Christmas Spirit by Amy Garvey

Author:Amy Garvey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zebra Books
Published: 2012-01-23T16:00:00+00:00

“Toast’s up,” Sam said, grabbing the browned slices of bread and tossing them on a plate. Charlie was pouring juice, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery fried eggs and crispy bacon hovered in the kitchen.

“You can start,” Charlie said over her shoulder as she put the carton of OJ back in the fridge. Dressed in a plain gray robe and little else, her hair scooped into a loose ponytail on the back of her neck, she was still the sexiest, loveliest thing Sam had ever seen. “Just put in two pieces for me before you do?”

He kissed the back of her neck when he started her toast, letting his tongue linger over a warm purple mark in the shape of his teeth. She melted back against him, purring low in her throat, and his groin tightened in response.

Yikes. He had to learn to keep his distance for at least a few minutes at a time or they were never going to get out of this house.

He pinched her rear end lightly before he sat down at the table and picked up his fork, grinning at her startled gasp. She grabbed her toast and set it on her plate just as he was biting into the first piece of his bacon, dripping with runny golden yolk.

“So I’m thinking I’ll hit up the historical society today and look into the Prescotts,” he said when she was seated across from him, salting her eggs carefully. “I’d really like to get up to Boston, because there’s a group of paranormal experts, or so they call themselves, up there.”

She looked up, startled, her brows drawn together and making a worried dent in her forehead. His thumb itched to reach out and smooth it away. “Paranormal experts?”

“As expert as they get, I guess,” he said, and slopped up more yolk with the crust of his toast. “A friend of mine wrote a piece on them a few years back, and he was pretty impressed. Maybe they could help us figure out how this ghost happened into existence, and how to get it the hell out of this house.”

“Sam.”

He glanced up, toast halfway to his mouth, and frowned at her obvious unhappiness.

“Why ...” She sighed heavily, and pushed her plate away. “Why bother? It’s not hurting anyone.”

“Uh, I beg to differ,” he told her, and arched an eyebrow.

“Okay, aside from that whole pushing thing, which I’ll admit isn’t exactly friendly, but ...” She licked her lips nervously and fixed her eyes on him before continuing. “That’s only about you, so far, and ...”

He waited, but she seemed to have stalled, hands folded in her lap and her eggs congealing on her plate.

“And?” he prodded, driven to ask by emotions he wasn’t ready to name. The sunlit kitchen was too quiet suddenly, even if the air was charged with unspoken words.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, and it was hardly more than a whisper. “I don’t know what I mean. I’m just tired, I think.”

And he wasn’t going to be around forever.

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