Under My Skin (3 page)

“But it’s
the
house. The house that eats girls.” She shivered dramatically and behind her, Mr. Lee rolled his eyes.

“It had a history is all,” he said. Despite his almost mocking tone, I could feel he was just as eager to find out what it was like to live in Montgomery House. “No one has been there but a night or two for years.”

“They keep trying to sell it, rent it even,” someone piped up. “But after the first few nights, tenants go running for the hills.”

I shut my eyes for a moment and walled myself off emotionally from all of them. When I took a deep breath and steadied myself I felt better. “Eats girls?” I asked the crowd, trying to focus.

“Three girls have died there,” said. He cleared his throat, seemingly ashamed at taking part of the conversation.

“Three?” I asked, suddenly remembering claiming three had been his lucky number. I only knew of the two for sure. The maid and Lanie. One that I knew, by feeling his energy, Chadwick was responsible for. As for Lanie, I had no proof it was anything beyond an accident. Other than him calling her a slut, that is. I didn’t like to jump to conclusions but that might be as good as evidence in the case of . My hands felt cold, my throat tight.

“The maid, way back when,” Carla said, her eyes shining with gossipy glee. “Then there was a laundress in the 70s and then that poor realtor girl a few years back.”

“Elijah’s girlfriend,” Ann Jones piped in.

I turned my gaze to her. She was petite and round with a short white-blonde crop of dyed hair. Her eyes said she was kind, her plump bowed mouth looked like the mouth of a woman who liked to talk. “I met Elijah today,” I said.

They all seemed to sigh in unison. Despite keeping myself safe from their energy, the group emotion smacked me hard enough to rock me on my feet. Sympathy.

“Poor Elijah,” Ellie Gifford said.

“Poor Elijah, why?” I asked. Surely they meant the loss of his fiancée in my home. Something in me, though, told me that wasn’t it.

“He’s dying, “Carla said. “You’re new here, so you wouldn’t know.”

Chapter Three

That lovely man, that sad man, Elijah was dying from lymphoma. It had returned after a lengthy bout of remission, and the theory in my neighborhood seemed to be it was back because he had a broken heart.

After three drinks, a fistful of shrimp, some surprisingly good crab dip and some sort of brownie pie explosion that Carla insisted was her specialty, I rolled myself home—fat, tired and ready to sleep.

I was nearly on the property when I happened to glance up and see my attic window. A white “O” of a face pressed to the glass. I knew in an instant it was Lanie, the spirit trying to get in my head and my heart. And the dark figure behind her, not clearly visible but easily felt by me, was the Master of the house, .

“Right,” I muttered, feeling a little buzzy from the several drinks I’d had. I almost wished I was a bit more buzzed because then I could go in and just go to sleep like a normal person. But I’m not a normal person. Haven’t been one since…forever.

That thought made me laugh, and I did something I rarely let myself do. I talked to Justin. “You were a cop. Do you think this guy did it?”

I knew the answer in my heart, I just needed to talk to my partner. I hadn’t really dated since Justin had been killed in the line of duty. A few attempts at dating here and there, a few overnighters with nice men that left me somehow sadder after the fact. I simply wasn’t ready for a relationship. Or even sex. And certainly nothing that resembled a melding of the two.

The fine hairs on my scalp seemed to tremble, and I let myself for one minute hope that it was him contacting me, but I quickly let the thought go. Doubtful. Highly doubtful. Maybe I simply wasn’t allowed.

“Well, if you do think he did it, watch my back, okay, babe? He’s a creepy bastard and clearly—at least to me—a killer. He killed that maid and now it sounds as if he killed the laundress. A woman-hater from what I can tell, killing women, calling them whores…sounds like mommy issues.” I snorted, but that was just nerves, and I damn well knew it. “I mean, the mistress of the house didn’t look too pleased in that photo, now did she?”

I waited and nothing but silence greeted me.

“I love you,” I whispered quickly, then went into my new home. Montgomery House was huge by my standards, but it felt like a mansion now that I was spooked and alone. Just because you’re familiar with spirits and used to dealing with them did not mean you didn’t get the willies when scared.

Maybe even more so. I know what ghosts can sometimes do—strong ones, anyway. And for him to be this malevolent after so many years meant he was strong.

I found my book—technically his book—where I’d left it, tucked inside the cabinet under the built-in bookshelf. I rifled through the mishmash of various shaped newspaper clippings and finally found what I was looking for.

SECOND TRAGEDY AT ESTATE.
Laundress dies in fall and police rule accident
.

My home had once been an estate. I remembered Sheila, the real estate agent, telling me that after the owner died, portions of the property were sold by his heir—a distant relative he’d never even met. Some of my neighboring homes were built on what was once property belonging to this house.

“Freaky,” I sighed, and my skin prickled again before erupting in goose bumps. “If that’s you, you don’t scare me so don’t even try.” I was addressing . I kept my voice tight and low and hoped that he couldn’t sniff out my wildly beating heart. He really had a creepy energy.

A quick rush of peace came over me, and I realized it wasn’t him. Maybe it was Lanie.

The laundress’s name had been Mary Callahan. A smiling young woman with a short curly bob and freckles. I imagined her eyes as clear-water blue and her hair a reddish brown. She looked happy and personable in her black and white photo. Right next to the information of her death. She had been taking the laundry down to the basement, according to the article, and had tripped on a loose nail. She’d fallen and broken her neck.

“Now doesn’t that sound familiar?” I sighed. It was becoming very clear that all three deaths at Montgomery House were due to , only for one of them he’d been in spirit form.

“Do you call them sluts because they’re unmarried but with men? Having sex?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t talk to him, but couldn’t seem to help myself. The original article for the maid, Annabel Smith, had mentioned a boyfriend. Mary Callahan’s article mentioned a fiancé and Elijah was Lanie’s betrothed. They were committed but…

My skin erupted in another rush of goose flesh, but I felt calm. “I’ll take that as a yes, Lanie,” I sighed. “But now I have to go to bed.”

I’d figure out what to do about tomorrow. The both of us could not inhabit this house. As for Lanie, I had no idea what she wanted from me. Maybe she just wanted me to give Elijah a message. On my way up the stairs, I remembered he was dying and maybe she’d be able to tell him soon enough. My heart broke a little.

* * * *

He had such nice lips for a man. I knew they weren’t Justin’s lips, but they were warm and attentive, pliant but not too soft. When he kissed me again, I shivered in his arms. His mouth slid low on my throat, making my nipples go rigid and my stomach grow tight. It was like falling but being utterly safe.

My hands—but yet, not my hands—skated up his back. A well-muscled terrain covered with warm skin. I crushed him to me as much as possible, my fingernails skimming his body.

Elijah. I was kissing Elijah.

“God, do you have any idea how much I love you?”

I didn’t talk because this wasn’t for me. This wasn’t my memory or my experience, this was a glimpse. I felt it all, all her feelings. Lanie’s joy that he was in remission. Her excitement over getting a chance to sell Montgomery House after so many years unsold. The thrill in her heart and soul over their impending marriage.

I kissed him back, raising my arms so he could pull my sweater over my head. His mouth was hot along my throat, my collarbone, my breasts. His teeth rasped over my nipples, making then stand up in tight knots. The sensation of his mouth on me plummeted low in my belly. Elijah pulled my bra cups lower, finally giving a small chuckle and saying with amused frustration. “Take this thing off.”

I did.

I took it off and dropped it at my feet as he worked my button and my zipper. Elijah’s mouth never left my body, brushing over my lips, my shoulders, my belly. He teased me again, dragging his teeth over my hipbones so that my skin rose in goose bumps. There he was on his knees, tugging my jeans down, broad shoulders flexing, dark sandy hair in his eyes. When he looked up at me, I felt the force of her love so powerfully my legs felt weak.

I gave into it. I went into his arms when he pulled me down, meeting each press of his sweet mouth to mine. I grasped his short thick hair and my breath caught when he tugged mine just enough to startle me. Elijah kept me on edge, kissing over my eyelids, my nose, my chin before sliding his warm tongue down the length of my throat only to nip my sharply at my shoulder.

I yelped and then heard myself sigh as his mouth went lower to find the tip of one breast and then the other. I went back when he pushed me, curled my fingers in and twined them with his when he held my hands above my head and moved himself between my thighs. His cock was hard and just seeing him that way sent a stab of lust through me that was entirely mine. It shocked me how much I wanted it, needed it, even if it was a dream. I parted my legs and moved up to take him in and all the while my soul was caught between joy and sorrow. I wanted to experience this for Lanie if she needed me to, but a small part of me was heartbroken that I couldn’t have something like this in my life. Not yet, anyway.

Before entering me, he dragged the tip of his cock between my legs to get himself wet with my juices. The friction was maddening, especially after so damn long, and I gasped when his stiff tip drove roughly over my clit. It was an eager sound, and he answered it with one of his own. Smiling crookedly, watching me intently.

He slid into me slowly as if we had all the time in the world. Because we did—it wasn’t real. When he was as deep as he could go, he moved with serious intent, his face growing solemn as he watched me. Something in my throat felt tight. I thought it was my heart, perhaps.

“Kiss me again,” he said and I did, slipping my tongue against his as he devoured my mouth. His hands released mine to cup my face. When he cradled my head in one big palm and deepened the kiss, I came. It was as simple as breathing.

And I woke that way, caught in an orgasm that didn’t belong to me with a single thought in my mind.
Let me in. Let me help him over…

I wasn’t just an empath. I wasn’t just psychic. I was a medium and if I chose to, I could share myself with spirits. Lanie wanted me to let her in, let her walk again. She wanted to embody me at least some of the time. She wanted to help her lover out of this world and into hers, by residing under my skin.

I pushed my hands to my flushed cheeks, waiting for my body to calm, my heart to steady. I felt her pain and I felt his. I had lost my fiancé, suddenly finding myself adrift in the sea of life. The question was, was I trusting enough to let her have what she was asking for? Was I willing to share my body with her? And possibly Elijah?

Chapter Four

It’s not what you think, really. When a spirit inhabits your body you are very much aware of it for the most part. And if I let Lanie into me, I’d be co-piloting, so to speak. I’d be the Pips to her Gladys Night, the Family Stone to her Sly.

“I don’t know about this,” I said. I shuffled around the kitchen making coffee. It was still purple outside, the sun not yet up. It was a great way to wake up—mid pleasure—but damn, did it have to be so early? My hands shook briefly as I measured out the coffee grounds. It was then that I realized how long it had been since I’d had sex. Good sex.
Any sex.

And now it was via a ghost’s memories with a man that wasn’t mine. I rolled my eyes, groaning.

Please…

I shook my head. She was here and she was talking to me. “I know you love him…and really,” I put my head in my hands and listened to the coffee maker spit and hiss as it prepared my beloved brew. “What person wouldn’t love to be ushered out of this life and into the next by someone they loved so much?”

Was I talking myself out of this or was I talking myself into it?

It’s right…

I could feel her eagerness and her need so perfectly that it made my hands shake for a different reason. She was strong in spirit but not like . He lurked somewhere in my new home, a dark presence, a malignant force, whereas she was a light-bringing spirit, good and well-intentioned.

“Will you help me get rid of…the other?” I didn’t want to name him and have him appear.

It occurred to me that someone had volunteered information about the house the night before. About no one being able to stay for more than several nights. I’d been here for two, what awaited me?

I heard something. Something real, in this house, not a spirit thing. I cocked my head listening. A rustling, mumbling high vibration sound but when I moved around it stopped.

Shaking off the worry, I poured my coveted cup of coffee and set about unpacking boxes. They seemed never-ending, to be honest. When I’d packed to move, I felt I had very little stuff. Now I felt as if the stuff were crushing down on me.

Or maybe it was just the energy of my new home.

“See, if you were here, you’d never have let me buy this place sight unseen,” I chuckled. Inadvertently, I’d addressed Justin again. It seemed both utterly natural and very strange. “Then again,” I said, my voice catching with emotion. “If you were here, I’d never have bought this place to start with.”

I passed my morning in a blur of unpacking and puttering, cleaning and organizing. I’d taken two weeks off from my web design job but was seriously considering logging on to take on some projects just to keep myself occupied.