A Haunted Romance (14 page)

The only sounds for the next minute were the odd floating notes of the music and their breathing.

“We’re here not for ourselves, but for the spirit of this house. Come, spirit of the house, and communicate with us, your servants. We mean no harm, and we only wish to learn your wishes. Come, spirit of the house, and give us some signal when you are here.”

They sat there in silence for another minute, and another. Chelsea felt her hand sweating around Dalton’s wrist. Was anything going to happen?

Then she heard the all too familiar moan. She had never been so close to it before, and it nearly startled her into letting go. But Andrea had stressed keeping the circle. In any case, the moan died out after a few seconds.

“Welcome, spirit,” Andrea said. “Some among us have thought your name might be Minerva. Is this your name?”

The spirit moaned again. It seemed to be coming from across the table, toward Trent or Caroline. Chelsea wanted to let go and move away, but she didn’t.

“Talking is hard, isn’t it? Come into the middle of our circle. Just bang on the table, if that will be okay. Bang once if your name is Minerva, and twice if it isn’t.”

The sudden shaking of the table surprised her, and Andrea’s hand tightened about her wrist, reminding her not to let go. She tightened her own hand on Dalton’s wrist in response. The table only shook once, with a thudding noise. Her heart sped up. She realized she had been hoping it was Minerva. She wanted to talk to the author of those pages.

“Minerva, are we welcome in your home?” asked Andrea.

Twice came the
thud
, and twice the table shook, and Chelsea’s heart sank.

“May we ask a few questions, Minerva?”

The table shook again, but this time it seemed almost as if it happened twice, close together, the first a
thud
and the second right after a startling
bang
.

Even Andrea’s voice, which had been almost eerily calm, shook. “I—I think that was a yes.”

It sounded to Chelsea as if there were two different people thudding the table. But everyone there had their one hand and their other wrist in contact, so none of them could make either noise, right?

“If you have questions for Minerva, ask them. You first, Chelsea.”

Chelsea took a deep breath. “If I got one of your novels published, would that help?” She wasn’t sure any publisher would take them. They were dated, obviously, and she’d been doing a little reading on Victorian-era erotica—even the known classics went in and out of print. But she could certainly self-publish one electronically or do print-on-demand. Explaining e-publishing to a ghost was going to be hard.

Again there was the one loud
bang
, this time accompanied by two
thuds
.

“Are there two spirits here?” asked Andrea. Two loud
bangs
, one
thud
.

Andrea chuckled nervously. “At least one of you thinks there are. There are two of you. One of you wants the novels published, and one of you doesn’t.”

There was a single loud
bang
and a breaking sound. Something small struck Chelsea.

“Shit,” yelled Trent.

Andrea’s hand was shaking. “Stay still, stay still.”

“I’m bleeding,” remarked Trent, in a much calmer voice.

“What?” asked Caroline and Chelsea together.

“The candleholder broke, I think. A shard of glass got me, but I’ll be fine. Let’s keep going.”

It must have been the other spirit that did that. Minerva’s father? It seemed he had gotten what he wanted out of life, why would he stick around? No one else had been there long enough, except Pat. Or Joann.

“Aunt Pat?” Chelsea asked. A couple
thuds
answered, but they didn’t sound like the ones before.

“Joann?” asked Trent. Two more
thuds
.

The moaning started again, loud.

“Let’s get out of here,” yelled Andrea, releasing her grip on Chelsea’s hand. Dalton moved too, so Chelsea let go of his wrist and stood up. In the darkness, chairs crashed to the floor, and bodies stumbled into each other. Chelsea stood up, but didn’t move. Footsteps clattered on the stairs. The door downstairs creaked open.

“Chelsea?” came Trent’s voice. He’d gotten up too, it seemed. He was silhouetted against the doorway, lit by what little light came into the room from downstairs now that the door was open.

“Yes, I’m still here. You’re bleeding. Go ahead and go. I have to stay.”

“Everyone else is gone. I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Chelsea shrugged. His presence was comforting. “Minerva?”

Her eyes now adjusted to the darkness, and with the aid of the light coming up the stairs, she saw the book rise and fall before she heard the thump on the table. No human hand moved it. And the moaning didn’t stop. Everything in her body wanted to run, compelled by a primitive urge deep within her. But she stayed still. This is what the whole séance was for, after all. Cat would never have run in a situation like this.

“Is your father here?”

Two thumps.

“Is there anything I can do to make you happy?”

One thump.

Chelsea smiled slightly. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin before realizing it was just Trent.

Yes or no questions were so limited. Other than getting her work published, she had no idea what the ghost might want. She had been so sure her guess had been right, she hadn’t even thought of anything else.

The door slammed shut, suddenly, and the room was once again in total darkness. Chelsea’s nerves shattered. She ran to the door, yanking it open with all her might, expecting resistance—and felt a pull trying to close it against her. Trent grabbed it with her. She ran down the stairs, after the others, who had left the door open. Andrea and Caroline stood just outside. Dalton was already behind the wheel of his SUV, his headlights turned on and bathing the front of the house in light.

“What happened?” asked Caroline.

“The door—the door slammed again.” It seemed silly, here outside, in the light. She had run from a door. “I saw it—I saw it use a book to thump against the table.” She turned to Trent for safety and saw his arm for the first time. He had a gash three inches long and covered with blood.

“I’ve got a first-aid kit in the car,” said Chelsea and ran to the Jetta. She came back with a little blue first-aid box.

Trent winced only slightly as she cleaned off the wound with an alcohol pad. The cut was long and jagged but not especially deep. “Glass cuts hurt like a motherfu—pardon my language.” He smiled sheepishly at Chelsea.

“Hey, I’ve heard it all before,” Chelsea said. She put antibiotic cream on the cut and then taped gauze to his arm. She wasn’t an expert, but at least it’d stay protected until morning.

“You’re lucky,” said Andrea. “That ghost is far more malevolent than I expected. It could have killed you.”

Trent frowned. “I wonder. I think it was just using the candleholder to thump with, and it thumped too hard. Everything it’s done, when you think about it, has been pretty clumsy. It closes the door but doesn’t open it because that would involve turning a door knob. It dropped the key on a table. It makes noises. It tried to hang a picture and dropped it instead. Can you think of any exceptions, Chelsea? Anything it did that required any kind of fine motor control?”

Chelsea thought about the book and the dildo. If the book was open to a random page, then none of that required anything more than moving and dropping an object, really. “No, I can’t.”

“Fine motor control or no fine motor control, Chelsea, it can still hurt you,” Andrea said.

“It dropped those attic stairs on me,” said Dalton. Chelsea hadn’t seen him get out of the car, but he had come up right behind her.

Chelsea nodded. “And yet—it hasn’t tried to hurt me at all.”

“Maybe it wants you frightened first.”

Chelsea sighed. “Maybe the whole thing is more trouble than it’s worth. I should probably take that offer and sell and go back to Falls Church.”

“I’d miss you if you moved away,” said Trent.

She blinked. Miss her? She was sure she was just one in a long line of women for him. She’d been sure he’d be ready to move on.

“You want me to go back in there?” she asked, incredulously.

“No. You’ll stay at my place.”

She wanted to tell him to stuff it. He hadn’t even asked her. But one look at him and she was sure she’d lose any argument. If he’d told her like that because he wanted her in his bed, she’d have melted, and even now her insides warmed. But he was just giving her shelter, wasn’t he? Even if that was all, he was protecting her.

Caroline chuckled. “Someone’s going to have a good time tonight.”

Dalton frowned. Chelsea looked at him. Was he going to offer her the couch, if he had one, a nice tidy platonic arrangement to compete with the carnal one that Caroline’s comment had invoked? But instead he asked, “Can she stay at your place, Caroline?”

Caroline smiled. “Of course she could. But she doesn’t want to.” She turned to Chelsea and smiled. “Trust me on that, Chelsea.”

Dalton glowered at Caroline. “I should have never invited you.”

“And here I thought we were making up.” Caroline shrugged. “Mind giving me a lift back to my car, Trent and Chelsea? I’m parked at Dalton’s place, and I could walk, but it’s dark.”

“Of course not. Hop in.”

It was tight with three people in the two-person cab of Trent’s pickup, but that just meant her body was pressed closer to Trent’s. Chelsea didn’t mind that at all.

“It was good to see you again, Trent,” Caroline told him as she hopped out.

“Good to see you too, Caroline.”

Caroline went around to the other side of the truck, gave him a peck on the cheek through the open window, and went to her own pickup. Caroline, at least, didn’t regret her time with Trent, that much was clear. That was the way to be, thought Chelsea. Enjoy life for the moment.
Carpe diem
. She really didn’t have any problems with any women he might have loved and lost in the past.

It was the idea he might move to some other woman in the future that knotted her gut.
I shouldn’t be falling in love with him.

I never was any good at doing what I should.

Chapter Seven

“If you like, I’ll take the couch.” There were a few novels on the sofa Trent gestured toward. His living room wasn’t tidy, but it wasn’t too bad for a bachelor pad either. There weren’t any
Playboy
s, socks, or underwear scattered about.

“If I like,” Chelsea repeated. She ought to take him up on his chivalrous offer, but she didn’t want to. She wanted his warm body against her. She still didn’t entirely believe Minerva meant to harm her, but she didn’t have any benign explanation for the slamming door either. Or that awful moaning that seemed to come from the walls around them.

“I’d rather have you in my bed.” Trent’s eyes focused on hers. “Naked. Your warm body in my arms.”

He looked at her so intently, she felt like she was already undressed. But she didn’t flinch away. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. He turned on the lights.

He had an old-fashioned king-size four-poster bed. The laundry was in a bin in the corner, and the bed had been made.

“Are you sure you want the lights on if I’m getting undressed?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound light. She was sure she felt better than she looked.

“I’m sure. I want to see every inch of your beautiful body.”

They undressed in silence, watching each other. She tried to take in each ridge of muscle on his chest. It was better than watching him stare at her. She couldn’t avoid noticing his cock, thick and rampant, as it sprung free.

“How can you be horny after what just happened?”

“How can I not be, seeing you naked? You are so beautiful, Chelsea. So sexy.”

She met his eyes for just a moment. He meant it. She actually felt sexy and beautiful there with him. It was wonderful, but she couldn’t keep looking at his eyes. It was like flying too close to the sun.

She knelt on the floor and kissed the sensitive head of his cock. He sucked in air in a rush, and hearing the sound made her smile. She parted her lips just a little, sliding her tongue along his length as she took his cock into her mouth.

“Give me your wrists, Chelsea.”

She held her hands up above her head, and she heard a drawer open behind him. Her wrists, he’d asked for, not her hands. Did that mean what she thought it meant? A little tinkling sound distracted her for a moment, but she didn’t look.

She felt him wrap rope around her wrists, and she fought not to look up. She concentrated on taking him deeper inside her mouth, inhaling him, and then slowly sliding back, feeling him pulse.

She couldn’t pull her wrists apart. He’d done this before, obviously. Why else would have rope in a drawer easily reachable from the bed? It didn’t matter, not right then. She was going to live in the moment. All she had to do right then was surrender to him, and that was all she wanted to do. He held her bound hands tightly above her.

He moved his hips, and she couldn’t stop him from setting the speed and the depth with which he took her mouth. She sucked at him, tasting his salty precum, her lips tight around his thickness, tongue questing along his length. He never thrust in so deep as to gag her, although he came unnervingly close.

She didn’t, couldn’t resist when he picked her up and set her on the bed.

“Why above me and not behind my back?” she asked.

“Because I want you to lie on your back, and hands get uncomfortable when your weight is on them like that.” He lay against her, not entering although she felt his hard cock pulsing against her thigh, and kissed her deeply. The weight of him was a comfortable burden as she was pressed between his body and the mattress.

He moved lower, kissing her breasts, sucking each nipple into his mouth in turn. They hardened in response, her areola crinkling, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. Something tight pinched one nipple, and she looked down to see a small metal clamp being attached to the other. They were tight almost to the point of pain, but not quite, leaving her peaks aching and sending sparks straight to her core. Then his kisses traveled lower, loving the tummy she’d always thought of as pudgy. She spread her legs as he moved lower still. His hands stroked her inner thighs, not quite touching her where she wanted to be touched most. She felt his hot breath against her pussy.