Page 3 of Spooked
I should be intimidated. Really, I should. But all I feel is a rush of adrenaline and…the spark of something hot and sinful low in my belly.
"Crystal clear," I say, meeting his gaze without flinching. "But tomorrow, Mr. Marsden, you're mine."
Something flashes in his eyes. He steps back as if I've pushed him, his massive form casting a long shadow across the marble tile.
"Ghost will show you to a guest room," he says coldly, nodding toward the big guy. A very apt name for the quiet one. "Stay there for the time being.”
With that, he turns and stalks away, disappearing down a dark hallway like the phantom he's dressed as. His footsteps fade into the creaks and groans of the old house as it battles the storm outside.
"Don't mind Wolfe," Devin says once he's gone. "He can be a grump about his privacy."
"I gathered that," I reply, still staring after him. "But he agreed to this photoshoot."
"Under very specific conditions," Ghost speaks up. "You caught him off guard. And he hates that."
"I noticed. Is he always this charming, or am I just special?" I ask, hefting my camera bag higher on my shoulder.
Ghost's mouth twitches in what might be the ghost of a smile. "Both."
He gestures for me to follow him up the grand staircase. As we ascend, my fingers trail along the banister, feeling the contours of the carvings. Oil portraits of stern-faced ancestors on the walls watch our progress, their glowering eyes seeming to track us.
I can't help looking back at where Wolfe disappeared, my mind already composing shots: the masked man in his haunted domain.
The beast in his lair.
Tomorrow, I'll capture the enigma of Wolfe Marsden on film.
Tonight, I'm trapped with him.
CHAPTER 2
WOLFE
“She needs to go.” I pace the length of my office, fists clenched at my sides.
The floorboards creak beneath my boots, protesting each agitated step. Around me, shelves of books and vintage horror memorabilia watch my moves in silence.
Dev sighs, perching on the edge of my enormous oak desk. The leather chair behind it—my grandfather's—sits empty, as it often does when I'm anxious like this. "Unless you want me to build a bridge with my bare hands, she's staying the night, Wolfe."
"Then keep her far away from me." I stop at the window, watching rain lash against glass that's older than both of us combined. Lightning illuminates the sprawling grounds, now turning to mud under the deluge.
The room feels too small, the shadows deeper in the corners despite the warmth from the fireplace. "I don’t want her sneaking around or in my way."
"She's a photographer, not an invasive species." Dev smiles slightly. "Coming out early is actually a testament to her experience and expertise. Though, yes, she should have asked first."
A knock on the door interrupts my retort. Ghost enters without waiting for permission—one of the few privileges earned by a man who’s ridden beside me in a Humvee as we’re attacked with explosives. He closes the heavy wooden door behind him, its iron hinges squeaking.
"Lee says the bridge won’t be fixed before tomorrow afternoon, maybe longer if the rain continues." Ghost delivers this news with his usual even tone, his silhouette stark against the ornate wallpaper.
"Fantastic." I rake a hand through my hair. The fire pops and hisses in the grate. "Where is she now?"
"Settling into the blue room.”
“Why didn’t you put her in the west wing, on the opposite side of this place from me?” I ask, shaking my head.
“You know the west wing leaks,” he replies. “Any room over there would be drafty and damp.”
“Why do you care?” I move closer to him. “You interested in her?”
