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Shiver

Jo Leigh

Private Sessions

Tori Carrington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Shiver

Jo Leigh

It’s said that you have to lose yourself in order to find who you really are …

What you find might change your life!

Dear Reader,

Carrie Sawyer is a lot like me. She’s cynical, stubborn and determined. The last thing in the world she wants to do is go to a ghost hunting convention with her best friend. Carrie doesn’t believe in ghosts, and never will. She does believe in having a holiday fling with the sexy and single owner of the hotel.

At first, Carrie gets her shivers from Sam Crider. His touch, his kiss. Even the way he looks at her. But then … mysterious things start to happen, and there are shivers of a whole different kind.

I had a ball writing about Carrie, because I was one of those people who scoffed at ghost sightings and psychic predictions. Now? I rather like the idea that the world is filled with magic and wonder. And love. Definitely love.

Hope you enjoy your time with Carrie and Sam. I sure did. Visit with me at www.joleigh.com or on Twitter @jo_leigh. I’d love to hear about your personal encounters with the supernatural!

Sincerely,

About the Author

JO LEIGH has written over forty novels. She’s thrilled that she can write mysteries, suspense and comedies all under the blaze^® banner, especially because the heart of each and every book is the love story.

A triple RITA^® finalist, Jo shares her home in Utah with her cute dog, Jessie. You can come chat with Jo at her website: http://www.joleigh.com, follow her on Twitter @jo_leigh and don’t forget to check out her daily blog!

To Charlotte.

For writing so beautifully and inspiring me so much. Also for the LOLS.

Prologue

To: SororitySisters4ever@egroups.com

From: AdventureGirl@FantasyEscapes.com

Okay, ladies, I did it. Fantasy Escapes is opening its doors to the public tomorrow morning and I’m officially trolling for business among my best friends—call me tacky, but I think you all deserve a fabulous getaway!

For those of you who’ve been under a rock this last year, I’ve been working on a new start-up business ever since Premiere Properties downsized me out of a job. I’m putting my extensive travel experience to good use to help clients take one-of-a-kind vacations.

Need a massage on the beach in Miami? I can book you with the best hands on South Beach and I know which places have the most luxurious cabanas.

Need a ski trip complete with a sleigh ride?

A bicycle trip to the top of a Hawaiian mountain? I can make sure you pick the best time to see the perfect sunset while you’re there.

You’ll recall I’m a bit Type A? Picture the power of Marnie perfectionism at your fingertips! I’ll create that once-in-a-lifetime experience you dream about.

So here I sit, brimming with knowledge and ready to send one of my fave foxy friends on an adventure. E-mail me when you’re ready to get away! You all know you deserve it … I’m talking to you, Carrie Sawyer!

CARRIE CLOSED THE e-mail from Marnie and pulled up her own Web site. Her comic, Cruel, Cruel World, needed some new panels since she was only ahead by eight days, but she also needed to check the CCW forum, which was a lot easier at the moment since she had no idea what she was going to draw.

Her thoughts drifted back to Marnie’s message before she even clicked on the first new comment. She should call Marnie. They hadn’t spoken in forever. It was good to see that her old friend was jumping into the deep end of the risk pool. Marnie was too smart to be anyone’s flunky.

Man, they’d had some great times way back when. Especially she, Marnie and Erin. They’d met during pledge week freshman year, and the friendship had grown and blossomed as they’d shared their undergraduate years. There were other friends, but none as close. Carrie wasn’t sure why she and Marnie hadn’t stayed in touch, except for the distance thing. Unlike Erin, Marnie had settled in Miami, and neither of them was particularly great with the phone calls.

On the other hand, Carrie and Erin spoke three or four times a week. On the phone mostly but in person when they could. It helped that they both lived in downtown Los Angeles. Carrie had found this giant old loft two weeks after she’d graduated, god, five years ago. The neighborhood was a little dicey, but the light that came through the windows in the converted factory was spectacular, and Carrie loved the space.

She’d only been able to afford it because of Cruel, Cruel World. The comic had started as an experiment. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know about it back then, and she’d written under the name of Carrie Price, but it turned into a marginal hit the first three years of college. Incredibly, the comic had struck syndication gold when she’d become a senior. She’d been picked up by a number of newspapers, and had also built a considerable Web presence with not just the Monday, Wednesday and Friday strips, but the forum, merchandise, her graphic novels and appearances at pretty much every geek and nerd convention across the country. Which meant she was rarely off the clock.

As for Erin, she’d fallen in love with the buildings. She’d come to L.A. to pursue her graduate degree in architecture at USC. Erin had found a place a couple of blocks away from Carrie, which was about the best thing that could have happened.

Left to her own devices, Carrie wouldn’t leave the loft for days at a time. She didn’t need a lot of live interaction, not when most of her social life was online with all the other comic writers, readers, gamers and bloggers. Not that she had anything against going out in general, but if it wasn’t with Erin, she didn’t exactly have a smorgasbord of available companions. Especially since her relationship with Armand had crashed and burned. He’d seemed so perfect. A misfit, a musician, a mystery. He’d been great in bed, fun to go out with and a complete cheating bastard.

Despite knowing he was all wrong for her and that he hadn’t ever really made her happy, she missed him. It was crazy and stupid and it felt horrible. She shouldn’t miss him. He was bad for her, and she deserved better. But her brain and her emotions didn’t seem to be speaking to each other.

Sadly, the disconnect between what she knew and what she wanted had been going on for a while. In particular, when it came to men. So she was taking a break, a sabbatical from relationships, until her heart and mind joined forces.

The phone rang and Carrie answered without a glance at the caller ID. “Hey, Erin. I assume you got the e-mail from Marnie, too?”

“Lunch at the deli. Ten minutes, max.”

Carrie sighed. “Yes, ma’am.” As she disconnected, she wondered what Erin was going to get her into this time.

1

THE DUDE’S ELBOW POKED the side of her boob. Again. Carrie couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or if he was just clueless. If she had to make a guess, it would be clueless.

It was bad enough the Crider Inn was over an hour from the Denver airport, but the shuttle bus was so packed Carrie hadn’t even been able to sit next to Erin. Although Carrie shouldn’t complain too hard. At least she was wedged against the luggage rack on one side, whereas her friend was in the middle of a creepy-guy sandwich. The one on her right looked to be in his thirties, sported a world-class mullet and kept pushing up his tortoiseshell glasses with his middle finger, making it look as if he were flipping everyone the bird. Repeatedly. On Erin’s left was a nice-enough-looking guy, somewhere in his twenties, who wouldn’t be bad at all if he hadn’t snorted every two seconds. The postnasaldrip kind of snort that even if you gave him a tissue, it probably wouldn’t do any good.

Carrie caught her friend’s gaze and scowled at her with evil intent. For her part, Erin smiled brightly as if this were the best shuttle ride ever. Who knew? Maybe for Erin, it was. After all, everyone with the exception of the driver and herself talked of nothing but ghosts.

Ghosts.

Carrie sighed, reminding herself Erin hadn’t pointed a gun or threatened her in any way. Carrie had willingly dropped over a thousand bucks of her very hard-earned savings to come to this almost weeklong ghost-hunting extravaganza. She never would have agreed if it hadn’t been their last vacation together. Erin was moving to New York three weeks to the day from when they returned, leaving behind her downtown Los Angeles loft to begin her new career as a bona fide architect in New York City.

The two of them had vacationed together every single year since they’d been juniors at the University of Louisville. Last year’s trip to Bryce Canyon in Utah had been Carrie’s pick, and although Erin hated camping out, she’d gone along with the plan. In return, Carrie had promised she’d go along with whatever, although if she’d known it would have involved ghost hunting, she might have amended the agreement.

Her complaints had fallen on deaf ears, and Erin had booked the trip through Marnie’s Fantasy Escapes travel agency. Marnie had been thrilled and grateful, which had helped seal the deal, but the real capper had been when Erin had pointed out, quite cleverly, that Carrie could consider this a weeklong research trip. After all, she was a cartoonist who made her living mocking trends and popular culture. If ghost hunting didn’t give her enough ideas for her next graphic novel then she should just quit right now and go find herself a job serving fries with that.

“So, I was sound asleep. I mean, I was out like a light. Nothin’ could have gotten me up, not after the workday I’d put in. But then I hear this shriek. It was loud. Like, I don’t know—”

Carrie winced and covered her ears as the guy with the elbow issue screamed at the top of his lungs. It was a girly scream, too, high-pitched and weird as hell and far scarier than any apparition.

“Yeah, like that,” he said, as if he hadn’t almost shattered the windows.

Carrie noted that the shuttle driver hadn’t flinched. The bus hadn’t swerved or anything. She guessed working for the “Most Haunted Hotel in the U.S.” got one used to the odd scream.

“The weird thing was, the people in the living room, like, I don’t know, ten feet away or something? They didn’t even hear it. But I had my EMF under my pillow, and it was going crazy. Seriously. All in the red. No shit.”

Erin had given her a cheat sheet on the ghost-hunting nomenclature. It was far too lengthy to memorize, but she knew that EMF stood for electromagnetic field, and that Elbow Guy was referring to his meter. Carrie’d had no idea there was so much equipment involved in ghost hunting. EMF meters, ultrasensitive thermometers, night-vision goggles and cameras, and a bunch of other stuff she’d zoned out about. Erin had packed her fair share, but Carrie couldn’t complain too much. She’d brought not only her laptop, but also her scanner, a bunch of files and her drawing supplies. Thankfully, the Crider Inn had, as Erin put it, “Wi-Fi up the yin yang.”

“I’ve had three important encounters.”

The soft voice came from two rows back, and Carrie turned to see it was the pretty woman who was speaking. She was somewhere in her thirties, which seemed to be the median age, and she defied Carrie’s stereotypes by being elegant, fashionable and from her reading material—a heavy-duty philosophy tome—educated. Not that Erin wasn’t all those things, but Carrie had never lumped her in with the vague group she considered ghost-hunting nut-jobs. Anyway, the pretty woman’s voice held a hint of somewhere exotic, perhaps Jamaica, that captivated with its quiet strength.

“When I was a child, my old grandfather came to me after his death. He sat on my bed and he talked to me as clearly as I’m speaking to you. He told me not to worry, that he was in a fine, fine place, and that he would watch over me for all the rest of my days. He also told me that I would travel the world, and see many great things, but it was my family I should treasure most.”

Elbow Dude started to comment, but Carrie clipped him one in his side because the woman wasn’t finished.

“The second experience was many years later, at a small hotel in Florence, Italy. I woke from an afternoon nap to find an old white woman standing near the balcony. She never turned to look at me, so I didn’t see her face, but I watched her shoulders rise as she appeared to take a deep breath, and when she let it out, her head bowed. She was gone the next instant.”

The woman smiled at Carrie, maybe because she was staring so blatantly. “I keep my third experience private.”

Carrie faced front once more, wishing she could be one of them. One of these true believers. They seemed to get much more than spooky scares or thrills from these supposedly haunted places. Take Erin, for instance. Something about her belief in ghosts calmed her. It made her world easier to understand, and despite the utter lack of scientific proof, she had no doubts whatsoever.

Carrie wasn’t so lucky. She understood the psychology of belief in the supernatural. Human brains were designed to assign patterns and reason whether or not they exist. Ghosts, aliens, conspiracies or even finding evil messages in rock music were all based on assigning meaning to random things. At least ghost hunting was harmless and had been around since the beginning of large-brained hominids, but it wasn’t something she subscribed to, and being around people who were so ferocious in their certainty became wearing after a while.

What she found most bewildering was that in all the years and years of ghost hunting, no one seemed concerned that no matter how hard people looked, and damn, there were industries based on people believing in ghosts, there was no repeatable, verifiable proof. She tried hard to keep her opinions to herself when she was around Erin’s friends, but it wasn’t always easy.

When she heard intelligent, eloquent people expound on their supernatural experiences she tried not to roll her eyes. Whether she could remain a stoic observer after an intense week of pretending to believe in ghosts and goblins, well, that remained to be seen.

Her gaze went to the window as she let herself fall into the lovely Colorado scenery. She’d make the most of her week, especially spending time with Erin. She was going to miss her friend something terrible.

ANOTHER SHUTTLE LOAD of ghost hunters was due to arrive in the next ten minutes, and Sam Crider, current proprietor of the Crider Inn, was ready for them.

Since it was Halloween week and this was the largest and longest convention of ghost aficionados he’d booked since taking over the hotel, he’d gone all out decorating the place. It wasn’t hard to give the hotel a spooky ambience. His family had been doing it for generations, ever since the Old Hotel, now condemned but not torn down, had been destroyed by a fire of mysterious origin that had killed a number of his ancestors, who, according to legend, had never checked out.

Personally, he was delighted by this resurgence of ghost hunting and all the television shows that glorified the sport. All the paranormal legends about the Crider property were not only filling his coffers, but they were also a large part of why the hotel and the hundred acres of Crider land were now involved in a bidding war.

Two companies were interested in buying the place. One wanted to exploit the haunted reputation, and the other simply wanted to exploit the land. Sam had no preference as to who won, just so long as the check cleared.

Almost no one who worked for him knew that, of course. All negotiations had been done on the quiet, because a Crider had always owned and run the property and, it was assumed, always would.

He wanted nothing more than to shake the dust of this place off his shoes and get back to his real life. He’d been in the middle of his fifth documentary film when his father had died. Shit, it was ten months ago. The time had gone by in a blur.

He missed the old man. They’d been close. The bond had taken root when Sam was thirteen and his mother had died of breast cancer. It hadn’t been strong enough, however, to give Sam a love of the hotel, or a desire to carry on the family tradition. The sale would make it possible for him to continue making films, and no longer on a shoestring budget.

He’d finally have enough money to hire some help, like sound professionals and a full-time assistant. Not to mention the massive upgrade in equipment he’d be able to afford. He could stop thinking local and travel anywhere the stories dictated, film for as long as necessary to get what he needed. He’d have the cash to submit his films to all the important festivals. He’d actually be able to move out of the glorified Brooklyn broom closet he currently called home base.

So ghosts it was, and would be for the next week. Not only to curry favor with the convention people, but also to wow the potential buyers, both of whom were coming to check out the grounds.

That had been a neat trick. As he’d been told by his attorney, his accountant and his real estate broker, no one conducted sales by having the competing parties survey the place at the same time. But Sam had no interest in playing games. Representatives from both companies had already checked out the property, the numbers had been crunched and recrunched, now all that was left was for the CEOs to do a walk-through before actually making bids.

Sam had told the two men that he was having one showing, and that was that. They could take it or leave it. Luckily, they’d both taken it. Turns out they knew each other, had figured they’d both be interested in the place, and were looking forward to seeing each other. But now that it was happening, Sam worried that they’d both say no, and he’d be back to square one.

He surveyed the lobby slowly, trying to see the place with fresh eyes. It wasn’t possible. He’d grown up here, had slept in almost every one of the thirty-six guest rooms. He’d eaten in the restaurant—good cooks and bad—learned to shoot pool in the small pub. He’d lost his virginity in the Old Hotel, and had his heart broken sitting in front of the big stone fireplace that dominated the lobby.

He’d miss it all, but not tragically. It was just a building, just land, just a view. He’d already made sure that both the buyers were amenable to keeping the permanent staff, so no guilt there. And he’d found a great retirement place in Denver for his Aunt Grace. If there was one fly in the ointment, it was Grace. She’d lived here all her life, residing in the attached apartment that had once been his parents’ home.

But she was getting on in years, and she shouldn’t live this far away from medical care anyway. He was doing the right thing, for himself, for the employees, and for Grace. He’d sent her off to her friend’s home in Miami for a couple of weeks. She’d been happy to go, to be somewhere warm. He just hoped she’d be half as excited to move when it was time.

He heard the door behind him, and turned to find his old friend Jody Reading bringing him a hot beverage and what looked to be a dessert. Jody was an executive chef, a damn fine one, who’d agreed to come in for the week. She would wow the guests with her superb meals and drive them insane with her prize-winning pastries.

“I thought you’d like to try this before the deluge.”

He peeked in the mug to find coffee—a latte, from the looks of it—and a large piece of a layered napoleon, his favorite. “You’re ruining me. I’ll be a French-pastry junkie and end up living in some alley behind a patisserie.”

“As long as it’s not my patisserie.”

He really shouldn’t indulge now, not when the shuttle was due to arrive any minute, but the dessert looked so delicious, he took his plate and the fork and dug in. His moan wasn’t particularly manly, but it seemed to please Jody.

“My work here is done,” she said. She gave him a friendly swat on the ass, then went back to the kitchen.

Luckily, he was alone, at least for the moment, because he downed the pastry way too fast, which was a crime. But he didn’t want to be caught by a guest, and there was a strict rule about eating at the front desk.

Just as he lifted the last forkful to his mouth, the lobby door opened, bringing a gust of cold wind along with eighteen paying guests.

He dropped his fork on the plate, then shoved the plate under a newspaper. He smiled and rang the bell that would bring Patrick from the office. Patrick was the manager of the hotel, and he would handle the registration, while Sam schmoozed.

“You’re Sam Crider? The guy who owns the place?”

He nodded at the first person at the desk, Liam O’Connell, one of the conference coordinators.

Liam took the pen and began to fill out his registration card. “Bet you’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, yeah. Things that would curl your hair.”

Liam laughed, considering he was mostly bald. “What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever encountered?”

“Oh, I’m not going to give you guys any spoilers. You’ll find what you’re looking for, but the experience should be untainted.” Sam frowned. “You don’t have heart trouble, do you?”

Liam shook his head.

“That’s good,” he said, wondering if he’d gone too far. Seeing the big man’s reaction, and the wide eyes of the people behind him, evidently not. “Although we keep smelling salts at the ready. Things can get a little … tense around here.”

“Excellent.” Liam finished with his card, and then Sam moved on to Gina Fiorello, a friendly-looking young woman who had reserved a single.

“You’ve probably seen a lot of ghosts,” she said.

“Hey, I lived here for seventeen years. What do you think?”

“Wow.” Gina filled in her card.

Sam looked down the line, not surprised at the luggage-to-guest ratio. Ghost hunters were big on equipment. The number of gadgets indicated the level of commitment to the cause, and these folks were committed.

The hotel only had four luggage carts and two sturdy part-time students to do the toting. Maybe it would be better for him to put off the talking and help these people get to their rooms.

He slowed down when he caught sight of a tall, striking blonde. She was a beauty and he wondered if she understood what havoc she would cause in a hotel full of conventioneers. Maybe she was with someone; that might help.

She was. Only it wasn’t a guy. It was a woman, and Sam stood stock-still the second he saw her. She wasn’t very tall, maybe five-four, slender beneath her wool coat and her eyes were as dark as her long hair. Sam had seen her before.

He couldn’t remember where, but he remembered his reaction. He’d held his breath. His heart had pounded as if seeing a long-lost lover. He couldn’t remember why they hadn’t met, and he supposed it didn’t matter now.

He didn’t believe in reincarnation. Certainly didn’t believe in destiny. But he’d be damned if he was going to let another opportunity to meet this woman pass him by.

2

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS?”

Carrie looked up at Erin, bugged that because of Erin’s ridiculously huge suitcase, they were at the back of the line. Okay, not quite the back of the line, because there were four people behind them, but she was tired and hungry and she wanted to test her Internet connection. “Yes. The inn is lovely. Great fireplace, very charming.”

“God, you are the worst traveler ever. I swear. Why do I keep on taking vacations with you?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

Erin took hold of Carrie’s shoulders and turned her to face the front desk. “I meant are you seeing that?” she said, whispering this time.

All Carrie saw was two guys taking reservations. One had impressive silver hair, really thick, and she wanted him to look up so she could see if the face went with the hair. The other guy didn’t need to look up. He already was. Staring at her. Unblinking, lips parted. There was no doubt even in this long line that his focus was entirely on her. Maybe. She felt her face heat up, then realized he had to be staring at Erin. Everyone stared at Erin. She turned back to her friend. “You should be flattered.”

“Me? He’s staring at you, you idiot.”

Carrie looked again, and holy crap, he was staring at her. She whipped around once more. “What the hell?”

“I know, right?” Erin still whispered and her speech was wonky because she wasn’t moving her lips. “Okay. He looked away.”

“That was weird.” Carrie stole a glance at the desk, grateful whatever that was had stopped. “He must have thought I was someone else. Someone he knew.”

“Or maybe he was struck dumb by your beauty and fell instantly, hopelessly in love the moment he saw you.”

“Yeah. That’s about as likely as actually seeing a ghost.”

The three people in front and the four behind turned to her, each one looking appalled. Carrie winced. “Kidding.”

Erin shook her head and sighed. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

Carrie moved closer to her friend and kept her head down, cursing her own big giant mouth. She’d lasted all of two hours before she’d made fun of these people, and they hadn’t even checked in yet. Jeez.

So she kept her trap shut long enough to listen in on Mr. Stare’s conversations. They weren’t actually whole conversations. More like bits and drabs, but each and every one contained a mention of—what else?—ghosts. She suspected that the person he’d mistaken her for wasn’t among the living. The man seemed very enthusiastic and utterly convinced that the hauntings in this hotel were one-hundred-percent legit. Verifiable, if only one had the good fortune to be in the right place at the right time.

The single thing provable in this place was that the belief in ridiculous nonsense was utterly egalitarian. Age, race, looks, wealth—none of that mattered. Instead of disturbing her, the realization made her feel happy for Erin. There was a world of folks out there with whom she could share her passion, and some of them were very nice-looking men. Because even if he had stared rather rudely, he was downright hot.

A comment from behind her, something about why some people bothered to come to certain conferences if they were stupid enough not to see what was all around them, made her curse her impulsivity again. Carrie had no doubt that the news of her traitorous talk would spread through the hotel like wildfire.

By the time she reached the front desk she was more concerned about being tarred and feathered than she was about the handsomeness of the guy behind the desk.

That lasted about two seconds.

Sam Crider was tall, maybe six-one, and he wore his slim-hipped jeans and tucked-in, mountain-man flannel shirt well. He looked nothing like the guys she usually hung with, who were mostly cartoonists and always tech nerds, who rarely dressed in anything that wasn’t a T-shirt complete with geek-identifying logo and baggy pants. Crider’s brown hair was on the longish side, slightly shaggy. His eyes were an interesting hazel and, well, nice. He no longer seemed creepy, despite his propensity for staring and his certainty about ghosts.

Oddly, before she’d finished filling out her registration information, Crider handed the reins to his compatriot and came around the desk.

“Are these your bags?”

She looked down at her equipment and opened her mouth to explain that none of it was in any way related to ghost hunting, but she stopped herself. “Yep.”

“Hang tight. I’m just going to get the luggage cart. Be back in a sec.”

As he headed for the cart near the elevator, Erin handed her card to the silver-haired guy and turned to Carrie. “The plot thickens. He’s perfect, you know.”

Carrie didn’t have to ask what Erin meant. The other reason she’d agreed to come on this expedition was the Vacation Rule. Established on their first trip together, Erin and Carrie had decided that when they were traveling, men were always on the menu. As long as they weren’t in a relationship, they could each indulge in one-night stands if they wanted. Or even more-night stands if the opportunity presented itself. No risk. No fuss. It was all about pleasure and fun, and dammit, if there was one thing Carrie needed it was some uncomplicated fun.

Two months after they’d made their reservation and Carrie was still hurting over Armand. Ridiculous. Unhealthy. Just plain stupid. So when Erin had suggested that she needed someone to cleanse her palate, so to speak, Carrie had agreed.

“You think?” she asked, watching him walk across the lobby. He certainly had the body of a palate-cleanser.

“Yes,” Erin said. “Just don’t blow it. The guy owns the hotel. He’s a believer.”

There was the rub. But it was too soon to worry about that. The staring business could mean nothing. He might have a wife and seven kids or something. A thought occurred. “If he helps with the luggage, am I supposed to tip him?”

“Don’t ask me. I tip everyone twice as much as I should. You’re the one who’s sensible.”

“Well, that’s not helpful.”

“If you hadn’t alienated yourself from every single person in Crider, Colorado, you could have asked someone.”

“Right. I guess I’ll be spending more time in my room than I’d planned.”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting away with that. Tonight is dinner and then the meet and greet. You’re going to both.”

Carrie scowled, but Erin didn’t seem to care. She just stepped away as the man and cart got closer.

He lifted Carrie’s suitcase first, but she stopped him. “You might want to put the Titanic on there first, Mr. Crider.” She nodded toward Erin’s enormous wheeled suitcase. A body could fit in it easily. Carrie knew that there were at least twenty-eight different outfits in there, complete with shoes, scarves, earrings, makeup and anything else her friend thought she might need in the next six days.

Carrie had long ago given up speaking to Erin about her need to take everything she owned on their trips, but Erin never listened. Even last summer when she’d had to lug the heaviest backpack ever, she remained undaunted.

“It’s Sam,” he said, as he traded luggage. He lifted Erin’s bag with surprising ease. Carrie wondered what he looked like under all that flannel. Vacation Rules were sounding better and better. On the other hand, his handling their luggage seemed to indicate that he was pretty involved in running the hotel, and according to Erin, the ghost hunters had taken over the whole place. So while she was on vacation, he wasn’t. Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. If it was even a possibility.

Sam stacked everything in sensible order, and when he was done, he put his hand on the small of her back and smiled at her.

Heat filled her, moving from her lower body to her chest, then her face. He wasn’t staring at her now. In fact, he was acting the perfect host. But the hand on her back lingered, as did his smile. She had a really strong, terrifically inappropriate urge to kiss him. Holy crap. This could lead to things. Maybe.

“Shall we?” he asked.

Carrie looked away, because jeez, what the hell? She forced herself to focus. The touch meant nothing. If something were to start, it would have to be started by him, and that wasn’t about to happen in the lobby. Also, the only thing she knew for sure about Sam was that he was pretty damn sexy. Vacation Rules didn’t mean jumping on anyone at all. She had to actually like the guy, and for that she had to spend more than five minutes with him.

Erin led the way to the elevator. The three of them waited, darting glances at each other. Finally, they climbed on board for their short ride.

There were four stories to the hotel. The underground parking, the banquet level, the lobby, which was where the restaurant and pub were located, and finally two floors of guest rooms. Carrie’s room was on the top level, 204. Erin was in 206.

Carrie managed not to look at Crider even after they stepped into the hall. It was way less motel-like than Carrie would have imagined. It didn’t seem particularly ghost-friendly, either. Instead, it was calming, with a dark mauve carpet that had a gold diamond pattern, and framed black-and-white photographs of what she imagined were local attractions. Gorgeous pictures, actually. She stopped at a shot of an eagle against a clear sky with a very large, very snowy mountain filling the horizon. Her heart had managed to stop its manic pounding and she was almost herself once more.

“That view’s about eighteen miles from here. If you’d like, I can show you.”

She looked at Sam and it happened again. Tummy flutters, thoughts of kissing, heat. It was a bit more manageable this time, but still. She wasn’t the fluttery, blushing type. Admittedly, it had been a while since she’d had sex, but that fact alone couldn’t change her personality. “That’s a nice offer, thank you.”

“Sure. There’s no skiing yet, not enough snow, but the ride out is spectacular. I take people out on the trail from time to time. There’s no real schedule to it. Just say when, and I’ll make sure it happens.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I’m not much of a cowgirl. I’ve lived in big cities my whole life.”

“That’s a shame. Not that I have anything against major cities. I live in one myself, when I’m not here. But seeing this country on the back of a horse? It’s a remarkable experience.”

“Excuse me.”

Carrie turned at Erin’s voice. She was down the hall by her open door.

“I’ve got a phone call I have to make, so maybe you could drop off my bag? “

No way Erin had to “make a phone call.” She just wanted to get unpacked so she could get to the good stuff—the hunting. Or she wanted to leave Sam and Carrie alone. Yeah, it was probably that second thing.

Sam hopped to it, and had the Excessively Large Suitcase on the bed in two shakes. Then it was on to Carrie’s room, which was identical to Erin’s in all but color. There was a great queen-size bed with wooden head and footboards, a comforter that made her want to jump between the sheets immediately, preferably with the man standing next to her, and a good-size desk that would make working there easy. There was even a small fridge and microwave. All in all, especially for the price, this was an excellent room. “Nice.”

“We try.” Sam put her suitcase on the bed. When he turned back to the rest of the bags, he said, “I see you’re all set to do some serious ghost hunting.”

She reminded herself of her role here and smiled. “You bet. I’m all about the ghosts. The more, the better. Bring it on.”

He chuckled, a sexy rumbly sound accompanied by a sly sideways glance. His nose, she realized, was on the large side, but it suited him. He also had a dimple in his chin, and how had she not noticed that before? Altogether gorgeous. Which didn’t really explain her reaction to him. She lived in L.A. for god’s sake. She saw gorgeous men all the time.

“So, L.A.?”

“Yeah,” she said as she frowned. “How did you—”

“When you registered.”

“Ah.”

“What part?”

“Downtown.”

He put her laptop on the desk. “Really? You’re the first person I’ve ever met who lived in downtown L.A.”

“Lots of us do. Just not as many as say, Chicago, because L.A.’s so spread out.”

“That’s true. I’ve worked there before. Not for a while, though.”

“Doing what?”

“Documentary films. So, you live in one of those big high-rise buildings?”

“Converted bread factory. It’s a loft with a great view of the flower market.”

“Sounds great.”

“You live here, I suppose.”

His lips came together and a shadow crossed his eyes. “Not really. I inherited the place after my father died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He put her scanner, which he wouldn’t be able to tell was a scanner, on the desk, as well. “It’s fine. I grew up here. This is home.”

“It’s cozy. Pretty.”

“Yeah, it is.” There was more to unload from the cart, but that was done quickly, and then he put his hands in his pockets and rolled up on the balls of his feet for a second. His gaze wandered the room as if he weren’t intimately familiar with the décor.

Her frown came back as she wondered why. The situation was new to her. Always before, she’d met her vacation flings at bars or in the pool, and they had all been fellow travelers. Not that there had been all that many. And she’d never had this kind of immediate full-body flush minutes after meeting. Maybe his lingering had nothing to do with sex at all. He probably wanted to give her some tips about the—

Tips. Dammit. She grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet. Without a second thought, she whipped out a ten even though it was overkill. “Thank you,” she said, holding the bill out to him.

He looked at the money, his eyes widened, then he looked at her. “Um. No, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. Really.”

He didn’t actually blush, but his expression let her know that trying to tip him was a stupid, stupid move. Par for the course, today. Now she didn’t know whether to put the money away, or what. She decided to drop it on the bedside table. Casually. As if she’d meant to do that all along.

Of course, it didn’t work. Yet, he still didn’t leave. Okay, she’d made a mess of everything so far, why not go for the whole enchilada and find out if he, in fact, had any interest in her at all? “Do I remind you of someone you know? “

His head jerked up from looking at the ten-dollar bill. “Excuse me?”

“Downstairs. When I was in line. You looked as though you thought I was someone else.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said, quickly.

Carrie blinked. She responded with a drawn-out, “Okay.”

He opened his mouth, showing his very nice white teeth, then closed it again. After a sigh, he said, “I think we may have met before but I can’t remember where. It’s kind of driving me crazy.” He took a step closer. “I don’t suppose you recognize me.”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.”

“Ah. Well. Okay, then.” He backed up toward the door. “Maybe I do think you look like someone else.” He stopped, took a step toward her. “Do you ever go to San Diego?”

“I’ve been there.”

“Huh.”

It didn’t seem as if he was going to say any more about that. Instead, he focused on the ten dollars again.

“You used to live in San Diego?”

He shook his head. “No. New York. Still do.”

She wasn’t sure what was going on here. It probably should have been a lot more uncomfortable than it was, but then, she was used to weird conversations with highly intelligent but socially awkward geeks. “Documentary filmmaker?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything I’ve seen?”

“Doubt it. Unless you go to small film festivals. I’ve done four major pieces, and a bunch of shorts. Mostly to do with human-rights activism.”

“Wow, good cause.”

“Yeah.”

“No ghosts?”

He studied her face. “No.”

“Ah.”

He took his hands out of his pockets, then rested one on her suitcase. It was a nice hand, strong, with long fingers and short, neat nails. A moment went by and then he straightened abruptly as if goosed. “You probably want to unpack, and I should let you do that.”

“Uh,” she said elegantly, watching him back out of the room. He really did know the space well.

“You should try the restaurant. And the pastries. Seriously.” He found the doorknob behind him. “Anyway, have a great stay.”

“Thank you.”

He paused. Again.

As weird as this had become, and she was thinking eleven on a scale of one to ten, she didn’t mind. She rather liked it. Him. It. She smiled.

He smiled back. That same great smile. Then he opened the door and slipped into the hallway. She heard the lock click and she sat down on the bed, still certain of nothing, but hopeful. Very hopeful.

3

SAM CLOSED HIS EYES as he shut the door behind him. He supposed he could have behaved more like an idiot with Carrie, but not without rehearsals. He’d recognized people in the past and not recalled the context, but never before had the situation turned him into a complete moron.

With a blink to clear his vision, he made the executive decision to forget everything that had happened in room 204. There was a hotel to run, a hotel to sell, and he had no idea what 204 had even been about, so he wouldn’t think about it.

None of the guests were in the hallway at the moment, so he took the time to check that the carpet had been properly vacuumed and the pictures dusted. The wall sconces weren’t lit, so he couldn’t check for bulbs that needed changing, but then he should know by now that even if there were things about the hotel that needed fixing or refining, the housekeeping staff knew how to do their jobs.

There were few complaints with any of the staff. The lifers had been with the hotel for years, had considered themselves family when his dad had been in charge. The part-timers were paid relatively well and loved the benefits, such as the free ski passes, which meant that they were mostly reliable, and any troublemakers were weeded out quickly.

He skipped the elevator in favor of the stairs, and by the second step down, he was thinking once again about Carrie. He liked her looks, her size, the way she talked. Although he felt sure she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about ghost hunting as she’d like him to believe. That seemed odd considering she’d signed on for a steady diet of nothing but ghosts. Yet another thing to be curious about.

Where the hell had he seen her before? It wasn’t amusing anymore. He tried to picture her with shorter hair, maybe a different color, but that didn’t help. Nope, she’d looked like this the last time. He felt sure of it. But then, her looks weren’t what had captured his attention. Not completely, at least. It was something more. She seemed to occupy a bigger space than she should. Not her body; her personality. He’d seen it when she was standing in line. Among all the guests, Carrie Sawyer was a singularity.

That’s what rang familiar. The way she stood out from the crowd. Maybe it was the contrast between her stature and her energy. Wherever he’d seen her before, he’d been struck by that very thing.

It wasn’t unusual for him to pick up on strong personalities. He shot raw footage of people who weren’t celebrities. He’d trained himself to see past the superficial, to hone in on unique individuals. His camera would love her.

Once in the lobby, he checked his watch, knowing his buyers would be arriving on-site in a few hours. He supposed he could go check up on the kitchen, or make sure the banquet room was set up properly for tonight’s meet and greet.

He’d sent Beverly, the groundskeeper, to make sure that the ghost hunters setting up the camera equipment in the Old Hotel weren’t doing anything idiotic, like trying to climb the rickety stairs.

The place was mostly a wreck, and wore its condemned sign like a beacon, but of course his father had made sure that the bottom floor was completely up to code. The insurance company came out yearly to do a check, and Sam had gone along on the last visit.

His dad had done an admirable job of hiding all the safety measures, including the two new load-bearing walls. It would take a very good building inspector to see that what looked like a ruin was very sturdy, and would probably survive an earthquake better than any other building on the property. Not that Sam worried much about earthquakes.

His father and all his family had wanted the ghost hunters to have a good time. That the building seemed condemned was a little extra bonus, but in the daylight it was no more frightening than Disneyland’s haunted house. Still, every group that set up equipment in the old place left satisfied that they had, indeed, detected spirits from the other side.

There weren’t any tricks put in, either. The wind, the floorboards and the ambience did all the work on minds determined to find it haunted. Everyone’s expectations were met, all because they wanted to believe. Of course, that wasn’t the exclusive territory of ghost hunters. It was the human condition.

And he supposed it was that very malady that set his thoughts back to Carrie. He wanted to see her again, which was tricky. It wasn’t a simple thing for him to view himself as an innkeeper. He knew that the staff were absolutely not allowed to sleep with the guests. He also knew a good half of them ignored that rule at times. But he had the feeling that during the next few days especially, he would be wise to keep his wants focused on one thing alone—the sale.

On the other hand, maybe a distraction was exactly what he needed. There was only so much he could do about the sale. He knew the CEOs didn’t want him hovering, and his staff was perfectly capable of handling all the details about the convention.

It had been a long time since he’d been so struck by a woman. That she was only here for a week was a bonus, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she was interested. There had been glances, a blush. That shiver when he’d put his hand on the small of her back.

Sam grinned as he headed for the ballroom. This could end up being a far more interesting week than he’d ever anticipated.

CARRIE FINISHED HER roasted squab dinner and had to force herself not to lick the plate. How was it possible that in this little smidge of an inn, she’d had one of the best meals of her life?

The restaurant didn’t look like much. Lots of wood, of course. This rustic business wasn’t Carrie’s cup of tea, but she could see that people would expect it, considering the location and the landscape. There were maybe twenty tables, each with a simple floral centerpiece. The silver matched, the glasses were sparkling, the lighting subdued, even though the chandelier was made of horns. Deer, elk, she had no idea. All she knew was they were white and pointy and that she’d personally rather have fluorescent lights, which she despised, than chandeliers made from animal parts.

The best thing about the hotel by far wasn’t the décor but the Internet connection. It was fast. Not quite as zippy as her cable at home, but for a hotel in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t complain. Almost as good as her Internet speed was that, in addition to a good-sized shower, there was also a claw-foot bathtub. It was deep and there were candles in little nooks in the tile, and the hotel provided some amazing bath salts. She couldn’t wait.

“Oh, my god,” Erin said, looking longingly at her empty plate. “That was unbelievably good.”

“I know, right?”

“I’m really full.” Erin had ordered venison, and had finished every bite. “But I’m having dessert anyway. Can you imagine? “

“I’m thinking about ordering the roast squab all over again.”

Erin grinned, then did a sweep of the restaurant. “You can tell how great the food is. Check out how no one’s talking. With these geeks, that’s a supernatural event.”

Carrie leaned back in her chair. “You made a joke. About the supernatural.”

“I do have a sense of humor about it,” her friend said with a scowl. “I’m not mean like some people.”

“Who’s been mean? Let me at ‘em.”

“You’re a scream.”

Carrie’s eyebrows rose. “Is that another joke?”

Ignoring her, Erin got the waitresses’s attention with a nod. “I’m going to have coffee. Real coffee.”

“What time are you planning to go to bed?”

“The minute after I see my first ghost.”

“You’re gonna need a lot of coffee.”

Erin sighed. “Oh, ye of little faith. I’m telling you, there’ve been sightings here since the beginning of the last century. Especially in the Old Hotel.”

Carrie had read about the extra-added-bonus ghost-filled building in the brochure, and in several articles she found on Google. It had been built in the early 1900s by the newly transplanted Crider family. The ghost stories had begun after the small hotel had burned to the ground. Four families, most of them Criders, had been killed and were said to wander the lower floors searching for a way out. “Don’t tell me you’re going out there tonight. It’s really cold, and I’m positive it’s not heated and if I remember correctly, the building is unsafe and off-limits.”

Erin grinned. “Of course we get to go inside. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Who’s we?”

“You know, Mike, Dean, Liam. The people who put the con together.”

“And you’re on a first-name basis with them because …?”

“Because I’m not an antisocial loner. We’ve e-mailed. And chatted. And IM’d.”

“Erin, did you send them your picture?”

“No.”

“Did you send them to your Web site?”

She hesitated. “Yeah.”

Carrie sighed. “I thought so. Did you see pictures of them?”

“No.”

“Dear, sweet, oblivious Erin. The reason none of the men are talking in this restaurant isn’t because the food is fantastic. It’s because they’re all too busy trying to come up with witty, obscure opening lines with which to dazzle you.”

Erin looked around the room with disbelief.

Carrie noted with smug satisfaction that a good half of the men quickly diverted their attention to either their plates, the unremarkable ceiling or simply closed their eyes, presumably under the impression that if they couldn’t see, they became invisible.

“No one’s even looking in our direction.”

“God, you’re naive. New York is gonna eat you alive. Trust me. I bet there are at least ten ghost-related pickup lines thrown your way tonight.”

“You’re nuts. If anyone’s looking it’s probably at you.”

“Want to bet?”

Her friend’s cheeks became pink. “No. But even if you’re right, it won’t last. The ghosts hold far more interest than I ever could.”

“I repeat. Oblivious.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Carrie didn’t understand, even when she followed Erin’s gaze to the east side of the restaurant. “What?”

“Sam Crider? Staring at you like you’re his long-lost soul mate?”

She saw him, but he wasn’t looking at her at all. He was checking out an empty table before he straightened the place setting. A perfectly reasonable, if disappointing, thing for the proprietor to do. “You’re lying because I’m right. But it won’t work. Every single guy in this room wants you. Probably the married guys, too. And who knows, maybe someone will, you know, spark.”

“That would be nice.” Erin picked up the dessert menu. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, getting some hot ghost-hunter booooty. Get it? Booooty?”

Carrie shook her head. “So, so sad.”

“Come on. That was funny. Talk about someone needing to get laid. But then, you’ve already got Sam there locked and loaded.”

“I don’t know. It was, um, kind of weird in my room.”

“Oh?”

“Not sexy weird. Just, I don’t know if I’m reading him right. And he’s the owner. Owners don’t shack up with guests.”

Erin laughed. “Now who’s being naive? Why bother to own a hotel if you can’t sleep with guests? I’m serious, my poor celibate friend, your dry spell is about to be broken.”

“Fine. I believe you.”

“You don’t, but you should. I’m having the hazelnut torte.”

Carrie didn’t blink at the non sequitur. “I’m having the pumpkin soufflé. It’s only proper.”

“Speaking of, tomorrow night is the pumpkin-carving thingee. You’re going to win.”

“I’m not going to enter.”

“But you should,” a male voice from just behind her interjected, making Carrie jump.

It was Sam. For reasons she couldn’t explain, he had gotten even hotter in the three hours since they’d last spoken. It had to be his clothes. Instead of mountain-man flannel, he now wore a silky gray retro-looking long-sleeved shirt that made his hazel eyes seem blue. No tie. He’d stuck with his worn jeans, a decision she could only applaud.

“Sorry,” he said, “I was just coming over to make sure you had everything you need, then I overheard pumpkins and, well …”

“That’s okay,” Erin said. “I hope you can convince her. She’s really creative and talented, and I’ve seen her carve some great pumpkins.”

“It’s a good prize, you know. A massage in your room.”

Carrie wasn’t at all sure how to respond. Once again she knew she was blushing, even though she still wasn’t sure if he was flirting or not. As a good host, it made sense for him to wander from table to table. Hearing a conversation about a hotel activity made things easy for him, and she could appreciate that, as well. He’d have to be clever and quick to constantly chat it up with complete strangers. It wasn’t about her at all. Wait. “An in-room massage for free? Where do I sign up?”

“All you have do to is show up,” Erin said, before smiling up at Sam. “I must tell you this was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. In my whole life. How is your restaurant not on the cover of every food magazine in the world?”

“We have a special guest chef this week. Not that our regular chef isn’t great, but Jody’s amazing. We’re lucky to have her.”

“Trying to impress the ghost hunters?” Carrie asked.