The Abandoned - By Amanda Stevens Page 0,10

buttons at her back. When he had them undone, she shimmied out of the dress and stood before him in the moonlight. She felt no shame, no embarrassment. Nothing but the most decadent eagerness.

She touched a finger to the silver medallion he wore around his neck.

“Father has one of these,” she murmured, recognizing the emblem.

“Anyone who is anyone in Charleston has one of these.”

He pulled her to the ground and she rose over him. Her eyes dark and hooded, she bent to kiss him, nipping his bottom lip before she trailed her tongue down his throat. When she reached the side of his neck, she sank her teeth in deeper.

“You little vampire.” He caught her roughly by the shoulders. “I told you not to do that.”

“You told me not to do a lot of things. But then you enjoy them anyway.”

“Not that. You’re like an animal,” he said in disgust. She merely smiled as he rolled her off him. Then he caught her hands and lifted them high over her head. “You need to be taught a lesson.”

She didn’t panic. Even when his fingers tightened around her wrists and his body pressed down on hers.

She felt no fear at all…until she heard the chanting.…

A night bird called from the treetops and Hayden wondered if he should consider it an omen. Where the mist thinned, he could see a ring around the moon. Guard your mirrors and hide your babies, he thought as he absently touched the medallion around his neck. Not tiger’s eye, but silver would have to do. Luckily, he wasn’t overly superstitious. Ironic, considering.

Despite the lunar halo, the spirits were definitely not stirring. His readings remained boringly static. If he left now, he’d still have a few hours to study for the bar. That would keep the old man off his back and the partners at his law firm happy.

He checked the EMF meter one last time and was just about to gather up the other equipment when he felt it again…that strangle ripple in the mist. A chill swept across his skull and lifted the hair at his nape. Something was stirring.

Then, from his periphery, he had a visual. His pulse quickened as he turned slowly. There! Just beyond a broken angel. Hayden could hardly believe his eyes. After all these years, an apparition floated before him in the mist.

He was so startled he very nearly dropped the delicate thermometer he’d been using to check for cold spots. Now his hand gripped the handle excitedly as he watched her, so pale and fragile and lovely she might have been spawned from a gothic poem.

But she was no ghost, Hayden realized almost at once. His phantom was flesh and blood, and dressed in white cotton pajamas that were diaphanous in the filtered moonlight.

When she got to the steps of the mausoleum, she glanced around expectantly, then cocked her head, as if a sound had caught her attention. Slowly, she lifted her arms and began to dance.

Maybe it was the uneven terrain, but she moved with very little natural grace and no discernible rhythm, stumbling every now and then over roots and bits of broken headstone. Hayden was at once amused and totally captivated.

After a moment, though, he began to grow uneasy. He felt a little sleazy spying on her, but he didn’t want to frighten or embarrass her by announcing his presence. Nor did he want to slip away silently, leaving her alone in an abandoned graveyard. What the hell was she doing out here anyway?

He cleared his throat, but she paid him no mind. He took a bolder approach and stepped from the shadows where he knew she could see him. She froze. Their gazes locked. And then she did something Hayden would never have predicted in a million years. She came to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her for a kiss.

He was so taken aback, he didn’t have time to resist. Nor did he mean to respond. The whole situation was just too damned strange, but when she pressed her body against his—and man, those pajamas left nothing to the imagination—he felt the stirrings of an arousal even as he told himself to get the hell out of there. This chick was weird.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said breathlessly.

“You’ve been waiting…for me?” He gazed down into her upturned face. Pale skin, full lips, blue eyes…all framed by a cloud of dark hair that smelled like ginger. Never mind Hawthorne