to thigh. With every shift, another bit of skin would be revealed. Tempting. Tantalizing. Heightening the anticipation as any self-respecting wedding night negligee should.
Fate. Fate or one of the ghosts in this house had made the pipe in her room break right over most of her clothes, damaging all her nightgowns except this oneâ¦the one she was supposed to have worn on her honeymoon. The one sheâd kept after sheâd canceled the wedding, sold her dress, hocked her ring and delivered the cake to a homeless shelter.
Because, after finding her bastard of an ex giving more than dictation to his secretary a few days before their wedding, sheâd needed one sultry, seductive, feminine thing, to remind her she was a desirable woman. His cheating had made her doubt herself. The nightie gave her confidence, though no one had ever seen her in it. Until now. And judging by the raw want in his eyes, this stranger definitely thought she was a desirable woman.
How amazing. How exciting. Howâ¦enticing.
Still, she wasnât stupid. This was risky business. She didnât know who this man with the hungry eyes was.
He seemed to sense her sudden misgivings because he stepped to the side, turning slightly away. He was now far enough that she didnât feel his warm breath on her skin. She shivered, wondering how she could miss the warmth of the stranger when by all rights she should be running like mad to her room.
âI really am sorry for frightening you.â
âItâs okay.â Her voice sounded weak, breathy and nervous. She cleared her throat, then realized she meant it. âItâs fine. I wasnât afraid. Not really.â
She should have been, she knew that. She was alone in her nightgown, late at night, in a dark, quiet house, with a stranger. The normal reaction should have been fear. But for some reason his height didnât intimidate her. His breadth didnât, either, though his chest looked broad enough to tap-dance on. No doubt, this man, clad in skintight black fabric from his neck to his shoes, should have caused concern.
Maybe because sheâd been burying the sensual part of herself for so long, Gwen had reacted with instant, unrelenting attraction. The kind that could turn stronger women than she into complete fools.
âWhat are you thinking?â
âThat finding dark, handsome strangers in the kitchen late at night just doesnât happen to women like me.â
He didnât laugh, or even smile, at her frankness. âAnd I donât often stumble across stunning blondes in nighties when I visit country inns. Or are you, perhaps, the ghost of this inn?â
âIâm entirely real.â Then she paused. It was, after all, Halloween. The whole town believed she lived in a haunted house. Sheâd grown accustomed to strange happenings that had given her more than one sleepless night in recent months. And there were her auntâs spectral friends to consider. âAre you a ghost?â
This time, he did smile, his teeth glittering brilliantly white in the half darkness, making her heart trip again. Maybe her question hadnât been so ridiculous. No man this seductive could just stumble across her path. Not with her luck when it came to men.
âNot a ghost. Iâm very real.â He stepped closer again, until the tips of his shoes almost touched her toes. His pants brushed her gown; she could almost feel his leg against hers.
She didnât move away, even as the word dangerous flashed through her mind.
âWant me to prove it?â
Before she could answerâand Gwen couldnât say what her answer would have beenâshe felt the man grasp her fingers. He lifted them until she was almost touching his face. Then he pressed her fingers against his cheek. âArenât ghosts cold?â
She nodded weakly, gauging the rough warmth of his skin, wondering if heâd read her mind when sheâd thought earlier about how sexy his five oâclock shadow looked. âYouâre not cold.â
Not cold. Hot. Magnetic. Seductive. Her fingertips scraped across the roughness of his cheek in a helpless, subtle caress.
âAnd spirits donât breathe, do they?â
Without warning, he moved her hand until her fingers brushed his lips. God, those lips. The other part of his face sheâd found so arousing. Gwenâs knees grew weak and shaky. She grabbed the counter with her free hand, then focused on the soft breath touching her fingertips as he slowly exhaled.
âGhosts are also transparent,â he continued, his voice so quiet, she almost had to strain to hear him. âI would say Iâm pretty solid.â
She knew what he meant. But he didnât come closer to let her feel just how solid he was. He was letting her decide. So she did. Not making a conscious decision to do so, she moved her feet forward, until her legs nearly cupped one of his.
Definitely solid. Hard. Thick and hot between her thighs. She wobbled on her bare feet and let out a long, shuddery sigh.
Oh, he was much more dangerous than any ghost. And here she was, reacting like every stupid bimbo in every scary movie ever made. Not running for the door when the killerâs clanging around in the attic, but heading up the stairs toward the danger instead.
She scooted her feet apart, rubbing her calf against his pantsâ¦taking another step closer to the danger in the attic.
âSee? Iâm not a ghost.â He turned her hand, staring at her wrist. Then, slowly, he drew it to his mouth and brushed his lips over the pulse point. She couldnât say for sure, but she thought she felt the tiniest flick of his tongue on her skin. Or else she imagined it, because she wanted to have felt it.
She moaned. No, he was not a ghost. But oh, heavens, with his breath caressing the tender skin of her wrist, she suddenly understood the seductive appeal in all those vampire novels.
âYouâre obviously not a ghost, either,â he whispered before lowering her hand to her side. âWeâre both flesh and blood.â
Once heâd let her go, Gwen took a tiny, physical step backward. And tried to take a great big mental one.
The stranger seemed to realize what heâd doneâ¦kissing the wrist of a stranger with the kind of sensual awareness Gwen had only ever read about in sultry novels. He met her stare, their eyes sharing knowledge of the boundaries theyâd already crossed.
This was more dangerous than any supernatural threat. Because, at this moment, Gwen honestly didnât know if sheâd make one sound of protest if he tried to take her in his arms.
To be completely honest, she doubted it.
JARED DIDNâT KNOW that heâd ever met a more desirable woman. Or, at least, not one he had ever desired more. She was curvy and feminine, made more so by the outrageously seductive nightgown she wore. Her hair was a mass of golden curls. It tangled around her face, tumbling over her shoulders, creating a peekaboo curtain over the high curves of her perfect breasts. She had eyes the color of his favorite brand of whiskeyâgolden brown, almost
