How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead (18 page)

“So, we’re agreed? If this doesn’t
work, you’ll throw the painting into the snow come winter?” he
joked.

Ana flicked a finger across the
lighter.

End it, Ana. Kill me for the last
time for the first time.

The phone rang, waking an exhausted
Ana. She rubbed her hair from her face and answered, “Hullo?” Her
voice was groggy and heavy with sleep but she propped herself up in
bed on her elbows and tried to concentrate.

“Analise?” Lara’s trembling voice
said. “I have very unfortunate news.” Ana was pretty certain she
knew what her unfortunate news was, but didn’t interrupt. “When you
left last night, you didn’t latch the backdoor. It appears
vandals…broke into the library.”

Analise managed a gasp—though it
sounded fake to her ears. “No!”

“Yes. I don’t blame you, of course.”
Well, Ana could tell she did…a little. She’d have to get the nice
librarian something special for Christmas. A fruit basket or
something. “They seemed to be particularly interested in the
occult.” Hmm, the staging of all those books had been a nice touch.
“But, worst of all, they burnt up the painting in the special
collection room,” she said. “Thankfully, that seemed to be the
extent of the damage, but….”

Now, that had been difficult. A
hundred year old oil painting had been quite the fire hazard.
Apparently, she’d stomped out the flooring beneath it fast enough
that Lara wasn’t counting that as a casualty.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Her voice
squeaked at the end when an arm snaked around her waist, and Shane
bit into her shoulder. She shoved his face away. This was hard
enough to work up a sad voice, without him kissing his way along
her neck. Oh, that felt good, but if she moaned Lara would think
she was a perv. She leaned forward while covering her neck with her
free hand. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

“It’s okay,” Lara said. “Carly
discovered it and completely lost it. She’s talking with the police
right now about book defacement and keeps saying strange things
about your…uhm…cousin and blackmail.”

Huh. It appeared the prosperity of
the Franklins might also end in fire—ignominiously.

Ignominious—shameful; disgraceful;
disreputable—see also the bulk of the Franklin family.

“How strange,” Ana said,
yawning.

“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you. I just
thought you’d like to know. I’m sure you’ll understand that the
private collections room will be closed for a while. And I don’t
think our board of directors will allow anyone in there
after-hours.”

“Oh, I finished up last night. Thank
you, Lara.” Shane was back to kissing her neck and was determined
this time. So much for that little energy problem he’d had. He’d
gone from fading fast to solid in an instant when the last inch of
the painting had lit. She’d been busy stomping out ash as it fell,
but not so busy that she hadn’t been terrified she’d sent him
toward that white light. One second, he’d been a shimmering vapor,
and she’d been crying and biting her lip to stop herself from
sobbing. Then, he was there, solid, real, and he’d grabbed her in a
tight hug. Those moments from last night—that hellish fear she’d
lost him, and then that “I can’t breathe—he’s alive—he’s not gone”
moment stuck with her. You didn’t almost lose a guy like Shane
without it leaving a permanent mark on your heart.

It was just as well that he didn’t
have an energy problem.

He couldn’t indulge it while she was
talking to sweet grandmotherly Lara, of course. Ana scrunched her
shoulders up to thwart his attack until she was off the
phone.

“Oh, well, I’ll let you get back to
what you were doing,” Lara said.

“Thanks, bye,” Ana said, squeaking
again as Shane bit her neck.

“Bye.”

She rounded on him, in frustration.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to sound awake—let alone
remorseful?”

Shane chuckled, lying back on the
bed and putting his arms behind his head. “I almost believed you
felt sad, mouse, if it’s any consolation.” It was strange to see
him in the light drifting through the windows. Human. Solid. Warm.
If she wanted to kick him, she could. Not that she wanted to—not
with his body looking all warm and yummy.

The phone rang again.

“The retirement home?” she murmured,
looking at the display. “Oh, I bet Dolores is calling to find out
if I want to look at those journals.” She pointed a finger at Shane
who’d begun grinning mischievously again. “Behave. She’s an old
woman. We don’t want to give her a heart attack.” Ana didn’t trust
his smile one iota. “Hello?”

“Analise. Analise Franklin?” Dolores
asked.

“Yes, Dolores. It’s me.”

Shane was contenting himself with
playing with her hair—so that was a little better.

“Well, I realized this morning that
I forgot to mention something about that whole business with
breaking the curse—that might interest you specifically. I forgot
that she’d mentioned that only someone from Charles Franklin’s
family line could break it due to the prosperity blessing tied into
the other bit. It was something like that. I can look up the exact
wording for you. I can’t imagine why I didn’t remember it before,
but when you get to be my age, dear, you’ll understand. My memory
is nothing like what it once was.”

A laugh burst out of her, and the
silence on the line made it clear—Dolores thought insanity might
reach Analise before senility.

“Sorry, Dolores, I was just thinking
of all the strange irony of it. It wasn’t really a laughing moment.
I was up really late last night.” Really late. Gloriously late.
Mmm.

“Oh, well, I’ll let you get back to
sleep then, dear. Stop by and see me again soon, and let me know if
you want a closer look at those journals.”

“I will,” Ana said.
“Bye.”

“Bye.”

“What?” Shane asked her. “What did
she say?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told
you,” she said, laying on her stomach.

Shane took advantage of her position
to kiss the back of her neck while crowding her right side. He
definitely felt flesh and blood this morning…and last
night.

“You taste so sweet,” Shane said
against her skin. His mouth was sending shivers along her
skin—which he could feel—and made him laugh. Stupid…not
ghost…unghost…undead. Whatever.

Her phone rang again.

“What the…? We’ll need to destroy
that thing,” Shane said.

Shane hadn’t turned out to be keen
on all technology. He’d read about much of it in the books that had
wandered into the private collection. Cars—he liked. The bathroom
in her apartment had seemed endlessly fascinating. Perhaps if he
was still interested in history, they could watch TV later on. She
had recorded a documentary on haunted castles that he might like.
Maybe he could even help them out with their haunted tour they were
planning. It was probably rare to have a former ghost as a tour
guide.

Analise picked up the phone and read
the display before groaning. “It’s this guy that my mother wants me
to date.”

“Analise, I forbid you to answer the
phone.” It was a good thing he was solid enough to kick. Ana was
sensing a lot of kicking in their future.

“I told her I’d answer it. I
promised her.”

He reached out a hand. “Give it here
after you press the button that turns it on.”

Curious, she answered it and handed
it to him.

“Hello?” he answered. “Yes. This is
her phone. No. I don’t approve of her talking to other men.” He
held the phone out to her. “Okay, now, make it stop
working.”

She put it up to her ear. Dead air.
Great. Her mother was going to kill her for that. After turning it
off completely, she set it on her side table. “You know, you are in
for a rude awakening if you think this arrogance thing is cute,
Shane,” she said. “I swear, if you say the word ‘forbid’ one more
time….”

Flipping her onto her back, he
pulled her underneath him. “You’ll what, little mouse? Spank me?”
He raised his eyebrows.

Ana rolled her eyes. “You are
shameless.”

“Mmm hmm,” he agreed, kissing behind
one of her ears. Shivers tickled across her skin.

“Also, we’ll need to call you
something else when you meet my family—the ones who aren’t in jail
by the end of the day—and Jenny, my best friend. She’s been helping
me investigate your death.” Speaking of which, she should really
call in sick. For irony’s sake, she should say she had a toothache.
That could be like their code.

“Alexander,” he said. “It’s my
middle name.”

“What about your last
name?”

“I’ll simply take yours when we get
married. It’ll serve Charles right. It seems like the perfect
revenge.”

Despite the thrill his words gave
her, his assumptions were arrogant. He hadn’t even asked. “Oh, so
we’re getting married then, huh?”

He should at least ask her…at some
point. Preferably at a point when his hands weren’t doing what they
were—and she could concentrate.

“Yes,” he said. Then, with a
spreading grin—that she didn’t trust, he added, “I forbid you to
marry anyone else.” He was a scoundrel.

Scoundrel—rogue; scallywag; knave;
Shane Alexander Blythe; hers.

It was as haunted as a house could
be, and it was his. He’d bought this monstrosity that the rest of
the town suspected was haunted, but he genuinely knew. Something
bad had happened here. Ten years ago, this upcoming fall. The worst
day of his life. The house was good and haunted, and he should raze
the entire thing. Bulldoze it. Somebody should have long before
he’d added his own ghosts.

The wallpaper was yellowed and
peeling off the walls. Every time he set foot in this place, he
disrupted years of dust and displaced entire families of mice and
spiders. It was nasty. It was disgusting. It had sat vacant for
most of his life.

He shouldn’t bother.

The whole house damn near screamed,
“Give up! Save yourself!”

In one of the back rooms a faucet
dripped ominously. He sniffed, shook his head, and then coughed
before pulling his mask over his mouth. It sure as hell smelled
like something had died in here.