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“Oh. Ah.” Arthur steps up to my side, peering down at the lamp with a bemused expression. “It must have stopped. I promise, it was doing it only a moment ago—”
“I believe you.” This is the story of my freaking life when it comes to hauntings. I’m always ten seconds too late, always charging in when it’s already over. I’m the ghost-repellent. The Catholic church should hire me for exorcisms.
“Let’s wait a few minutes,” Arthur says. “In case it starts up again.”
I shrug, already deflated. “Okay.”
“But if it doesn’t, remember, we’ve got all night and the run of the hotel. We’ve got an excellent chance of seeing something, Penny.”
“Yeah.”
And he’s right, I know he is, and I also know that moping achieves nothing, but I still slump sadly against Arthur’s shoulder. The muscle is surprisingly firm and sculpted under his shirt, and the rumbly noise he makes sends my belly flip-flopping. He presses against me too, strong and comforting as we both stare at the desk lamp.
One minute passes. Then two. Then three.
Nope. Nothing.
“Come on.” Finally, Arthur nudges my side, and I slip off my backpack obediently and toss it on the bed. Won’t need my toothbrush for our hijinks. “Let’s start in the ballroom. See if we can spot one of those horrible gargoyles.”
When I take his hand, Arthur himself turns to stone for a split second—then comes back to life and squeezes my fingers. He beams down at me, eyes crinkling behind his glasses.
Suddenly I’m all warm under my fun-run shirt, and I’ve forgotten all about the desk lamp disappointment. Who cares, right? It’s just a silly old lamp.
* * *
“I’ve never been up here before.”
The attic ladder groans under our shared weight, and I try not to stare at the sculpted male ass climbing above me. Arthur disappears through the hatch, then reaches down a hand to pull me up. He lifts me so easily, I go all breathless and lightheaded.
“Good,” he says, setting me on my feet. “It’s a health and safety nightmare up here.”
It really is. The hotel attic is huge and sprawling, stretching the whole length and breadth of the roof, but it’s crammed so full of dusty relics that it’s more like an obstacle course—or a flea market.
A light bulb dangles on a string near Arthur’s shoulder. We cast around for the cord, but when we tug it, the bulb pops loudly and shatters.
“Careful.” Arthur’s hand lands on my shoulder. So warm and steady. “Broken glass. Here, we’ll use my phone.”
Squinting down at the sparkling shards of glass, I follow the beam from Arthur’s phone flashlight as I step around the open hatch to his side.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, both breathing hard in the darkness.
It’s gloomy up here, but there must be light coming from somewhere. Some hidden window or plugged in nightlights, because a silvery glow outlines the piles of jagged furniture, and the longer we stand here, the more my eyes adjust.
It’s spooky.
Awesome.
“Ten bucks says there’s a ghost up here in a bridal gown.”
Arthur laughs softly. God, I love making him laugh. “I’ll take that bet, but I’ve a feeling you’re right. That, or a legion of creepy china dolls.”
“Fingers crossed.”
“Ha. I worry about you, you know.”
Hey, he’s the one who’s written some of the scariest books I’ve ever read! That’s how I know he’s not really judging.
We’re kindred spirits, Arthur Carstairs and I.
