Thunderstruck Read online

  She pressed up on her toes, pushing her face into his. “One more wise-crack, Mr. Walker, and I may have to use my magic to put a spell on your dick.”

  “Sorry.” He smiled. Little did she know she already had.

  Chapter Three

  Somer swatted away another mosquito. The air was heavy, still. A symphony of night sounds joined in with the steady sound of her breathing—along with the less-than-stealthily trudging of Nash Walker’s work boots crunching on the gravel path.

  A rustle in the hedge caught her ear. Instinct caused her to halt.

  Not so her newly appointed videographer.

  “Ooompf.” Her body staggered forward as he slammed into her.

  “You didn’t say you were stopping.”

  “You should have seen through the lens that I’d stopped,” she said, turning to look at him.

  “I was watching where I was walking, dammit. It’s dark out here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Frustration leaked into his voice.

  Another rustle in the garden hedge prompted her to place her finger over his mouth. She pulled out her EVP reader.

  “What’s that?” he spoke against her fingers.

  “It’s an electronic voice recorder. It records paranormal sounds not always audible to the human ear.”

  “Is that like—”

  She cut him off again, slapping her hand to his mouth. “Is there anyone out here with us?”

  She felt him smile and fought to pinch his mouth between her fingers—as lovely as she’d noticed those lips to be. Not important. Not now. She removed her hand—and temptation—as she focused her energies on her surroundings. “Did you once live in this house?”

  Silence answered her.

  “We’re here to speak with you. We mean no harm. If you understand and would like to speak with us, can you give us a sign?”

  “Really? A sign?” Nash whispered.

  Like maybe toss a rock at the head of the gentleman behind me? “Sssh,” she reprimanded quietly. “Point the camera in that direction. Where you heard the rustle in the hedge.”

  “I didn’t—”

  She grabbed the camera and steered the lens in the direction she wanted. “Now, be very quiet.” A soft breeze from out of the blue brushed her cheek. Her senses piqued, she listened for the slightest sound.

  “We’re hunting wabbits,” he whispered. “I’m sorry,” he said aloud, followed by a rich, deep-throated laugh.

  She closed her eyes, ignoring the butterflies taking flight inside at the sound of his laughter. She sighed. “Well, this has been an exercise in futility.” She flicked on her flashlight and skirted around him, deliberately nudging him aside. “I’m sure you think this is quite funny, Mr. Walker. But I promise one day it won’t be quite so humorous.” She headed back to her quarters.

  “Dr. Somer. Hey, come on. You have to admit that was funny. Be very quiet—you know, Elmer Fudd.”

  She heard him trying to keep up with her pace as they rounded toward the front of the house.

  “It was most likely a racoon or a snake—a possum, maybe.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Walker.” She stomped up the steps, tired, frustrated, and more than a little pissed. She needed a cup of tea and a comfortable bed. After opening the door, she turned, taking the camera from him as she handed back his key. “I won’t be needing this tonight.”

  He sighed audibly and stuffed the key in his pocket. Against the minimal light of the open door, he appeared larger, more imposing. “My crew arrives at—” He stopped and stared over her shoulder through the screen door. “I’ll be damned.”

  She followed his gaze to the neatly stacked bedsheets and towels placed exactly where they’d been before. Someone clearly didn’t want her there. Somer steeled her resolve. She had no intention of leaving—not now. Whomever it was had just given her reason to stay. “It’s quite all right. At least I know now where I stand.”

  He stepped up to the screen and peered in. “Maybe I should step in and take a look around?”

  The reality of the supernatural was beginning to seep into his logic.

  “I’ve been offered a challenge.” She opened the screen. “I accept it.” She was halfway inside when she felt his hand on hers.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  She fought the tingles invading her body at the mere touch of his hand. He was damn near every fantasy about a man she’d ever had, and she tried to fight the desire to break her two-year celibacy and give in to the blatant sexual energy she felt at his touch. She’d tried to convince herself that their paths crossing was merely coincidence, but as much as Nash refuted the paranormal, she didn’t believe in coincidence. Still, the fact remained that after her research here was done, she’d be heading back to Salem. She moved her hand from his. “I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”

  He narrowed his gaze for a moment. “Is that why your hand was trembling just now, Doc?”

  Somer swallowed. “It’s been a long day, Mr. Walker.”

  “Nash.” He grinned then, and she wanted to throttle him—then possibly jump his bones.

  “Nash. A cup of tea and some sleep is all I need,” she answered. The way he’d called her ‘Doc’ had caused her heart to do a little flip.

  “Okay, then.” He headed down the steps, stopping at the bottom. “You’re sure?”

  She was becoming less so by the minute, imagining the strength in those shoulders—wondering what firm muscle lay beneath that tattered old T-shirt. Somer licked her lips and breathed deeply. “Absolutely.” To confirm the message despite her treacherous body, she added, “Goodnight, Nash.”

  “If you have any trouble, I’m just across the way.”

  Leave before I change my mind. By virtue of the erotic dream that had left her breathless and wanting, and the up-close-and-personal view of those whiskey-colored eyes she wanted to drown herself in, she was already in trouble.

  “Goodnight, Doc.”

  She slammed the door shut before she could blurt out something stupid, like take me now, I want to have your babies kind of shit.

  Much later, after she’d remade her bed and stationed her bath linens where they belonged, Somer had performed a smudging, lighting a stick of white sage, lavender, and sweet grass to cleanse the negative energies in the cabin. The aroma aided in bringing her thoughts and spirit back into balance. Her studies had taught her about the ancient practice dating back to Egyptian times, but it was not until she met a shaman tribesman while on a trek to Wounded Knee that she began to carry a smudge stick with her. There was a presence here—there was no question of that. She hoped that it was friendly. Sitting cross-legged on the bed in her comfy pajama pants and T-shirt, she sipped her chamomile tea and leafed through the pages of a used book she’d discovered in one of the old bookstores in the Quarter. Her positon on the bed lent itself to seeing through the slit in the curtains covering the front window. In the inky black of night, the light in the garçonnière shone like a beacon.

  With a sigh and a determination to put her curiosity at rest, she picked up her cell phone, grateful for any signal at all. She moved around the room, finding a stronger signal on the other side of the bed. Lowering herself to the floor, she leaned against the wall and typed in his name, along with Evermore Plantation. She was delighted to find the local paper was online and had covered his arrival. She skimmed through the article, catching the highlights…

  A Texas native, after receiving his master’s in historical design he’d gone on to establish a team of specialized restoration experts. His list of notable projects was impressively extensive. He’d come to Louisiana to work on another plantation project, when Evermore came on the market. His love of history and his desire to preserve it for future generations was key in his decision to purchase and restore the property—in particular, the roof and back corner of the house damaged during a severe tropical storm earlier this year.

  She logged off. If she’d thought to find a way to make him less att
ractive, reading his credentials hadn’t been the answer. Aside from his rugged good looks, it was apparent that he also possessed philanthropic values beneath that tool belt he wore on his hips like a gunslinger.

  A knock on the door startled her. And while the odds were good it was Nash, she was, after all, in a strange place, in the middle of nowhere. She’d locked the door. The lights hadn’t flickered again. The hairs on the back of her neck were fine. “Who is it?” She pushed to her feet and waited.

  “Nash. I made some mac and cheese. Thought you might like some with those crackers of yours.” There was a pause. “I’ll just set the tray here—”

  Somer hurried to the door and opened it. She flipped on the porch light, grateful for the added modern touch, and caught Nash in a fresh T-shirt, well-worn jeans, and moccasin loafers about to go down the steps. His hair, wet from a recent shower, sparkled under the glow of the porchlight. “Well, don’t just stand there, letting all the bugs in. Come on in.” She hoped her fake devil-may-care attitude was believable. Truth was, she was even more curious about him after reading the article. The paradox of this down-home, rugged country boy being renowned in his field of historical design intrigued her.

  He picked up the tray and stepped inside, placing it on a small side table. His gaze landed on the bed, its covers littered with books and articles. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  His amber eyes glittered with mischief. A hint of a dimple played on the shadow of his unshaven jaw.

  A low rumble of thunder echoed in the stillness. She fought to keep her thoughts in check. “New places do that to me sometimes. Do you have a fork?” She swallowed, sensing a tension between them, chiding herself for her overactive imagination.

  “Spoon. There in the napkin.” He pointed to the tray and stood for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I should let you get back to your work.” He frowned and sniffed the air. “Is that sweet grass?”

  She eyed the crockery bowl of cheesy goodness and dug in, taking a spoonful into her mouth. Nodding, she relished the warm, gooey pasta and melted cheese. “I did a cleansing earlier,” she said, realizing that one taste wasn’t going to be enough.

  “A cleansing?”

  “Yes, I learned it from a Sioux tribe shaman. It’s used to cleanse negative energies, bring balance. I use a smudge stick.”

  He eyed her, then glanced around the room. “Have you had any other…issues tonight?”

  Other than not being able to stop thinking about you? “No,” she said, averting her eyes from his inquisitive gaze. “Did you eat already?” She wasn’t quite ready to give up his companionship. Finding the linens folded neatly earlier had been admittedly unsettling. Nothing had ever happened like that in any place she’d visited. The fact that someone knew she was there and why and made it clear she shouldn’t stay was a little disconcerting. She poked at the small bowl oozing with melted cheese. “My goodness, is this a special recipe from down here?”

  He settled himself on the small love seat facing her chair. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

  “Oh, how lovely.” She swallowed another bite. “Yum.” She caught a piece of pasta with her tongue. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything quite so delicious.” She was rambling—something she did when she was overly nervous. “What’s in it? Cream? Butter? The blend of cheeses is amazing.” She glanced at him through hooded lids, pretending not to notice how he was watching her.

  A small smile played on his lips. He chuckled. “Yeah, well, not exactly. It’s from this guy called Kraft. Comes in a blue box.”

  She went back to stirring the pasta. “Well, whatever it is, it certainly hit the spot, thank you.”

  “You’ve never had Kraft mac and cheese?” he asked rather dubiously.

  She shook her head. Devin never would allow quick-fix meals. He insisted on only fresh and preferably organic. Which is why he did all the cooking and she obliged by being the guinea pig for his culinary skills. “Nope.”

  He tipped his head. “Do I make you nervous, Doc?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She looked back at her bowl. “Don’t be silly. Of course not,” she lied. A guy like him was probably used to the attention of lots of women, and probably not the nerdy, ghost-hunting variety like her.

  His eyes narrowed on her.

  Somer felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose, then whipped them off. “Well, certainly if you continue to stare at me like that, anyone would be nervous.”

  He leaned forward and clasped his hands over his knees. “Really? And how am I looking at you?” he prodded, his gaze intently on hers.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re looking for another way to poke fun at my profession,” she answered, tapping her glasses nervously against her chin.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No, ma’am. Not after what I saw here tonight with my own eyes. Truth is, I might have brought that over as an excuse to make sure you were all right.”

  Reeling back her indignation, mostly an excuse for her attraction to him, she nodded. “I assure you I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Perfect,” he said with a smile. “I have a confession to make, Doc.”

  Already the room temperature had risen by ten degrees. “You don’t need to confess anything to me, Mr. Walker.”

  “Nash,” he said. “It’s about your glasses.”

  “My glasses?” That was unexpected.

  “I find them extremely sexy.”

  She met his gaze. “You don’t really mean that.” Somer felt an odd frustration at this game of cat and mouse they seemed to be engaged in. She’d never been the type to flirt with men. Good lord, she didn’t know how. Her experiences with men had been with those primarily in her field—scientific men, bent on quickly finding their objective, Tab-A-into-slot-B types. He was different, slow and easy, more about the journey than the destination. Was it getting warmer in here?

  His amber eyes darkened. “Put them on.”

  Somer placed the bowl on the tray and eyed him. It was the single strangest request she’d ever gotten—of that she was certain. Licking her lips, she rolled her eyes and sighed as she slid them into place. A deafening moment ticked by and she dared to look up. “This is awkward. No man has ever requested I put something on before.”

  The corner of his mouth curled, along with one cocked brow. “We’re just getting started.”

  Okay, things were happening in places that hadn’t seen action in…awhile. Her heart sped up.

  “The thing is, you could’ve sent me away,” he said.

  “That’s true.” She cleared her throat, even as her breasts tightened, aroused by his smoky gaze and the lingering remnants of her erotic dream.

  “But you didn’t. Why?”

  She shrugged, tearing her gaze from his. Hoping he couldn’t see what he was doing to her. “I—couldn’t sleep. I wanted some company.”

  “Did you wonder what it would be like?” he asked.

  She stood, eyeing him, restless, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do,” he answered. “That day I bumped into you on the sidewalk. Tell me you didn’t see something, feel something, when our eyes met.”

  Somer shook her head, brushing her sweaty palms over the pajama pants. “You’re imagining things.”

  “Am I?” he asked, pushing to his feet. He didn’t come near her. “You want to know how many times I’ve watched that section of video where I taped you doing that little dance?”

  She glanced over her shoulder—curious, sure, but afraid to ask.

  “Plenty.” He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “I was racking my brain trying to figure out how to reach you when I heard you getting mugged. Right there below me in the Quarter. That’s pretty odd, don’t you think?”

  “Coincidence.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. Nonetheless, hardly the fodder for romantic tales. “And I
did—do—appreciate you getting my bag back from that little hooligan.”

  “I ran ten blocks, at the very least.”

  “Ten? Was it that far, really?” She pointed a finger at him. “I was wrong not to give you a reward for that.” She stood, reaching for her backpack. He put his hand on her arm, stopping her.

  “Tell me what you thought when you opened the door and saw it was me tonight?” He took a step behind her, letting his fingers glide up her arm. He toyed with a strand of hair

  “Well,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “I was surprised, certainly.”

  “I don’t want your money, Somer.”

  She swallowed, fearful that what he wanted would cost her a lot more—perhaps even her heart.

  He lowered he head, nuzzling the curve of her neck. She felt his smile against her bare flesh. “You smell like mac and cheese.” His tongue touched the pulse in her neck.

  She sighed and reached up to remove her glasses. He stopped her hand, crooking her arm behind her back as he continued to leave a trail of hot kisses along her neck. Her bones liquefied as his hands brushed over her sensitive breasts. Instinctively, she moved against him, fully away of the hardening length beneath his zipper, fairly certain he was commando. Her skin was on fire. Delirious heat pooled between her thighs. “What do you want, Nash?” She looked over her shoulder, her gaze dropping to that mouth she wanted to taste.

  He cupped her neck, turning her face to look at him. “Same as you, Doc.” He touched his mouth to hers.

  Somer melted into the sensual kiss.

  He lifted his head, his hand still cradling the back of her neck. A low rumble of thunder rolled across the night sky. “Heat lightning,” he answered to the curious look in her eyes.

  She didn’t understand the dream that, even now, she felt a part of—only that she remembered waking and needing him in such a way that her body ached. Reason scolded her recklessness, but desire filled her with an intoxicating heat. No more excuses. She just wanted his mouth on hers again.