Rampant

“There’s a spirit residing in this house, and it’s getting a bit lively—” he paused to smile “—since you arrived.”

She didn’t return his smile, opting to munch on her toast instead.

“Perhaps you’ve felt something,” he added, trying to draw her out.

Eventually, she shrugged. “The house is new to me. I’m afraid logic prevails when it comes to talk of spirits and whatnot.”

Fair enough. He needed to explain a bit more, give her a context. “The spirit here has responded to you being in the house. It manifests much more powerfully now because it thrives on sexual energy. I was able to center it last night.”

She shook her head, and chuckled. “I’m sorry, I know this is your field, but it’s all a bit out there for me. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Grayson was pretty sure she’d be convinced by the “out there” ghost soon enough, if last night was anything to go by. That kind of power would multiply and grow more tangible, the longer she was around.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that there is a ghost in this house, and that it liked the fact we were doing the wild thing on the stairs?”

“Yes.” Grayson would much rather she would have been intrigued, as most of his students were. But she had come into this blind. “Just because you don’t believe in it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” She looked thoughtful but didn’t respond, so he continued. “You’ve never thought about ghosts?”

“I don’t believe in them.”

He sensed that she was pulling away from him, which was the last thing he wanted. He reached out and stroked her hand where it rested on the table. She responded, taking a quick intake of breath, her gaze shifting to meet his. The connection between them was so strong it surprised him.

She smiled. Better.

Maybe he needed to try a different approach and drip feed her information, keep it light. “If I told you that ninety percent of this village believes this house is haunted by a woman called Annabel McGraw, you’d have to take their opinion into account, wouldn’t you? I mean, if you were a gambling person.”

“I’m not a gambling person.” She flashed her eyes at him, amused.

“I would have guessed that. Tell me, what’s your everyday life like?”

“Oh, well, I have a busy routine. I work in London as a PA for a prestigious law company. I supervise several junior staff. It’s chaotic and I love it. People rely on me to be well-organized and I have to be there for them, whatever they need.” Her eyes twinkled. “A sense of humor helps.”

“Interesting. I wish I could have you as my research assistant.”

She threw him a sexy look, but he meant it. She had a good head on her shoulders, she was a conduit for supernatural power—whether she recognized it or not—and she was a damn sexy woman to be around. He’d be mad not to want her. His comment seemed to have got them back on level ground. “I didn’t mean to get heavy about this. This is my job, consider that.”

She observed him as she picked up a piece of bacon with her fingers and nibbled on it. He wondered if she knew how sensual she was, and what it did to him. He doubted it.

She shrugged. “I understand that, but what has it to do with me, other than that you want to check out the house while you are in here.” She shot him another look.

There was accusation, but also a lingering sense of wonder there. What was she thinking about? Last night? He was. In fact it kept running over in his mind, because he wanted to do it again. “I did want to see the house. It’s quite fascinating, but that wasn’t the only reason why.”

She was looking at his chest again, and he wondered if she’d even heard him. “Maybe I should go put a shirt on.”

“It’s what’s coming out of your mouth that’s unsettling me, not what you’re wearing.” Amusement rang in her tone. “Or not wearing.” Her gaze lifted to his. Despite the sarcastic retort, he could see the sexual interest in her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, her movements slow and sultry as she lifted her cup to her lips.

He reached for her free hand and kissed her fingertips. “Run with me on this, humor me a little.”

“Okay then, I’ll humor you, but only because you make such good…breakfast.”

She was teasing him. Well, that was something. At least she hadn’t thrown him out. “The spirit that abides in this house was a very—” he chose his words carefully “—mischievous person, when she was alive. A naughty lady, shall we say.”

“A woman of the night?”

She was getting a wee bit interested now. “No, not quite. I think that if we knew her, we’d consider her a sensualist, or a femme fatale, if you like.”

“Ah, a seductress.” She glanced around the kitchen and there was tentative curiosity in her expression.

“Exactly. Research shows that sometimes the mood of a person can abide within their home, especially if the spirit resides there.”