Haunted Page 2

  Hardly surprising. She’s a clever woman, after all.

  Her eyes dip to the sausages, and I see the moment she makes up her mind.

  “Do you have ketchup?” she asks.

  I hide my smile, although I doubt she’s fooled. “Of course.”

  “Good,” she mutters. She turns back to her tent, grabs something, then stomps towards me, carrying a folding chair. She sits down. “You definitely owe me food.”

  She sits down next to me, and I put a couple of sausages on a paper plate and pass them over.

  “Thanks.” She dumps a frankly obscene amount of ketchup on the plate, stabs a sausage with her fork, dips the end in the ketchup and then bites it off.

  The sound she makes has me looking away, fighting to control the situation developing south of my belt buckle.

  When I can talk without embarrassing myself, I refocus on the sausages in front of me. I hold out a hand to her.

  “I’m Eli.”

  She squints suspiciously at my hand, then at my face. Eventually she takes a breath and shakes my hand. “Scarlet.”

  “Nice to meet you, Scarlet.”

  Her lips thin as she struggles with her feelings. “You know how to cook a sausage.”

  I can’t help but smile openly then. “Thank you. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

  Her lips curve, just a little, in response, and my dick twitches.

  I shouldn’t enjoy this, sitting with her in the golden afternoon sunlight. Feeding her sausages and watching her unabashed enjoyment as she dips them in ketchup and eats them, looking at the woods, the grass, the sky. Anything but me.

  I catch her looking away a few times, and my chest puffs up of its own accord. She’s checking me out, and I can’t help but like it.

  I also want to dig a hole and throw myself into it. The plan is working. That’s never bothered me before, but right now, I don’t like myself very much.

  This is a dangerous line to walk, and I need to get my head on straight. I’ve done a lot of jobs over the years. This isn’t the first time I’ve been attracted to a mark, even though I know they’re bad people who thoroughly deserves what’s coming.

  Being attracted is one thing, but I can’t get attached. Scarlet’s karma is coming for her. My job is to see it through and then walk away.

  Again.

  ***

  Scarlet

  The man is seriously good with sausages, and yes, I know exactly how that sounds. I can’t help enjoying the food, though, even while I try to figure out what’s going on. It could, of course, be a massive coincidence that he’s staying at exactly the same obscure and very basic campsite as I am, at exactly the same time. I find that very hard to believe, but how would he even have known I was here? It’s not like my department would have given out that information, even if they had it, and actually, only two of my friends know exactly where I’m staying. I know he didn’t follow me. I arrived yesterday, and I’d have remembered that huge, sexy bike if I’d seen it while on the road. Sure, my car needs a lot of focus to drive, given its habit of dying without notice, but still.

  I shake off the strange feeling in the pit of my stomach and accept the situation for what it is: a random meeting of two people who thought they’d never see each other again. I won’t lie, my lady parts aren’t in the least bit disappointed about running into Tall, Dark and Grills Good again, but I have no intention of repeating the humiliation of what happened in the pub.

  “You’re not getting your hands on me again,” I tell him, as I finish my last sausage. His eyebrows lift. “I don’t need a repeat performance.”

  I can see him trying not to smile. The way his mouth moves has my own lips tingling at the memory of his kiss, and it pisses me off. Arrogant bastard. I glare at him and his eyes sparkle with humour.

  “Noted,” he says, gravely serious, and I want to throw the bottle of ketchup at him. “Would you like burgers for dinner?”

  I want to refuse, but grad students aren’t known for being fabulously wealthy, or even comfortable. I’m on a tight budget. If he wants to feed me, it’s the least he can do.

  “Yes,” I tell him. I’m about to tell him he’s going to need more ketchup, but then I remember how much I had with my sausages. My anger leaches away, and I cringe inwardly.

  Okay, I’m still embarrassed by his regret after what happened in the pub, but the fact is, it was still the most amazing sexual experience of my life, and I did just eat most of his ketchup. And half his sausages.

  “I’ll bring ketchup,” I tell him. “And barbecue sauce.”

  He smiles then, a wide, genuine grin, and my stomach flip flops. “It’s a deal,” he says.

  Dear God, his smile should be registered as a dangerous weapon. I should be running away, fast. Instead, here I am agreeing to spend even more time with this ridiculously gorgeous stranger.

  What have I done?

  ***

  A couple of hours later, I’m sitting outside my tent, checking off a list of people I need to talk to and places I want to visit while I’m in the area. Lydford Castle has a longstanding folk legend about a seventeenth century hanging judge called Judge Jeffreys. He came down hard on a local rebellion and sentenced hundreds of rebels to death by hanging. Word has it he now roams the area in the form of a huge, black pig.

  I’m not here to see the ghost. I’m not even particularly bothered about the legend of Judge Jeffreys. There’s not much logic behind him haunting this area, as he didn’t spend much time here and had no particular ties to any of the locals.

  What I’m interested in is other, perhaps less well known, stories that might have predated the Judge Jeffreys tale. My theory is that a lot of modern folklore is based on older stories which have since faded from memory. It’s hard to track them down, as most folklore is passed down orally, but if you dig deep enough, you can usually find something interesting.

  I’m currently checking my list of the people who’ve agreed to talk to me about local stories and mythology. I’m seeing one this evening, and I figure I’ll go after dinner with Eli.

  Dinner with Eli. How did that happen again? I’m probably sending entirely the wrong message, unless the message is ‘I really want to bang you six ways from Sunday, but I also don’t want you to know that’. In which case, I’m spot on.

  I’m a virgin, for Christ’s sake. I’m not supposed to be lusting after a near stranger.

  A shadow falls over the open doorway of my tent. I look up in time to see Eli crouch down. The bunch and flex of his thigh muscles under denim makes my mouth go dry.

  “What are you up to?” he asks.

  It takes me two attempts to speak. “I’m checking my list of interviewees for my thesis project.”

  He frowns. “Thesis project?”

  I tell him about my research, fully expecting his eyes to glaze over within the first twenty seconds. Instead, he surprises me with intelligent questions and what looks like genuine interest.

  “So you think the story of Judge Jeffreys is based on an older legend?” he asks, and his eyes sharpen.

  “Well, Judge Jeffreys was a well-documented historical figure, but it’s the black pig angle I’m pursuing. He had no particular ties to pigs, as far as I can tell, black or otherwise, and it seems to be a very random addition to the tale. I think there might be an older basis for that part in local folklore, and over the years it got conflated with the Judge Jeffreys haunting story. I’m also interested in why the Judge would haunt anywhere. He had a bad reputation, but all the sources of the day indicate only one of his decisions was legally questionable, and it had nothing to do with the rebellion. That’s not actually part of my research, though. It’s just an interesting side note.”

  “Do you have any theories?” he asks.

  “A few,” I admit. “I don’t know enough about the man to be sure, but the general theory about haunting is that the ghost in question either doesn’t realise they’re dead, or has unfinished business. I’d like to look into it a
bit more, but I have to spend the majority of my time on my doctoral research. I’m in the anthropology department, not ghost hunting.”

  “Interesting.” He looks down at the sea of notebooks, textbooks and sticky notes strewn around me. “Do you need any help?”

  I stare at him. “What kind of help?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. Just sounds like you’ve got a lot of bases to cover, and I’m interested in your research. I don’t have much else to do around here over the next couple of days. Seems like as good a use of my time as any.”

  I stare at him, trying to figure out his angle, but he looks completely genuine. He’s focused on the various books and bits of paper around me, not looking at me at all. If anything, he’s too focussed, but I can’t imagine what’s so interesting about my research that would justify such close attention.

  Something about him doesn’t add up, but I can’t deny the idea of spending more time with him doesn’t pull at something in my chest, and lower down. He’s the first guy who’s ever shown any interest in my research. Even Professor Harrison wasn’t interested, especially after—well, whatever. He wasn’t interested.

  I don’t know why Eli is, and I know I shouldn’t encourage it. I don’t know why he’s here. I’d assumed he was on holiday but that doesn’t seem to be the case either. Don’t most people have plans on their holidays? Or maybe it’s just been too long since I took a real vacation. I’ve forgotten what normal holidaymaking behaviour is.

  He finally looks at me. “So how about it?”

  I bite my lip. His eyes track the movement, darkening. I look away as heat rises in my cheeks and between my legs. I should say no. It’s a bad idea. Spending more time with this man would be dangerous to my peace of mind. And other parts of my body. Besides, he’d probably make a terrible assistant. Does he even know how to type? He’s probably got terrible handwriting. Awful with people. No idea of proper interview technique.

  Definitely a terrible idea. Much as it pains my pussy, I have to say no.

  “Yes,” I say.

  What the fuck?

  “Excellent! Where do we start?”

  I stare at him, trying to figure out what just happened. He grins at me, suddenly full of boyish enthusiasm, and I give up. Maybe this will give me valuable insight into what it’s like to have an assistant.

  “That depends,” I tell him. “How long are you going to be around?”

  His eyes flicker, then refocus on me. “As long as you need me.”

  I swallow and force myself to look away. I very much doubt that’s true, but I can’t help wondering if this might be more than just a moment of intense pleasure up against a wall. A man who cares about my research? Who promises to be around as long as I need him?

  After my last meeting with Professor Harrison, I promised myself I’d never trust a man again, but now I’m wondering. I clearly trust Eli enough to let him help with my research. Is this turning into something else?

  ***

  It’s starting to get dark by the time we roll back into the campsite in my temperamental little car, and I can barely breathe. I reluctantly turned down the opportunity to go to the interview on Eli’s bike. Partly because I’ve got a lot of paperwork that needs to be kept under control and partly because I didn’t think showing up on a motorbike loud enough to wake the dead would give the right impression.

  Given those two facts, there was no reason for me to spend half an hour each way pressed up against Eli’s body, no matter how much my inner slut wanted to.

  Give that girl an inch, and she takes a mile.

  My case against pressing up against Eli hasn’t been helped by his behaviour this evening. He’s been kind and respectful, asking intelligent questions and gently nudging Mrs. Carmichael back onto the subject when she got sidetracked with her daughter’s recent wedding photos.

  Which brings me back to the lack of oxygen in my car. I know it’s small, but it’s always been plenty big enough for me. Turns out it’s positively minuscule when you shoehorn six feet and two inches of hot, hard male into the passenger seat. As soon as I’ve put the handbrake on, I leap out of the car like a sprinter on the starting line and head straight for my tent.

  “Scarlet.”

  His deep voice strokes over my skin, and inside me too, my pussy quivering in response. I don’t want to stop, much less turn around, but it would be rude not to, right? I mean, I can’t just ignore the man. He’s been helpful, and it’s not like we aren’t both well aware that I heard him say my name perfectly clearly.

  I turn around, both disappointed and exhilarated to discover he’s closed the distance between us to stand a bare six inches away. I swallow and force myself to look at his face.

  He really is ridiculously beautiful.

  He holds something out, but I can’t tear my eyes away from his, sparkling green, but getting darker as the light fades.

  “Your notes,” he says, his voice rougher now.

  “Mm-hmmm,” I say, still staring at his face.

  “Scarlet,” he says, and I have to press my thighs together against the heat building there. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to drag you into my tent and fuck you all damn night.”

  That sounds pretty good right now. In fact, it sounds really good right now.

  Something hard hits my chest, and my nipples spring to attention as his hand brushes over them. I look down to see my notebooks pressed against my front, but that’s not what’s got my attention. What really has my focus is his long, strong fingers wrapped around them, his knuckles pressing against my breasts.

  I look up at him. He’s staring at his hands where they’re touching my body, his Adam’s apple working as he swallows. He looks at my face.

  “Take your notes, Scarlet.”

  Something in his voice knots me up inside. It’s deep and rough and…longing?

  Whatever it is, my pussy quivers, my nipples ache, and my lips tingle with need. I reach up and take my notes. My fingers brush against his, and electricity whips up my arm. I gasp and step back.

  “You should get some sleep,” he growls, before turning away and heading to his own tent.

  I watch him go, wondering what just happened. I knew I wanted him. That’s why I was so embarrassed when he appeared to regret getting up close and personal with me in the pub. It’s also why I was so annoyed to see him again. No one likes to have their humiliations rubbed in their face. But spending time with him today, he’s better company than I thought he would be, with a sly sense of humour and quiet intelligence.

  Most of all, he seems to be just as attracted to me as I am to him. I don’t know why he’s holding back, but when I think about it, it makes sense. He knows he embarrassed me the first time we met. Maybe he’s waiting for me to make the first move?

  Apparently, I’m seriously considering it.

  Do I really want a fling? No.

  Do I think this could be something more?

  Yes.

  The question is, do I have the guts to do anything about it?

  ***

  Eli

  It’s nearly midnight, and I’m hiding in my tent like a coward. I screwed up this time. I really screwed up.

  I like her. I really like her. She’s clever and kind and patient. She didn’t get frustrated when Mrs. Carmichael started pulling out the family photo albums, nor when the old lady couldn’t give her anything useful for her research.

  I could have told her Judge Jefferys sprang fully formed from angry, righteous judge to angry, righteous ghost, but since I can’t tell her how I know that, I have to watch her do her work, while knowing that this particular legend is a dead end.

  I am intrigued by the idea of him hanging around because of unfinished business, though. The thing is, his business will never be finished. There’ll always be more sinners to punish.

  I frown. The sinners part is bothering me. The more I get to know her, the harder I find it to reconcile what I know about her for my work with what I kn
ow about her from personal experience. She doesn’t seem like a bad person. I know better than most how bad people can hide the rot in their souls, but she seems bright and kind and sweet, and I’m beginning to doubt myself.

  Which is bad, because that’s making it harder to keep my hands off her. Once can be forgiven. Once is a slip. Twice, and possibly more than that, because I really want her, would definitely be frowned upon by my boss. I can’t let myself get attached.

  And yet… it’s happening, whether I like it or not.

  I need to find out the truth. And I need to find out now. There’s less than twenty-four hours left, and if my suspicions are correct, we’re going to need all of that time to figure out how to get out of this situation.

  She doesn’t even know there is a situation yet.

  Shit.

  I shove myself to my feet and leave my tent before I can second guess the action. A light still glows inside her tent, casting her silhouette against the wall. That’s good. She’s awake. Working, by the looks of it, sitting down, hunched over something in her lap. Probably another book. I’ve never seen anyone carry so many books around.

  It’s strangely endearing.

  I stride over and stand outside her tent. “Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Me. Eli.”

  “Eli who?”

  I frown. She’s forgotten me already. I have to admit, that’s hard on my ego. I thought I’d made more of an impression than that. “Did you hit your head?”

  The zipper opens, and she pushes the tent flap open. “Seriously? You’ve never heard a ‘knock knock’ joke?”

  I have no idea what to say to that. Due to circumstances, there are a lot of things I’ve never had to know about. Jokes are one of those things. Bounty hunters don’t generally have much need for humour.