, she would take her place in the family cleaning business, like a rich girl would take her place at a debutante ball. Rich she wasnât.
Generally, life sucked. Still, sometimes her after-school job had perks. Like now. She sat in a Chicago penthouse owned by a writer whoâd spent the last year overseas researching horrible murders for his next bestseller. She peeked at his photo on the back of his latest book. âMr. Winchester you are muy delicioso.â
He was hot, even if he was oldâat least thirty. He had dark hair, chocolaty eyes. Tall and mysterious, he was a man to sweep a maid off her feet, like in that Jennifer Lopez movie.
Sheâd like to help him write a new kind of book. âRomance,â she said. Fantasizing, she reached into a giant bag of potato chips. Crumbling a handful of greasy chips on to the front of her sweater, she moaned, âCome and feast on me you big, sexy man.â
Rosario eventually picked the crumbs off, popping each one into her mouth with her fingertip. They were Layâs, after all.
Grabbing the remote, she glanced around and cringed. The penthouse looked like it had been the scene of a huge party. Probably because it had. Last month. The night Manuel Diaz had dumped her for that bitch Angel. âPuta,â she said aloud this time.
Sheâd have to clean the place eventually. But not for a while. Her mother trusted her enough never to check anymore to make sure Rosario was performing her after-school dusting, watering and mail sorting duties at the penthouse. It wasnât like it needed real cleaning with it having been empty so long. The owner wasnât due back until late Januaryâthree months. She had time.
Grabbing the remote, she settled in for an hour of soap watching. Before she could even turn on her favorite show, however, she heard the door open. And nearly wet her pants.
Mr. Winchester is home early!
âRosario?â
Worse. âMama?â She groaned, a long, low sound holding both terror and dismay. This was definitely worse than the owner coming home. He, at least, wouldnât smack her in the head with a purse the size of a suitcase, like the one Mama carried.
A long stream of invectiveâall in Spanishâspewed from her motherâs mouth. Rosario knew enough of the language to pick out several words, the kindest of which were lazy and useless.
Then the door opened again and her grandmother walked in. From worse to catastrophic.
âMr.
