Hollywood Ghosts

Hollywood Ghosts Veronica Wilde (c) 2007 ISBN 978-1-59578-381-3

Hollywood Ghosts Veronica Wilde Published 2007 ISBN 978-1-59578-381-3 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2007, Veronica Wilde. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Lynne Anderson Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Chapter One Oleander Canyon was almost blinding in the August sunlight as Rachel Dentley drove slowly up its winding road, checking the address in her hand. Stately mansions lined the hills, a mix of sleek, modern California houses, Japanesque bungalows, and Spanish haciendas. All were lavishly landscaped, with blue agaves and bright zinnias indicating the daily attention of Hollywood’s best gardeners, and the cars that passed her were top-of-the-line luxury models. Oleander Canyon, an elite cul-de-sac within one of Los Angeles’s most affluent properties, was definitely not the kind of neighborhood Rachel visited often. In a couple of weeks, she would begin the second year of her master’s program in English literature at UCLA. She had expected to spend it in a cramped apartment with her boyfriend. Instead she would be living in a beautiful mansion up here in the hills, according to the contract she had signed yesterday. Two screenwriters, an older married couple who was going on location for their latest film, had hired her to house-sit their gorgeous Hollywood mansion. She would have enjoyed it so much more if she hadn't been reeling from the shock of finding her boyfriend in bed with another woman. It had been five days since she had returned home early to find Greg naked on top of his classmate, Stephanie. Five days since she threw together a bag of clothes and makeup and fled out the door, never to return. In those days she had stayed with her best friend, Beth, while searching furiously for a new apartment. But it was only two weeks before the fall semester at UCLA, and all the decent apartments were already rented. In desperation, she had responded to a newspaper ad from a house-sitting agency. To her immense relief, she had been screened and hired immediately to live in the mansion for the next four months. Not only was it rent-free, but the owners were actually paying her to live in luxury and look after their cats. It had been her first stroke of good luck since Greg had broken her heart five days ago. That was, if she counted catching him with another woman good luck. It was a funny way to think of it, until she realized he could have been cheating on her for all three years of their relationship. What were the odds she just happened to catch him on his first time with another woman? Maybe coming home early that day had been the best decision she'd ever made. Rachel glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Back in Chicago, she’d been considered pretty, but ever since moving to California a few years ago, she’d felt insecure about her looks. She definitely didn’t have the L.A. look: Blond hair, a permanent tan, and a size two waistline. Instead, she had long chestnut curls, a permanent extra ten pounds, and a creamy complexion that wouldn’t tan no matter how long she stayed at the beach. People were always telling her how “old-fashioned” and “sweet” she looked— backhanded compliments which she interpreted as code for “boring.” The next guy will be better, Rachel told herself. But she wasn’t sure she believed it. In the back of her mind, she’d often worried that Greg would leave her for a stereotypical California golden girl. Instead, he had just cheated on her with one. She knew she shouldn’t blame herself, but his betrayal left her wondering if she was truly sexy enough

to keep a man faithful. Rachel shook these unflattering thoughts from her head as she drove past the remaining gated homes to the end of the canyon. The twisting road veered sharply to the right and as she turned, she came face-to-face with a Spanish revival mansion on top of the hill. Multiple levels of cream-colored stucco, partially secluded by eucalyptus trees, were topped by a red clay tile roof. Black wrought iron fences delicately adorned two balconies, with matching grilles on the windows. A luxurious garden of bright desert flowers came into view as she rounded the side of the building. It was one of the most beautiful houses she'd ever seen, and it loomed over Oleander Canyon like a castle. Rachel blinked. She checked the paper in her hand, then looked back at the house numbers. Yes, unbelievable as it was, she was actually going to call this beautiful mansion home for the entire fall semester. She took a deep breath and drove into the circular driveway. Immediately the front door opened and a white-haired man emerged. “You must be Rachel!” he said, rubbing his hands together joyfully. “I'm Leo Sherman. Come in, come in, we're so glad to have found you!” Amazing. Not only was the house stunning, but its owner was nice, too. Apparently, she really was entitled to some good luck after discovering her boyfriend was a cheating rat bastard. “Hi—yes, I’m Rachel Dentley,” she said as she followed him into the mansion. “And trust me, I’m the one who’s glad to have found this house.” Yet the rest of the introduction she had prepared fell away as she walked into the mansion. The Spanish-designed home was as lavish and breathtaking as a spread from a decorating magazine. The walls were bordered with mosaic tile, with ceramic tile giving color to the floors and fireplace. Luxurious eggshell sofas filled the sunken living room, with expensive-looking art on the walls. Arched doorways hinted at equally stunning rooms to come. In the center of the first floor was a massive staircase that curved grandly down into the living room. Rachel gaped at her new home. This was the kind of California mansion she’d seen on television shows—the kind of multimillion dollar place that only A-list film stars could afford. Leo Sherman laughed at her reaction. “I see you like the house,” he kidded. “Phyllis and I have worked hard on making this our dream home. That's why it was important to have someone like you to take care of it while we were on location.” Rachel turned to him, puzzled. “Someone like me?” She was just an average girl from the Midwest—she didn't have any special qualifications for house-sitting an exquisite California mansion. “Yes, Rachel.” Leo's dark eyes seemed to probe hers as he spoke. “Someone we could trust. You're a nice girl—I can tell by looking at you.” There it was again. The boring Nice Girl label. Yeah, so nice that my boyfriend cheated on me with a not-nice girl. But she put that thought out of her head. Obviously, the Shermans had selected her precisely because of those “nice” qualities. She had wondered why the agency had asked her some oddly personal questions in screening her for the job; they had even faxed her photo over to the Shermans for review. It seemed these people went on their instincts.

Or maybe nice old Leo Sherman had been going on other instincts, she thought as she noted his shrewd gaze running over her curves. She turned away, her smile going cool. Well, so an old guy wanted to gawk at her. It wouldn't be the first time. For some reason, her naturally voluptuous build seemed to be a big hit with older men. They were always telling her how much they preferred her womanly curves to the thinner look that was currently in fashion. To her, it was a backhanded compliment, but she knew they meant well. She subtly tugged up the neckline of her T-shirt as she returned to studying the house. “I know the agency faxed you all my information, Mr. Sherman, but is there anything else you wanted to ask me?” “Call me Leo, please. No, Rachel, I have confidence that you’ll do very well here. Oh, and here's Phyllis.” The sixtyish lady entering the room had a smile as warm as her husband's. “Rachel, it is so nice to meet you, dear! I am so glad we found you in time!” “In time?” Rachel questioned with a confused smile. “We're leaving today for the set,” Leo told her. She noticed then their suitcases by the door. “We were worried about finding a suitable person in time, so you can see why we’re so happy to have found you. Shall we take a look around?” Rachel's astonishment grew as Leo and Phyllis steered her through the house. Carrying her bag up to the second floor, they showed off her new bedroom—a large boudoir done in shades of indigo and blue, with a four-poster bed concealed by the filmiest of curtains. A velvet-cushioned stool waited before a large marble-topped vanity. In contrast to the old-fashioned romantic décor, the adjoining bathroom was very modern with a large sunken circular tub and separate steam shower that could comfortably hold half a dozen people. She had little time to marvel as they showed her the rest of the second floor bedrooms, including their own. “You'll have no real need of these, of course, but the cats are free to roam in and out of them,” Leo said. “Speaking of which, let's head down and go over their feeding schedule.” Rachel opened her mouth to reply, then jumped, startled, as she glimpsed a large red stain covering the end of the hallway carpet and wall baseboards. Quickly she looked back down the hall. This time, the carpet and walls were perfectly clean. She decided she had been seeing things. “Mr. Sherman—I mean, Leo—doesn't this house have a third floor?” She was sure she had seen it from the street. Leo knocked on a closed door in the center of the hall. “This goes up to the third floor,” he said. “However, we always keep it locked.” He turned the locked doorknob as if to demonstrate this. “We haven't used the third floor in years. It saves us money on our electric bill, and some of the rooms aren't in good condition anyhow, to be honest.” Rachel noticed a significant glance from his wife Phyllis that seemed to prompt Leo to continue. “We … we must ask that you never go up there, Rachel. It just isn't safe, and well, we'd hate for something to happen to you, living alone in a big place like this.” A prescient shiver ran down her back. She had no need of another floor, not with all these luxurious rooms at her disposal, yet she had never considered how vulnerable she might be living alone out here. She had only been relieved to find a great place to live that didn't involve that bastard Greg. She recovered her poise. “Sure, no problem,” she assured him. “You have cats, you

said?” They returned down the winding staircase. Trailing her hand down the black iron railing, Rachel couldn’t help but feel like a movie star. She could already see herself living here; she would enjoy long indulgent soaks in that big bathtub, and at night, take her laptop out by the pool to write that novel she’d always had in her head. A house like this had to have a pool, didn’t it? The Shermans’ kitchen was modern and appointed with every convenient appliance possible. The cupboards, refrigerator, and a massive pantry had been generously stocked with food as well. As Phyllis popped open a can of cat food, two small furry forms rushed between their legs. Rachel smiled and bent over to stroke their soft heads. She loved animals, and had wanted a cat for a long time, but Greg had never wanted the responsibility of a pet in their apartment. These two would be fun to have around. The cats began to gobble their food like little demons as Phyllis said, “The black one is Jade and the tabby is Samson. They just need a can in the morning and a can in the evening. Our grocery service has a standing order to deliver a weekly supply, so you don't need to worry about buying it.” “Which reminds me, the housekeeping,” Leo said. “Our usual maids will still arrive once a week to clean. They have a key, so you don't have to worry about being here to let them in.” Housekeeping and a grocery service. These people really were loaded. She nodded, as if accustomed to such benefits. “How about the yard work?” “They come twice a week.” “And the pool?” she asked, straining to catch a glimpse out back through double French doors. Leo and Phyllis exchanged another look. “Ah, unfortunately, the pool is not working,” Leo said. “It sprang a leak this summer and we haven't had a chance to get it fixed yet. But with autumn coming on, that won't be a problem, will it?” She shrugged. “No, no, of course not.” It would have been nice to go swimming before the days grew too cool, but she certainly couldn't complain. “It's very dangerous,” Leo said, with sudden sternness. “Please don't fill it, Rachel, whatever you do. It's in your contract.” “I won't,” she said, though puzzled by his vehemence. The Shermans exchanged another long look that seemed to speak volumes. Rachel’s breath caught for a moment. Is there something they’re not telling me? But then they turned to her with their kindly smiles. “We have to be at the airport in an hour,” Leo said. “Let's take a look at the screening room.” Rachel followed them through the rest of the first floor. The screening room was like a small theatre, with comfortable couches facing an enormous projection screen. The walls were stacked with DVDs of what seemed to be every movie ever made, and the ceiling was adorned with a sophisticated audio-visual system. She shook her head in wonder as they showed her a smaller, friendlier den with a normal TV, and an office that she was invited to use for her schoolwork. “This house is incredible,” she said. “Yes, it has quite a history,” Leo said. He led her down a shadowy hallway lined with framed black and white photographs. “Ever hear of Tony Reynolds, the silent film star?”

She shook her head. His dark eyes watched her keenly. “He built this place in 1922 when he was a big star.” He tapped one of the photos. She peered at it to see a large group of people gathered on the front lawn. “That’s him right there. And that there is John Barrymore, and Clara Bow, and of course that’s Charlie Chaplin. But I don’t imagine you know many of those names, a young girl like you.” She shook her head again. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about old movies. My exboyfriend is in film school—he would know them, I’m sure.” When she heard herself, she wanted to bite her tongue. Why was she even referring to Greg? He was dead to her. Leo moved on to another photo, this one a publicity shot of a brunette with a radiant smile. “This is Christy Cole. She starred in a series of beach movies that were very popular before her career faded. She bought the house in the fifties and lived here until she sold it to us.” Rachel could dimly recall hearing of Christy Cole before, but Tony Reynolds wasn’t a name she recognized. Yet it was still interesting to know real movie stars had lived here. “Well, dear, we must go,” said Phyllis Sherman. “Good luck, and don't hesitate to call us if you need us. I'm sure these four months will go by very quickly.” Once again, she thought she saw an oddly speculative look in the older couple’s eyes as they left. But she decided she was probably imagining it. Likely they were just wondering about the kind of person who would be living in their home for the next four months. Rachel headed back up the grand curving staircase and unpacked her things. She only had a bag of shorts and tops and makeup with her, which was all she had grabbed when she’d run out of the apartment she’d shared with Greg. The rest of her belongings were still back there, which meant her best friend, Beth, would have to pick them up tomorrow. She certainly couldn't face Greg’s lying face right now. An odd chiming began to sound through the house; downstairs, a large grandfather clock she hadn’t noticed before was marking the evening hour. Darkness was falling. She walked outside and took a good look at the empty pool. Sage and dusty weeds grew just beyond the property border, but the rest of the grounds were immaculately maintained. She stood on the edge of the hill and watched the lights of Hollywood come alive until the city looked like a sparkling kingdom. Yes, she had definitely lucked out in landing this incredible property. She turned and looked up at the house. To her amazement, a light was burning in one of the third floor rooms. She frowned, recalling that Leo had said they hadn't used those rooms in years. Then the obvious occurred to her. The Shermans must have locked their valuables up there, away from their new house-sitter. They had clearly forgotten to turn off a light, and now she was locked out and unable to go turn it off. Oh, well. It was their electricity bill. Her gaze ran over the mansion's tiled roof and wrought iron balconies, so impressive against the last of the fading light. Silver screen Hollywood had been in its heyday when this place was built; as she looked again at the massive empty swimming pool and sparkling view, she tried to imagine the extravagant parties that must have gone on here. A cold wind brushed over her. She stood up and went inside. Beautiful as this place was, Oleander Canyon definitely got a little spooky after dark. ****

That night, for the first time in her life, Rachel went to bed in an empty house. At twenty-five, she had never lived alone. She had lived with her parents, then in a college dorm, and then in an apartment with Beth before moving in with Greg last year. Now she listened to the old Spanish mansion settle around her in the night and tried to tell herself that all of the creakings and stirrings were normal—the kind of noises you just didn't notice when someone else was sleeping a room away. Yet she couldn't shake the sense that someone else was awake in the house. Finally she sat up in bed, her ears straining to decipher the noises she kept hearing. From downstairs, there came barely perceptible sounds of activity—rustlings, sighings, the faint indications of someone moving around. But what was really troubling her were the muffled footsteps pacing up and down the carpeted hallway directly outside her bedroom. They weren't heavy steps, but more of a shuffling noise, like slippers on the carpet. At last she got out of bed and timidly opened the door. The hallway was empty and quiet. Gathering her courage, she headed downstairs. Moonlight spilled through the first floor windows, casting the lush sofas and priceless paintings in a gilded glow. She snapped on the living room lamps, blinking at the brightness. Now the house was definitely silent. She was just being paranoid. She headed into the kitchen for a snack. A soft meow sounded behind her, followed by a light thump as Samson, the tabby cat, jumped onto the kitchen counter. “Oh, it's you,” she said, scratching his furry head. “You guys were the ones making the noise. I forgot there were cats in the house.” She helped herself to a few spoonfuls of chocolate chip ice cream, thoughtfully provided by the Shermans. She had just savored her third mouthful when she heard a door open. Rapid footsteps ran through the house, followed by a second set of faster footsteps. Another door opened, then closed. Rachel’s throat went tight with fear. Oh my God, someone's in the house. For a moment, she found it hard to breathe. She looked frantically around for a phone to call the police. Then, as silence settled over the house again, she found the courage to leave the kitchen. Had she imagined the running footsteps? The living room was bright and empty. All the doors were still closed and locked; everything looked as pristine as when she had first descended. She stared around in confusion, then finally went upstairs. This time the cats accompanied her, settling in next to her on the bed. As she thumped her pillow, she decided she had simply been hearing things. Her fears of spending the night alone had gotten to her. She fell into a deep, satisfying sleep. Rushed and crowded dreams flowed through her mind, dreams of people and parties and murder that made little sense. People kept talking to her and she was having a good time when, reluctantly, she awoke again. This time there was a noise and it was not her imagination. The distinct sound of splashing was coming from outside. Groggily she went to the windows and looked down at the pool. A woman in an old-fashioned white bathing suit and white bathing cap was doing laps in the moonlight. As she gazed down at her, the woman stopped and stood up in the shallow end, looking up to her bedroom window. She waved at Rachel; dumbly, Rachel returned the wave. I'm still dreaming, she thought. Then she went back to bed and finally slept an unbroken sleep until morning.

Chapter Two A spear of sunlight blinded Rachel the next morning as she groggily lifted her head from the pillow. What time was it? Glancing at the bedside clock, she was startled to see it was past noon. Then she realized what had woken her: The ringing of her cell phone. She fumbled for it on the nightstand. “Rachel, just listen to me. Don’t hang up.” It was her ex-boyfriend, Greg. She cursed herself for answering before she checked the screen. “You have to give me another chance,” he begged. “I love you. That thing with Stephanie meant nothing to me—it was just sex. I was weak, and I’m sorry, and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.” A white-hot rage suffused her body. “There is nothing you could do to make it up to me,” she hissed. “Don’t call me again, you rat bastard.” “Rachel, wait! We need to talk! I don’t know where you’re staying—how to find you…” “And you never will.” She hung up on him with a feeling of vicious satisfaction. Well. This day had gotten off to a rousing start. She shook off her anger and climbed out of the elaborate four-poster bed, anxious for her morning Diet Coke. Most people drank coffee in the morning; she needed caffeine on ice. She was halfway down the curving staircase when she realized guiltily she had forgotten to feed the cats. Phyllis had said they needed a can of food every morning, which meant their breakfast was long overdue. Yet she hadn’t heard so much as a meow. She continued on through the massive living room, which looked even more like a silent museum this morning. The tabby cat, Samson, was curled up on the sofa and licking his front paw. He stopped and regarded her with a lazy blink. As she entered the kitchen, she saw Jade, the black cat, watching her from the counter. She meowed once in hello, but did not seem particularly anxious. “I’m so sorry, kitty,” she told her. “I know you must be hungry…” Glancing down at their food bowls, she saw the remains of their breakfast. She blinked. Well, that was odd. Had they not eaten their food from last night? She certainly hadn’t fed them during her own ice cream snack in the middle of the night, had she? Had she? As she stared in confusion at their bowls, a background noise broke into her thoughts. A cheerful gurgling was echoing through the morning. She listened closely, then headed outside through the French doors to the pool. Bright turquoise waters danced in the morning sunlight. Okay, now this was really baffling. The pool had been empty. She had looked into its cracked tiles just last night. How the hell had it been filled with water, and the filter fixed, in just twelve hours? Her dream from last night returned—seeing the young woman in a white bathing cap swimming in the pool. She remembered standing at the window and waving down at the woman as if it were the most natural thing in the world to wake up in the dead of the

night and find a stranger swimming in her pool. Was there a connection? There had to be. Probably the Shermans’ usual pool boy had arrived, not knowing the pool was broken, and fixed it that morning. She must have heard the noises and somehow incorporated them into her dream. It was odd—she wasn’t usually such a deep sleeper—but it was nice, too. Now she had a working pool to swim in, just like the movie stars who had once lived here. Her cell phone rang again, startling her. This time she checked her caller ID; it was Beth. “It’s me,” Beth said apologetically. The noises of the sushi restaurant where Beth worked were audible in the background. “I’m working a lunch shift right now, so I can’t bring your stuff over until later on today. I’ll head over to Greg’s around five, then come see you. Can you give me the address?” “Sure. You’re going to flip when you see this place, Beth.” As she hung up, Rachel found herself almost tempted to ask Beth to move in. Having a Hollywood mansion to herself was a fantasy, in theory—but in practice, it was just a bit spooky. Then again, she thought, maybe she just wasn’t used to living alone yet. She refreshed her Diet Coke and set off to explore the house again. The cursory tour the Shermans had given her had only stimulated her curiosity, and she couldn’t wait to investigate the lavish rooms more closely. Accompanied by the cats, she examined the paintings, tried to figure out the intimidating audio-visual equipment in the screening room, and took a quick stroll through the Shermans’ master bedroom. But her most interesting discovery was right in the kitchen—a dumbwaiter. She had heard of them, but had never seen one in real life. By pressing a button, the dumbwaiter could be loaded with food and sent up to the second or third floor, then sent down again. Best of all, its second floor stop was in her bedroom. She was testing it out when the kitchen door opened, startling her. Coming inside were two young women, struggling with a cart full of cleaning supplies. Obviously this was the maid service the Shermans had spoken of. “Oh, hi,” she said, relieved to finally have company. “You must be the cleaning service.” The maids stood in the kitchen as if awaiting instructions. Puzzled, she said, “Uh, would you like a soda or glass of water?” They looked at each other. “No, that’s okay,” one of them said. “Just tell us what you want done and we’ll get started.” Rachel shrugged. “Just do whatever you normally do for the Shermans. They didn't leave specific instructions.” The young woman raised her eyebrows. “I have no idea what we would normally do because they just hired us,” she said. “This is our first time in this house.” “Oh…” How odd to hire a new service right before leaving. “Well, in that case, just vacuum and, uh, clean the bathrooms and kitchen.” The house looked immaculate to her, as if the Shermans had scrubbed down every inch of it before departing, but clearly these maids were expected to do something. “Gotcha,” the maids said, and they began to unpack their supplies. Uncomfortable, Rachel headed out the French doors to the flagstone terrace surrounding the pool. Drinking her Diet Coke, she wandered into the garden, where a small green lizard made her yelp by darting across her path. She definitely was not accustomed to this lifestyle—instructing maids and living in a mansion that required an

entire staff of pool cleaners, maids, and gardeners. She sighed, kneeling down to examine an assortment of plants and flowers she recognized as skullcap, zinnia, oregano, and black-eyed Susans. Yes, her new home was stunningly beautiful. She just hoped she didn’t get too lonely living alone in such a big house. At least the cats were proving to be good companions. They followed her almost everywhere she went, though they didn’t seem to respond to their names. By five o’clock, shadows were filling the house again, and she was desperate for Beth to come over. At last, a car pulled up into the circular driveway. Eagerly she ran to the door—and then saw a black Jaguar parked in front of the house. Not Beth’s small blue Geo Metro. Rachel didn’t even know anyone who drove a Jaguar. She watched, mystified, as the engine died and a tall, black-haired man emerged. His designer sunglasses obscured his face, but she could still see that he was very goodlooking—enough to be in films himself. For a moment, she thought it must be an actor friend of the Shermans. A small tremor of excitement raced through her. Was she about to meet a real celebrity? Then she saw he was carrying one of her suitcases and the stuffed panda bear her grandmother had given her. Excitement turned to baffled anger as she realized she was looking at a friend of Greg’s—in fact, the friend she distrusted most. Lorenzo Cortez. The rich, pampered, twenty-eight-year-old scion of one of L.A.’s oldest and most successful film families. Allegedly descended from Spanish nobility, he was a graduate student at the UCLA film school and was entirely too handsome, polished, and connected for Rachel’s tastes. His grandfather and father both were wellknown movie producers, his mother a former actress; unlike her own working-class background, Lorenzo had grown up around celebrity-studded parties and important screenings. Although he had always been polite to her, she suspected him of secretly being an arrogant jerk, one of those guys who was well-mannered enough in public, but probably behaved like a self-centered monster behind the scenes. Every rich Hollywood brat she had ever met on campus had been like that. It just wasn’t wise for any man to be so darkly gorgeous and have a trust fund to boot. Not to mention having every sorority girl at UCLA panting after him. Lorenzo flashed his perfect white grin at her as he headed up the steps. “Long time no see, Rachel. Quite the fancy digs you’ve got here.” “Hello, Lorenzo,” she said coldly. Fury raced through her. She had been especially clear with Beth to conceal her whereabouts from Greg. Now Lorenzo would tell him exactly where she could be found. “How is it that you’re the one bringing my things over?” Obviously it was some scheme of Greg’s. She wondered fleetingly how they had talked Beth into it. What a traitor. “Your friend Beth called Greg to say her shift was running over and she couldn’t make it until tonight. She sounded pretty stressed, so I volunteered instead.” He was still smiling, but the warmth had left his face. He had picked up on her icy tone. Rachel wanted to scream. More than anything in the world, she had wanted to elude Greg’s reach. She had wanted him to be unable to reach her, to wonder if she was staying with a male friend. Why, oh why, hadn’t Beth just called her? Oh, well. Greg would still wonder what rich friend was hosting her in this place.

Maybe she could suggest it was a male admirer … and let the jerk stew over who. “You can just drop everything right here,” she said coldly, pointing to the doorstep. She snatched the panda bear from his hand with a flush of embarrassment, refusing to thank him. Greg’s friends had probably known he was cheating on her, and that included Lorenzo, didn’t it? He was no friend of hers. He set down the suitcase, then raised his brows. “You don’t want me to bring it all inside?” “No, I’ve got it.” Lorenzo removed his Armani sunglasses. There were the sexy Spanish eyes she remembered so well—those brown, almond-shaped eyes with the kind of thick, long lashes women would kill for. She had seen eyes like that in Egyptian art, but Lorenzo was the only guy she’d seen who possessed them in real life. No man should have eyes that sexy. “You sound mad,” he said after a moment. Her patience snapped. “Lorenzo, quit playing games. You know damned well why I’m mad, so stop pretending we’re on good terms.” He looked genuinely astonished. “What the hell did I do?” “Oh, I don’t know—let’s start with the fact that you’re friends with my lying, cheating bastard of a boyfriend? That’s guilt by association just to start. Now you persuade my friend to stay away so you can check out my new situation and report back to Greg…” “Rachel, hold on,” Lorenzo said. “Look, I don’t agree with what Greg did. I’m sure you think all men stick together…” “Because you do.” “—but I don’t condone cheating. Not ever. I thought I was doing you a favor by bringing your stuff over.” She shrugged moodily. “So you say.” Her gaze ran cynically over Lorenzo’s tall, well-bred profile. His naturally golden skin was tanned to a warm brown, offsetting the brilliant crescent of his smile; the muscular firmness of his bronzed six-foot-four frame was swathed in the finest clothes Rodeo Drive had to offer. Not only was he good-looking and rich, but Lorenzo had a reputation on campus as a player. Idly, she wondered how many girls he had cheated on over the years, despite his protestations of innocence. Probably quite a few. Then she noticed his dark, penetrating gaze was lingering on her cleavage. She had dressed casually today in cutoffs and a skimpy white camisole, since she was only expecting Beth; as his gaze drifted south, she remembered that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Quickly she folded her arms over her chest. “Look, just bring up my things and you can go,” she said frostily. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, and returned to the car for another load. As he unloaded his trunk full of linens, her stereo, her television, her microwave, two more suitcases of clothes, and then box after box of books, she began to feel bad for snapping at him. Regardless of his true motives for doing this, it was clearly a lot of work. She hadn’t really considered just how much stuff she had. The coolness of the evening was setting in as Lorenzo worked, yet he wiped the sweat from his forehead several times. At last he pulled off his shirt and dropped it on her

doorstep. Quickly she turned away before the sight of his long, muscular torso had the same effect on her as it had on so many other hapless women. Then she looked down at the boxes piled on the doorstep and uneasily realized the obvious: She would have to carry all of this upstairs herself, given her refusal to let him inside the house. Without a word, Rachel stepped back and opened the door wide. “Oh, I’m allowed inside now?” She began a defensive retort until she saw his wide, white grin crack across his face. Damn him for being so good-looking. He used that perfect smile like a tool to get what he wanted—she’d seen him do it at film school parties a million times. “Just follow me,” she said. Indicating the boxes of books, she led him upstairs to her bedroom. “Really, Rachel, this isn’t necessary,” he said as his smile turned dirty. “Just a cash tip is thanks enough.” She gave his smooth brown back a scolding slap. His lateral muscles were ripped, but she refused to notice. “Keep dreaming.” He dropped the boxes, sat down on the four-poster bed and looked at her. His golden-brown skin glistened with a light sheen of exertion, and his perfect black haircut was slightly rumpled; it was the first time she’d seen him look something other than flawlessly polished and groomed. It was also the sexiest she’d ever seen him look. This was how he must look after sex. A pink flush crept up her throat. “So am I bringing all your stuff up to this room?” he asked casually. “No,” she said after a moment. Somehow his shirtless presence on her bed was giving her an oddly excited feeling. She turned away before his experienced eyes could pick up on it. “Most of the big stuff I won’t need in this house—the television and microwave, for instance. We can store those downstairs in the study.” When Lorenzo didn’t reply, she looked up at him. To her chagrin, his gaze was lingering on her bare legs. “What’s wrong?” she asked tartly. “Did bringing up those two boxes wear you out?” Unflustered, he merely smiled. “No. You haven’t worn me out … yet.” His gaze moved upward to her chest, and his smile widened. With horror she saw her erect nipples poking through the thin white cotton of her camisole. Furiously she turned away, cursing her decision to go braless that day. “It’s getting late,” she said coolly. “Time to get back to work.” Still smiling, he stood up and walked out of her bedroom without a word. But as he passed her in the doorway, he sent her an intensely passionate look that seared her every nerve. Lorenzo might not be tacky enough to hit on his friend’s ex-girlfriend in the same week they broke up, but he certainly wasn’t shy about showing his visual appreciation. Half of her was annoyed by his brazen stare … and the other half found it immensely flattering after the insult of Greg’s infidelity. She watched his firm, jean-clad ass descend the curving staircase in front of her. As he worked for the next hour, depositing her books, clothes, and equipment wherever she directed, she could barely take her gaze from the muscles flexing in his arms. Lorenzo might be a player, but he was still a fine piece of eye candy. Maybe it was just as well that Beth hadn’t brought her things over. This was faster, easier, and much more fun to watch.

At last Lorenzo stood in the doorway again, finishing a glass of water. His bronzed chest was damp with sweat as she watched his throat muscles work. “That’s the last of it,” he said, handing her the glass. He looked over the house once more with frank curiosity before turning his attention to her. “Anything else you need?” His dark eyes seemed to burn right into her as he pronounced “need.” “No,” she said. “But thanks.” An awkward pause hung between them. “Okay,” he said. He picked up his discarded shirt and pulled it on. “Well, I guess I’ll be going then.” Suddenly she realized she would probably never see him again. With Greg out of her life, she had no reason to associate with anyone in the UCLA film school. She was in the English literature program. “Wait,” she said, then hesitated. More than anything in the world, she wanted to coolly bid Lorenzo good-bye and imply that she had exciting plans for the night—if only so that he would pass that information on to Greg. But the truth was, the sun was setting and she was facing another lonely night by herself in this house out in the Canyon. Right now, almost anyone’s company sounded good. Lorenzo leaned in the doorway, dangling his Armani sunglasses from one finger. “Wait what?” he asked, sounding amused. “I at least owe you a drink for bringing my things over,” she said. “Come on in.” She turned back into the plush and enormous living room, relieved to postpone her solitude for a while. As the grandfather clock began to chime on the hour, she poured Lorenzo a gin and tonic, and gave him a tour of the house. Through the lavishly decorated rooms, she pointed out the features the Shermans had shown her, including the Spanish architecture and ceramic tiles. Lorenzo said little, studying the rooms with a frown. “What’s wrong?” Rachel asked at last. Did he sense the ominous energy of the house as well? It seemed to grow stronger as night fell. Lorenzo shook his head. “It’s just that this house seems so familiar. I’d swear I’ve seen it … in a movie or something. Was this house used as a set?” “Not that I know of.” Rachel glanced around the sunken living room, with its spectacular massive fireplace and cavernous sofas. “But you’re the movie buff, so you’d know better than me. I do know that it’s been owned by a few celebrities.” Lorenzo looked interested. “Really? Like who?” “Well, it was built in the 1920s for some silent movie star named Tony someone. And later in the 50s, it was owned by Christy Cole, that actress who was in all those beach movies.” Lorenzo’s handsome face went very still. For a long moment, he seemed absorbed in a grim and private reverie. Then he said, “Rachel—who owns this place now? Who are these friends you’re staying with?” His brown eyes watched her very intently. She sighed. There was no point in hinting at a rich and mysterious admirer. “They’re an older couple. Screenwriters. They’re paying me to house-sit and feed their cats while they’re on location.” She couldn’t decipher the odd expression on his face—it was almost as if she were a child he needed to protect. But he only said, “I see. So you’re staying here alone.” She scowled. “Don’t even think about sending that rat bastard Greg over here.”

“No—Rachel, no. Look, I know you’re working on a novel and you probably want your space. I just don’t like the idea of you all alone out here, okay?” Rachel paused. “How did you know I’m thinking of writing a novel?” That was a secret very few people knew besides Greg and Beth. “Greg said something about it. Is it classified information or something?” She glanced up into his watchful dark eyes. With his family’s film connections, Lorenzo had only to mention his last name to be handed the directing job of his choice; he probably had no idea how difficult it was for the average person to break into any creative industry, let alone write a book and actually get it published. He was the last person she wanted to discuss her secret aspirations with. “No,” she said at last, unlocking the French doors. “I just don’t tell many people about it.” She led him down the wide flagstone steps to the garden and pool. “I’m surprised that Greg even talked about me that much. He was always so absorbed in film school.” “Well, I wasn’t.” Lorenzo’s voice was light, but laced with a serious note. Surprised, Rachel blushed. To hide her pleasure, she walked over to the pool, where lights beneath the dancing waters cast a greenish glow on their faces. It occurred to her that she hadn’t turned on the underwater pool lights, but she decided not to think about that right now. Perhaps they operated on a timer. Lorenzo was looking back at the house with a disturbed expression. “So this is the old Tony Reynolds house. Wasn’t there some kind of scandal associated with him?” “Beats me,” she said. “I don’t know anything about old Hollywood—I thought you film geeks knew all those stories.” “Film geeks?” he repeated, his almond-shaped eyes wide with the incredulity of someone who had never been called a geek. “You heard me,” she told him firmly. “Film geeks.” They sipped their drinks as the wind rustled through the canyon. Long shadows were falling across the yard, throwing the flagstone patio into gloom. Suddenly Rachel remembered the third floor light the Shermans had left burning and glanced up at the window. To her surprise, the room was now dark. The lightbulb had apparently burned out quickly. “So,” Lorenzo said, and took a step closer to her. Her first impulse was to bristle, but the truth was, the warmth of his body felt good in the cool evening. “What exactly happened between you and Greg?” She gave him a cold look. “Oh, please. Are you going to pretend you didn't know he was cheating on me?” He looked surprised. “Um—why would I know the details of his secret sex life?” “Because you men are always bragging to each other about every girl you score with. I know how that goes.” He smiled guiltily. “There may be an element of truth in that…” “More like the entire truth.” “—but we don't share every last detail all the time, especially as we get older. I'm twenty-eight, Rachel, not some boasting adolescent. And I imagine Greg would have wanted to keep his cheating quiet.” A sharp pain twisted in her heart. “So you agree that it wasn't just Stephanie, then. He was probably cheating on me the whole time.”

Lorenzo took her chin in his hand and stared into her hazel eyes. “I have no idea,” he said softly. “But I do know he was an ass even thinking about it.” Against her will, her lips twisted into a flattered smile. Lorenzo might be a spoiled narcissist, but it was still nice to know such a stunning-looking man found her attractive. “You're sweet,” she said, her voice catching. Then, hearing her own vulnerability, she added, “Sweeter than I would have thought, that is.” Lorenzo's fingers released her chin. “What does that mean?” She shrugged, turning away to sip her drink before answering. “You know what I mean. You have a reputation, Lorenzo.” His brows knit in a frown. “Oh, yeah? And what kind of a reputation is that?” he asked. Rachel rolled her eyes. “Where shall I begin? Heartbreaker. Player. Stud.” She hesitated before adding, “Jerk.” “Jerk?” His dark eyes looked angry. She stifled a laugh, noting he hadn't denied the other labels. “Everyone says you're out the door before the sheets are dry.” He drew himself up to his full six-feet and four inches, and gave an aristocratic scoff. “Deluded UCLA sorority girls say that, maybe. Girls who got embarrassed that I turned them down and made up a wild story instead.” Well, this was interesting. “Are you saying that your Casanova image is just a facade? That you're really a nice boy holding out for that special girl?” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. He groaned. “The truth is somewhere in the middle. Look, I've sowed my oats about ten times over. When you're nineteen and have a trust fund in L.A., that happens.” “And being gorgeous doesn't hurt either,” she added. He shrugged. “What do you want, for me to pretend I'm ugly? I know women find me attractive. Girls have been chasing me since I was fifteen. And I won't deny that I took full advantage of it for a while. But it was years ago, and I've grown up since then— and why exactly am I the one on trial when Greg's the asshole who broke your heart?” The abrupt conclusion to his speech took her aback. She turned away, studying the twinkling lights of Hollywood so he couldn't see the tears swimming in her eyes. “He didn't break my heart,” she said finally. “He just … wasted my time.” “That's the spirit.” Lorenzo walked up behind her and paused. She waited, praying he didn't turn her around to see her wet eyes. Instead he gathered her long chestnut curls in his hands, binding them into a loose twist. “You were too good for him, Rachel. A woman like you could do a lot better.” She swallowed, not wanting to show just how wonderfully sensuous his fingers felt in her hair. “Thanks.” After another pause, he gathered her into his arms and held her, resting his chin on her head as he gazed out at the lights with her. For a moment, she was so surprised by the move that she went stiff. Then she allowed herself to melt back into the comforting warmth of his body. Lorenzo's body felt hard and solid, yet protective too. As she relaxed against him, she realized that she had never felt that kind of tender protection from Greg—not once in their three years together. Yet Lorenzo's arms around her offered a kind of masculine comfort that was as strong as it was sexy. Wait a minute. Sexy? Lorenzo Cortez? What the hell was she doing, melting in his

arms and listening to his heartbeat beneath her cheek? Lorenzo was the ultimate player, too gorgeous and wealthy for any woman’s good. She pulled away from him. “It's getting chilly,” Lorenzo said casually. “We should go in.” “We should.” She flipped her long mane back with exaggerated cool, determined to show her immunity to his erotic appeal. He followed her into the house. “So,” she said. “I'm sure you have a lot to do tonight…” “Thanks, I'd love another drink.” He winked at her as he brought both their glasses to the bar. Okay, so he wasn't going to be sent packing so easily. She couldn't help smiling as she accepted her refreshed drink from him. The truth was, she didn't want to be alone tonight, and flirting with someone as gorgeous as Lorenzo was definitely a boost to her still-injured ego. As they sipped their drinks, she showed Lorenzo the framed black and white photos of the former owners of the house. He studied them without much comment, then gave her that pensive look again. “What?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. “Why do you keeping looking at me that way?” He only shook his head. “I just can’t believe your luck in landing this place. There’s some serious film history here.” Lorenzo pulled out his cell phone. “How about takeout?” he asked. “It's getting late and we haven't eaten. What sounds good—Chinese, Mexican, or Italian?” Yikes. First drinks, now dinner alone with Lorenzo. This was starting to feel more and more like a date. “Chinese sounds good,” she said. Lorenzo dropped onto one of those cavernous white sofas that intimidated her so. Where she was terrified of spilling something, he looked relaxed and natural in this lavish mansion—likely because he'd been raised in similar luxurious surroundings, she realized. “Cool. I have a great Pan-Asian place on speed dial. Tell you what, I'll buy dinner if you let me look through that massive film library in the screening room. Maybe we can put in a DVD after dinner.” Oh, yeah. This was definitely turning into a date. An hour later the fancy dining room table was a mess of white take-out cartons and crumpled napkins and her belly was contentedly full. Lorenzo mixed them fresh drinks and they settled themselves in the screening room, where they decided on an old silent movie featuring none other than the illustrious Tony Reynolds. Rachel had never seen a silent film before and was very interested as Lorenzo popped it into the Shermans' complicated audio-visual system. “This guy was supposed to be one of the original studio greats,” Lorenzo said. Despite the other large sofas facing the screen, he sat down on hers. Once again the nearness of his body filled her with an apprehensive excitement—and once again she tried to disguise it by avoiding his eyes. “He was right up there with Fatty Arbuckle and Charlie Chaplin. Have you ever seen one of his films?” She shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen any silent movies.” “This one might look a little odd to you. Most silent films were shot at slower speeds than what we’re used to, so sometimes they look jerky.” The film began right away; there were no previews attached to these old films, she noted. Fancy white script in a black box informed her that they were in a barbershop.

Then the screen cut to a handsome young man in a hat arguing with a barber as merry background music played. “Oh, he's young!” Rachel exclaimed. “Good-looking, too. Somehow I was expecting an older guy.” “Don't make me jealous,” Lorenzo said. His tone sounded only half-kidding. She laughed. “I don't think a dead guy counts as competition.” “Oh, I don't know. A dead guy might be 'stiff' competition. Stiff, get it?” His foot swung into hers. She groaned. “That was a horrible pun, Lorenzo.” “Come on, that was funny.” He nudged her foot again and she nudged him back. Soon they were engaged in a full-on foot war, leaning back to push and maneuver their feet against each other. But Rachel's foot skidded off his, with his foot landing directly in the crotch of her cutoffs. “Oh! Uh—sorry.” To her amusement, Lorenzo seemed flustered. He quickly straightened, suddenly looking as proper as a Victorian gentleman, and knit his brows as if concentrating very hard on the film. She concealed a smile. Then she heard something. Behind them, beyond the merry background music of the film, was a noise. She turned to Lorenzo, who was looking over his shoulder too. He hit the mute button on the remote and they both looked at each other as they listened. It sounded as if someone was pacing the upstairs hallway. Just like last night, the footsteps had a muffled, slippery quality to them, like slippers sliding on carpet. “You hear that too, right?” Lorenzo asked. “It's not just me?” She shook her head, both frightened and gratified to know she hadn't been losing her mind last night. “I kept hearing it last night, but no one was there.” Lorenzo put down the remote and stood up. “Come on.” She couldn't help but feel grateful for his presence as she followed him out of the screening room. As she thought, the muffled footsteps sounded as if they were coming from the second floor hallway. Yet as soon as they reached the foot of the curving staircase, the sounds stopped. Lorenzo looked at her. “And you heard that last night too?” She nodded. His face set in a protective resolve. “I'd better stay over tonight.” Immediately her fear changed to skepticism. Yes, this was the Lorenzo Cortez she'd heard so much about—a consummate player skilled at exploiting every opportunity to get a woman in bed. “I don't think that's necessary,” she told him coolly. “Rachel, come on. Someone was audibly walking up and down that hall a few seconds ago.” “It was just the house settling,” she said stubbornly. “Those were footsteps, Rachel, and we both know it,” he said. Then his face turned cool, as if perceiving her suspicions. “Okay. Have it your way.” He walked back into the screening room. She followed. Yes, the footsteps were unsettling, but so was the idea of spending a night with Lorenzo. If just being in his arms out by the pool had made her go all soft and romantic, what would a night of sex with him do to her? They resumed the film, still on the same sofa. In the bluish light of the screen, Rachel found she was keeping one ear alert for more footsteps, one eye on Lorenzo's

handsome profile, and the rest of her distracted senses on the movie. Despite her awareness of his shortcomings, she couldn't help noticing the well-defined thigh muscles in his jeans, or the curve of his biceps beneath his T-shirt. His short black hair looked full and soft and the way it faded into that tender V on his neck was just so vulnerable… Then she shook herself. Lorenzo came from money, and had grown up in the film industry to boot. Blessed with natural good looks, he knew exactly how to play up his considerable assets with expensive hair stylists and fine couture. It was an unfair advantage, and he used it to his full potential. Of course she was going to be affected by him. She had to be smart and see Lorenzo's sultry dark eyes and flashing grin for what they were: A trap. A strong, sexy trap… Lorenzo picked up the remote and froze the film. “Did you hear that?” She snapped out of her reverie. “What?” She listened hard for more footsteps. “This,” he said and leaned over to cover her mouth with his. Rachel was too shocked to pull away. The soft heat of his lips kissing hers was so unexpected that her body was paralyzed, all sensation focused on the exquisite feel of his mouth. Yet as the moments ticked on, and his hot tongue began to explore hers, her brain repeated one helpless mantra: I am kissing Lorenzo Cortez. I am kissing Lorenzo Cortez. It just didn’t seem possible. Lorenzo dated beautiful actresses and went to Academy Award parties. He had grown up around the most famous celebrities of their generation. He could have any woman he wanted—and frequently did, according to his reputation. Yet as his hands unbuttoned her camisole and softly squeezed her breasts, all paranoid thoughts fell away as she surrendered to the heavenly sensation of his fingers circling her nipples. His mouth traveled down her throat, lightly biting her collarbone before sucking at the delicate pulse of her throat. Smoothly he pulled her unbuttoned camisole from her body, rendering her naked to the waist beneath him. Then he pushed the firm pillows of her breasts together, his tongue flicking at both her nipples until they stiffened in his mouth. Moaning, Rachel gripped the sofa cushions beneath her and arched her back. Tiny rockets of heat were racing through her body, driving her excitement higher as his fingers began stroking the dip of her navel. A dim part of her brain was shrieking reminders that Lorenzo Cortez was the last person she should be touching, but his fingers were spreading a magical euphoria through her skin, as intense and irresistible as a sexual drug. She didn’t realize he had unzipped her cutoffs until she felt them slide down past her knees. Her panties followed. As Lorenzo spread her thighs open, Rachel struggled up to her elbows. “Lorenzo, stop,” she said breathlessly. She didn’t really want to stop, but she didn’t want to make a colossal mistake either, and finding herself naked underneath Lorenzo Cortez just had to be a mistake of the catastrophic kind. To her surprise, Lorenzo did stop and waited. “Yes?” he said finally. His golden skin was flushed with excitement, his dark eyes aflame. As her gaze dropped down to the faded waist of his jeans, she saw the swollen head of his cock, a drop of pre-cum gleaming in the pale light of the film. Shocking herself, she reached forward to unzip his jeans. His white grin flashed across his face as she liberated his blood-engorged shaft right into her hands.

“That’s right, touch me just like that…” he whispered. Long and thick, Lorenzo’s cock throbbed in her hands like a hot silky pillar. Rachel groaned, closing her hand over him and squeezing him in long, twisting strokes. As she did, a wild pulsing stirred to life in her pussy. Her thighs strained open before him in a wordless plea. His smile turned deeper and dirtier as he slid two fingers just inside her opening and began to rub her wet, tender flesh. The last of Rachel’s mental misgivings faded away as she surrendered to the pleasurable tease of his fingers. Lorenzo might be a catastrophic mistake, but he was an exciting one, a mistake who knew how to arouse every dormant sexual nerve in her body. A slow burn spread up her skin as his fingers slid deeper inside to stroke the wet nub of her G-spot. Ecstatically she twisted on the sofa cushions, her body alight with exquisite heat. Incandescent shivers traveled down her thighs as Lorenzo continued to masterfully stimulate her most sensitive area. “Don’t stop,” she moaned, hungrily squeezing his cock. Lorenzo slid a third finger inside her and circled her walls, creating an electrifying pressure. A sensation like wet thunder collected in her depths and then Rachel exploded around his hand, shuddering as her orgasm lit up her entire body. “You’re so sexy,” Lorenzo murmured as he kissed her stomach. Gently but unmistakably, he began to rock his cock back and forth into the still-tight grip of her hand. “I knew you’d be like this.” His last comment stirred something in her pleasure-saturated brain. “What?” “Nothing.” His tongue danced down her navel. Rachel struggled away from him. “Lorenzo, what did you mean by that comment?” He raised his head, impatience battling with passion in his dark eyes. “Nothing, Rachel—just relax.” His head descended toward her thighs, but she pushed his face away and sat up. Her paranoia was back and shrieking out an insistent warning. “You planned this, didn’t you?” she accused him. “What?” Lorenzo stared incredulously at her. “This whole thing. Bringing my stuff over, mixing drinks, flattering me. You assumed I’d be an easy lay because I’d just caught Greg cheating on me.” That quickly, her post-orgasmic bliss bloomed into outrage. She had known the real Lorenzo Cortez would show his calculating face. How could she have been so stupid? “Rachel…” Lorenzo sat up, his stiff cock still straining toward her. “I did not plan this. It just worked out this way. It’s not like I’m comforting the widow or something—I really like you.” “Comforting the widow?” she repeated. “It’s an expression guys use when they seduce a girl who just got dumped.” No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than awkward regret crossed his face. “Uh, I mean other guys do that—I don’t. Rachel, you have to believe me…” “Oh, I believe you, all right. I believe that you saw an opportunity and moved right in.” She was furious at herself. How could she have fallen for his act? Lorenzo was such a player—she knew that. Yet all he had to do was throw a few drinks her way and she was writhing naked under him. “Rachel, give me a break. An opportunity? I have opportunities waiting for me all over town. I don’t need to take advantage of my friend’s girl when she’s down.” “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, incredulous, pulling on her

cutoffs. “Well, I’m glad you have so many ‘opportunities’ to call on, because you’re not getting laid in this house tonight.” His dark brows shot up. “What? Rachel, I did not come here to get laid and I am not trying to take advantage of you. What is wrong with you? Two minutes ago everything was fine.” “I came to my senses,” she told him, tugging her camisole over her breasts. She could tell from the way his eyes sought her still-hard nipples that he still had sex on the brain, but his face was flushed with anger at the same time. “Oh, you’re good, I’ll give you that. I’m just glad you spoke up before it went any farther.” “Rachel, this is crazy.” Lorenzo shook his head in hopeless confusion. “Let’s stop and talk about this. I don’t know what I said that made you think this was premeditated, but it wasn’t.” “Just go,” she commanded. “Now.” His dark eyes met hers in disbelieving rage. Then he shook his head, zipped up his pants, and walked out of the house without a word. The slam of the front door reverberated through the first floor. Rachel sagged against the wall, not quite understanding herself what had just happened. Suddenly she couldn’t even remember what Lorenzo had said to set off her inner alarm. Sighing, she walked back to the French double doors. A dark shape outside moved; heart pounding, she snapped on the lights over the flagstone patio. But it was merely a coyote drinking from the pool. The grandfather clock began to strike again. She leaned her head against the glass partition in the door, feeling drained. In an abrupt reversal, she wished she had Lorenzo by her side right now. But it was too late to call him back; his car had already peeled out of the driveway, and she didn’t even have his phone number. She would never see him again. With a sad sigh, she collected the cats and went up to bed.

Chapter Three Smash. Rachel sat up in bed, dimly aware that something had just shattered. Her ears strained to hear the night noises of the house again, but to her surprise, she heard a party. Climbing out of bed, she went to the window overlooking the pool. She blinked as she saw thirty or so people milling around the moonlit pool and flagstone patio. Dressed in sequined party clothes, drinks in their hands, they talked and mingled as naturally as if they were at a cocktail party, rather than at a private home in the dead of night. Who were they? For a moment, she considered calling the police. Then she wondered if these people might be friends of the Shermans. They looked stylish and very affluent, hardly the type to go breaking into private property. And their good looks indicated they might work in the film industry. Not bothering to put on a robe over her blue silk nightie, she slipped downstairs. The house was still dark and locked; they hadn't tried to come in. Perhaps they had an understanding about using the pool when the Shermans were out of town. As she slipped out through the double French doors, she could hear a lively jazz band playing. Then all conversation ceased and all of the guests looked at her. She swallowed, feeling exposed in her short nightgown. “Um, hi,” she said. “I'm Rachel, and I'm house-sitting for the Shermans. I don't know why you're here, but…” No one spoke; then, a brunette in a long dress came toward her. “We're friends of the Shermans,” she said. “They let us use their house and pool when they're on location. We're sorry for waking you, Rachel.” “Yes, we're sorry,” echoed a few of the guests. “But now that you're awake, you should have a drink,” the woman continued. “Or maybe some joy powder?” She turned away and when she turned back, she had a cold goblet in one hand and a tray of cocaine in the other. “Welcome to the party, Rachel.” “Welcome,” the guests said. Rachel recognized the woman now as the swimmer she'd spotted in the pool the night before. She smiled, feeling intimidated, and refused the drink and drugs. “I, uh, should get back to bed…” “No, stay.” The woman took Rachel’s hand in her cold one and led her to the pool. Its waters danced invitingly in the starlight. “Come for a swim with me, Rachel. It's a beautiful night for a swim.” Rachel remembered feeling chilly earlier out by the pool with Lorenzo, but now she wasn't feeling much of anything. The woman was right; it was a beautiful night. “Oh, I don't know…” She looked longingly at the waters. “Come swimming with me,” the woman suggested again. She squeezed her hand. “Go swimming,” one of the guests said. He was a short man with dark circles under his eyes and pale skin. “You'll have a good time.” “You'll have a very good time,” the woman promised. “Come on.” Without even lifting the hem of her long dress, she descended the underwater steps of the pool. She was smiling broadly, her dark eyes gleaming. “The water feels wonderful, Rachel.”

It did look inviting. She stepped hesitantly onto the top step. The waters swished warmly around her ankles. The woman pulled her further into the pool. “Swim with me,” she said and pedaled backward into the deeper end of the pool, pulling Rachel underwater. The warm pool waters rushed around her body. She let herself be pulled along, enjoying the liberating sensation of submergence. Her short blue nightie floated up around her waist and her long hair streamed in the water. She could dimly see the figures of the other party guests, now all lined around the pool and watching her. Yet as she tried to break the surface, she was tugged deeper underwater. She turned in surprise, her long hair floating around her face. The woman was still holding her hand, pulling her into the depths of the pool. Rachel pulled her hand back. The woman held on. Angrily, she pushed her hair from her face and gave another futile tug to free herself. Then she opened her mouth and screamed soundlessly underwater. The face so close to hers in the pool was no longer a beautiful woman's. Instead, it was green and ghastly, smiling at her through the depths. Rachel kicked furiously at the ghoul, a desperate panic rising through her body. She was running out of breath and she had to reach the surface soon, or drown. Suddenly, the hand released hers and she swam desperately for the surface. Yet somehow the surface wasn't there. Confused, she began to swim in every direction, trying to get her bearings. Then her head broke the surface and she took in frantic, grateful gulps of air. The night was quiet. The party was gone. The patio was empty and only the stars shone down on Oleander Canyon. Rachel climbed out of the pool, her lungs sore, and collapsed on a chaise. What the hell kind of bizarre nightmare had she just had? She felt sick, exhausted, and dizzy. She knew she should go in the house and back to bed, but her body felt too weak to move. Instead, she closed her eyes and let the horrible dream fade from her consciousness. **** “Rachel. Rachel, wake up.” Strong, warm hands were on her arms, shaking her awake. Even through the fog of sleep, she knew those hands. She opened her eyes and regarded Lorenzo with confusion. “Rachel, what the hell happened? Why are you sleeping out here soaking wet?” Rachel sat up. Suddenly the memories of last night's dream swept over her in terrifying detail. She looked around for shattered glasses, a discarded glove, some evidence that the party had really happened. But the pool waters were calm and the flagstone patio was dry and clean. It was daybreak. The sun was just beginning to rise over Oleander Canyon. Holding on to Lorenzo for support, she stood and tried to clear her head. “I was sleepwalking,” she said at last. The heavy wet mass of hair clinging to her back told her it wasn’t that long ago that she had crawled out of the pool. “I had a weird dream.” “A dream? You went swimming in the dead of the night, then slept outside in wet lingerie. Are you trying to get sick?” Through the anger of Lorenzo's voice, she could hear a very real fear. She burrowed her face into his T-shirt. She was cold and wet and frightened, and

right now, she needed to feel protected by that same tender strength she had felt last night. “Don't be mad,” she whispered, near tears. “I'm not mad, Rachel, I'm just—just worried. Come inside, drink some coffee, and tell me what happened. Did someone hurt you?” No. But someone had tried. That ghoulish hand pulling her deeper underwater had felt so real… Rachel looked up into his wide dark eyes, urgent with concern, and tried to find the words to describe her bizarre dream. She couldn't. “I’d rather have Diet Coke,” she said helplessly. Lorenzo pulled off his shirt, wrapped it around her bare shoulders, and led her inside. She sat on the sofa where they had flirted with each other, and tried to stop shivering as he disappeared into the kitchen. What was happening to her mind in this house? From hearing footsteps, to sleepwalking, to monstrous nightmares, she was beginning to feel insane. Even that grotesque bloodstain she had spotted in the hall—she was so sure it had actually been there. Yet it had been gone a second later. “Here.” Lorenzo emerged with a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of soda poured over crushed ice in the other. “Drink up. Then tell me everything about last night.” She took a cold, bolstering sip of her favorite soft drink, then set it down. As she haltingly described the late night pool party, she took him in—his smoldering dark eyes, his expensive haircut, and his beautifully bare, brown chest. The Prada T-shirt wrapped around her shoulders had probably cost more than her books for the semester, and it smelled intoxicatingly of a spicy cologne. Lorenzo might be conceited, but he was also magnificently, unquestioningly masculine. And he was taking care of her in a way that no man ever had, at a time when she really needed to feel safe. As she finished her tale, she remembered her accusatory words to him last night and flushed with shame. She realized her long sodden mane was soaking his expensive T-shirt. Quickly she tossed it on the opposite sofa, wishing she could discard her wet blue nightie as well. Instead, she leaned back on the sofa and tried to think of a way to apologize for her paranoia the night before. Yet it was clear that Lorenzo had forgotten all about it. Instead, his dark eyes lustfully examined the feminine contours of her body. The full curves of her breasts were clearly outlined in the wet silk, her erect nipples jutting through the material. Below them, the dip of her belly button, then the soft mound of curls between her legs were molded in the fabric. Lorenzo’s strong hands massaged her thighs. “You’re shivering.” Yet he couldn’t wrench his gaze from her body. “So warm me up,” she commanded softly, and spread her legs before him. Lorenzo swallowed hard. With one rough movement, he pulled her nightie up over her head and tossed it aside. Just as quickly, he pulled off his jeans and boxer briefs, then leaned over her. Rachel stopped him by placing her foot on his stomach. “Let me look at you,” she whispered. Right then, she didn’t care if Lorenzo was a pampered, egocentric Hollywood brat. All she knew was that she was feasting her eyes on the most flawless hunk of manhood she had ever seen. She devoured his naked splendor, drinking in the smooth twin curves

of his pectoral muscles, then down to the rock-hard ridges of his abdomen. Long, wellmuscled legs supported his six-foot four-inch perfection. In the center of it all waited the hard, smooth cock that had tempted her so briefly last night. Viewed against his nakedness, his package was even more impressive, curving up to the right with mouthwatering girth. A hot flood of arousal loosened between her thighs. She rubbed her legs together in an unconscious attempt to appease her swelling clit, no longer caring that she was cold. But Lorenzo did care, for he lowered himself on top of her until every inch of her creamy skin was covered with his warm, strong body. “I never should have left you last night,” he whispered. She shook her head in his shoulder, enjoying his warmth and the scent of his skin. “No, it was my fault. I’m just glad you came back.” She entwined her arms around him as the vivid memories of last night returned. Recalling the intoxicating sensation of his fingers exploring her pussy, she shifted hungrily beneath him. Lorenzo began to kiss a line down her jaw and shoulder. “I won’t leave you again,” he murmured. Then he surprised her by taking her arms in his hands and pinning her against the sofa. She squirmed in helpless delight, powerless to move, as he sucked her nipples into his mouth and rolled them around his tongue. His erection was pressing between her thighs, and the tantalizing proximity of his cock to her aching pussy filled her with a breathless fire. She shifted again, still pinned down by his massive arms, as his thighs spread hers wide. Lorenzo kissed her mouth, his tongue probing hers almost shyly with an unasked question. She knew what he wanted to know—if she was ready for him inside her—and in answer, she kissed him back with passionate urgency, drawing his tongue further into her mouth. Immediately Lorenzo reached for a condom in his discarded jeans and rolled it down his shaft. Her thigh muscles trembled with anticipation as the engorged head of his cock found her opening. Lorenzo bit her lower lip, holding it captive, until she squirmed beneath him. Each twist of her hips brought his penis a bit further into her folds, until she thought she’d go mad from the tease. She wiggled impatiently, feeling his swollen head stretch her tender wetness. Her pussy was drenched with the aching need for penetration; then, just as she was ready to howl with frustration, Lorenzo swiftly impaled her on his cock. Rachel sucked in her breath, overwhelmed by this first sensation of his hardness inside her. His girth stretched her relentlessly, but as he slowly began to move, she felt her walls relax and adjust to his size. Lorenzo steadily began to push faster, his thrusts creating an incandescent friction that lit up every nerve in her pussy. She clawed demandingly at his back, working her hips to meet his in a ceaseless, ecstatic rhythm. Biting his lip, Lorenzo drove even deeper inside her. She moaned from the sensation as he fucked her with long, vigorous thrusts that pushed her whole body up the sofa. Releasing his back, she began to caress her own breasts, pinching her nipples as her arousal rose within her like liquid fire. Lorenzo was riding her faster now, and the smooth wet glide of his thrusts filled her with tension. She spread her legs further to accommodate his speed, feeling her breasts bounce in her hands from the slam of his hips. As he rubbed against her core, one long guttural moan escaped her—and then her satisfaction broke like thunder inside, the contractions of her orgasm milking his shaft. She twisted her arms around his smooth

brown back with a cry, flooded with euphoria, as Lorenzo rode out his own orgasm inside her with palpable throbs. Drained and satiated, Rachel released him, falling back on the sofa cushions with a smile. Deep fulfillment spread through her every muscle. At last Lorenzo broke the silence. “I didn’t intend for this to happen,” he said softly, with a tinge of guilt. Rachel rolled over and faced him. “That’s what you said last night.” She smiled. He shook his head. “No. That’s not what I’m talking about.” The gravity in his tone made her realize the obvious for the first time. “Lorenzo— why did you come over so early today? It’s the crack of dawn.” An ominous bell of warning went off in her head. He stroked her cheekbone, his dark eyes consumed with worry. “Because I didn’t think you should be here alone a second more than necessary.” She frowned and sat up. “I’m not a child. What’s the big deal about me being here alone? Is there a serial killer on the loose?” He didn’t smile. “Of a sort,” he said. She stiffened. “What are you talking about?” “Look, Rachel, I wasn’t completely honest with you last night.” Her skin turned cold. Was Lorenzo about to reveal himself to be the same kind of lying rat bastard as Greg? “When you told me about Tony Reynolds owning this house … there was something I should have told you about Tony.” That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Like what?” “Like that he died in this house.” He watched her face. She recoiled. Of course, it would be silly to expect a house over eighty years old to have a clean history. Certainly someone was going to die in it at some point. “How?” she asked warily. “The official story is that he fell down the stairs and broke his neck.” Well, she would certainly never descend that gorgeous curving staircase the same way again. “But,” Lorenzo continued, “that was just a cover story. Rumors went around Hollywood for years about his death, until a copy of his autopsy report was dug up. Tony didn’t die of a broken neck. He died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.” Rachel gasped. “He killed himself?” “Yes. He shot himself upstairs in the second floor hallway.” Now her whole body felt like ice. No wonder the house gave her such a spooky vibe, despite its beauty. The silent film star’s suicide was still echoing across the decades. Then she remembered the dark bloodstain and the shuffling footsteps in the hall. Footsteps that sounded as if someone in slippers were pacing up and down the carpet … perhaps a man pacing with a gun in his hand, trying to get up the courage to end his life. She shivered and moved closer to Lorenzo. “That’s so horrible. I kind of wish you hadn’t told me.” Lorenzo looked somber. “Sorry, Rachel. I’m afraid that’s only the beginning of the tragedies this house has seen.” She looked around at the well-adorned rooms, the Mexican tiles, and exotic art. The silence of the house at daybreak was beginning to take on an ominous quality. “Lorenzo,

stop,” she said nervously. “For better or for worse, this is my home for the next four months. I can’t afford a new place, and even if I could, I signed a contract with the Shermans. If you tell me the rest, I might not be able to sleep here.” “I have to tell you for your own safety, Rachel,” Lorenzo said. “What your nice old screenwriter couple didn’t tell you is that this is one of the most notorious haunted houses in California—and while the ghosts might be famous, they sure aren’t friendly.”

Chapter Four Rachel held Lorenzo’s hand tightly. As the grandfather clock began to strike the new hour, she thought she must still be dreaming, that Lorenzo Cortez could not really be here, telling her that she was sharing this mansion with malevolent ghosts. But the serious worry in his dark eyes told her that she was awake—and he was very concerned. Rich, narcissistic Lorenzo Cortez was actually scared for her. “Last night this house looked so familiar,” he continued. “When I got home, I Googled Tony Reynolds just to see if I remembered the story about his suicide right. Immediately a bunch of stories came up about his life and this house. One of the links led to a long-forgotten—or should I say, long-buried—documentary on the supernatural.” He took a deep breath. “I was just a kid when I saw it, but I never forgot it. It was pretty cheesy in parts, and it dealt with standard occult stuff—Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, psychics, and so on. But the part on ghosts really captured my attention. One segment focused on this house. Some paranormal investigators told the whole story— who lived here, who died here, and who waits here still. Later, it turned out the owners had denied them permission to film—they had actually broken in to do their investigation. The owners sued, and the segment was removed from the film.” He looked at the curving staircase with its wrought-iron railing. “But I never forgot it,” he repeated. Lorenzo pulled on his underwear and strolled around the sunken living room. With just boxer briefs adorning his hard, gym-groomed body, he looked like a model on location for a luxurious photo shoot, but the expression in his eyes was serious. “I don’t know how to tell you everything without scaring you,” he said. “So here goes. Just remember, Rachel—I’m here for you. You’re not alone, okay?” Suddenly cold, she pulled on his T-shirt and huddled into his familiar scent. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “This house was built in 1922. Tony Reynolds was just hitting his game. He was a big star, Rachel—until the advent of ‘talkies.’ Tony’s voice didn’t translate well to the screen, not with the primitive technology they had at the time. The first time audiences heard his voice, they laughed. He sounded effeminate and weak.” Lorenzo sipped his coffee. “If it had been a few decades later, he probably would have become an even bigger star. As fate would have it, though, his career tanked while he was still in his thirties.” Rachel’s gaze drifted up the curving staircase to the upstairs hall. Lorenzo continued. “Back when he was still in his prime, he held a lot of parties here. All the big stars came—Rudolph Valentino, John Barrymore—and so did a lot of wannabe starlets trying to get a jump on the casting couch. One night, one of them drowned in the pool. The exact story was never made clear because the studio covered it up.” Rachel felt so cold. The woman she had seen swimming her first night here—the same woman who had coaxed her into the pool last night… The Shermans’ words came back to her: It’s very dangerous. Don’t fill the pool, whatever you do. “Let me guess,” she said, shaking. “A dark-haired woman, right?”

“Right. Vivian Delaney. She had moved to Hollywood from Idaho only months before.” Lorenzo sat down beside her and rubbed a reassuring hand on her back. “That was the first death here. And the most innocent. “Tony was married several times,” Lorenzo continued. “He was quite the ladies’ man until his career tanked, right up there with Chaplin. But after the talkies came out and he became a laughingstock with audiences, his last wife left him. He was humiliated and washed up as an actor…” Lorenzo shrugged. “He shot himself two weeks after she left.” “But that’s just a rumor, right?” Rachel said nervously. “The official story is that he fell down the stairs.” Lorenzo shook his head. “No, he definitely shot himself. The police death scene photos are online, if you care to look. He ate dinner and retired upstairs—his housekeeper reported hearing him pace up and down the hall for almost an hour before she heard the gunshot.” Rachel felt like retching. “Lorenzo, the footsteps we heard…” “I know, Rachel. I know.” Lorenzo took her hand and stroked her palm with his fingertips. Then he continued his story. “For a long time, the house sat empty. Some people, not in the film industry, bought it in the 1940s. They quickly leased it out, but they couldn’t keep tenants. Again it sat on the market. Rumors had gone around Hollywood about it being haunted. And yet it was an actress who bought it in the late ’50s.” “Christy Cole,” Rachel said. “Miss Brunette Beach Bimbo herself. She was supposed to be the dark-haired counterpart of Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield—and for a while, all those beach romances she starred in were a big hit. But in the ’60s, her luck turned. Her husband left, and her career began to fade as she got into her late thirties. It’s a documented fact that at this point she joined a black magic cult that was big in Hollywood then.” Rachel felt almost nauseous. Instinctively she reached for Samson, the tabby cat, and began petting his fur. The cat’s purr comforted her. “Are you telling me there were rituals in this house?” “Many of them,” Lorenzo said quietly. “The leader of the cult loved having a famous movie star, even a fading one, associated with his cult. Not only did he hold rituals here, promising to restore her career through magic, but he often made her serve as the ‘altar’—which was very attractive to recruiting new male members.” “Altar?” She suspected what this meant, but hoped she was wrong. “Group sex.” Lorenzo shrugged. “That’s basically what it boiled down to, although he dressed it up in fancy names. Eventually Christy realized it was all a scam and quit. That’s when the leader threatened her. She didn’t believe him, and he sent some followers here one night to make good on his threat.” She leaned forward. “Are you telling me she was murdered in this house?” Her knees were beginning to shake uncontrollably. “Yes; both she and her new boyfriend were murdered around three a.m. one night. They apparently heard the break-in and tried to escape, but it did no good. The boyfriend made it out to the front lawn, where he was tackled and stabbed to death. Christy fared worse…” Lorenzo hesitated. “She was stabbed twenty-three times right in this room on the fireplace. They then hung her body from the chandelier.”

Rachel’s horrified eyes flew to the empty ceiling. “It was removed after that,” Lorenzo clarified. “After the murders, her daughter went off to live with her father, but the family held on to the house. It sat empty for a long time, and when they tried leasing it out in the ’70s, they couldn’t keep tenants. Rumors were going around about it being haunted—the neighbors would report hearing parties go on all night, but when they came to check, the house was dark, that kind of thing. Eventually some paranormal investigators broke in and filmed some impressive evidence for their documentary—and as I said, they were sued and the documentary shut down. “And that’s all I know,” Lorenzo concluded. “It looks like Christy Cole’s family kept the house empty to put an end to the rumors. I don’t know when it was sold to the Shermans or any previous owners, but I intend to look it up in the county records. What I find interesting is that the Shermans have lived here without problems.” Rachel shook her head. “I don’t think they have. They warned me not to swim in the pool and the third floor is kept locked. They were adamant about not going up there. So maybe they do know it’s haunted.” Lorenzo frowned. “That’s … interesting. If the pool is haunted—why not drain it? Or fill it in?” “They did drain it.” Rachel’s voice was barely a whisper. “When I arrived, it was empty. When I woke up yesterday, it was full of water … and it looked so tempting.” Lorenzo leaned back on the sofa. “Good God,” he said quietly. “They’re more powerful than I thought.” “They?” “The spirits.” “Lorenzo, come on. What probably happened was the pool boy arrived to fill it up.” She could believe in the ghostly footsteps of a suicide wandering the second floor hallway. What she couldn’t believe in was a ghost strong enough to somehow fill a pool with water and switch on its filtering system. That just wasn’t possible. “I know it sounds crazy, Rachel. But please believe me—these aren’t your run of the mill ghosts. For one thing, they were celebrities, or wanted to be at least. Right there, you’re talking about very strong personalities who want attention. Maybe that kind of lust for attention carries over after death—I don’t know.” “Ridiculous,” she muttered. “Is it? Look at what happened to you last night.” “I was sleepwalking,” she said flatly. “Were you? How, then, did you know the term ‘joy powder’? That’s what actors called cocaine back in the 1920s, but I can’t see how you would know that.” Tears formed in her eyes, and Lorenzo softened his tone. “Maybe it was a very vivid dream—and maybe it really happened. Either way, you almost drowned.” He pulled her close to him. “Let’s go upstairs and get you dressed. We have a lot to discuss about your future in this house—and mine.” “Yours?” She pulled back and stared at him. Lorenzo’s dark eyes blazed with ambition. “Yes, mine. I know you’re feeling trapped and scared right now, Rachel, but this could turn out to be a golden opportunity for both of us.” Her jaw fell open. “I don’t see how.”

“Think about it. I’ll film a documentary about this house, and you’ll write a book. Rachel—this house could be the best thing that’s ever happened to either of us.” **** Upstairs, Rachel took a long, hot shower in the luxurious steam shower. The scent of chlorine from the pool still clung to her skin, along with traces of Lorenzo’s cologne and their sex, and her muscles were stiff from her night on the lounge chair. Yet as the water warmed and loosened her body, she found it impossible to relax. Her mind was spinning with all of the new and disturbing information Lorenzo had relayed to her. Her dream mansion had been the scene of a suicide, two murders, and a drowning. Even worse, it was thought to be haunted. But was that really possible? She kept remembering the footsteps they had both heard in the upstairs hall, along with the inexplicable sounds of slamming doors and running feet in the dead of night. And of course there were her two dreams—the woman in the pool the first night, and the pool party the second night. But those were just dreams, right? Yes, it wasn’t like her to sleepwalk, but then she had never lived alone before, and a big mansion like this could easily inflame her writer’s imagination… She turned the water off and wrapped up in a towel, wondering if the house was truly haunted. For all she knew, Greg had put Lorenzo up to this to scare her into coming back to him. No, that didn’t make sense. Lorenzo wouldn’t have slept with her if that was the case. Besides, she had signed a contract with the Shermans to house-sit. Breaking a lease was one thing, but the Shermans were paying her to perform a service. She wasn’t sure they could sue her if she moved out, but she did know she couldn’t leave on the basis of a few ghost stories and bad dreams. She was putting on her makeup when Lorenzo knocked on the bedroom door. He entered with a legal pad in hand. “I’ve got it all planned out,” he said excitedly. “Obviously, you and I need to compare our schedules for the semester, but I’ll make sure the crew isn’t here when you need to write. All the same…” Her mascara wand paused halfway to her eye. “Whoa. What ‘crew’?” “My film crew,” Lorenzo said, as if it were obvious. She turned on the velvet vanity stool. “Lorenzo, hang on. This isn’t my house, and I don’t feel right having a film crew tramping through the rooms.” He waved away her misgivings. “Rachel, that’s how films get made. Come on—this could make our careers.” She met his gaze. “Whose career?” she asked coldly. “Not mine. I want to write fiction, not ghost books about haunted houses.” “Publishing is hard to break into, Rachel; this could be your foot in the door. Just listen to me.” “No, you listen.” The romantic, lustful Lorenzo from this morning was gone, and in his place was an ambitious, calculating Lorenzo she wasn’t sure she liked. This was much more in line with what his reputation had led her to expect—an overly confident man who felt entitled to the granting of his every wish. “All we know so far is that I’ve had some weird dreams and you found some stuff on the Internet about the house being haunted. But Hollywood is full of ghost stories about dead movie stars…” “Rachel, this is so much more than that.”

“Would you stop interrupting?” she snapped. She dropped her mascara and stared at him. “I don’t like being pressured into things.” “I’m sorry.” From the apologetic surprise on Lorenzo’s face, it was obvious that he wasn’t rebuffed very often. “It’s just that this is the chance of a lifetime for me.” Now she was truly puzzled. “How?” she asked. “Lorenzo, you come from one of the most successful families in the film industry. I don’t even know why you bothered going to film school—you could easily get a project green-lighted by any studio just on the Cortez name alone.” “And that is exactly why I need to do this!” he said in anguish. “Rachel, I don’t want to be another Hollywood brat trading on his family’s name! I need to make my mark on the film world on my own. And this is a golden opportunity to do it. Don’t you see? This will be completely independent, all under my control. No one will be able to say it got handed to me on a silver platter, that studio grunts did all the real work. It will be totally my film—and trust me, it will make a major splash.” She fell silent. She hadn’t known Lorenzo was so fiercely and proudly independent—she had assumed, like everyone else, that he was more than happy to coast through life on his family connections. His creative autonomy impressed her. She had come from working-class parents and was paying her own way through school; consequently, she had always rolled her eyes at the silver spoon movie brats in L.A. who’d never had to work for anything they got. Apparently she’d been wrong in assuming Lorenzo was one of them. “I understand,” she said at last. “Okay, Lorenzo. We’ll give it a shot.” He fell to his knees before the vanity stool and kissed her. “You won’t regret it,” he said. “I really have a good feeling about this, Rachel. You’ll write a memoir of living in a haunted house that is destined for the best seller lists—and I’ll make a film that will capture the world’s first documented full body apparition on-screen.” His dark eyes glowed with creative fervor. She took his smooth brown cheeks in her hands and kissed him back, moved by his passion and vision. Whether Lorenzo was right or wrong, he was definitely sincere. And if the house was as haunted as he said—well, having someone else around might make her feel safer. Lorenzo fell back on the soft bedroom carpet, pulling her from the vanity stool. She slid onto his hips, straddling the hardness pressing through his jeans. As she leaned over to kiss him again, his fingers tugged down the top of her T-shirt, pulling on her nipples. She rubbed herself over him with a soft moan. The doorbell rang below. Lorenzo groaned. “Goddammit. I called my crew while you were in the shower, but I didn’t think they’d get here this fast.” Reluctantly he pulled her to her feet. “Come on.” With a look of grim satisfaction, he headed down the stairs. Rachel followed, trying to adjust her top in a way that concealed her taut nipples. Lorenzo opened the door. “You guys are—what the hell are you doing here?” he exclaimed. Intrigued by the anger in his tone, Rachel peered around him. Standing in the doorway was another one of the most powerfully attractive men she’d ever seen. Standing about six feet, he was not quite as tall as Lorenzo, though he was broader in the shoulders, with muscular arms. From his suntanned cheekbones to his silky tousle of blond hair, he looked like a professional beach bum, maybe a lifeguard or

a surfer. Vivid china-blue eyes glowed in his face; a nose that looked as if it had been broken once or twice only added to his laid-back, masculine appeal. She noted with amusement that a battered pickup truck waited behind him in the driveway. This definitely wasn’t a friend from Lorenzo’s affluent social set. Then she looked back at him and realized he was staring at her with mesmerized interest. A jolt of sexual prescience shivered down her spine. Lorenzo stepped forward, bristling with anger. “Answer me, jackass. How the hell did you hear about this?” The lifeguard looked back at Lorenzo. His face broke into a charmingly crooked smile as he answered, “The same way you did, Lorenzo—good old fate.” He extended his hand to Rachel. “Dr. Zane Sullivan, associate professor of paranormal psychology at UCLA. Based on the phone call I received this morning, I’m guessing you must be the lady of the house. While I realize you didn’t invite me here, I ask only the opportunity to plead my case.” “Rachel Dentley.” She took his hand, struggling to hide her surprise. This tousledhaired guy was an academic? And since when was paranormal anything studied at UCLA? “More like the opportunity to get publicity, jackass.” Lorenzo’s anger had a personal tone to it, as if the two men were old enemies. “Look, I don’t know who called you, but you’re not wanted here. Take your ESP cards and your fake psychics and get out.” “Rachel—may I call you that? I believe this is your residence, not Lorenzo’s,” Zane began. “It’s not yours either, Lame,” Lorenzo snapped. “Oh, make fun of my name, very mature. Why UCLA admitted you to its legendary film school is beyond me.” Zane turned to Rachel. “As I said, you are the lady of the house. As such, only you can decide if I may be of assistance here—and believe me, you will need assistance,” he finished, looking solemnly at her. She looked into Zane’s cerulean blue eyes. They were shot through with flecks of yellow, as if representing sunbeams dancing on the ocean. It was a silly thought, and yet he was brimming with just that kind of insouciant, fiery energy. In contrast to Lorenzo’s aristocratic sophistication, Dr. Zane Sullivan radiated an inspiring optimism, like a sun god brought to life. Rachel took his measure again, from his deep tan to his longish, silky, sun-lightened hair. In his late twenties, Zane wore faded jeans and a white button-down shirt, his tanned toes peeking out from a pair of leather sandals. Yes, he was drop-dead sexy. But more than that, he was just brimming over with a life force that, right now, seemed like the perfect antidote to the morbid mansion behind her. Rachel took a deep breath. “I’d like to hear what you have to say,” she said, and stepped aside to admit him. Lorenzo glared at her with a look of betrayed fury, but she avoided his eyes as she led them down into the sunken living room. Zane stopped in the midst of the plush sofas and turned in a circle. “Wow,” he said, taking in the paintings and marble fireplace. “After hearing about this place for all these years, I’m finally here. The vibes are intense.” He turned and held up a hand as if to stop Rachel from speaking, though she hadn’t said anything. “Don’t say a word about what’s happened so far. We don’t want you to influence our findings. My team will interview you on your experiences later.” He looked with obvious fascination at

the curving staircase. Another team? Oh, God. Rachel was beginning to feel very apprehensive about this whole project. What was she getting herself into? “Dr. Sullivan, could you please tell me exactly what you hope to accomplish here?” “Zane, please. Sure, I’m sorry. Let me tell you what I do. In a nutshell, I study paranormal phenomena and teach classes on the same at UCLA. This house is a special interest of mine, and this morning my assistant heard from one of Lorenzo’s cameramen that they would be filming here.” A dim memory was surfacing in Rachel’s mind as he spoke. Some of the women in her Victorian literature class last year had talked about their class on paranormal studies and the hot professor who taught it. She had scoffed at the idea of wasting tuition money on such nonsense. Now she wished she had paid closer attention. “This house that we are currently standing in is one of the most famous haunted houses in America,” he went on. “To those in the know, that is. Christy Cole’s family has used its considerable influence to keep the publicity to a minimum, refusing all interviews and squelching any stories that arise.” She shrugged wearily. “Why? Why wouldn’t they just sell the house and be done with it?” “That wouldn’t stop the haunting. It wouldn’t stop the ghost of Christy Cole from running through the living room each night at three a.m. trying to escape her killer. Whoever bought the house would simply sell their story and then there would be cameras, journalists, documentaries … just like Lorenzo is doing,” he added, somewhat maliciously. But his earlier words reverberated in Rachel’s mind. “Hold on. What did you mean by Christy Cole running through the living room?” “It’s part of the legend. Previous tenants reported hearing two sets of footsteps running through the house each night—supposedly Christy and the man who was chasing her.” He glanced at the fireplace and added, “He stabbed her to death right there, then hung her from the chandelier.” Rachel remembered the commotion she had heard her first night in the house and felt the blood drain from her face. “Zane, shut the hell up,” Lorenzo growled. “You’re scaring Rachel for no good reason. Face it—I’ve got the jump on this. My crew is doing a documentary, and you asinine ghost-hunters can’t do a thing about it.” Rachel jumped up. “Stop it, both of you. What is this grudge between you?” Zane and Lorenzo stared balefully at each other. Then Lorenzo said, “We worked together on this ridiculous cable documentary last year about psychic children. Zane hired my crew, then blocked our every move, complaining that our equipment was getting in the way and interfering with his fake mediums.” Zane shrugged, unperturbed. “Your crew didn’t understand the first thing about psychics and their emotional needs.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes and turned to Rachel. “Zane kept talking about doing a real film on haunted Hollywood,” he said to her. “And this house was number one on his wish list. That’s one of the reasons it sounded so familiar to me the other night.” “That’s right,” Zane said. “Lorenzo knows damned well that I should be included in any investigation. Not only do I have the necessary paranormal knowledge, but I’m the

one who told him about the damned place!” “Bullshit,” Lorenzo said. “I’ve known about this place since I was a kid. You just reminded me of it—and by the way, no one here needs your so-called ‘knowledge.’ If we include you in our film, we’ll be a laughingstock.” “As if,” Zane said. “Try making a documentary on ghosts without a trained investigative team, and you will be the laughingstock of the paranormal community.” “The paranormal community? What’s that? A bunch of deluded old farts catching specks of dust on their camera lenses and calling it a ghost?” “Stop it!” Rachel roared. The hostile rivalry between the two men was reminding her of why she was glad to be a woman. It had been a long time since she’d seen such a blatant cockfight, and she was quickly losing respect for Lorenzo. Why was he reacting so childishly to Zane’s presence? “Look, this is my home, and I say who films and investigates here.” She turned to Lorenzo, knowing her next words would anger him further. “Lorenzo, I know your film is important to you. But my safety and well-being are important to me. Quite frankly, I would feel better having a paranormal expert assess the situation. I’m kind of scared here, don’t you get that?” “And rightfully so,” Zane said. “This isn’t friendly little Casper you have on the premises.” She then turned to Zane. “Zane, I would welcome your investigation. But as to whether it becomes a part of Lorenzo’s documentary is up to him and him only.” “Damn straight,” Lorenzo muttered. She snapped her fingers. “Both of you—stop it! If we’re all going to be working together, we have to be a team—not at each others’ throats.” Zane and Lorenzo stared at each other. Rachel watched nervously as the paranormal researcher’s challenging blue eyes met the filmmaker’s angry dark ones. Then Zane extended his hand. “Anything for you, Rachel,” he said, without taking his gaze off Lorenzo. Lorenzo looked annoyed that he hadn’t thought to say that first. “Yes, of course,” he said, shaking Zane’s hand. The doorbell rang again. “That must be the crew,” Lorenzo muttered, rising and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’ll let them in.” “It might be my guys too,” Zane added. “My research team will be joining us today.” They both headed for the door. Whew. Rachel walked back and looked at the pool where she had almost drowned last night. Sparkling in the Los Angeles sunlight, it looked harmless and inviting. Remembering the ghostly guests of the party, she shivered. The truth was, she really was in over her head here … and having two sexy protectors was preferable to one, even if they were rivals. She glanced back at Lorenzo and Zane. She'd always been a one-man woman before, and she was definitely developing a deep attachment to Lorenzo. But just looking at Zane's silky blond hair and radiant smile forced her to admit that his physical appeal was affecting her in a way that was as undeniable as it was erotic. Angry voices at the front door caught her ear. Turning, she saw that Lorenzo's film crew and Zane's paranormal investigators had arrived at the same time. From the tense

arguments on the doorstep, she gathered that the professional rivalry did not stop with Lorenzo and Zane. “Look, we’re the ones who should go through the house first,” said a burly bearded man. “We’re the experts here; we need to assess the situation before you guys start mucking it up with your equipment.” She guessed from his words that he belonged to Zane’s paranormal team. “We won’t be mucking up anything,” bristled a sleekly dressed cameraman. “And may I remind you that without our film, you guys don’t have shit.” “How do you figure that, Todd? Once we have our evidence on tape and video, any studio in the world will want to fund…” The bearded man caught sight of her across the room and brightened. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said. “You are textbook. We'll definitely get good evidence with you here!” She frowned. “Textbook?” What was he talking about? Zane seemed just as confused. “B.J., what are you saying?” “I'm saying, look at her, Zane! She's the house's type to a T!” Both crews stopped arguing and turned to look at her. Slowly they advanced, nine men studying her from her bare feet to her long, tousled curls. “Holy crap, you're right,” Zane said. “I didn't even think of that. No wonder they're so interested in Rachel.” Rachel made a crossing motion with her hands. “Um, can you guys stop talking about me in the third person? I'm right here. Who's interested, and how can a house have a type?” B.J., the bearded paranormal researcher, held up his laptop with a flourish. “Allow me to present a slideshow I've put together. I think you will find it quite fascinating, as well as personally relevant.” Whatever that meant. Everyone filed into the screening room as B.J. connected his laptop to an LCD projector. Then a small team member named Charlie killed the lights, and B.J. broadcast a Powerpoint presentation titled “The Reynolds House: Hauntings Past and Present.” Oh, for the love of God. These guys actually made careers out of this? “I'll show all the slides later,” B.J. announced. Rachel allowed herself a sigh of relief—she’d noted there were over a hundred slides on the presentation. “But for now I'd like to show you these images.” He forwarded to a photo of a dark-haired young woman with serious eyes. “Vivian Delaney, a starlet from Idaho, was the first person to die at this house. She drowned in the swimming pool after a late-night party.” It was the swimmer from her dreams. Rachel felt her stomach clench. “Nadine Coomer, Tony Reynolds’s first wife.” A flapper-type girl with bright dark eyes and clipped curls beamed at the camera. “Mary McNorman, his second wife.” This woman was a little older, with a confident grin and a dark bun. “Dorothy Ray, his third and final wife.” This was a girl barely out of her teens, with long dark hair and a dramatic stare. He flipped to the next slide. “Christy Cole, the movie star, murdered here in 1966.” A publicity shot of Christy's dazzling smile and bodacious curves appeared on screen.

B.J. turned to the team. “Seeing a pattern yet?” “They're all brunettes.” Lorenzo sounded angry. “Goddammit, the house does have a type.” “They were all petite, curvaceous brunettes,” B.J. clarified. “Just like Rachel. Now mind you, none of Tony's wives died in this house. We're just saying that Tony definitely had a type of woman he preferred—and so may his restless spirit.” “This is crazy.” Rachel's voice broke through the room in an angry shiver. “So the two women who died here had dark hair, big deal. One drowned accidentally, and the other was killed by a crazy cult leader. How can you blame that on a ghost? I've never heard anything so stupid.” Zane moved toward her. “Rachel, we're just saying…” “No, I don't want to hear any more. You want me to accept there might be a ghost on the premises, fine. But ask me to accept that a house can have a thinking intelligence and a preference for a type of person—that's nuts!” She slammed out of the screening room and walked outside. The afternoon sunshine soaked into her bare shoulders like a comforting blanket. At the patio table, she pulled out a chair and threw herself into it, annoyed, dejected, and more confused than she ever wanted to admit. What had she gotten herself into? Excluding her experience with the pool, she'd only had two weird dreams—if she took a hard, objective look at it, that really was all that had happened. And yet now her new home was full of crazy spook-hunters and filmmakers all eager to cash in on the house’s reputation. Maybe the best thing would be to send them all home after all. Lorenzo came outside and took a chair opposite her at the table. His perfectly cut black hair shone in the glow of the sun, and his golden-brown skin looked almost gilded. It reminded her that, regardless of the passion they had shared last night and this morning, Lorenzo was still a pampered Hollywood prince who was used to getting his way in all matters. He had said himself that this was the opportunity of a lifetime for him. So how could she really trust his motivations? His warm brown eyes bore into her. “Rachel, no one is trying to scare you. We're just trying to keep you safe.” She looked coolly off toward Hollywood. “For the last time, I am not a child. Why do you treat me like an idiot, Lorenzo? Even if this house is haunted, it can't hurt me.” His full lips tightened. “Excuse me for wanting to protect you.” She looked back into his impassioned eyes. “I appreciate that, Lorenzo, I do. I just have a hard time believing a ghost could harm anyone.” She hesitated, then went on. “What's really happened so far? I had some odd dreams and we heard footsteps. Big deal. Hardly the stuff of horror movies.” “And you almost drowned this morning,” Lorenzo reminded her. He leaned urgently across the table. “Look, I know you're new to the paranormal—I’m no expert, either. But I worked with Zane's crew on that documentary last year and they do know their stuff.” “Oh, now you're defending them. An hour ago you were calling Zane a jackass.” He shrugged. “Because he is. But he's a jackass who knows his stuff sometimes. And he has compelling evidence that this house is able to influence people—whether it's joining a Satanic cult, or going for a dangerous swim, or shooting yourself in the head.” She repressed a shiver. “Okay, you made your point. I just didn’t expect to have my house invaded by an army of film geeks and ghost-hunters. What are they going to do,

anyhow? How does one ‘investigate’ something you can’t even see?” “I believe I can answer that.” Zane stepped through the French doors. “Rachel, modern technology is an amazing thing. Our equipment can detect the most subtle of atmospheric changes and presences.” “Say it in English, please.” She knew she sounded snotty, but she was getting sick of being surrounded by so many “experts.” “Fair enough.” Zane took another chair at the table. “First thing we’ll do is set up cameras around the house, since we can’t be everywhere all the time. We’ll also monitor changes in electromagnetic fields and try recording EVPs—that stands for Electronic Voice Phenomena.” She shrugged. “Still Greek to me.” “You try to capture spirit voices on a tape recorder,” he said patiently. “You can’t hear them while the tape recorder is running, but later, when you play it back, sometimes you can.” It all sounded so ridiculous. Yet she was growing curious to find out if they could actually prove ghosts existed. “And you really think you’re going to capture ghosts using cameras and tape recorders?” “Yes,” Lorenzo said forcefully before Zane could even answer. “I want to capture what the world has never seen—a full apparition on film. Solid and irrefutable, evidence that no one can deny.” Zane smiled wistfully. “That’s the holy grail of paranormal investigation, but it’s never happened—not on modern high-quality footage that will hold up to examination.” For the first time, his eyes connected with Lorenzo’s in a spirit of camaraderie rather than competition. “It would be awesome if we got that,” he said softly. “It would make my career as a filmmaker—and would completely validate your entire field, Zane,” Lorenzo said urgently. “And Rachel here can write a book about our experience. But we have to be on the same page with this. So Rachel—what’s your final decision? Are you giving us a green light or not?” She closed her eyes. It sounded like madness—film crews and ghost-hunters crawling through the house with extension cords and equipment. Then she thought about her terrifying experience in the pool last night. Did she really want to be alone in this house? Plus, she had to admit, living in a famous haunted house was a great subject for a book. It could really launch her writing career. “Okay,” she said, opening her eyes. “Okay. You’ve got your green light.” The three of them shook hands across the table. “This is going to be incredible,” Lorenzo said triumphantly. “Indeed,” Zane said. He was looking at her when he said that, his blue eyes full of a heat she couldn’t help reciprocating. As their gazes locked, her nipples tingled. Yes, living under the same roof with the two sexiest men she had ever met would indeed be incredible. **** The afternoon sun began to lower behind Oleander Canyon. Once again, the long shadows deepening around the house brought a chill to Rachel’s mood. But tonight, she would have numbers on her side—specifically the nine men gathered around the

luxurious living room littered with laptops and legal pads. Despite their earlier animosity, the film crew and the paranormal team had found common cause in the haunting and were attempting to blend the research with the documentary. All nine team members had different ideas of what to film, investigate, and document. “See, what we should do is set up cams all over the house. The best evidence is when no one’s even in the room and you see something move,” said B.J., the bearded leader of the paranormal team. “No, what we need to do is benchmark our findings against the findings of the investigators who filmed here in the ’70s. If we duplicate the same phenomena, that’s powerful evidence,” countered another. “Does anyone even know the guys who filmed here then?” Charlie asked nervously. “Talking to them would be a big help.” “What about the old tenants? Some of them have still got to be alive. We should track them down and interview them.” Moodily Rachel poured herself a Diet Coke and walked back out to the pool. She had envisioned her months out here in Oleander Canyon as a quiet and studious retreat— a chance to get caught up on her reading, devote herself to her master’s program, and start that novel she wanted to write. But that would never happen now. Instead, the house would be full of nine men and their cameras and electronic equipment. If anything, she would probably be spending a lot of time at the UCLA library. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the French doors closing behind her. She turned to see Zane approaching, a bottle of water in one hand and a book in the other. As the breeze lifted his blond hair from his ears, her heart began to beat with embarrassing rapidity. Stop it, she scolded herself. So he’s sexy … and nice … and easy to talk to … so what? You’re with Lorenzo now. Yet she adjusted her long chestnut mane and gave him a welcoming smile. “I didn’t mean to be unsociable. It was just getting to be a little much in there.” Zane shook his head. “No explanations necessary. Having the paranormal enter your life can be like a trauma, Rachel. Overnight, you’re asked to adjust your entire belief system, confront a sometimes menacing entity, and deal with the intrusion of ‘experts’ in your life. It’s invasive, to say the least.” Wow. He had completely articulated her feelings about the last day—feelings Lorenzo didn’t seem to grasp. “Uh—exactly,” she said after a moment. Who was this guy again? He had seemingly driven up out of nowhere in his battered truck to rescue her like a knight in shining armor. Yet Lorenzo already had that role covered … didn’t he? Of course, it would be nice to have two knights instead of one—a dark, brooding knight with a trust fund, and a blond, fun-loving knight to make her smile… “I thought this might help,” Zane said, handing her a book. “It’s the textbook I use for my Parapsychology 101 class. It explains the basics of paranormal phenomena, and will help you understand what we’re doing here.” “Oh—thanks.” Rachel blushed as she accepted the book. Here she was entertaining adolescent romantic fantasies about Zane, while he was purely focused on his professional role. “So, uh, what’s it like—ghost-hunting?” That warm crooked smile illuminated his face. “It’s a little more involved than just

‘ghost-hunting,’ as you call it. Parapsychologists study all sorts of phenomena— telepathy, near death experiences, remote viewing, interdimensional relationships—you get the idea. Ghosts are only part of it, though they do happen to be my area of expertise.” “Wow, I will definitely have to read up on that.” She felt so ignorant. “So what do you do when you’re not … solving the mysteries of the universe?” She knew she was getting personal, but she felt compelled to know more about this man. Somehow he embodied what she loved most about California—from his beachy glow to his openminded attitude—while seemingly free of the materialism and superficiality she encountered in so many people here. He shrugged. “Surf, swim, barbecue. I’m a beach bum at heart.” He showed her his calloused fingertips and explained, “I sail a lot too, though my boat isn’t much to look at. Parapsychology isn’t exactly a lucrative field.” He smiled to show that he wasn’t complaining. Rachel returned his smile. “You’re talking to someone who’s getting a master’s degree in English literature. I’m not exactly a future billionaire.” Zane’s smile grew wider. “And yet here we are in the lap of luxury.” He gestured at the house. “Of course, I know Lorenzo’s used to living in this kind of place.” She rolled her eyes. “He certainly is.” “Is that a problem?” Lorenzo’s deep, irritated voice cut through the late afternoon sunshine. Rachel started in surprise as she realized he’d come outside without either of them noticing. They had been too wrapped up in their conversation. “Hi,” she said awkwardly. “We were just…” “Yeah, I heard. You were congratulating each other on how noble and struggling you both are—unlike me.” Lorenzo’s dark eyes bore holes into Zane’s. “You definitely earned your degree in psychology, Zane.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rachel asked defensively. Just over an hour ago, they had shaken hands on their project. Now they were already competing against each other—or at least Lorenzo was. “He knows exactly what I mean,” Lorenzo said, without taking his eyes from Zane. “Divide and conquer. Did they teach you that in graduate school?” “Lorenzo!” Rachel snapped. She was mortified at his rudeness, and filled with dread at the thought of this bitter rivalry continuing throughout their project. “No, but I did learn to recognize an insecure asshole when I saw one,” Zane retorted. “Oh, yeah, by looking in the mirror?” “For the last time—both of you, shut up!” Rachel snapped. “Do you hear how adolescent you sound? Nobody was dividing anyone, Lorenzo. You have money, we don’t. I think we’ve all accepted that. Now let’s concentrate on the matter at hand.” The two men were still staring heatedly at each other. “Rachel, Rachel,” Lorenzo said finally. “Don’t be so sure that you are not the matter at hand.” He walked back into the house, slamming the French doors behind him. An agony of embarrassment filled Rachel. Now that Lorenzo had more or less accused Zane of wanting to come between them, any further conversation would be awkward. “I’m, uh, going upstairs,” she said, without meeting his eyes. Her cheeks were

flaming and she only wanted to flee to the safety of her bedroom. “I’ll see you later.” “Later,” Zane said tightly. Upstairs, Rachel sprawled across the bed and dialed her best friend, Beth. There was entirely too much testosterone in the house for her; she needed some female company. But Beth was working. “I’m so sorry I haven’t come out to see you,” she said loudly over the background noise of the sushi restaurant. “Tomorrow, I promise. How’s it going over there?” “Oh … it’s going.” There was no point to even trying to explain over the phone, Rachel decided. It would just sound too bizarre. Hell, it would sound bizarre even in person. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can have lunch.” She hung up and looked idly through Zane’s book, petting the black cat, Jade. Just two days ago she had been so excited to explore this house, and now it felt like a prison—a luxurious stucco prison. She considered again some way to get out of the contract she had signed. But what excuse could she possibly give—that she had had bad dreams? That a bunch of crazy guys from UCLA said the place was haunted? The Shermans would laugh at her. They obviously had found it pleasant living here. They had called it their “dream home.” She headed out to the hall, intending to snoop through their bedroom. Maybe there would be some kind of clue in there as to how they really felt about the house—or if they knew of its violent, macabre history. But as soon as she walked into the hallway, she saw something troubling. The locked door to the third floor staircase was open. She stared at it in surprise. That door had definitely been locked yesterday. She knew it had been; she had tested the doorknob when she was exploring. Who had opened it? Rachel glanced downstairs. Obviously one of the team had gone looking around the house. She, Zane, and Lorenzo would definitely have to lay down some ground rules. Still, now that the door was open, she was curious to see the forbidden third floor. Cautiously she headed up the stairs.

Chapter Five Rachel was halfway up the narrow staircase when a fast, scrambling noise caught her attention. Samson, the tabby cat, rushed past her down the stairs. “Samson!” she called after him. He ignored her. So the cat had gone exploring too. Well, that was to be expected. She could only hope he hadn’t coughed up a hairball up here. She reached the top of the stairs. A hot musty smell was growing thick in her nose— the smell of unused rooms. The third floor was heavy with shadow, as most of the windows of these rooms faced east, but some light from the fading sun still filtered in through the opposite windows. She glanced into the bedroom directly to her right. Then someone walked out of a bedroom at the end of the hall and into another room. Her heart dropped to her feet. A cold, crawling fear traveled down her spine as she registered what she had just seen. Trying to regain control of her breathing, she gathered her courage. “Uh—hello?” No one responded. Okay, this was ridiculous. That had not been a shadow—that had been a solid person crossing at the end of the hall. It had to be one of the team, either from the filmmaker side or the paranormal side, who had crept up here to explore. Someone who was afraid of getting caught snooping. She forced herself to walk down the hall toward the bedroom. “Hello…” she called, trying to steady her voice. At last, she reached the door and walked into a gorgeous bedroom. The walls were painted a pale, lunar blue; the carpet, drapes, and satin bedclothes were all white. So were the sofa, footstool, and most of the furniture. She forgot her fear as she turned around in the huge bedroom, noting how old-fashioned the décor seemed. If she had to guess, she’d say this room was last decorated in the 1950s. Whose bedroom had this been? Had it belonged to Christy Cole, the movie star? She peered into the adjoining bathroom and noted it was empty. Then she noticed another door in the bedroom—this one leading to the third floor balcony that looked so impressive from outside. It was wide open. The team member had to be hiding out there. “Gotcha!” she said, pouncing onto the balcony. But it was empty. Okay, so the person she had seen had disappeared into thin air. She should have been terrified; yet, out here on the balcony, she felt strangely safe. Leaning on the wrought iron railing, she looked over the grounds. Behind Oleander Canyon, the sun was setting, casting neighboring rooftops in a dusty terracotta glow. It looked beautiful … almost tempting. She began to feel a strange sense of belonging to the mansion, to the Canyon, even. As if she never wanted to leave. Then she looked back into the beautiful blue room and saw that the bedroom door was shut. She hadn’t closed it behind her when she’d entered the room—she was sure of that. Nor had she heard it close. Suddenly she felt trapped. Who had closed the door? Not that it was a big deal, of course—she would just walk across the room, open the door, head down the hallway to the stairs, and then she would be safe on the second floor. It would take thirty seconds or less.

Yet her feet wouldn’t move. Somehow. she knew beyond a doubt that door wasn’t going to open for her. In fact, the entire bedroom was rapidly filling with a sense of despair. The blue walls looked darker now as the room filled up with shadow. She backed up against the balcony railing. Some of the sunset glow still reached here, at least, and she could see the oleander bushes below. She felt safe out here. She glanced back at the room, which now seemed to brim with ominous energy, then back at the yard. She wondered how difficult it would be to climb down. Yes, it was a drop of three stories, but the multiple levels of the house, and the railing, would make it easier. She mentally slapped herself. The idea of climbing down was ridiculous. She simply needed to walk across the room, open the door, and leave. But when she looked into the room, that feeling of paralysis filled her again. Rachel glanced down at the yard. It looked so green, so welcoming. So warm. Why not try to climb down? It would be almost fun. And the grass looked so soft. “Rachel! Rachel, don’t move!” A shout startled her reverie. She blinked, confused, then saw B.J., the bearded paranormal researcher, smoking a cigarette on the lawn. Why was he so excited? His face was bright red. “Don’t move!” he yelled again. “Zane, Lorenzo, go get Rachel now! Third floor!” Zane ran out onto the lawn and looked up at her. Then he ran inside again. She was annoyed by their concern. Why did they insist on treating her like an idiot? Did they really think that she couldn’t stand on a balcony by herself? She glanced over at the eucalyptus tree and wondered if she could climb onto it. Footsteps pounded down the hall, and then the bedroom door flew open. Zane ran straight for her and tackled her. “Hey!” she said, indignant. “What the hell!” “Just trust me, Rachel. Come on, we’re going back downstairs.” An irrational anger spread through her as Zane hauled her back through the pale blue movie star bedroom and down the shadowy hall to the staircase. The forbidden third floor seemed so compelling, almost magnetizing. She wanted to stay up there, not go back down to those other rooms she had seen a dozen times. Perhaps she could change her bedroom to Christy Cole’s beautiful old room. Back on the second floor, Zane tested the doorknob for a locking mechanism and then slammed it shut. “Looks like we need a key,” he grumbled. “Dammit, they are good. Definitely stronger than I expected.” She rolled her eyes at the reference to “them.” This tousled-haired beach bum was starting to get on her nerves. In fact, just about all of them were. “What are you talking about, Zane?” she asked, pointedly stepping away from him. “And why did you come running up there like I was a toddler about to fall off the roof?” His cerulean eyes met hers with concerned sympathy. “Rachel, I'll explain everything. But first I need to know something. Didn't you tell me earlier that the third floor was kept locked? That the Shermans asked you not to go up there?” “Yes, and yes. So what?” she said. “I came up here a while ago and found the door open, so obviously it wasn't locked. I just went up because I thought someone on your team had gone exploring.” “And let me guess—no one was up there,” Zane finished. She shrugged, somehow reluctant to share her experience. The third floor had given

her a strange feeling—as if she shouldn't be allowing these people into her private home or even telling them about it. Somehow she felt that she should be loyal to the house. “Rachel, for God's sake, this is important. What happened up there?” Zane's eyes were growing wide with worry. “Quit yelling at her,” Lorenzo said, coming up the wide curving staircase. “What the hell was all that commotion anyhow, with you charging up here like a maniac?” Zane looked from Lorenzo to her. “We need to talk,” he said. “Now. And I want this made very clear—no one is to go up on the third floor. Not alone, anyway. And Rachel should definitely not be left alone.” Downstairs, Lorenzo opened a bottle of wine and they went out to talk by the pool. The sun had set and the glittering lights of Hollywood spread out beneath the Canyon. Shivering in the abrupt evening coolness, Rachel reviewed the recent events of the last week. She had found her boyfriend in bed with another woman, and moved out on the spot. Then she had moved into the California mansion of her dreams, only to find it infested with the ghosts of dead movie stars. Now she had started sleeping with one of her ex-boyfriend’s good friends, and met yet another man who looked like he had walked out of a J. Crew catalog. It was a lot to adjust to. Zane settled himself on the chaise opposite her and looked her in the eyes. He was very good at that, she noted. He projected a calm, comforting energy that probably made people feel less crazy as they told their bizarre ghost stories. He must be very good in his field. “Tell us what happened,” he invited. “You went upstairs and saw the door to the third floor was open…” Rachel closed her eyes. Now that a few minutes had passed, she could see how stupid she had been to go up there. Even more frightening, she realized how deeply the third floor had affected her mentally. It was almost as if the house had been trying to brainwash her, crazy as that seemed. “I went up and one of the cats came racing down. I was scared, but I was curious too, to see the rooms,” she began. “I figured one of you had gone up there to explore. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw someone cross the end of the hall. This wasn't a shadow—it was a solid person clearly walking into that blue bedroom.” She shuddered at the recollection. “So I walked in to see who it was. The room was empty. So I went out to the balcony … no one was there. Yet I felt so good out there. The bedroom seemed so cold, but the balcony was warm, and I…” Her throat dried as she prepared her foolish confession. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I had this weird urge.” “The urge to jump or climb off the balcony?” Rachel paused. “How did you know that?” she asked slowly. Zane took her hand between his large, strong ones. “Because that balcony is haunted, Rachel.” “Oh, shut the hell up!” Lorenzo exploded. He had been silent until now, watching them moodily from his own chair, but Rachel had noticed him tense when Zane held her hand. “You're just pulling stuff out of your ass now! Haunted balcony … I've never heard of that before.” Zane turned around. “Because it's been covered up even more heavily than the rest of

the mansion’s history. People don't enjoy admitting they've attempted suicide, Lorenzo.” Rachel yanked her hand back from him. “Su-suicide?” “Yes. Specifically, a tenant named Stuart Winters who leapt from that balcony in 1948. Since then, two people have been overcome with the urge to jump on that very balcony. One was a paranormal investigator in the ’70s—the one who made the original documentary that you saw as a child,” he added to Lorenzo. “The other was a woman who tried to climb down and fell. Luckily, her fall was broken by friends and she survived.” “As would anyone, because it's only three stories,” Lorenzo said angrily. “I've never heard of any suicide in this house besides Tony Reynolds, and I don't believe it. You might break a few ribs falling from that distance, but you wouldn't die.” “You would if you dashed your brains out on the flagstone path that's right beneath it,” Zane said casually. “Lorenzo, why is it so hard for you to admit I know more about this house than you do? I've been studying it for years. Just accept the fact that for once you're not top dog here.” Lorenzo’s full lips parted in astonishment. “Zane, I am the one who discovered this house,” he said after a moment. “Accept that. And I can ask you to leave at any time.” Zane’s sunny blue eyes grew cold. “I believe we already established only Rachel can do that.” Both men looked expectantly at her. Conflicting loyalties tugged at her. Lorenzo had unearthed the truth about this house and rushed over to protect her. He had made love to her that morning with the force of a storm and the tenderness of a lover. And yet… His territorial attitude about the house, and her, was disturbing. It was just a little too close to his reputation as a spoiled Hollywood prince. “Lorenzo, I still want Zane here,” she said, trying to placate him with her gaze. “He just saved my life up there on the balcony; I think it’s obvious that we need him. He does know a lot about the history of this house.” Lorenzo’s aristocratic face was transformed by a cold sneer. Without a word, he disappeared into the house. She dropped her head into her hands. “Why did I move in here? The house is tearing my life apart.” “It doesn’t have to,” Zane urged softly, sitting next to her on the chaise. He took her hand again, sending a shivery current through her body. “Look, Rachel, you’ve had a rough day. Let’s drop all the ghost business for now and let the team handle that. We need to take care of you.” She raised her head, hoping her physical reaction to him didn’t show on her face. “What exactly are you proposing?” “A hot bath. Dinner in your room. Just some time alone, away from all of us ghost hunters and filmmakers.” It sounded like heaven. But… “I thought I wasn’t allowed to be alone,” she said, somewhat sarcastically. “I’ll be right in the next room, standing guard. Besides, I think you’re safe in that bedroom. Nothing’s bothered you in there the last two nights, right?” That was true. She did feel safe in her bedroom. She nodded and stood up, allowing him to shepherd her into the house with one strong arm around her back. She knew it

would upset Lorenzo, seeing Zane touch her so protectively. But the truth was, Lorenzo didn’t own her or this house, and the sooner he realized that, the better. **** A few minutes later, she was up to her neck in mango-scented suds in the massive marble tub in her bathroom. This old mansion might be haunted, but it was also jawdroppingly luxurious. Thick towels of Egyptian cotton waited on a nearby table; bottles of assorted bath salts, shower gels, and expensive shampoos lined half a dozen shelves. A flat panel television broadcast a celebrity gossip show. For a girl coming from a bargain rental student apartment, this bathroom was a dream come true. If only the rest of the mansion wasn’t a nightmare. She sipped her Diet Coke and glanced at the bathroom door. Zane waited on just the other side, ready to guard her from all non-corporeal entities. She smiled, imagining what would happen if she faked a scream of terror right now. He would come bursting in the door, those blue eyes fiery with vengeance—and then, as she rose naked from her suds, he would realize the only danger lay in his losing his pants… She sighed, sinking back into the warm water. Yes, Lorenzo was still her gorgeous, sophisticated knight in shining armor who had rocked her world that morning. Yet she couldn’t deny that Zane had attractions all his own. He had handled Lorenzo’s possessive behavior so admirably, and had saved her from almost certain disaster up on the balcony. And as classically handsome as Lorenzo was, Zane had a sunny masculine appeal that she found almost addictive in this morbid place. From his tousled blond hair to his radiant grin, he was brimming with positive energy. Just his presence lifted her spirits. A soft knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Rachel? Your dinner is right outside— whenever you’re ready.” “Thanks,” she called. They had ordered take-out again tonight—this time from an Italian place that Zane liked. Garlic bread, manicotti, and white wine awaited her, with tiramisu for dessert. Strangely, she was very hungry, and Zane had advised her that was good. According to him, eating a large meal would help her battle the malevolent psychic influences in the house, though she hadn’t understood his long, complicated explanation of closing down her “energy system.” She stood up from the water and wrapped a thick towel around her damp curves. Only then did she realize that she had forgotten to bring in a robe. She hesitated in her towel, then cracked open the door. “Hi,” she said to Zane. He jumped up from the four-poster bed, where it looked as if he had been writing his notes. Immediately his gaze fell to her bath-softened skin, and the flushed cleavage swelling from the towel. “Uh—hi,” he said, clearly flustered. “I forgot my robe.” Her cheeks were colored with a warmth that had nothing to do with her bath. She walked self-consciously across the carpet to where her lavender silk robe waited. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just, uh, wait outside.” Zane was staring deliberately at the wall—to avoid looking at her barely concealed body, she knew. She slipped on the robe before discarding her towel, then lifted out her long, wet hair. “You don’t have to,” she told him, unpacking her bag of food on a small table. “I’d

like the company. Where’s your dinner?” He pointed to his own bag of take-out. “You, uh, don’t mind me staying?” he said nervously. She found his obvious discomfort endearing after Lorenzo’s suave confidence. “Of course not. You’re my bodyguard now—isn’t that right?” “Right, right.” He unpacked his own dinner, a thick helping of spinach lasagna with a side of fried calamari. As they ate, he seemed to relax. Rachel couldn’t stop wondering if Dr. Zane Sullivan had a girlfriend. He had to, didn’t he? He was just too cute to be alone. As she nibbled her manicotti, she sneaked glances at his hard brown calves and well-muscled forearms. Zane might be devoted to his paranormal research, but he also spent a lot of time at the gym, apparently. She sipped her white wine and leaned back in her chair, relaxed for the first time that day. Her sodden hair was dripping onto the silk, making it cling to her skin, but she didn’t feel like getting dressed yet. A rustling from somewhere in the room caught their attention. Rachel and Zane froze and looked at each other. Her heartbeat sped up frantically. The dust ruffle on the bed stirred without cause. Then a demanding meow sounded in the room, and Jade emerged from under the bed and jumped onto the table where they were eating. Both Rachel and Zane laughed shakily with relief. “Jade, no,” Rachel scolded. “Down.” The cat ignored her, extending a black paw toward her manicotti. “Jade, no!” “I don’t think that cat respects you very much,” Zane said, laughing. “I don’t think she knows her name. Both she and Samson answer to ‘Kitty’, but they ignore their own names… Kitty, no!” Jade jumped down to the floor and retreated to the vanity to haughtily lick her paws. “See what I mean?” Rachel asked. She resumed eating before casting an affectionate glance his way. “I have to tell you that I’m really glad you came over,” she told him. “I know it pissed off Lorenzo, but I feel so much safer having you here.” As he began to answer, his gaze dropped to her legs. Rachel realized her robe had fallen open slightly, exposing her thighs. She let it stay that way. “I, uh…” He coughed nervously, eyeing her nipples through the wet silk robe. “I’ve been wanting to get in this house for years. When Lorenzo’s cameraman told one of my team about it today, I dropped everything to come over.” “Yes, you seemed very excited about it.” Casually, she propped up one foot on the table, opening the robe further. A delicious tingling began between her legs as he stared at her. “It’s, uh, it’s the brass ring in the paranormal field. Investigators wait their whole lives to get inside a place like this.” His tanned face was flushed, but he couldn’t take his eyes from her bare, smooth thighs. “Well, it looks like my problem became your opportunity.” She let her other knee drop to the side slightly, giving him an unobstructed view of just a sliver of her pussy. Zane swallowed audibly, then raised hot, lust-filled eyes to her face. As they stared at each other, a pulsating ache collected in her sex. Then the bedroom door shook with a firm pounding. “Rachel! Zane!” Lorenzo called. “Everyone’s going to take a break and watch a movie in the screening room.

Wanna come down?” Rachel got up to open the door. A deep wave of guilt washed over her. “Uh, no thanks,” she said when she opened the door. “I’m kind of tired, actually. I think I might lie down for a while.” Lorenzo’s face darkened with suspicion as he took in her scanty robe and Zane’s flushed face. “Zane, I’ll stay up here with Rachel if you want to join the guys,” he offered in a steely voice. “That’s okay,” Zane said. “I’ll stay up here.” Hearing his words, Rachel was speared by a hot stab of longing. Turning away from Lorenzo, she busied herself with packing up their trash and placing it on the dumbwaiter to go down to the kitchen. “Okay,” Lorenzo said, still sounding suspicious. “I’ll relieve you in a bit.” Yet to her disappointment, Zane rose and followed him out. “I’ll be standing guard in the hall, Rachel.” She wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or disappointed as the door shut behind him. Did she really want to transfer her affections to Zane so quickly? The truth was, she still was deeply attracted to Lorenzo—she just wanted Zane as well. And that would never fly, would it? They would never share her … would they? Would they? Forget it, she told herself as she slipped into a top and her favorite miniskirt. They were rivals even before you came on the scene, jealous and competitive and typically male. They’ll never share a woman. But as she fell back on her bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. What would that be like? Sex with Lorenzo and Zane at the same time. Lorenzo’s long, elegant cock plunging between her thighs as Zane kissed her and played with her breasts … or taking Zane deep in her mouth as Lorenzo buried his face between her legs… A primal craving began to throb between her legs, wet and aching for sex. Desperately she rolled onto her side, slipping her fingers between her trembling thighs. Quickly and feverishly she stroked herself, lost in a fantasy of Lorenzo’s mouth sucking expertly on her clit as a wonderfully naked Zane offered his hard cock to her lips. Her vision was so real that she could almost taste the salty-sweet drop of pre-cum lacing his slit. She could just imagine what those beach-callused hands would feel like caressing her breasts… As she dreamt of Zane’s nakedness pressing against hers, an abrupt and violent orgasm swept through her, bringing her to a shuddering, primitive climax. She sighed deeply with relief, fluffed her pillow, and fell into a dreamless nap.

Chapter Six When she awoke a while later, her bedroom was dark. She could perceive the distant hum of voices downstairs, which led her to conclude that both teams were still watching the movie in the screening room. Pale moonlight filtered in through her bedroom windows, but the silk curtains had been drawn around the four-poster bedframe. She snuggled back into her pillows. Then an exploratory hand ran up her leg from behind. She smiled. So Zane had finally come back in and joined her on the bed. The question was, did he realize she was awake? He ran his hand up between her thighs again, pausing at her short skirt. Don’t do it, Rachel! But as if obeying some sexual demon that lived in her body, Rachel spread her legs. Zane stroked her thighs a third time, and this time, his hand didn’t stop. A hot shiver of surprise ran through her as he ran his palm over her pussy. She spread her thighs farther apart for him as he cradled her sex in his hand. She buried her face in the pillow, burning with shame, yet unable to resist. She had taken Lorenzo as her lover just that morning and she knew he was still somewhere on the premises. Letting Zane touch her so intimately was wrong … but as the old cliché went, it felt so right. Slowly, confidently, he rubbed the heel of his hand over her sensitive clit. Rachel caught her breath, overwhelmed by the sensation. Then the door opened and the hallway light flooded the room. Zane tiptoed into the bedroom, carrying a glass of water. He stopped and stared at her through the filmy bed curtains, her thighs wide apart, while she squinted at him in horror. For a moment her breath wouldn’t come. “Zane,” she gasped. She looked at the space on the bed next to her. It was empty. Quickly, she bounced up and fought her way out of the curtains shrouding the bed. For a moment, there was only the awful silence of her realization that she had just been touched—even sexually aroused—by a ghost. Then she ran straight to Zane and threw her arms around him, reveling in his human solidity. “Oh my God,” she gasped. “I thought it was you. Oh my God!” “Rachel, what is it? What happened?” Zane turned and yelled, “Lorenzo, get up here!” Lorenzo’s footsteps pounded up the staircase. Rachel forced herself to pull away from Zane as he charged down the hall. “What happened?” he asked, his dark eyes wild. “A ghost—a g-ghost in here…” Rachel’s teeth were chattering with shock and fear. Lorenzo turned on Zane with a face of primitive rage. “What the hell, asshole, you said we weren’t supposed to leave Rachel alone, ever!” he roared. “Lorenzo, it wasn’t his fault. He just went to get a glass of water.” But she was truly terrified now. These ghosts seemed to want her with a stealth and urgency that was unlike anything she had ever encountered. “No, he’s right. I shouldn’t have left you.” Zane looked furious with himself. “Damn right, you incompetent bastard!” Lorenzo dramatically swept up the curtains shrouding the bed and tied them to the posts. “I’m staying with her from now on,” he

announced, dropping on the bed and crossing his arms. “I don’t trust anyone else.” Rachel felt sick and shaky. “I think I need to get out of here. I feel … weird.” Zane followed her down to the kitchen, profuse with apologies. She waved them away. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said shakily. “We thought … we thought the bedroom was safe.” “Safe isn’t a word we can use for anything in this house, apparently,” Zane said angrily. “So why did you think it was me? Did it manifest visually as me? Did it speak like me?” She couldn’t look him in the eye. “It, uh … it touched me.” “Christ, a physical manifestation. What exactly did it do?” She felt deeply ashamed as she stammered out her confession. “It, uh, it ran its hand up between my legs, and…” She couldn’t go on. Zane finally grasped what she was trying to say. “Ah.” Her face was pink and hot with embarrassment. Now Zane knew the truth—that she had willingly spread her legs for him when, in fact, he hadn’t even made a pass at her. She concentrated on the crushed ice tumbling into her glass from the freezer door. “I think there's something we're not talking about,” Zane said. Her cheeks burned hotter. So, not only was it obvious that she wanted him, but he was going to actually make her discuss it? How excruciating. “Such as what,” she managed to say. She shakily gulped down her Diet Coke and set her glass on the counter. “That you're a natural-born sensitive. It's becoming obvious, Rachel.” She turned in surprise. That was the last thing she had expected him to say. “Sensitive?” she asked. “Emotionally sensitive? Like I cry easily?” Zane shook his head. “No. Psychically sensitive. As in you can pick up on subtle vibrations and entities most people can’t feel. Come on—let’s talk outside.” He guided her past the researchers and out to the pool. It was exactly where she had stood last night with Lorenzo, looking out over Hollywood. Had that really been just last night? Somehow it seemed like she had experienced a lifetime since then. Yet it still seemed crass to stand in the same place now with Zane. Instead, she headed toward the darkness of the garden, away from the lights of the house. Zane followed. Rachel stepped carefully over the zinnias. “So,” she said, addressing his theory. “You think I'm psychic?” “No. Sensitive is different. A sensitive can perceive things others can't, but it doesn't always equate to telepathy or precognition. It might mean you're a little more psychic than other people, but it doesn't mean you'll be reading minds anytime soon.” She frowned and began to deny it. Then she thought twice. When she had first moved to L.A., she had almost rented an apartment even though it had felt sinister to her. She declined to sign the lease, and later found out it had been the site of a murder. Then there were her dreams this summer. Her nights had been plagued by dreams of Greg with another woman. That had certainly proven correct. She hugged her bare arms in the cool desert evening. “Maybe a little,” she conceded. “But what makes you think that? Other people have experienced the haunting here. Were they all sensitive too?” “Not necessarily. You see, it works both ways.” Zane took her hand. “It’s not just a matter of you perceiving the entities, but also a matter of you empowering them. Some

sensitives act almost as a battery, giving the ghosts enough energy to manifest.” She shivered. “So you’re saying that I’m causing all this.” “Not entirely. This house has been haunted for decades. But I do think you’re inadvertently giving the ghosts more strength.” He hesitated, as if reluctant to continue. “And I think you might be more vulnerable to the house’s power than most people,” he said finally. “So far you’ve had two dangerous impulses—in the pool and on the balcony. Have you had any other odd thoughts or bad ideas?” She thought about it. “Not really…” Then she remembered her bizarre anger and suspicions against Lorenzo last night, and her inexplicable feeling of loyalty to the house just hours earlier. Both had nearly convinced her to shut him and everyone else out of the house. “Actually, yes. Yes, I have. Oh, God, what are you saying? That I’m being brainwashed?” Rachel shuddered and felt Zane's strong arm go around her. She couldn't help it; she burrowed into his shirt, reveling in his clean, masculine scent. His other arm went around her and he held her tight against him. “It's going to be okay,” he whispered in her hair. “We're here to protect you, Rachel. Nothing's going to happen.” “Maybe I should just leave and let you guys handle it all,” she whispered. “And where would you go?” Back to Beth's couch. Not that all of her stuff would even fit into that tiny apartment. She'd have to leave it here, and of course she'd have to count on these guys to feed the cats, and the Shermans might call to check on her and, finding her gone, cause trouble about her contract … and she needed the money. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” she admitted. “Like I said, I’m not exactly rolling in the dough.” He smiled. “Me either.” They smiled at each other in perfect understanding. Rachel couldn’t help but feel affectionate toward him. Protective as Lorenzo had been, there was just no way he could ever grasp her background or financial struggles. Zane obviously could. “Just tell me one thing, Zane,” she asked. “You all talk about filming and proving these ghosts exist. But can you make them go away?” He pressed her tighter against him, her soft breasts crushed against his chest. Unable to stop herself, she nestled into his warm skin. “We're not exorcists,” Zane said finally. With her ear pressed to his chest, his voice took on a deeper resonance. “People talk about telling the spirits to head to the light, but I doubt these will want to. They've been living in this house for decades, and they like it. Like I said, they were celebrities when they were alive, or they wanted to be. Maybe that’s why they’re so hungry for attention.” She turned her cheek and found her lips brushing the warm skin of his throat, revealed by the open top button of his shirt. “So it's live with them, or leave.” Desperate tears began to leak from her eyes, clotting her mascara and blurring her vision. The Hollywood lights swam in the distance. “We'll be with you every moment, Rachel. Nothing bad can happen when we're around.” “But that's not true,” she whispered. She rubbed her face against his chest again and slid her arms around his broad, comforting body. “They touched me and lured me up to the balcony when you were here.”

“That's because you were alone. From here on out, I'll guard you like a hawk.” A roughness in his voice told her he was feeling the same forbidden excitement she was. His heart was beating faster beneath her cheek. What was wrong with her? Her nipples ached for his tongue, and her panties were damp with arousal. Yet she couldn't ignore that she had had sex with Lorenzo just that morning. How could she be attracted to two men so strongly at the same time? She had always been a one-man woman, and now she was overwhelmed with an almost animal hunger for two men who were opposite types. Lorenzo was so smooth and cosmopolitan with his flashy car and aristocratic background; Zane drove a battered truck and dressed in faded jeans that did nothing to hide his brawny California sex appeal. Knowing it was wrong, she tilted her head up until two lips brushed against hers in the dark of the garden. Zane kissed her as if he’d been yearning for her for years. With cunning silence and an almost desperate urgency, he pulled her down into the flowers and dirt and rolled her on top of him, his hands roaming her body with ferocity. Rachel surrendered to the moment, letting her attraction to Zane dictate her actions. She ran her hands through his tousled blond hair and down his broad chest, squeezing all those muscles she had been admiring all day. He smelled tantalizingly of the beach, but his mouth was sweet as wine. His tongue swam into her mouth like a serpent, probing hers, then retreating as he gently bit both of her lips. The soft imprint of his teeth made her dizzy. She melted against him as he cupped her bottom, pulling her tightly against him. She had to stop. She had to think about this, think about what she was doing to Lorenzo. “Zane,” she whispered breathlessly. “I-I can't.” Her throat was tight with the sacrifice. “Lorenzo and I…” “Understood.” His voice was hoarse with frustration. Yet then he pulled her down on top of him again, his voice lost in her neck as he kissed and sucked her tender throat. His hands were pushing up her shirt and the satin cups of her bra, the cool air dancing over her bare breasts before he covered them with his hungry grasp. Rachel knew that anyone could look out of the house windows and see them groping each other here in the dirt, yet she just couldn’t stop as Zane pulled gently on her nipples, stretching them out from her breasts. “God, I want you so bad,” he muttered, crushing her hips against his. His erection felt impossibly huge beneath his jeans and, though she knew she should stop, she arched her back and began to grind against him, enjoying the pressure against her sex. “Don’t stop…” he whispered. As his hands crept up her short skirt, she couldn’t have stopped with all the willpower in the world. His fingertips trailed up her thighs, then drifted across her panties. “You’re so wet,” he whispered. With one last effort, Rachel tried to slide off him, but he caught her between the legs. “Don’t leave,” he begged, his blue eyes beseeching hers in the dark. The hot grip of his hand on her pussy made that impossible. “I have to,” she whispered. “This isn’t right.” Yet, more than anything on earth, she wanted him to press harder against her. Rough with hunger, Zane pushed her short skirt up to her waist and began to titillate her clit. Rachel moaned heavily, feeling a surge of lust spread through her blood as he

expertly stroked her swollen skin. Unable to stop, she braced herself on his chest and moved against his fingers, wordlessly urging him on. Her pussy was as wet as she had ever been, her panties damp and pushed to the side. Then, his fingers slipped into her wetness and began slowly thrusting into her. Rachel’s breath stopped for a moment. Then she hungrily unzipped his jeans and took his swollen girth in her hands. Though not as long as Lorenzo’s, Zane’s cock was impressively wide, his balls firm and tight. She began to stroke them with her other hand, coaxing an appreciative moan from him as his cock grew harder between her fingers. She leaned over him and they kissed again, their tongues dancing together in delirious need. Rachel was growing more excited by the second as she pumped him in her hand, eager to satisfy the wordless demand of his body beneath her. As she played with his balls, she could tell from their tightness that Zane was close to coming. As his fingers continued their rhythmic thrusting, he reached for her with his other hand and began to slowly rub her clit. Immediately a volcanic bolt of desire ripped through Rachel’s body, and she came with intense, convulsive throbs. Moaning, she tightly squeezed his shaft, working and rubbing his head as he erupted over her hand a moment later. She collapsed against him, shaking, as Zane gallantly wiped off her hand with his shirt. “I c-can’t believe I did this,” she stammered desperately. “Zane, Lorenzo and I— normally I’m a one-man woman. I’m not a slut. I would never do something like this, but the way you make me feel is just so overwhelming…” He laughed and kissed her. “Rachel, I respect women. I’m not going to judge you any more than I judge myself.” His mouth moved tenderly over hers and he sealed his words with a kiss. “As for you and Lorenzo … I realize he’s been a big help with the house. But ultimately you and I need to be true to our feelings.” The squeak of the opening French doors sounded in the night. Quickly they got to their feet, brushing off the dirt of the garden and adjusting their clothes. “Zane?” called one of his researchers in a suspicious voice. “Right here,” Zane called back. He led Rachel out of the garden and back to the pool. As they approached the house, Rachel’s mind returned to their earlier conversation. “One more question. According to you, this Tony wants me—I'm his type. So why is the house trying to kill me?” “It's because he wants you that you're in danger, Rachel,” Zane said softly. “He wants you to stay with him forever.” She swallowed, sick with fear. “You mean…” “Exactly. If you had drowned last night or jumped off the balcony this evening, you would become one of the ghosts haunting this house.” A wave of horror and despair swept over her. Nauseated, she turned away from him without a word and hurried into the house. **** Still jittery, Rachel washed up in the kitchen, then dished out two bowls of chocolate chip ice cream and sent them up on the dumbwaiter. Heading upstairs, she opened her bedroom door to find Lorenzo splayed on the four-poster bed in just a pair of silk boxer shorts, licking a spoon clean. Both cats purred near him. “Was this little treat intended for

you and Zane?” he asked sardonically. “Stop it,” she said. “It was for you and me.” The truth was, just the sight of his tanned, buff body sprawled across her bed fanned the flames Zane had ignited. Once again, she had to wonder what was wrong with her, going from one man to the other so easily. Which one did she really want? She couldn’t help imagining again that dream scenario of the three of them together. But that was crazy. Neither would consent to that. Slowly she began to undress, avoiding Lorenzo’s eyes. “You were gone for quite a while,” he said tightly. “Have an interesting talk with the spook-hunter?” “As a matter of fact, yes,” she replied. “He told me that he thinks I’m a sensitive— that I have some kind of ability that attracts the ghosts.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “How surprising. Dr. Sullivan thinks you’re special. What other clichés did he trot out? That he feels like you’ve met before?” “Lorenzo, this is serious.” She was glad of an excuse to avoid any possible accusations of her duplicitous feelings for Zane. “He said that some people have an extra sensitivity to perceive ghosts, which sometimes activates and empowers the ghosts as well. He also said…” She paused, still disturbed by his theory about her intended death. Lorenzo straightened up, his dark eyes filled with concern. “Rachel, what?” “He said he thinks the ghosts want to kill me so I can become one of them.” Her voice shrank to a whisper and she sank onto the bed. Worn out from her emotional tempest of desire, guilt, and fear, she felt her throat swell with the embarrassing urge to cry. “What? That’s crazy. Why would…” Lorenzo’s voice faded as he recalled the repeated danger she’d experienced. His voice turned deeper and tougher. “Rachel, don’t even think twice about it. I’ll lay down my life to protect you. No spirit is going to harm a hair on your head while I’m around.” He pushed the other bowl of ice cream at her. “Now come join me in bed and have some ice cream.” She forced a shaky smile. “In a minute.” She headed into the bathroom, eager for a few minutes of solitude. She felt guilty letting Lorenzo touch her after she had been with Zane, and yet felt just as guilty in reverse. There was only one way she could reconcile her dual desires for both men, but she didn’t have the slightest idea how to begin that discussion. Lorenzo was so possessive, so hot-blooded. He would probably get up and walk right out of her life if she even suggested a threesome, and that was a risk she just couldn’t take. Lorenzo knocked on the door. “I think I’m just going to turn in now and get a good night’s sleep,” he told her, placing his empty bowl on the dumbwaiter. “I was up most of last night on the Internet researching this place, and I’m kind of beat.” “Sure, of course. I’m tired, too.” Rachel ate her half-melted ice cream alone at her vanity as she watched him sleep. His tanned face on the pillow looked so handsome, his thick eyelashes resting on those high, gorgeous cheekbones… She sighed, shoving the bowl away. She just couldn’t give him up. Spoiled Hollywood prince or not, Lorenzo was also protective and generous and fiercely passionate. His fiery dark eyes and buff, golden body were as addictive as a euphoric drug. Yet she knew well, too, that Lorenzo was a highly intelligent man who had picked up on her attraction to Zane. The question was whether he understood her

attraction was to both of them.

Chapter Seven “Rise and shine, gorgeous.” A tender finger was tracing her hair, but Rachel buried her face in the pillow. She wasn't ready to wake up yet. She wanted to drowse in this carefree ease forever. “Rachel … it’s almost noon.” Yet the unfortunate reality intruded. She was living in a house haunted by malevolent entities who wanted her dead. That disquieting thought woke her up for good. She struggled up to her elbows, squinting at Lorenzo's amused smile. Sitting on the edge of her bed in the luxurious room, he looked like the stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome movie star acting in an old-fashioned romance. ”You sleep like the dead,” he said. “Um—poor choice of words, sorry.” “It's okay.” She yawned and realized she smelled something delicious. “What is that?” “Breakfast.” He opened the dumbwaiter with a flourish. “Apparently, your screenwriters have a grocery service that dropped off bags of food this morning. The guys made you an omelet, hash browns, and muffin. Oh, and of course, a Diet Coke.” She smiled sleepily. Obviously he had gotten over his anger of last night. “You learn fast.” As Lorenzo brought the breakfast tray to her in bed, he gave her an update of the house activities. Both the film crew and the paranormal team had gone over all the available previous documentation of the house and analyzed the “hot spots” of activity. Acting on their data, the film crew had set up cameras all over the house, from the pool to the living room to the third floor. The paranormal team had set up their own equipment, from EMF detectors to tape recorders designed to record electronic voice phenomena, or EVPs. “All the guys are very excited,” concluded Lorenzo. “Rachel, I know this has been a frightening experience for you, but please believe me when I say we're all doing everything we can to keep you safe. I don't want you to worry. I'm going to take care of everything.” His brown eyes were so serious. She stretched out her arms and legs, letting her bare feet curl against the hard muscles in his jeans. “I know you will,” she told him. “Last night was the first time I didn't have some bizarre dream involving the ghosts. Obviously having you in my bed was the key.” “Then I guess you'll have to keep me around a while longer.” Lorenzo leaned over and kissed her mouth. “What do you think about having a little party tonight? Nothing big, just some good food and drinks. We're all going to need to unwind from the constant morbid ghost talk.” “Sounds good. I'll invite Beth.” “And all your other girlfriends. You're in a house with nine guys, Rachel; they could use some female companionship, know what I mean?” “I do,” she said, coloring slightly as she thought of her interlude in the garden last night with Zane. Was that why Lorenzo wanted other women around—to distract Zane?

“But the truth is, Lorenzo, I don't have a big gang of girls I hang out with. Beth is pretty much it, besides girls from my classes, and school hasn't started yet. When I was living with Greg…” “He took up all your time, right. I always noticed how demanding he was with you.” A peculiar tightness crossed his handsome features and he got off the bed. “Oh, and by the way…” “Lorenzo … hold on.” A new suspicion had just filled her mind, and it was something she had to settle right away. “Greg and I never spent much time with you when we were together. How is it exactly that you were so observant of our relationship? You and I barely spoke back then. I just saw you around at film school parties.” Lorenzo shoved his hands in his pockets and stared moodily out the window. At last he spoke. “Rachel, I had a fierce crush on you from the moment I met you. But Greg met you first and, to be quite blunt, you always seemed very unimpressed with me. You treated me like I was … I don't know, some kind of reject.” “Hardly!” she said, both stung and delighted at this new revelation. “I just didn't trust you. The way you'd drive up in your Jaguar with your latest bimbo du jour, and everyone would fall at your feet…” “Oh, come on. I'm not like that.” “You are,” she insisted, then amended it to, “You were. Now, I don't know.” He leaned over and took her shins in his hot, dry palms. His passionate eyes bore into her. “Rachel … I get that Greg hurt you. So I don't blame you for having a little problem with trust right now. Just give me a shot, okay? Don't close off your heart to me.” Once again, memories of last night's tryst with Zane flooded her mind. After a guilty moment, she nodded. “Fair enough.” “Good.” He released her legs and glanced outside again. “Now finish your breakfast. You and I have a shower to take.” “You want to take a shower together?” “I can't leave your side, remember?” His white grin cracked across his face. “So finish up and get naked, missy. You're about to get the lathering of your life.” This was a life she could get used to, Rachel reflected, as hot jets of water ran over her naked body. The steam shower had built-in steps to sit on as well as covered shelves for their drinks; as Lorenzo's strong hands sudsed up her breasts, she allowed herself to relax back against his chest. Despite the very real supernatural threat around them, every day Rachel felt increasingly seduced by both her luxurious surroundings and Lorenzo's erotic talents. Player or not, so far he had kept every one of his promises, delivering protection and devotion. Of course, he had a motivation for doing so: Filming an occult documentary that could make his career. But as he massaged shower gel into her thighs, she banished such thoughts from her mind. A molten sensation was spreading throughout her body, and she only wanted to succumb to the irresistible euphoria Lorenzo’s touch generated. A soft cry escaped her as slowly but firmly he stroked her inner thighs, his fingers lightly brushing her sex lips. His fingers possessed a tactile genius, relaxing her muscles while stimulating her most intimate nerves. Shaky with desire, she arched against him. An exquisite heat was gathering between her legs, and she didn’t know how much longer she could bear to be

teased. Lorenzo’s hands came together between her legs to cup her pussy for just a moment. Restlessly she pushed against his fingers, demanding satisfaction. Instead, he guided her to the shower steps. Obediently she sank onto the top step and opened her thighs as he knelt before her in the pounding water. His hot tongue danced up her slit, licking her with a forcefulness that made her gasp. Breathing fast, she slid her feet over his slippery hard shoulders, aching for more. With agile grace, he brushed his lips over her folds, then circled his tongue around the swollen pink nub of her clit. A trembling tension was spreading through her, and as she leaned back on the steps, the roar of the shower expelled her awareness of anything but the heat and skill with which Lorenzo was using his mouth between her legs. She arched her back, moaning and pinching her nipples as he sucked her clit. His tongue flicked rapidly against her until her entire pussy felt electrified with light. Groaning with need, she twisted her legs around his neck, pulling him closer, until his tongue plunged deep into her sex. “Don’t stop,” she muttered, clenching her legs tightly around him. His tongue was thrusting in and out of her like a snake, and she ground against him with almost desperate lust. The sight of Lorenzo’s gorgeous face between her thighs, coupled with the mindblowing sensation of his tongue in her pussy, was driving her crazy. Unable to stop herself, for one moment Rachel imagined Zane naked behind her, his hard cock pressing against her. She erupted into a searing climax, screaming and writhing on the shower steps like a cat in heat. The shower water cascaded down on them. After a moment, she caught her breath, wiping her long, wet hair from her eyes. A king-sized steam shower, a handsome man kneeling between her legs … life didn’t get much better than this. Then a pounding on the door jolted both of them to their feet. “Rachel! Rachel, are you okay?” Quickly they turned off the water. Rachel hastily wrapped a towel around her as Lorenzo got out, still dripping wet and naked. “She's fine,” he said through the door. “What the hell happened?” “Nothing… I just…” She could hear now that it was Zane—and she could hear the hurt and confusion in his voice. She understood exactly what had happened: He had come up to see her and, hearing the shower through the door, assumed she was alone in the bathroom. Obviously he hadn't expected her to welcome Lorenzo back into her bed after their heated encounter in the garden last night. Lorenzo yanked the door open, concealing his lower half behind it. He stared at Zane. “What's with the panic? Did something happen?” Zane's blue eyes flashed to the towel-clad Rachel. The surprised pain filling his face was more than she could bear. “Uh, no. No, just making sure everything was okay. The guys said you were filming, so I didn't know who was with her.” He turned quickly away and left. Lorenzo pushed the door shut with an annoyed swing. Then he turned and gave Rachel a sarcastic, accusing look. “Dr. Sullivan is certainly interested in your wellbeing.”

She couldn't look him in the eye as she began to pat herself dry. “So? Given that I almost died yesterday, I think that's reasonable.” “Is it,” Lorenzo said sardonically. He came close to her and yanked her towel away. Naked, she backed up against the wall and forced herself to meet his eyes. He ran his hands up her wet stomach and cupped her breasts. “You seem to have some interesting conflicts about monogamy, given that you walked out on Greg last week for cheating on you.” Her voice was unsteady, but defiant. “I'm not cheating on anyone,” she said. His thumbs moved over her nipples until they stiffened under his fingers. “Define cheating, Rachel. Better yet, define honesty.” Guilt, rebellion, and exasperation battled within her. “Three days ago I barely knew you,” she pointed out. It was a prevarication, but it was hard to think as he pinched her nipples. “Three days ago you were living in a different world,” Lorenzo said. His dark eyes were on fire. “Just tell me what you want, Rachel. Or rather, who you want. Me or the illustrious Dr. Sullivan?” She dropped her head, succumbing to excitement as he played with her breasts. “Both of you,” she whispered. Without a word, Lorenzo scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. She barely had time to think as he dropped her naked on the bed, climbed on top of her and pinned her wrists to the mattress. As he sheathed himself in a condom, his knees spread her thighs apart. “Is that what you want?” he asked. His voice shook with anger or desire, she couldn't tell which. “Yes,” she moaned, feeling his still-wet body drip on hers. “I want to fuck both of you; I'm sorry, but I do.” “So this isn't enough for you?” He spread her thighs further, lowering his body until his cock found her entrance, wet and aching and open. Excited beyond bearing, she lifted her hips in a feverish bid for penetration. “Lorenzo, just fuck me…” “Like this? Is this what you want?” Hard to bursting, his length pushed deep inside her, sliding past all resistance into her wettest, hungriest core. “Yes, yes,” she panted, struggling to match his thrusts. Instead, he pinned her even harder to the bed, effectively imprisoning her and rendering her immobile. She was merely the passive recipient of the stabs of his cock. Aroused beyond endurance, she tilted her head back and moaned. “Yes, just like that…” He fucked her harder, his thrusts pounding into her until the bed began to rock across the floor. “You want this,” he hissed. “You want us both, you know you do…” Every part of her pussy felt alive and electric with wet heat. As she opened her eyes to gaze into his furious, lust-crazed gaze, the knowledge of the threesome they both wanted exploded inside her. Images of her and Zane and Lorenzo naked together burned into her brain as excited throbs broke through her, her pussy clenching around his shaft over and over. Lorenzo bellowed like a lion, slamming into her with a final roaring push. He collapsed on her breasts, his sweat-slicked body shaking. For a long time, neither of them spoke. At last Lorenzo stood up. It was his turn now

to avoid her eyes. She couldn't tell if he was hurt over her attraction to Zane, or ashamed by the degree to which her revelation had excited him. ”We should probably join the others,” he said. “The crew is independent, but I do need to supervise.” “Right. I'll get dressed.” She hastily hooked her bra, then pulled on a skimpy summer dress that showed off her legs. As she headed down the curving staircase behind Lorenzo, she caught Zane watching her from the sofa with a wounded anger. She gave him an encouraging smile, but he turned away. Yikes. If she didn't watch it, she was going to lose both of them. “I'm going down to the county courthouse,” Zane announced to the room at large. “We've been searching the Internet all morning for data on the house, but there's some research that has to be done in person.” “Like what?” she asked, coming toward him. She could feel Lorenzo's eyes burning jealously into her back, but she didn't care. Somehow she had to let Zane know what they had shared last night was real. She couldn't bear that injured expression in his eyes. “Ownership deeds, divorce records, things like that. Because of concern over celebrity stalkings, California law tends to be protective of public records. There's quite a bit that doesn't get online.” Zane still wouldn't meet her gaze. “I'll be back in time for dinner.” Just like that, he disappeared into the morning sunshine. Rachel turned back to Lorenzo to find him watching her with an inscrutable face. “What?” she asked finally. “Not a thing, Rachel.” He headed into the screening room to meet with his crew. Well, this day had certainly gotten off to a complicated start. She fed the cats in the kitchen, then realized that both of her “bodyguards” had left her side. As far as she was concerned, it brought them all some much-needed space. Right now she wasn't nearly as frightened of her ghostly roommates as she was of destroying her still-fragile bonds with these two driven, competitive men. A low growl, followed by a hiss, caught her attention. She glanced down to see Jade ruffling her black fur as she hissed at the other cats. “Jade, share your food like a nice kitty,” she said absently. Then she realized she had just seen three cats, not two, at the food bowl. She jumped back with a yelp and looked down. Now only Samson and Jade were there. But both cats were staring in the same direction, their fur rising from their arching backs. Jade emitted a low growl of warning. Rachel felt her own hackles rise. So this house actually had a ghost cat along with the rest of its collection? Not that she was afraid of a phantom pet, of course … but it did remind her that the house was unpredictable. She really couldn't assume she had seen everything yet. And just as she thought that, a ghost stepped up behind her. Rachel froze. The kitchen was warm with the sunbeams of a summer morning, yet the air around her suddenly dropped twenty degrees. A very palpable presence stood right behind her, raising the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. From the corner of her left eye, she could see a shape. Strangely, she was unable to move, or scream, or do anything but wait in paralyzed fear. One moment ticked by, then another. The sound of breathing—not her own—filled

the kitchen. She stared ahead in helpless terror, longing to scream, and praying that someone would come into the kitchen. Her body felt as if it were made of stone. The presence behind her seemed to grow more solid as the moments passed, feeling almost like electrical energy on her back. At last, she forced herself to glance down. Something rested by her left foot: The top of a man's old-fashioned slipper. As solid and defined as her own painted toenails, it didn't move. She closed her eyes in horror as she recalled the shuffling footsteps on the second floor hallway … footsteps that sounded as if they had been made by slippers … which meant the ghost of Tony Reynolds was standing right behind her. “Rachel.” The voice that whispered in her ear was deep and warm, full of love. It reverberated in her ear with a slightly inhuman tang—and somehow the terrifying emotion in the whisper freed Rachel to let out a scream that echoed throughout the house. Pounding footsteps followed, with Lorenzo leading the cavalcade into the kitchen. His eyes went momentarily wide with a horror that reflected her own. Immediately, with a surprising relief, she knew that he had seen the ghost. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. He took her in his arms. “Rachel, did he hurt you?” The rest of the team was behind him. “What happened?” “I saw a ghost,” Lorenzo said in disbelief. He seemed as pleased as he was surprised. “I actually saw a full, solid-looking ghost. Holy shit.” His crew seemed just as excited. “How solid was it, Lorenzo? Do you think it would show up on film?” “How the hell would I know? Check the kitchen footage. We have a cam in here, don’t we?” He began to pace the kitchen tiles. “Guys, this could be it. We could have the world’s first irrefutable apparition on film.” Somehow, Rachel doubted the ghost of Tony Reynolds would be so accommodating. Heart still pounding, she took a seat at the dining room table and described the phantom cat and slipper-wearing ghost as the paranormal crew excitedly took notes. Then Lorenzo cut in to offer his much better look at Tony. “He was wearing a satin paisley robe and slippers, and he looked as real as anyone here. Holy crap.” Lorenzo was breathing hard with excitement. “I'll need to look at it again, but I'm pretty sure he was wearing the same thing in his death scene photo.” Both the film crew and paranormal team shivered with spooky pleasure. Rachel just wanted to get out of the house. “Guys, did you get enough information from me? I think I'm going out for a while.” Lorenzo’s smile faded. “Where?” She knew he was worried about her meeting Zane. “To the mall, and then a late lunch with Beth, maybe. I need a break from this house before I go crazy.” Without waiting for his response, she collected her purse and headed out the door. **** Two hours later, she and Beth were sharing chips and salsa with strong margaritas at a Mexican restaurant at the mall. The roaring fountains, tiled floors, and the smell of new clothes helped Rachel to forget the supernatural danger she had just left behind. So did two new boxed-up pairs of high heels, along with a shopping bag of lingerie, including a black corset with matching garter belt and sheer thigh-high stockings. She couldn’t really

afford her little splurge, but she needed to forget about Oleander Canyon for a while and remember what it was like to just have fun. She also felt guilty about her escapade with Zane in the garden last night. Tonight, she resolved, she would model her new lingerie for Lorenzo and repair their damaged bond. As for Zane… Well, she wasn’t sure how she would make it up to him. Nor did she know how she would satisfy her longing for him. She only knew that she had to try. Despite her preoccupation with her love life, the ghosts were all Beth could talk about. “This is so exciting,” Beth gushed, pulling her blond hair into a ponytail. “A real haunted house, and with dead celebrities, no less. I can't believe you're living in the house of the Christy Cole slayings!” “I can't believe you know about it!” Rachel told her. “It was forty years ago. I sort of knew she died young, but I didn't realize people broke into her house and killed her.” “Oh, God, yes. Her career was pretty much over then, but it was still big news. She was my mom's favorite actress when she was young.” Beth thoughtfully ate a salsacovered chip. “I wonder if you'll see her ghost while you're living there.” Rachel frowned. Beth seemed to think this was like a star map tour through Beverly Hills, albeit with dead stars instead of living ones. “I don't want to see her ghost, Beth,” she said pointedly. “This has been really scary for me.” “I'm sure, but you've got a whole crew of guys to protect you now,” Beth said dismissively. “Come on, Rachel—I’d love to see a ghost. Do you think they'd manifest for me if I came over?” Rachel couldn’t help feeling betrayed and hurt. She had just finished telling her best friend that she had almost drowned, had considered jumping off a third-story balcony, and had been touched sexually by a ghost. Yet Beth seemed almost giddy about the prospect of seeing one. Wasn't she listening? “They might,” she said. “But I honestly wouldn't want to expose you to that kind of danger, Beth. These aren't friendly ghosts. They mean us harm.” Beth waved away her worries. “They're ghosts; they have no physical power,” she replied easily. “What can they really do? Come on, Rachel. It's the chance of a lifetime.” Rachel sighed. “Fine … you asked for it. Come on over tonight. We're having a little get-together. Oh, and bring some waitresses from the restaurant if you want. There's eight single guys there who wouldn't mind getting a little nookie.” She had almost said seven single guys. Even if she hadn't technically had sex with him yet, she still considered Zane as hers. But she had to be fair. Zane was free to have sex with whomever he wanted, even if the thought did make her green with jealousy. Beth looked thrilled. “This is going to be some party! I'll bring my camera. Maybe one of the ghosts will show up on film.” The word party set off a distant bell of alarm deep inside Rachel. She couldn't say why, but she had a feeling they might not like such a frivolous atmosphere in the mansion… Or perhaps they would like it too much. They had thrown their own party a few nights ago and invited her; she had almost drowned as a result. So how would they react to a party thrown on the other side, so to speak? Would they try to attend? She shivered. The restaurant air conditioning seemed too cold for the skimpy summer dress she wore. She looked around at the other booths, which were full of families, couples, and college students returning for fall semester. They all looked as if

they led ordinary, uncomplicated lives, as if none of them would believe the supernatural forces that resided in her home. A week ago she wouldn't have believed it, either. Yet now she had been exposed to events that had changed her world. She doubted she would ever be the same again. “Beth … there's something else I wanted to discuss with you besides the ghosts,” Rachel said hesitantly. All afternoon she had been dying to tell her friend about the two new men in her life. Yet she couldn't find the appropriate words. Would Beth think she was a slut, letting two men touch her in one day? Beth laughed. “I don't think anything could be more interesting than celebrity ghosts, but what is it?” To her embarrassment, Rachel felt her face turning pink. “Uh … well, you know how I told you that Lorenzo Cortez is the guy who started all this? He's a grad student at the film school with Greg?” “Yeah, I know who you're talking about—Mr. Conceited Pretty Boy. I've seen him around.” She felt her face flush hotter. “Um, well, he's actually pretty nice. Not as conceited as we thought.” Beth arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone has a crush.” Rachel nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It's more than a crush … we're sleeping together, Beth. We have been since he brought my stuff over.” Her friend stared at her. Finally she said, “You're actually dating Lorenzo Cortez? That rich, egotistical player…” “Beth, come on! You don't even know him. He's been great through this whole thing. He's not at all like his public image.” Beth shook her head. “If you say so, Rachel. But are you really going to tell me you're not just doing this to get back at Greg?” “No, not at all,” Rachel protested. “Trust me, dating one of Greg's friends is the last thing I wanted to do.” She hesitated, thinking of a way to express her feelings for Zane. But Beth was still processing her news about Lorenzo. “I just can't believe this,” Beth said. “I've always seen him around with models and Beverly Hills princesses…” “Okay, enough!” Rachel didn't need Beth inflaming her insecurities more. “Look, I think you'll be surprised at how nice he is when you meet him tonight.” “I hope so, Rachel. I don't want you to get hurt again, let alone a week after Greg stomped on your heart. It's not like you to take up with a new guy so quickly.” Rachel signaled for the check. There was no way she could tell Beth about Zane right now. It would just blow her mind and convince her that Rachel had lost hers. Beth was clearly thinking about the party anyhow. “Let's hit the grocery store to buy snacks, then I’ll head back to my house so I can get changed for tonight. Do you really want me to invite some of the girls from the sushi restaurant?” Rachel hesitated for just a moment. “Absolutely,” she said. She knew the other waitresses Beth worked with—they were young, wild, and liked to party, the kind of girls who would definitely show the film crew and paranormal team a good time. It was highly possible that Zane would have sex with one of them just to get back at her for sleeping with Lorenzo this morning. On the other hand, if they were all drinking and getting wild tonight, then maybe—

just maybe—Zane and Lorenzo would consent to her fantasy of the three of them going to bed together.

Chapter Eight Driving back into Oleander Canyon aroused conflicting emotions within Rachel. Her visit to the real world of shopping and drinks reminded her that she did have an escape— she could leave the old mansion if her life was threatened again, contract or not. Her temporary reprieve in the mall just made the house seem that much gloomier and oppressive. She didn't relish experiencing again the stifling dread that filled the house when evening shadows crept through the rooms. On the other hand, she felt urgently determined to reconcile with both Zane and Lorenzo. Next to her waited several grocery bags full of liquor and appetizers for tonight’s party, along with her shopping bag of shoes and sexy lingerie. She knew drinking and lingerie would equal a hot night with one man. The question was, would it work the same magic with two men—especially two very competitive men? Rachel pulled into the circular driveway. No sooner had she opened the car door than three team members rushed forward to help her with her groceries. She smiled—having so many men around the house did have its advantages. Lorenzo appeared behind them with a triumphant smile. “Have a good day?” he asked. He gave her a sweet, lingering kiss and followed her into the kitchen. Obviously something had put him in a good mood. “Very good,” she said. A sly smile crept across her face as she imagined his reaction to the black corset and garter belt she had bought. “How about you? You seem happy.” He kissed her again, squeezing her ass. “I've got some footage to show you later.” She slapped his hands away, laughing, as another guy carried bottles of wine into the kitchen. “From the kitchen? Don’t tell me you actually got your full body apparition on film.” “Uh, no. On film, all that shows up is a sort of pale fog behind you. But that’s still valuable and we did get something else. I’ll show you later.” She kissed him. “Cool. I've got something to show you later too … but it’s got nothing to do with ghosts.” An expectant fire lit his eyes. “Now,” he demanded, tugging her from the kitchen. He began to pull down the straps of her dress and she smacked his hand. “Later,” she repeated. “We have a party to prepare for—a party that was your idea, if you'll recall.” He slid his hand between her legs and she pushed him away. “You'll just have to wait, Mr. Horny. My friend Beth will be arriving at any moment. Oh, and please be nice to her. She has the same preconceived notions about you that I did.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “Shall I wait on you hand and foot, with a rose between my teeth?” “Just be your normal, humble self.” She heard Beth's soft voice in the living room. “And there she is.” Rachel and Beth spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, making appetizers for the party and drinking wine. By evening, both of them were feeling a little buzzed, and Beth demanded a tour of the house. Two of the paranormal investigators offered to do the honors. Rachel followed on their heels, enjoying the awestruck appreciation on her

friend's face. “This place is incredible!” Beth cried as they toured the second floor. “Rachel, how did you get so lucky!” “I don't know if lucky is the word I'd use,” Rachel said. “I mean, if the ghosts weren't here, sure, it'd be a dream come true.” Beth made that dismissive noise again. “Ghosts, schmosts,” she said airily. “They can't hurt you.” A resounding crack echoed through the hall. Beth's face swung to the side, a pink handprint appearing on her cheek. Her blond ponytail swayed with the movement. After a shocked silence, she began to cry. “Oh my God.” The team members rushed forward to assist her. Rachel blinked away her wine-induced haze and tried to grasp what had just happened. Had her best friend really just been slapped by a ghost? “They made physical contact!” squeaked Charlie, the youngest paranormal investigator. “That was bona fide physical contact!” “Never mind that—get her out of here!” Lorenzo roared. “Everyone downstairs, now!” The frightened group all hustled down the curving staircase, though Rachel noticed Charlie stayed behind to snap photos of the hallway where Beth had been slapped. Lorenzo led Beth out to the flagstone terrace by the pool, where one of the guys brought her a fresh drink. She refused it, still crying. Rachel attempted to console her. “Beth, it's okay,” she said. “You don't have to go back inside. You never have to go in that house again.” “Something—something hit me!” Beth stammered, her face streaked with tears. “There was nothing there, and yet it was just like a hand slapping my face!” Rachel tried not to sound as if she were gloating as she said, “Beth, I tried to tell you, the ghosts here are very real and very dangerous. We can't afford to goad them.” Beth raised her face from her hands, her eyes glittering dangerously. “I'll say whatever I want!” she shouted defiantly. “No ghost is going to shut me up!” It seemed that everyone held their breath, waiting for an invisible hand to strike Beth a second time. But nothing happened. Slowly Rachel exhaled, noting the mean smile of triumph that spread over her friend's face. Beth grabbed her drink and emptied it. “I'm not afraid of any ghost,” she asserted. “Let's get this party started.” Charlie was hovering near the doors. “First, would you mind letting us photograph your face while the finger marks are still fresh?” he asked. “And would you give a statement as well?” But before Beth could answer, the French doors swung open and Zane appeared. Dressed in a pale blue T-shirt and cargo shorts that showed off his strong thighs, he looked as tanned and relaxed as if he had just returned from the beach. But the thick manila folder he carried reminded Rachel of the research mission he had set out on that morning. As his vivid blue eyes connected with hers, her heart gave a little pang of longing in her chest. “I acquired some interesting information today,” he said, holding up the folder. Bound with a rubber band, it was bulging with papers. “Rachel, Lorenzo, we need to go over some things, but it can wait. A carful of girls pulled in behind me, and I'm guessing from that we're having a party.”

Beth turned toward the door, momentarily distracted from her ghostly slap. “Oh—it must be the girls from the restaurant,” she said. “I'll go let them in.” The rest of the guys followed her into the house, obviously interested in the new arrivals. Rachel headed for Zane. It had been just twenty-four hours since their passionate interlude in the garden last night; seeing him now brought back the memory of his hard body and exploratory fingers in an erotic rush. Protective as Lorenzo was, Zane somehow provided a complementary earthy warmth that she needed to feel complete. Just the sight of a loose thread dangling from his shorts somehow made her want to run her hands up his thigh muscles. Yet she was too aware of Lorenzo's dark watchful gaze to do that. She put such thoughts out of her mind and tried to concentrate on their project. “What did you find out?” she asked. “I'm dying to know.” “Quite a bit.” Zane wouldn't look at her now. Instead he sidestepped her and addressed Lorenzo. “Did anything significant happen today?” “A few things.” Lorenzo was cool. “I'd rather hear your news first. What did you find out?” But Zane seemed just as unwilling to share his findings. “So there were more phenomena today. What was it?” “My friend got slapped,” Rachel said bluntly, sick of the pissing contest that always seemed to occur between these two men. Why did every conversation between them turn into a Mexican standoff? Zane's blue eyes widened. “Is she okay?” “She's fine,” Lorenzo said shortly. “Don't feign concern, Sullivan. You want that kind of thing to happen, remember?” Rachel couldn't believe her ears. “Lorenzo!” It was just unbelievable how Zane's very presence turned him into a churlish boy. “Rachel, it's true,” Lorenzo said. “I just wanted to film this place. Zane is actually egging the ghosts on, making them worse. He wants bad things to happen.” “What?” She glanced worriedly from one to the other. “That’s not even possible.” “Sure it is. Yesterday he told you that sensitives tended to attract and encourage ghostly phenomena.” Lorenzo’s dark eyes blazed in the pool lights. “But what he didn't tell you is that many paranormal researchers are themselves sensitives, which is how they became attracted to the field. Do you really think his entire team needs to be in the house? He has them here deliberately to exacerbate the situation. He wants to get the ghosts all riled up.” Zane dropped his file on the patio table. “Lorenzo, I have my entire team here because this house is the brass ring of paranormal investigation. It wouldn't be fair to exclude anyone from such a rich opportunity for field work. Why do you persist in trying to turn Rachel against me? Are you that insecure?” “Stop!” she roared. “Would you two stop fighting? God, you're relentless! Get along or get out!” She swept past both of them into the house. The living room was full of Beth’s waitress friends and the crew members and, from the loud music and rapidly flowing drinks, she could tell the night would be a wild one. Yet she was no longer in a party mood. She went up the stairs, slammed into her bedroom, and dropped on the bed. Once again, being touched or even slapped by a ghost just didn't seem that bad, compared to

listening to her two favorite men engage in a petty testosterone fest. Dejectedly she looked through her new lingerie. She had had such hopes for tonight … fantasies of modeling her new corset and garter belt for one of them, or possibly both… But she had been an idiot to even imagine such a thing. Zane and Lorenzo were born rivals. They were both so different in personality and lifestyle, yet at the same time, both natural leaders. An antagonistic competition was inevitable. Once again she considered moving out and staying with Beth for a while. Or perhaps she could simply charge both Lorenzo and Zane a fee for working on the premises and use that for rent money. Then a familiar creaking interrupted her thoughts. She raised up on her elbows to see the dumbwaiter descend to her bedroom. So one of the guys had tried to send up a peace offering—how cute. As she got off the bed to take a closer look, she paused, a troubling realization dawning. The dumbwaiter had come down. From the third floor—the locked and empty third floor. No one had sent anything up; rather, someone had sent it down. Immediately her throat tightened. She looked fearfully at the dumbwaiter door and saw an eye watching her from the darkness within. A short scream escaped her throat. She ran out of the room and down the stairs. Lorenzo and Zane were arguing in the midst of the party, but they stopped when they saw her. “What happened?” Zane asked urgently. “Dumbwaiter,” she panted. “Someone—something—was in it. An eye was watching me.” Their argument was forgotten as Zane charged into the kitchen, while Lorenzo took the stairs two at a time to her room. She followed Zane, watching him bring the dumbwaiter down to the kitchen only to draw the door back and find it empty. Lorenzo entered the kitchen a minute later. “No one was up there,” he reported. “Rachel, I believe that you saw an eye. This is the second visual manifestation we've had today, the first being when I saw Tony behind you right here in the kitchen. Did the eye look like Tony’s to you?” “I don't believe that it was,” Zane interjected. “As a matter of fact, I have a feeling I know exactly whose eye you saw.” Rachel and Lorenzo stared at him. “Whose?” He inclined his head toward the stairs. “Let's talk upstairs,” he said. “I don't want everyone else to hear this.” All three of them headed up to her bedroom. As they spread out over the four-poster bed, Rachel couldn't help but smile grimly in recollection of her fantasies. This was as close as she was ever likely to come to having both men in bed with her. Of course, none of those scenarios involved a manila file or a grisly tale of yet another death, which she was sure she was about to hear. “Okay, lay it on us,” Rachel said. “You're going to tell us yet another person died in this house, aren't you? You uncovered some secret scandal down at the courthouse.” Zane smiled at her, and in his eyes she could see the tender adoration he couldn't disguise. He still wants me, she thought. I still have a chance. “No, Rachel, this isn't about another death,” Zane said. “I think we've catalogued all the deaths this house has seen. This is … a little different.” He opened the file and tapped the paper on top. “When I headed down to look

through the county records, I was looking for several things,” he began. “And I found all of them. The first thing I found at the library was the actual newspaper account of the Christy Cole murders the day after they happened. Not the legend that's grown up around it, but the true report.” He pushed it at Rachel and Lorenzo. “Christy's daughter, Lisa, was home the night of the slayings. That's something not many people know. She was only five at the time.” Rachel felt sick. “Oh, Zane, please don't tell me that little girl was murdered. I thought you said she was living with her father at the time.” “She lived with him after the slayings, because no, she didn't die. The cult members who killed Christy knew Lisa was in the house, but couldn't find her.” He hesitated. “She was hiding in the dumbwaiter.” Rachel's head jerked up. “What?” “You heard me. I believe it was little Lisa Cole you saw watching you tonight.” That nausea rolled through her again. “You're telling me that the ghost of a little girl is suffering in this house?” Somehow the idea of a child’s ghost was just too awful. Zane hesitated. “Not exactly. You see, Lisa Cole is still alive. Her name is Lisa Hachey now, and she lives in the Valley. She has completely disassociated herself from Christy in all ways and it took a lot of digging to find her, but it's definitely her.” Both Rachel and Lorenzo looked at each other. “Huh?” they both said simultaneously. “I know. Just bear with me. Some hauntings are intelligent—there's an actual thinking entity that can interact with you. This is how I would categorize the ghost who touched you, Rachel. But residual hauntings are different. This is just trapped energy—an echo of something that happened a long time ago, but was so profound that it imprinted itself in the very energy field of the house. It gets replayed like a recording. I believe this is what happened with Lisa.” “Wait a second.” Rachel had to think about this. “That means that a living person could leave behind a ghost of herself?” “Yes, although it's rare. But obviously this is a special house. It seems to be the paranormal equivalent of flypaper, catching and trapping every unpleasant occurrence for all eternity.” Rachel shook her head. “Zane, you're the expert on this stuff. If you say it's possible, I believe you.” “Consider it another repeating ‘trick’ the house does, like the footsteps in the hall and the sound of Christy Cole running through the living room each night at three a.m. A little girl climbs in the dumbwaiter and uses it to hide from the killers. In real life, they chased her all through the third floor. She hid in the dumbwaiter all night long, listening to her mother die, until the maid arrived that morning and found the bodies.” Everyone was silent. Rachel buried her face in the comforter. “I can't take any more of this,” she whispered. “I can't sleep here knowing what horrible things have happened.” A comforting hand reached out and stroked her hair. She couldn't tell if it was Lorenzo's or Zane's. “I don't blame you,” Zane said. “But there are other things I found out today and we really need to discuss them.” She shook her head. “Not now,” she said. “I can't handle any more.” Lorenzo moved close to her, resting his black head against hers. “It's okay,” he whispered, rubbing her back. “We're here, Rachel. We're not going to let anything happen

to you.” The hand in her hair continued to massage her skull. She knew, somehow, it was Zane's. “We're not going anywhere,” he said. “We're both going to protect you night and day…” A languorous enjoyment was spreading through her body as they stroked her hair and skin. Their body heat was warming her, front and back, like a sensual fire. Slowly her fear and despair dissipated, and a languid arousal blossomed deep in its place. Zane was tracing the sensitive outline of her ear, making her recall with vivid longing their encounter in the garden when she had caressed his cock, and Lorenzo’s strong hands were massaging her lower back and the top of her buttocks. Unable to stop herself, her desires for a threesome resurfaced with a vengeance. It would be so easy to just roll over and pull Lorenzo to her in a long, deep kiss, as Zane pushed up her dress and began to tongue her through her panties… Then a faint sound caught her ear—the sounds of splashing and laughter. Rachel sat up straight. It was the exact same sound of the ghostly party she had crashed her second night here. “Do you hear that?” she asked nervously. When she got no response, she looked down at her men. Zane was struggling to conceal his erection, and Lorenzo was staring at her breasts. “Um, guys,” she said. “Do you hear that? Someone is in the pool. Where I almost drowned, remember? Where we’ve forbidden everyone to go swimming?” Zane sprang up with a bolt. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. He went to the window, looked down, then tore out of the room and down the stairs. Rachel and Lorenzo followed. The party had moved outside into the warm August night. Beer bottles and daiquiri glasses rested all over the flagstone patio, and the French doors were open to let out the booming beat of the stereo. The dancing green waters of the pool were full of people— the film crew, the paranormal investigators, and Beth's fellow waitresses. Oblivious to the grim history of the pool, they were splashing each other and showing off by doing double flips into the water from the patio. From a game of chicken in the shallow end, Rachel could see that all of them were naked. “Get out!” Zane yelled over the music, waving his arms wildly. “Are you assholes crazy? People have drowned in that pool! Get out!” Lorenzo ran back inside to turn off the stereo. Rachel joined Zane in grabbing the closest wet, slippery arms and pulling people from the pool. But they were rebuffed. “Aw, chill out!” B.J. called from the deep end as the music finally died. He had a beer bottle in one hand and a waitress's breast in the other, and from the glassy sheen in his eyes, Rachel could see he was drunk. “It's a hot night and we're having fun.” “B.J., that pool is a death trap. Get out now,” Zane insisted. “Everyone out, I mean it.” He began counting heads as everyone reluctantly began to climb out of the water. A scream broke the night. They all saw it at the same time—a body at the bottom of the deep end. Immediately Zane and B.J. dove into the water. Rachel and Beth moved close together, Beth shivering in a beach towel, as Zane dragged Charlie's small body to the surface. “Oh, fuck,” B.J. moaned. “Jesus, we didn’t even see him…” Rachel ran inside and dialed 911 as they began to work on his chest. Her heart was pounding as she begged the operator for an ambulance and gave the house’s address in Oleander Canyon. Then she turned toward Lorenzo, almost afraid to know the answer.

“He has a pulse, but he's unconscious. There's no telling how long he was underwater,” Lorenzo said grimly. “How could they not notice that?” “The water was crowded, they were drunk and having fun—and, oh yeah, it's a haunted pool,” Rachel answered sarcastically. “It's very disorienting once you're underwater. I couldn't find the surface.” She recalled the green, ghoulish face grinning at her underwater and shuddered. “You couldn't pay me a million dollars to go in that pool again.” The revolving red lights signaled the arrival of the ambulance. Rachel headed out to meet them. Everyone was silent, wrapped in beach towels, as the paramedics loaded Charlie into the ambulance. Two of the paranormal researchers climbed in with him and the ambulance took off into the night. Watching its taillights fade through Oleander Canyon, Rachel wished she could go with it. “I'm sorry,” Beth said tearfully, following her into the kitchen as Rachel began to clean up. The party was over; everyone was putting on their clothes and collecting their car keys in a solemn, frightened silence. “I didn't mean to let the party get so out of hand. The girls were drunk, and the guys dared them to strip, and the next thing I knew, everyone was in the pool.” “Beth, don't apologize. It wasn't your responsibility. The team knows damned well the pool is off limits.” She shuddered again as she packaged up the appetizers and put them in the refrigerator. Would Charlie die tonight because of their irresponsibility? She couldn't help but remember Zane's theory that the house wanted to add her to its collection of ghosts. Did that mean Charlie would become the next Oleander Canyon ghost if he died? That his death would become part of the house legend? Next to her the dumbwaiter creaked. Quickly she hurried out of the kitchen and into Lorenzo's arms. “Hey there,” he said softly. “It's going to be okay.” She buried her face against his warm chest. “You keep saying that, but things keep getting worse.” “I know. Look, Rachel. I'm not going to endanger you just to get my film made. I think you should go home with Beth tonight and stay there.” She turned her face up to meet his gaze. “But what about you? Tonight proves I'm not the only one in danger. The house will hurt anyone it can.” He sighed. “I can take care of myself. Just go with Beth and forget about all this.” That didn't sit right with her. She pulled away. “Are you saying I can't take care of myself? I spent two nights alone here, remember. You act like I'm completely helpless.” “I didn't say that, Rachel.” “But that's how you're treating me.” She pushed him away. “If you can tough it out, so can I.” She walked into the living room to find a smaller group of team members looking chastened on the sofas. For a moment she wanted to tell them not to drip all over the expensive sofas, but she decided it really didn't matter anymore. “Where did B.J. and Paul go?” “To the hospital with Charlie,” one of the paranormal crew said. His name was Warren. “Rachel—we've been talking.” He looked around at the remaining group of team members, then back at her. “We've decided this house is dangerous.”

She burst into laughter, shocking them. “You think? Guys, this house has been dangerous for decades. It attracts tragedy and malice. What did you think—that working on this project would be just a cool adventure? You knew the history. Why did you think you'd be immune to its powers?” One of the cameramen puffed out his chest. “Rachel, someone almost died tonight,” he informed her haughtily. “I find your attitude rather callous.” “I find your pride and arrogance to be a menace!” she flared back. “You were warned not to go in the pool, and you did anyhow. Now Charlie could be brain damaged. I'm the one who's respected the very real threat here all along, guys. You're the ones who were only thinking about your careers.” She caught up with Beth and walked out to the driveway. “I'm sorry,” she said, hugging Beth. “I never should have let you come over.” Beth's blue eyes were still wide with anxiety. “Rachel, come home with me tonight. I don't want you sleeping here.” Together they looked up at the Spanish revival mansion. Yard-mounted floodlights displayed its multi-leveled cream stucco walls and red tiled roof to spectacular advantage. It could have been the feature home in any glossy decorating magazine. A night breeze sifted through the oleander, wafting its scent through the air. “No.” Rachel shook her head. “I'm not going to run like some scared little princess. If the guys can be brave, so can I.” They hugged again. “Call me anytime and I'll come get you,” Beth promised. “I mean it, Rachel.” Once again Rachel experienced the longing to escape as she watched Beth's car disappear down the winding road of the Canyon. Part of her did indeed want to drive away and never look back. Instead, she looked up at the floodlit mansion again, then slowly walked back inside. The team members were still grouped on the sofas. She noted dully that they formed one team now—tonight’s party and near-drowning had erased the rivalry between the filmmakers and the paranormal investigators. Now they presented a united front, apparently having bonded over their fear. “B.J. just called,” one of the paranormal crew informed her. His tone was icy, as if he blamed her for Charlie’s accident. “Charlie is showing response. That’s promising, but they won’t know if he has any brain damage until he wakes up and more testing can be done.” “Good,” she said coolly. “Are B.J. and Paul spending the night at the hospital?” Someone from Lorenzo’s film crew spoke up. “B.J. and Paul aren’t coming back,” he said. “And frankly, I’m considering leaving myself. I say we get the footage and evidence we need, and leave.” A low anger stirred in her. “How convenient,” she said. “You come to my house, set up your equipment everywhere and take what you need to launch your careers, then run like rabbits when the going gets tough.” “We’re not wanted here!” another one insisted. “This house hates us, Rachel! We haven’t even gone over today’s footage yet, but if it’s anything like yesterday’s, we need to clear out.” She stared at their faces. Suddenly she remembered Lorenzo’s earlier news—that he had some exciting footage to show her. She had forgotten about it. “What happened on yesterday’s footage?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Lorenzo said, emerging from the kitchen. “They caught the balcony door opening by itself up on the third floor. And a lounge chair skids across the patio out by the pool. Impressive on film, but nothing that indicates hostility.” He glared at Warren. “It’s midnight, guys. We’re going to bed. I think we’ve all been scared enough tonight—let’s not give Rachel nightmares, okay?” The remaining team exchanged glances, then shrugged. “If you say so, Lorenzo.” Walking upstairs with Lorenzo, Rachel had the feeling that Lorenzo was downplaying the footage to allay her fears, but she was too emotionally drained to care. Right now, she just wanted a good night’s sleep. Upstairs in her bathroom, she brushed her teeth and took a long time patting moisturizer into her skin. Instead of putting on her new lingerie, she changed into white cotton pajama shorts and a matching tank top. Tonight was obviously not the night for seduction. She knew both she and Lorenzo were feeling awkward about what had almost happened earlier tonight—and that both of them knew Zane belonged in the bedroom with them. Yet she suspected Lorenzo was as nervous as she was about discussing it. At last she snapped off the bathroom lights and returned to the bedroom. The room was lit only by the electric glow of Lorenzo’s laptop as he typed in notes with a furrowed brow. Disappointed but unsurprised, she slipped alone between the sheets as the cats wound themselves with purring warmth over her feet. “Let me know if my typing is keeping you awake,” he said without glancing at her. “I’m going to stay up and make some notes.” “No problem.” She settled down into the satin pillows, dimly aware of the disgruntled murmurs of the team downstairs, and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Nine With a sudden gasp, Rachel woke up. She was alone. Despite all the warnings and precautions, Lorenzo had left her. She looked around her dark bedroom. Everything looked ordinary and undisturbed. She tiptoed to the bathroom; no, he wasn’t in there, either. Then she heard the distant sound of laughter. She cracked open her bedroom door. The second floor was dark, but she could hear the voices of the team members downstairs. Quietly she padded down the staircase and listened hard. Yes, they were all in the screening room, watching another movie. She was mildly insulted that no one had invited her, and that Lorenzo had left her alone. Stealthily she pushed open the screening room door. Yes, there they all sat in the dark facing the screen, murmuring amongst themselves. She squinted at the film. What were they watching? It was a silent black and white film, looking very old-fashioned. Yet quickly she realized it was the team’s own film, for Lorenzo came onscreen with a terrified face. He looked around the living room, and then his mouth opened in a soundless scream. Rachel stiffened with surprise as someone off-camera raised an axe and swung it directly into his skull. What the hell was this? Some kind of experimental slasher film they had made as a project? Now a new scene was on the film—one of the cameramen running through rooms she recognized as being on the third floor. He was covered with blood and crying. A white hand darted out and grabbed his throat, squeezing until his eyes bulged with asphyxiation. Then the scene changed again to the curving first floor staircase, with Zane’s lifeless body dismembered on the steps… It was a film of all of them being murdered. A brief scream escaped her lips. Slowly everyone turned in their seats to look back at her. She stared at them in shock, recognizing the drowned starlet from the pool, and Christy Cole, and a handsome darkhaired man she recognized as Tony Reynolds. Rachel screamed and screamed and screamed. Lights flooded the screening room. The macabre scene before her vanished as Zane grabbed her arms and shook her, but she closed her eyes and continued to scream. “Rachel! Rachel, calm down! What happened?” Lorenzo ran into the room. She sank between them onto the screening room floor, sobbing helplessly. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t. She was losing her mind. “They’re going to kill us,” she sobbed. “We’re all going to die here.” “Rachel, Rachel, calm down. No one is going to die. What happened?” They led her out to the well-lit living room, where the rest of the team was staring at her in shock. The grandfather clock chimed softly; to her surprise, she saw it was just after two a.m. In Lorenzo’s arms, she sank into the sofa, gratefully sipping the glass of Diet Coke one of the cameramen fixed for her. When she was composed enough to speak, she described the murderous film she had seen and the phantom viewers. The faces of the team were ashen and grim. Unlike his remaining crew, however,

Lorenzo seemed angry. “Rachel, I was sleeping right next to you,” he said. “How could you think I would leave you? I was right in bed with you!” “But you weren’t, Lorenzo.” She shook her head helplessly. “You weren’t. I swear to God, this happened. It was so real.” “The house is playing with your mind.” Zane’s voice was harsh. “Rachel—I think you should leave tonight. I’ll drive you to sleep at your friend Beth’s apartment.” She wasn’t so frightened that she couldn’t scowl. “It’s not fair. Why is the house targeting me? No one else is experiencing these weird mind games or dreams.” Zane stroked a curl away from her face. “I already explained to you why the house wants you. Which is why I think you should leave now. Lorenzo was sleeping right next to you and you still got into trouble.” “Well, I’m not leaving. Not at two in the morning.” Rachel obstinately folded her arms. “I’m sick of being the fragile victim here. It’s my house, after all.” “But if we can’t protect you, there’s really no choice.” Lorenzo’s voice was gentle. “Come on, Rachel. Go pack a bag and I’ll call Beth to let her know you’re on your way.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’m just so tired. Let’s go back to bed and we’ll figure it out tomorrow.” “And what if you have another dream and I don’t realize you’ve gotten out of bed?” Lorenzo asked. “Then Zane can sleep on the other side of me.” It popped out like the most natural solution in the world. Yet something jolted deep in her body as she heard her own words; her fantasies of the three of them rushed through her mind like an electrifying sexual current. To disguise the X-rated movie playing in her head, she tried to make her hazel eyes wide and innocent. To her surprise, neither man disagreed. “I would feel better about it,” Lorenzo said. “Do you think all three of us can fit in that bed?” “Of course. It’s king-sized,” she said. She looked sweetly at Zane. “Would you mind? Just for tonight?” “Not at all,” he said. “I want you to be safe.” With that decided, the three of them said goodnight to the remaining team members and ascended the winding staircase. **** Her lush, indigo bedroom looked especially seductive to her as she entered between the two men. Again it occurred to her that so many rooms in this house looked like stage sets—impossibly luxurious and sensual and yet empty, as if awaiting a film crew, director, and actors. Had the Shermans decorated them that way on purpose? They were screenwriters, after all. Trying to calm the sudden trembling in her thighs, she delayed at her vanity and brushed out her long curls. Her reflection showed that her cheeks were flushed and her lips a bit swollen, as if her recent tears had left the same signs as arousal. At last she turned and approached the bed. This had been her idea; she needed to show them she wasn’t afraid. Yet she sensed all of them were a little apprehensive about sleeping in the same bed … if indeed, any of them even intended to sleep. Lorenzo reclined on his side of the bed in his boxer briefs, his face carefully composed in a neutral expression that didn’t fool anyone, and Zane was awkwardly awaiting her to climb in the big four-poster bed first.

He was the one who noticed she was shaking. “Hey,” he said, coming toward her with an outstretched arm. “Rachel, you’re safe now. Don’t be scared.” The truth was, her earlier terror had mysteriously skated straight into lust. But her sudden inability to speak, and her trembling limbs, apparently misled both men. Lorenzo sat up on the bed. “Rachel, are you sure you want to sleep here? We can be out of this house in two minutes. We’ll pack you a bag and we’re gone.” She shook her head, sinking into Zane’s comforting warmth as he guided her to the bed. “No, I want to stay.” Her voice was scratchy and fragile as she slipped between the sheets. “It’s going to be okay.” Zane slid in next to her and, at the dual feeling of protection and strength on both sides of her, Rachel knew for the first time in her life she felt truly complete. Lorenzo’s hand stroked her hair. “I can’t imagine how eerie your nightmare was.” She rolled over to face him with a scowl. “It wasn’t a nightmare! It was real. They were there in the screening room, all the dead people, watching a film of us being murdered.” “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He leaned over and kissed her in apology. Then he rubbed his strong hands up and down her arms. “You’re still shaking. Poor Rachel.” “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, and leaned over to kiss him again. This time her tongue slipped between his lips and found his, melting together in velvet softness. After a few moments, his hands shyly tugged at the bottom of her tank top, pushing it up to expose her abdomen. But Rachel wasn’t feeling shy. She arched her back, coaxing his fingers up until they rested against the bottom curve of her breasts. After a moment of hesitation, he cupped her breasts in his hands and thumbed her erect nipples. Behind her, Rachel could sense Zane’s confusion and embarrassment. A slither of the sheets told her he was beginning to back out of the bed; without turning from Lorenzo, she reached behind her until she found his hand. In an unspoken request, she placed it on the soft curve of her ass. Like Lorenzo, Zane too hesitated for a moment. Then he began to knead her bottom, shyly at first, his fingers growing stronger with obvious zeal. Lorenzo was kissing her harder now. She knew he was aroused by the idea of sharing her. With a low growl, he pushed up her tank top, exposing both of her pale, firm breasts, and buried his soft black head in her cleavage. She thrust her nipples at him until he captured one between his lips, sucking her until she moaned. Her body was trembling harder now, shaking with a ferocity and desire that she knew wouldn’t be sated until both men had made her come. Still stroking Lorenzo’s hair, she rolled onto her back and twisted her hips toward Zane. This time, he didn’t hesitate. His ardent mouth moved across her stomach, searing her skin with the burning imprint of his lips. Zane ran his tongue along the ridge of her hip bones, then took the waistband of her pajama shorts between his teeth. Slowly, torturously, he pulled them down her thighs with his mouth. Rachel felt her stomach plummet as he kissed his way back up her legs, stopping to lick the crook of her knees. She moaned, surprised by the sensation she felt there, which was somehow amplified by the faint breeze of the bedroom air conditioner in her pubic hair. As his lips traveled even higher up the sensitive skin of her thighs, a slow burn flooded her cheeks. She broke away from kissing Lorenzo, consumed by her anticipation of Zane’s hot

and tantalizing mouth. He blew lightly on her sex lips, emphasizing their swollen heat; she twitched impatiently as his lips skimmed over her wet, silky folds. She wiggled more demandingly now, desperate for his tongue on the aching rosebud of her clit. Instead, he continued to tease her, kissing her sex as slowly and delicately as if kissing her mouth for the first time. “Make me come,” she begged, her voice tight with frustration. Zane looked up at her, extended his long tongue, then plunged slowly inside her pussy. Rachel fell back on the pillows and groaned, a low, guttural groan that seemed to come from the very depths of her pussy. Agile, sensitive, and exceptionally strong, his tongue moved inside her like a firebrand, igniting her every nerve with excitement. She writhed beneath his mouth, her hips jerking to meet the thrusts of his tongue, as Lorenzo played with her breasts. She could feel his cock pressing against her, monstrously engorged, yet waiting its turn, and the knowledge of their sex to come somehow made Zane’s mouth feel even naughtier. Rachel gripped his head, pulling mindlessly at his blond silky waves. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. No sooner had she spoken than Zane’s fingers began to expertly titillate her clit, peeling back her hood of skin to draw soft circles around her most sensitive flesh. She let out a long sigh as her pussy dissolved into warm rapture, pulsing ecstatically against his face. All of the tension in her muscles was gone. She sagged back against Lorenzo, reveling in an intoxicating bliss, as he gathered her in his arms. “Did you save some for me?” he asked, nuzzling her ear. She nodded wordlessly and they kissed again, his hands fondling her breasts with more urgency now. Lorenzo rested all of his body against hers as he rolled on his condom, then rubbing just the head of his cock against her still-tingling pussy. Obediently she opened her legs, but to her surprise, he rolled her over onto her stomach. “Hold her down,” Lorenzo said to Zane. Zane immediately complied. “Hey!” she said indignantly. She was lying sideways across the bed, completely sprawled on her front, and there wasn’t time to struggle before Zane crouched in front of her. His stiff cock just inches from her face, he pinned both of her arms to the bed without trouble. Rachel tried to rise again, only to feel Lorenzo part her thighs and prepare to take her from behind. It was a position that was exciting in its powerlessness. Rapidly and easily, Lorenzo slid a pillow under her hips, elevating her ass in the air. Then he pressed his thumbs into the soft contours of her pelvis, inciting her legs to open even wider, and drove his cock directly into her creamy heat. “Oh, God,” she groaned into the mattress. Never had his cock felt so big inside her, and never had he fucked her with such long, delicious thrusts. Lorenzo drove in and out of her with a flawless friction eased by her slickness. Closing her eyes, Rachel succumbed to the relentless stabbing of his head, which was as satisfying as it was primitive. “Don’t stop,” she begged breathlessly and then something salty bumped against her lips: Zane’s cock. She opened her eyes to see his shaft less than an inch from her mouth. Struggling to raise her neck, she opened her lips to take him in. Yet as his cock glided across her tongue, she realized she lacked the mobility to suck or lick him as she longed to. Instead,

he held her cheeks in his callused fingers and drove in and out of her mouth in the exact same tempo with which Lorenzo was fucking her pussy. It was infuriating and undignified to have her mouth fucked like that—yet exciting, too. She surrendered to the powerlessness of her position, and let both men ride her as roughly as they wanted, aroused by her own submissiveness. With each thrust of Lorenzo’s hips, her clit rubbed against the pillow with a maddening friction. Another white-hot tension was building low in her body and the thought of their control over her inflamed her even more. As Zane thrust in and out of her mouth, she curved her tongue around his head, tasting a drop of salty fluid. Instinctively she tightened her lips around his shaft. Lorenzo was panting in a fast, excited way that let her know he was close to his own orgasm; she tightened her feminine muscles around his shaft at the same time. In unison, both men groaned and sped up the pace of their thrusts. A molten sensation was spreading through her pussy, exacerbated by the heat and friction rubbing her clit, and then as Lorenzo drove deep into her core, a climax broke through her like a storm. Orgasmic waves rolled through her body. Rachel milked both of their cocks as best she could as Zane shot hot spurts of liquid onto her tongue. Lorenzo drove into her with a final push before collapsing on top of her. Slowly, each man withdrew from her body. Rachel was nearly asleep, relaxed beyond rousing, as Lorenzo tenderly pulled her body lengthwise and settled her on her pillows in the middle of the enormous bed. Then each man climbed in on either side of her to protect her through the night. **** Angry shouts and accusations awoke Rachel the next morning from the deepest, most contented sleep of her life. Lazily her hands moved over the bed, sleepily searching for her two men. Their erotic ministrations last night had spread a languorous satisfaction through her body that had completely eradicated all of the tension of the last four days. But the satin-covered mattress to her left was empty. She rolled to her right and collided with a warm mass of hard-muscled skin. As he gathered her into his waiting arms, she opened her eyes and gazed up into Zane’s affectionate smile. A deep emotional thrill spread through her body as memories of last night washed over her. Yes, it was really true. She was intimately bonded with the two hottest men she’d ever met—and they had agreed to share her. She would have Lorenzo’s alluring sophistication as well as Zane’s radiant sex appeal; she would be looking into Lorenzo’s dark, smoldering eyes as he fucked her, then rolling over to feel Zane’s beach-roughened hands roam her body. It was her best fantasy come true. She snuggled up to Zane, detecting the faint scent of their wild sex on his skin. “What’s all the shouting?” “As far as I can tell, Lorenzo is having a hard time keeping his crew on site. But I can’t guard you and eavesdrop at the same time.” Curiosity won out over the desire to stay in bed. She rolled out of the sheets and pulled on her lavender silk robe. “Let’s go down and see.” The living room was a scene of considerable contention. In contrast to the cheerful sunlight bathing the room, two of Lorenzo’s remaining cameramen were shouting at him and pointing at their necks. “Do you not see these bruises?” the first shouted. “We were

attacked in our sleep.” Rachel adjusted her robe and moved close to the men. One had dark bruises on his throat; the other bore long, thin red scratches. The cameraman spoke up in a stifled voice. “It felt as if something was choking me,” he said. His voice bore evidence of the trauma he had undergone. “It was almost as if it were scratching my throat from the inside.” “We’re not wanted here!” roared the first. “Dammit, Lorenzo, I know you want to make this film, but your first responsibility is to us, your crew. Look—we can make the documentary a different way. Interview past tenants, interview Rachel, talk about the Christy Cole slayings. We’ve already gotten footage of the balcony door and the chair. What more do you want, for Christ’s sake?” “I want a full solid apparition on film!” Lorenzo roared back. “I want to make the film that no one in history has ever made—irrefutable evidence of a ghost manifesting on camera! That’s what I want, goddammit!” Silence echoed through the cavernous rooms. Then a voice spoke up from the back hall. “You may have already gotten it.” Everyone wheeled around to face Todd, another cameraman who had just emerged from the screening room. “I checked the footage from last night at the time of the attacks,” he said quietly. “I think you all ought to see it.” Without a word, everyone headed into the screening room. Rachel couldn’t help but remember her horrible dream of last night—the house ghosts watching a film of them being murdered. She shuddered and felt a strong arm slip around her shoulder. Zane gave her an encouraging hug. “It’s okay,” he said. “You want to leave at any time, you just say the word.” She leaned against him, grateful for the support. “Thanks, Zane. But I need to see this footage.” They played the film. As with all footage shot at night, it had an eerie, colorless quality that almost seemed to invite malicious spooks onto the screen. This camera was recording the living room, where the two men slept on the deep white sofas. For a full minute, nothing happened. One rolled over on the sofa, adjusting his blanket. Then a minute later, a dark shape took form in the room. It was moving in from the kitchen, drifting rather than walking. Rachel held Zane’s hand tightly as the amorphous dark shape moved first to one sofa, then the other. It seemed to consider the men sleeping there. She held her breath expectantly. Then the shadow moved toward the camera, coming closer and closer until she could barely breathe. Then the film cut off with a hiss. “It turned off the camera,” Todd said, rising to his feet to kill the film and snap on the lights. “You all saw it—this thing definitely looked at the guys. I think it’s safe to say that was their assailant.” Rachel noticed the guys were visibly shaken. “All I know is I’m out of here,” the one with the scratches said. “I am out of this hellhole now.” “Right there with you, buddy.” The bruised cameraman accompanied him out of the screening room, then turned to Lorenzo. “You got your fucking footage. Now call it a day and clear out before someone dies.” Lorenzo, Zane, and Rachel looked at each other, then at the three remaining crew

members. Todd was a cameraman for Lorenzo; Pedro and Warren worked under Zane. As the slam of the front door echoed through the house, Lorenzo cleared his throat. “For the record, I am aware that this house is getting more dangerous,” he said. “However, contrary to their opinion, I did not get the ‘fucking footage’ I wanted. I still want the holy grail of paranormal cinema—a full-fledged apparition on-screen. And it is my belief—Zane, feel free to contradict me—that this house represents the best opportunity for that that we will ever see in our lifetime.” Zane looked at his two remaining crew members. “I agree. I think you two will too, if you’re honest with yourselves. We’re paranormal investigators—this is our life’s work. If you only want to work on the safe cases, then you’re in the wrong field. So tell me now, Pedro and Warren—are you in or are you out?” They hesitated for only a moment. Then together they said, “In.” “Excellent. I’d like you to spend today reviewing the rest of the night’s footage for manifestations and EVPs.” He turned to Lorenzo and Rachel. “I have a different agenda for us in mind today. I’d like us to interview Lisa Hachey—Christy Cole’s daughter.” Rachel gasped. “The little girl who escaped in the dumbwaiter?” “Well, she’s a middle-aged woman now who lives in the Valley,” Zane said, sounding amused. “Yes, I think she’s our best bet for understanding the background and pattern of the hauntings. The family held onto the house for many years after the slayings, and they logically would have heard all the tenants’ stories. How does that sound?” “Sounds awesome,” Lorenzo said. “But how do you know she’ll even talk to us?” “I already called her and set up an appointment,” Zane said casually. “She may even consent to be interviewed on camera, Lorenzo, if you’d like to bring Todd along.” “I’d love to!” Todd said nervously, who looked as if he’d jump at any opportunity to escape the property. “Great. Let’s get moving. But Lorenzo and Rachel, I need to speak with you first upstairs.” Rachel smirked, sure that was code for a hot morning tumble. But when her bedroom door closed behind them, Zane looked serious. “There’s something else I found out yesterday in my research in county records. Rachel, you might want to sit down for this.” Obediently she sat on the bed, still wearing her silk robe. Lorenzo pulled her into his arms as Zane paced to the bedroom window and looked down over the pool. “It was my impression that your nice old screenwriter couple had lived in this house for many years,” he said. “Is that what they told you?” “More or less,” she said. “Leo and Phyllis said they’d spent years decorating and collecting art and turning it into their dream home. Why?” “Because they bought this place in June,” Zane said. “I checked the property deed. Rachel, I noticed something right off about this place—there are no magnets on the refrigerator. No framed photos on display. No junk drawer, no old bills or half-used makeup in the master bathroom or off-season clothes stored in the master closet. No one lives here.” Rachel backed into Lorenzo’s chest. She needed his warmth, his solidity, as she absorbed this disturbing information. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” Zane’s eyes were full of patient sympathy as he continued. “I researched the Shermans. Yes, they are screenwriters. They had a string of hits in the ’70s, ’80s, and a

few in the early ’90s. But the studios stopped green-lighting their projects a good ten years ago. They tried the reality TV market about five years ago, but so far none of their pitches have been picked up. It’s obvious that they’ve been struggling professionally for quite a while.” Zane pulled a black device from his pocket. “I stopped at an electronics store on the way home yesterday,” he said. “This is a hidden camera detector. It isn’t top of the line, but it did its job enough to confirm my suspicions.” He hesitated and his cerulean blue eyes met hers in an expression of sympathy. “Rachel, I went through the house last night. This house is loaded with hidden cameras. Every ceiling fan, every air vent, every bookshelf has some kind of recording device. While you slept this morning, I checked this room. Even your shower is rigged.” Nauseating waves of shock rolled through Rachel, blotting out everything she thought she knew. “I don’t… why? Why would they record me?” Lorenzo understood. “Those fucking bastards!” he shouted, leaping to his feet. “They offered her up to this house like a sacrificial lamb!” Zane motioned frantically for him to calm down. “Lorenzo, I understand your rage. But we’ll get revenge later. Right now we need to take care of Rachel.” Her head was still swimming. All she knew was that she had been horribly, sickeningly, betrayed. “You’re saying they … they set me up,” she whispered. “They’re actually making their own movie about this.” “That’s what it looks like. Lisa Hachey finally sold this place in June dirt cheap because she needed the money. She’s had a tough life since the slayings. I’m guessing the Shermans saw an opportunity to put together the scariest ‘reality show’ ever filmed— with you as bait. They researched exactly what kind of person would ignite the hauntings, hired a housing agency and screened the applicants … until they found you. I doubt your ‘nice old couple’ ever spent one night in this place.” She wanted to throw up, scream, and break something—all at the same time. How could the Shermans be so calculating and insensitive? “They put my life in danger!” she cried. “How could they!” Zane put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “They may not have realized how dangerous the place is,” he cautioned. “They’ve been on the Hollywood scene for decades, and like everyone else in the film industry, they probably heard it’s haunted. They did try to protect you from the third floor and the pool. They may not have known just how bad the ghosts could get. I certainly didn’t, and I’ve been studying this place for almost half my life.” “Those bastards,” Lorenzo repeated through gritted teeth. “Setting up a woman to terrify her for financial gain? They ought to be shot slowly. At the very least, we’re going to sue their asses.” Zane smiled emptily. “Except that a haunting is rather hard to prove in court. We could get them for the hidden cameras—especially since they’re in her bedroom and bathroom. But I doubt the Shermans ever expected her to find them. As far as they thought, their plan was foolproof.” Rachel clasped her arms around Lorenzo’s neck and inhaled the comforting scent of his skin. “If you hadn’t come over that day, Lorenzo, I don’t know what I would have done.” Lorenzo crushed her against him. “Things work out for a reason,” he said roughly.

“Look, we’re going to film through the weekend, and then we’re out of this goddamned place. Zane, how long is it going to take to dismantle all the hidden cameras?” “Depends on how hard it is to find them. These detector devices can’t be relied on to pick up all of them. I’d say we start taking them down tonight, as soon as we get back from interviewing Lisa.” Zane looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, we need to get moving.” Jade, the sleek black cat, jumped onto the bed with a demanding meow. Rachel scratched under her chin as a new thought occurred to her. “Zane, what about the cats? Why would the Shermans send their cats to live here?” The answer was so obvious that she regretted asking. “Never mind. These probably aren’t even their cats.” “You were the one who noticed they didn’t seem to respond to their names,” Zane reminded her with a smile. “They probably picked them up at the animal shelter the day before you arrived. Tony Reynolds was a fanatic cat lover, and they probably thought having cats on the property would activate his ghost as well.” “Good God,” Rachel said. “This whole place is a lie.” “More like a stage set,” Zane said. “I’m guessing that the paintings are reproductions and the fancy furniture is rented. To them, this was just their latest production.” Rachel stroked the top of Jade’s silky black head as the full magnitude of the betrayal involved sank in. “Don’t worry, kitty—I won’t abandon you to the ghosts,” she promised. “We’ll figure something out.” Then she stood and pulled off her robe, enjoying the speech-stopping effect her naked body had on her two men. “I need a shower. Any bodyguards want to join me?”

Chapter Ten It was just past two o’clock as Lorenzo’s sleek black Jaguar rolled into the San Fernando Valley. As they drove into one of the shabbier neighborhoods, Zane gave them a brief synopsis of Lisa’s life since the slayings. “She’s a broken-down mess,” was his succinct characterization. Then he relented and said, “You have to remember what she’s been through, guys. When she was just a little girl, her mom was holding black magic rituals involving group sex and animal sacrifice in her own house. When she was five, she was chased by killers and spent the night in the dumbwaiter listening to the brutal murder of her own mother. For all we know, she actually saw Christy’s corpse hanging from the chandelier.” “It’s horrendous,” Rachel responded. “Of course that kind of trauma leaves a mark. We’re not going to judge her, Zane.” “I just want you to be prepared,” he said. “You might think a movie star’s daughter would be living the good life in Beverly Hills. But Lisa’s life hasn’t gone so well. She’s been in and out of mental institutions since adolescence. Christy’s other relatives tried to protect her for a while, but it seems that most of them have died off over the years.” Rachel swallowed. She knew well how the house had tried to warp and twist her own thoughts and dreams. The kind of permanent effect it might wreak on a little girl was frightening to contemplate. Lorenzo stopped in front of a neglected house. A plastic lawn chair was turned over on its side in the yard, which was unkempt and barren in parts. The surrounding houses had a similarly untidy look. As Rachel glanced down the street, she reflected that most of Lisa’s neighbors would never dream her mother had been a famous actress with a Hollywood mansion. She took Zane’s hand as they approached the screen door. Immediately the door flew open. “Come in,” said a tired-looking woman in her forties. Without introducing herself, she stepped back and let them file into the house, which smelled of stale food and cigarette smoke. She gestured at a rickety kitchen table. “Have a seat.” Rachel tried not to stare as she sank into her chair. At first glance, Lisa Hachey bore no resemblance to her beautiful brunette mother. Her short peroxide-blond hair was dark at the roots and looked as if she’d chopped it herself. Her teeth bore stains that hinted at long years of nicotine addiction, and dark circles under her eyes marked her sallow skin. Then she smiled shakily, and Rachel saw a hint of her dead mother’s radiance. Her heart gave a pang of sympathy for this poor lost woman who had been so deeply scarred as a little girl. “It’s nice of you to come see me,” Lisa said. “Most people think I’m crazy when I talk about the house. So I don’t talk about it much. But you believe me, so it’s okay.” She shuddered and exhaled cigarette smoke, tapping the butt into an ashtray. “We do believe you, Lisa, because we’ve experienced it ourselves,” Zane said gently. “And we very much appreciate you taking this time for us.” “I told them not to let anyone live there,” Lisa said, shaking her head. Rachel noticed that she had difficulty making eye contact with them. “I told those screenwriters, don’t spend the night there, don’t swim in the pool, don’t go inside alone, it’s dangerous. And

then they go and rent it out.” She shook her head again. “Actually, they’re paying me to house-sit,” Rachel said. “They said they were going on location.” Lisa bristled. “Are you calling me a liar?” Rachel shrank back in her chair as Zane said, “No, no, Lisa—we’re saying the Shermans are the liars. We believe you. It’s okay.” I just won’t say anything, Rachel decided as Lisa glared at her. “We’ve all experienced many things,” Zane continued calmly. “And we wanted to hear what you experienced, Lisa. Would you agree to tell us that?” “I would love to,” she said flatly. “No one ever believes me.” “Would you mind if we filmed you? We’d like you to be in our movie.” That was Lorenzo, bringing all of his suave Spanish charm to bear through his smile and voice. Lisa smiled girlishly. “Really? Me, in a movie?” Todd timidly rolled the camera as Lisa stubbed out her cigarette, lit a new one, and told her story. No one spoke as she relayed her hazy memories of the occult rituals in the house and her mother’s depression as her film roles dried up. She spoke flatly of the night of the murders, describing the smashed glass, then the running footsteps and screams she had heard from her upstairs bedroom. “I went out to the stairs to see what was going on, and one of them saw me and came up the stairs. I ran up to the third floor and hid in the dark. When he couldn’t find me, he finally ran back down to finish off my mother.” Lisa exhaled a blue stream of smoke. “I hid in the dumbwaiter. I could hear my mother screaming … then just the men talking … then only a dripping. A steady drip all night long. It was my mother’s body bleeding onto the carpet.” Lisa stared at the table. “It finally got slower and then stopped,” she said. “I didn’t move. I thought a whole day went by, but it was only a few hours, and then the maid, Inez, came in and started screaming. I thought they would kill her too.” She stopped talking. Rachel glanced questioningly at Zane, but his blue eyes never left Lisa’s worn, hopeless face. He’s really good at this, she thought. He knows how to make damaged people feel safe enough to open up. Suddenly Lisa lurched into a different pattern of speech. “I used to sneak back all the time,” she said. “This was during high school when I was living with my father in Glendale. I’d hitchhike out to Oleander Canyon and break into the house. It was just sitting there empty. Except for them.” “Them?” Zane questioned. “The ghosts,” Lisa said as if it were obvious. “The people that still live there. Just because they died doesn’t mean they aren’t still around us. I used to see them all the time there.” Zane leaned close to her. “Was your mother one of them, Lisa?” he asked gently. Her dark eyes narrowed until they were little more than baleful slits. “Why the hell would I tell you something so personal?” she hissed. Her sudden change of mood took them aback. Zane groped for a way to mollify her. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I thought you wanted to talk about the ghosts.” “My mother is private,” Lisa snapped. “What are you, one of those celebrity death freaks that gets off on horrible murders?” They all exchanged worried looks. Lisa’s body was visibly shaking, and her eyes were growing wide with fury. Todd was still filming her.

“No, Lisa, no,” Zane said gently. “We’re only interested in the ghosts. We don’t have to talk about your mother at all.” Lisa slumped forward and buried her face in her hands. Once again, Rachel couldn’t help but feel sorry for the emotionally shattered woman. “She was never there,” she whispered. “But he said I could see her if I joined them.” The stale kitchen air seemed to grow ice cold. “Join them?” Zane said after a moment. “Yeah. He said she was waiting for me to cross over and join them.” She raised her head, her eyes glittering with madness. “And I would have if my father hadn’t stopped me. I took sixty-three sleeping pills right there in the living room. You know how close I got? But my asshole father read my diary and came to the house just in time. Dickhead.” She snorted and stubbed out her cigarette. “I woke up in the hospital after they pumped my stomach and it’s been one hospital after another ever since. Good thing he saved me, huh? Some fucking life.” Rachel instinctively huddled into Lorenzo, as if to ward off the hopeless depression emanating from Lisa Hachey. She hadn’t expected her to be a shining success of a person, given what she had witnessed as a child, but this was just too bleak. What kind of person repeatedly broke into the empty house where her mother had been murdered, then tried to kill herself there as well? Zane took Lisa’s hand between his own. “Can you tell me who ‘he’ is, Lisa?” “The owner. The one who built it and had all the parties there.” Lisa was crying now, and she wiped her nose. “It’s still his house, it always will be.” Her head swung toward Rachel suddenly. “And if you’re smart, you’ll get the fuck out,” she snapped. That was all Rachel could stand. From the madness in Lisa’s eyes to the palpable despair in the kitchen, she couldn’t bear it a second longer. “I need some fresh air,” she muttered, rising from the table. “Uh, thank you, Lisa, for sharing your story.” Zane, Lorenzo, and Todd stood as well. Apparently they felt as toxically oppressed as she did. Yet Lisa now seemed panicked that they were leaving. “Hold on,” she said, stumbling as she got up from her chair. She adopted a new, sweet voice that did nothing to mask the anxiety in her eyes. “You haven’t told me your story. What’s been going on over there?” Todd was packing up the camera. Zane said gallantly, “Oh, this and that. We’ve had a few incidents, nothing to worry about.” “The balcony? Did you see the guy on the balcony? He waits out there.” Lisa was excited now. “And there’s a dead lady that lives in the pool. Don’t go swimming.” “Yes, we know,” Zane said. “We almost had someone drown last night, but he’s okay now.” He began edging toward the door. Lisa followed them. “Have you seen any of them? They’re all there. Waiting.” “Yes, we know.” Zane threw a pointed look at Lorenzo and Rachel that said clearly: Let’s get out of here. “But who have you seen?” Lisa begged. “The man? The pool lady? How about my mother? All the tenants said they heard her run through the house each night. But I could never find her. Have you seen her?” Zane turned toward her one final time. “Lisa, I’m going to tell you something,” he said with kindly firmness. “Your mother’s ghost is not in that house. I’m sure of it. The best thing you could do would be to forget all about Oleander Canyon.”

Her dark frantic eyes searched his. “And how do you know?” “Because I’m a certified doctor of parapsychology,” he told her. Rachel knew he was lying about “knowing” Christy Cole’s ghost was not in the house, but she appreciated his reason for doing so. Poor Lisa Hachey was clearly still obsessed with the idea of somehow making contact with her dead mother. “Your mother is at peace. She is not in the mansion on Oleander Canyon.” Lisa’s dark eyes burned into him. “Are you absolutely, positively, sure?” “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.” He offered his hand, which she shook, and then joined the rest of them at the car. No one spoke for a few minutes as they drove out of the Valley and back toward the Canyon. The late afternoon sunshine was beginning to fade, but the streets were still warm and golden in its light. Rachel turned her face to the open window, letting the rush of wind remind her of her own essential freedom. She had to remember that the house did not control her; in a few days this would all be over. She was not going to turn into a shattered wreck like Lisa Hachey, obsessive and disturbed and brimming with despair. Zane finally broke the silence. “That poor lady,” he said. “I knew from her history that she had had problems, but I had no idea how severe. That poor thing.” Rachel leaned forward from the backseat. “Zane, she was like a child in some ways,” she said. “A disturbed, deranged child.” Just thinking of the woman’s crazed dark eyes made her shudder. “Yes, she is,” he agreed. “Clearly, that house has obsessed her for the last forty years. I didn’t want to mention this before, but I discovered it in my research yesterday. One condition of her release from the hospital was that she stay away from the house. Apparently she tried to return to it again and again for years after her suicide attempt there.” Rachel couldn’t stand thinking about it. “I’m surprised she sold it to the Shermans in June.” “She needed the money. You saw how she lives.” Rachel still felt contaminated by Lisa’s depression. “Guys, I don’t want to head back to the house yet. Can’t we go get dinner on the beach someplace? Get some clean ocean air and forget about the house for a while?” Lorenzo made a sharp turn as he said, “Sounds great.” “And no ghost talk. Promise?” “Promise,” they said together. Todd spoke up from the back. “I’d actually like to be dropped off at home, if you don’t mind. I’m sorry, Lorenzo, but I need to check in with my girlfriend and get some alone time for a while.” “Understood.” After dropping off Todd, they headed to a seafood restaurant Lorenzo knew that overlooked the beach. Rachel forced herself to stay quiet as he casually pulled up to the valet stand, handed his keys to a young man, then confidently led them inside as if it would never occur to him to circle around looking for a parking space. In the lobby, a crowd of almost two dozen people was already waiting to be seated, though it was only just past five o’clock. Yet if Rachel thought they were in for a long wait, she was wrong—the hostess brightened at the sight of Lorenzo and led them out to the deck with a smile.

“Must be nice,” Rachel muttered as she opened her menu. “What’s that?” Lorenzo said absently as he signaled a waiter. “Living like this. No waiting in line, valet parking…” “This is Los Angeles. Everyone valet parks,” Lorenzo said, his brow creased. “I don’t,” she told him, suddenly miffed. “You have no idea of what it’s like to live on a student budget, Lorenzo.” “Or on a paranormal professor’s salary.” Zane smiled warmly to take the bite from his words. “But I do have a home to return to when this is all over—and Rachel does not, Lorenzo, which is what I think is really bothering her.” She looked down in her water glass, embarrassed. Ever since moving to Los Angeles, she had felt self-conscious of her working-class roots, especially around the richer Hollywood brats who went to film school with Greg. “Lorenzo—I’ve already spent all my student loan money for the semester. I don’t have a place to go. We’ve got to get rid of the ghosts.” Lorenzo’s full lips parted. Finally he said, “I guess I just assumed you’d both move in with me.” “With you?” Rachel and Zane exclaimed together. “Well, yeah. We’re going to be working closely together between Rachel’s book, and my documentary, and Zane’s study. I thought it would make sense if you two moved into my beach house in Malibu for a while. After all, Rachel and I have school, and Zane, you have classes to teach—we’re going to be insanely busy this fall. We may not be able to collaborate unless we’re living together.” Rachel digested this plan. She’d heard from Greg stories about Lorenzo’s “beach house”—a massive place designed by a famous architect for which he had paid an obscene amount of money. She had never been to a party there, always feeling too shy and out of place to mingle with the celebrities and film people who made up his typical guest list. Now she could be living there. It was impossible to imagine. “I can’t,” she said finally. “Lorenzo, I have to take care of the cats, and I don’t…” “So bring the cats with you. Look, Rachel, you can have your own room; I’m not trying to smother you. But this is the most sensible solution for the three of us.” The arrival of their server terminated the conversation. After they ordered, Lorenzo brought up Lisa Hachey again, pointing out that she hadn’t signed an interview release. “We have to include that footage; it’s just so obvious what a number the house did on her mind. We’ll intersplice it with the real news footage that followed Christy Cole’s murder…” As he and Zane visualized the documentary, Rachel couldn’t stop thinking about the three of them living together. Would they continue as a threesome? Or had last night just been a unique and special erotic experience—enjoyable, but never to be repeated? She didn’t think she could live under the same roof with the two of them and not have sex with them both. Glancing from Lorenzo’s darkly handsome face to Zane’s radiant California good looks, she knew she wanted them both in her life. Yes, Lorenzo made her happy and so did Zane, but together, they made her complete. Somehow she had to ensure they felt the same way. After dinner she suggested they go for a walk on the beach. “It’s too soon to go home,” she begged. “We’ve been cooped up like prisoners in that house. Let’s live a little.”

Lorenzo glanced up at the darkening sky. A smattering of stars glittered over the ocean, and the beach was rapidly emptying. “I don’t know, Rachel. Pedro and Warren have been alone in the house for hours. We should get back.” “And we will in a few minutes,” she insisted, pulling him up from the table. “Come on, Lorenzo. I just want to wade in the ocean.” To her irritation, both Zane and Lorenzo continued to plan the documentary as they walked down to the shoreline. The night wind ruffled Zane’s silky blond hair; Lorenzo’s dark eyes were passionate with creative fire as he described his ideas for the opening credits. Rachel felt as if her mind was going to go numb. She was beginning to foresee just how this unusual relationship could go: Zane and Lorenzo watching football together, or playing video games together, or talking about cars together, all the while oblivious to her… Well, she had to put a stop to that right now. Just then, she spotted a primitive wooden structure twenty yards away on the sand— a lifeguard shack. At this time of night, it was deserted. She fell a few steps behind the guys as they drew near it, then quietly crossed the sand, climbed the steps, and went inside. The darkness within smelled of suntan oil and the ocean. As her eyes adjusted to the pale spill of moonlight coming through the lone window, she could see around her a small dinghy, a large inflatable raft, several life preservers and ropes wound around the ceiling beams, and bottles of sunscreen. Nothing too sexy in here, but that was okay. As she undressed, she could still hear the guys talking outside. “Picture this for the final credits: We get some really eerie music playing while showing old black and white stills of—hey, where’s Rachel?” She rolled her eyes as she heard Zane answer with genuine confusion, “She was just here.” It took them another half minute to work out her whereabouts. “Rachel?” Lorenzo called, opening the door of the lifeguard shack. “Come in,” she told them. “And shut the door.” Both men complied, closing the door and pausing as their own eyes adjusted to the dark. Then Rachel stepped naked into the spill of moonlight. “I’ve had enough ghost talk for one day,” she told them. She stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the effect of her bare breasts on their faces. “Uh…” Zane’s jaw dropped as his gaze ran up and down her naked body. Lorenzo got control of himself first. “Rachel, we didn’t know where you were. That was really irresponsible. We were scared.” Zane caught on. “Yeah. You shouldn’t have done that, Rachel.” She shrugged saucily. “Too bad. What are you going to do about it?” Lorenzo’s answer was immediate. “Punish you.” He stepped toward her and a delicious tingling began between her legs. Yet he ignored her and reached past her for something else. Bewildered, she turned in time to see him toss something to Zane. Rope. Then both men stepped forward and began to tie her hands to the beams that crisscrossed from the ceiling. “Hey!” she protested. Her arms were stretched wide open, leaving her feeling wickedly helpless and exposed. “Be quiet and take your punishment like a good girl.” Roughly, Lorenzo thrust his hand between her legs and began to play with her pussy. She struggled mightily against

the rope, but her arms were spread wide and tied securely. Instead, she tried to clamp her legs shut. She succeeded in trapping Lorenzo’s hand between her thighs. “Uh-uh, nice try,” he said, rubbing his palm against her sex until she moaned. “We’re in charge now, and you’ll come the way we tell you. Now. Spread your legs.” An incendiary wave of arousal saturated her body, centering in a shuddering vulnerability in her pussy. Shaking, she obeyed. Lorenzo resumed running his fingers up and down her folds. “Look how wet you are… You must really like this, Rachel.” He casually thrust two fingers into her slickness, making her sag against her bonds and moan. Immediately he withdrew his fingers and snapped them together. “No. Stand up straight or I’ll stop. Understand?” She nodded breathlessly. She would have agreed to anything to have his fingers probe her again with that sensual, rhythmic skill. After a torturous pause, Lorenzo softly pinched her clit. Rachel bit her lip and forced herself to stay steady as a delirious fire bloomed between her legs. His fingers slipped deep inside her again and began to trace delicious circles in her wetness, rubbing her sensitive G-spot. Her thigh muscles trembled as she fought not to react. Then Zane stepped up behind her and kissed the back of her neck. A shudder of longing swept her entire body. Somehow he found that one magical spot where the tender flesh of her neck met the top of her spine. His hot mouth sank into her skin, biting her with just enough force to make her shiver again. Then his hands slipped around her front, cupping her breasts with his callused fingertips. Rachel dropped her head back onto his chest and groaned with desire. Zane’s erection was pressing into her backside and it inflamed the spark Lorenzo’s fingers had ignited. Desperately she twisted her hips, yearning for both the man behind her and the man in front of her. Zane pushed her long hair over one shoulder and continued to bite and kiss her throat, setting off tremors of excitement in her skin. As Lorenzo sank to his knees before her, her thighs strained wider apart in anticipation of his mouth. But as his lips brushed over her sex, her breathless moan was cut off by Zane’s mouth on hers, kissing her so passionately in the dark that for a moment she forgot everything else. His hands squeezed her breasts as Lorenzo’s tongue danced nimbly over her pussy. Together the sensations were mind-blowing and, as she surrendered to the wild thrill racing through her blood, she sagged again from her bonds. Only then did she surrender completely to the storm of lust shaking her body—the ecstasy of Lorenzo’s soft hot tongue on her clit, and the feel of Zane’s fingers rolling her nipples. All at once, her bottled tension broke through her in an tumultuous orgasm; waves of ecstasy swept in a racy flush from her face down to her toes. Lorenzo sat back on his heels and looked up at her, his brown eyes burning in the darkness of the shack. He gave her wet sex a final kiss then stood up, his cock harder than she had ever seen it. “Are you okay?” he asked, stroking her cheek. She nodded breathlessly, too spent for words. As he untied her, she realized she was trembling from both her orgasm and the strain of her suspended arms. At last her arms were free and she collapsed against Zane’s chest. “Here,” Lorenzo said, and pulled the large raft she had spotted earlier to the floor. Gratefully she sank onto its inflated, buoyant surface. They joined her on either side and, for a few moments, she reveled in the warm hardness of both of them, Lorenzo on her left

and Zane on her right, each covering her body with hungry hands and fiery lips. Yet one specific desire was burning in her blood, and that was her need for Zane’s cock inside her. Ever since their night in the garden—since the first time she had laid eyes on him, really—she had fantasized about fucking him, and now that the opportunity was finally here, she couldn’t wait a second longer. She rolled to her right and straddled his hips, enjoying this replay of their initial encounter in the garden. Then, she had felt too guilty about cheating on Lorenzo to fully consummate her desire for Zane. Now his thick cock again throbbed in her hands, and this time, she intended to ride him to the hilt. Understanding her need, Zane wordlessly handed her a condom. Squeezing him just once, she rolled it over his engorged head and down his shaft. Then she raised herself up on her knees and smoothly lowered herself onto his cock, feeling him push inside of her like hot velvety marble. Rachel bit her lip, rocking back and forth on his shaft until her tightness embraced his entire length. Then she began to move faster, using her thigh muscles to ride him into a fast, delirious rhythm, the plunging stabs of his cock pushing her closer and closer to ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” Zane panted. His blond wavy hair spread out around his head like an angelic nimbus, his tanned face flushed with lust even in the dark. Rachel could feel the wet exertion on his skin as she leaned forward and balanced herself on his pectorals, bouncing faster on his shaft. Her pussy was flooded with desire, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she came for the second time. Abandoning herself to the pleasure of his thrusts, she fucked him as fast as she could move, the delicious friction of his cock sending her up into a spiral of bliss. Their sweat-slicked bodies moved expertly in tandem, her fingers slipping in the sweat of his chest, and then Zane grabbed her hips and pounded into her with a savage heat. A rush of lust roared through her and she came, shuddering and wet, over his cock. She paused for a moment, catching her breath as her head reeled with post-orgasmic pleasure. Then, very slowly and carefully, she lifted herself off Zane’s cock, turned around, and guided him back inside her as she faced the other way. Slowly at first, she began to move her hips until she was riding him backward. Lorenzo was stroking himself before her, his erection looking almost painfully swollen. Her sex-drunk eyes locked with his burning gaze as he watched her fuck Zane. Neither of them looked away and then she opened her mouth in an invitation Lorenzo immediately understood. He stepped forward and pressed the salty-sweet head of his swollen cock against her lips. She sucked him into the wet tightness of her mouth, pressing her tongue against his most sensitive nerve endings until he groaned and gripped her hair. Still riding Zane in a steady rhythm, she cupped Lorenzo’s balls and gently rolled them between her fingers as she worked her mouth up and down his shaft. The simultaneous fill of her mouth, hands, and pussy inflamed her, and she could tell by the rapid breathing of both men that they were unusually excited as well. Zane thrust into her hard and swiftly, holding her hips as he drove in and out of her deepest core. Lorenzo was holding her face in his hands, his gaze still locked on hers as she sucked him. Yet another need was still demanding her attention, and at last, she released his balls to reach down between her legs and stroke her clit, stoking the fire already raging inside her. “That’s right,” Lorenzo commanded softly. “I want you to come with my cock in

your mouth.” His whispered command took her over the edge, her orgasm ripping through her body like fire. Her pussy shuddered around Zane’s shaft with unrestrained, clenching delight. He squirmed beneath her in a helpless groan, holding her hips tight as he thrust into her with a final, forceful eruption. In response, Rachel tightened her mouth around Lorenzo’s cock, still looking up into his eyes as she tongued him rapidly. A moment later, his cum flooded her mouth as he gave a long, shuddering sigh of satisfaction. Gradually Rachel became aware of the pounding of the surf outside. She had no idea how long they’d been in the lifeguard shack, but she knew it was getting late. She leaned against Lorenzo as he helped her to her feet, still enjoying the pleasant aftershocks tingling inside her body. Her thighs and arms were still shaking, but she was too happy to feel anything but elation as she pulled on her clothes. Both men kissed her hair as they walked out of the lifeguard shack and into the cool ocean-scented night. For a while they sat on the damp sand, listening to the roar of the surf and looking at the stars. Rachel could only dream of the nights they would enjoy in Lorenzo’s Malibu beach house. Then Zane’s cell phone rang shrilly into the serene night. “Oh, hey,” he said after answering. He listened for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I know. Sorry, we lost track of time.” He listened again and said, “Okay. We’re on our way.” Rachel didn’t have to ask to know it was Pedro and Warren, the only crew members remaining at the house. She got to her feet, brushing sand from her legs as Lorenzo did the same. “Sorry,” Zane said, shutting off his phone. “The guys have been hearing a lot of weird noises at the house and they’re scared to go up and collect their equipment from the third floor. They actually won’t even go inside right now—they’re out by the pool.” It was time to go back to reality—the haunted mansion in Oleander Canyon where the sinister ghosts of dead movie stars awaited them. Yet Rachel no longer felt afraid. As they walked back to Lorenzo’s car, she felt protected and content between her two men. No doubt the last few days in the house would hold chilling surprises, but with Lorenzo and Zane at her side, she felt only confident about the future.

Chapter Eleven The night air felt chilly as they drove down the winding roads of Oleander Canyon. Summer was definitely coming to an end, and for once, she enjoyed the thought. It reminded her that school was starting in a week, and soon her worries would center around Victorian novels and critical papers, not the restless spirits of murdered celebrities. Furthermore, she would be studying in a palatial beach house in Malibu with not just one, but two hot and devoted men by her side. She could definitely tolerate a few spooks for that kind of payoff. Yet when they pulled into the driveway, she saw a nasty surprise she hadn’t counted on. An additional car was parked in front of the house—a car she knew very well. It belonged to her ex-boyfriend, Greg. Lorenzo saw it at the same time she did. “What the hell is he doing here?” he growled. He charged off into the house like a warrior. It would have amused Rachel if she hadn’t dreaded seeing her ex so much. She walked in the house to find Greg sitting in the living room with an earnest look on his face. He jumped up when he saw her. “Rachel, don’t say a word!” he begged. “I know you hate me, but I came here to apologize.” She uttered a short laugh of disbelief. “More like you came here because you want in on our film, Greg.” He shook his brown head furiously. “No, no. I mean, yes, I would like to be involved, but mostly I came here to make it up to you. I love you, Rachel. I can’t believe I hurt you the way I did.” Rachel rolled her eyes. Any response she wanted to make was cut off by Lorenzo charging toward him. “If you even think you have a shot with her, think again!” he snapped. “You’re not wanted here, asshole! Rachel’s with me now!” Greg’s face turned shocked—then pale as Zane added mildly, “And me.” He gave him a friendly wave. Greg’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it. Rachel’s a nice girl. She would never hook up with two guys.” “Greg, you can talk directly to me—and yes, this nice girl is ‘hooking up’ with two guys.” She flipped her long curly mane behind her shoulder and gave him a radiant smile. Her ex-boyfriend stared at her in confounded outrage. Then his face softened. “Rachel, I never cared about Stephanie. It was just sex. I still love you…” She laughed in disbelief. “Greg, give me some credit. I figured out why you slept with Stephanie—because her father has a top-rated sitcom and you thought you could use her connections. You’re the exact opposite of Lorenzo, who already has connections but doesn’t use them because he prefers to get by on his talent.” Lorenzo looked at her with affection and gratitude. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me,” he told her. They smiled lovingly at each other before she looked back at Greg. “And now,” she continued, “you’re here to try to cash in on our project. You obviously heard about this on the grapevine and came flying over here to see if you could hitch your wagon to our star.”

Greg shook his head furiously. “Rachel, I’m sorry,” he begged. “I’d do anything to make it up to you. But this is the opportunity of a lifetime, don’t you get that?” He turned to appeal to Zane, who seemed like the most neutral person in the room. “Tell her. Sometimes you have to put personal grudges aside, right?” “Sorry, bud, this is Rachel’s house and what she says goes,” Zane said. “Personally, I’m a lot more concerned with her comfort level than your professional opportunities.” “Ditto to that,” Lorenzo muttered. “Rachel, if you don’t want him here, just say the word and he’s gone.” Greg turned on him with a scowl. “Oh, like you’re going to do something about it?” Rachel was really enjoying this moment. “Greg, I really don’t care about your career—any more than you cared about my feelings as your girlfriend.” Greg’s face fell. “But,” she continued with a malicious smile, “there is a way you could make it up to me.” “Say it,” Greg begged. “I’ll do anything.” She pointed up the grand, curving staircase. ”The third floor. There’s still equipment up there and we need someone to go collect it.” Watching his eyes grow fearful, she added, “You said ‘anything.’” Greg’s mouth opened in incredulous despair. “But … Pedro and Warren said no one was allowed up on the third floor…” “Stay away from the balcony and you’ll be safe.” She didn’t actually know if that was true, given the limitless surprises this house seemed to have in store, but it was at least a helpful hint. “Look, if you don’t want to do it—fine. But everyone else has earned their chops on this project, and you’re going to have to do the same if you really want to work with us.” With a defiant glare, Greg set off up the staircase. They watched him go until they heard the door to the third floor staircase close. Then Rachel turned back to Lorenzo and Zane. “That’s one problem solved. So what’s on the agenda for tonight?” “Finding and removing the Shermans’ hidden cameras,” Lorenzo said immediately. “That’s the first thing we need to do. Zane, how do these things work? Can they broadcast to an offsite location?” “Unfortunately, yes,” Zane said. “Rachel, the Shermans already have intimate footage of you showering and changing and probably even having sex. I’ve been thinking about this all day. Assuming you want to sue them and get an injunction on using any footage…” “Oh, yes, I do,” she said fervently. “—then I think it would be best to get a lawyer in here before we start taking the cameras down. The more credible witnesses we have, the more solid your case.” “But…” Rachel felt helpless. “How can we get a lawyer tonight?” “We can’t,” Lorenzo said. “But we can get one first thing tomorrow. My family has plenty of legal contacts in the film industry. Let me go make some phone calls and I promise you, you’ll have a shark of a lawyer here tomorrow morning. Dammit, I wish we’d thought of this earlier.” He vanished into the study. Now it was just the two of them. Rachel glanced outside, where she could see Pedro and Warren, the remaining paranormal researchers, sitting

near the pool. Their faces looked tense in its dancing green light. She suspected they wanted to be out of the house as much as possible. Rachel looked at Zane. She could tell by the speculation in his blue eyes that he was thinking the same thing she was. “Last night…” she began softly. “…was on camera. Yeah, I thought of that this morning. Last night I got, uh, swept up in the moment.” Zane shrugged abashedly. “Don’t get stressed out over it, Rachel. We’re going to get every second of footage back.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe the Shermans did this to me. Zane, can they hear us right now?” “Theoretically, yes, if they were monitoring the cameras, but I doubt they are. No one has the time to spy on you 24/7. Most likely they’ll check the footage periodically, or pay someone to go through it.” He sighed and ran his hands through his rumpled blond waves. “But tonight…” She blushed, not wanting to admit she wanted even more sex than what they’d just enjoyed on the beach. Zane read her mind and smiled. “It’s okay. I took down the camera in your bedroom, although I can’t guarantee I found all of them. Those little detector devices aren’t foolproof.” A draft made Rachel shiver. “You know, it’s really getting cool out. Will you come upstairs with me so I can put on a sweater?” “I’ll do better than that,” Zane said. He picked up an iron poker by the cold fireplace. “I’ll build a fire. Let’s just relax tonight and forget about the ghosts.” “Sounds good. I’ll get a bottle of wine.” The house was serenely quiet as they collected three glasses and a bottle of Merlot. As she snuggled next to Zane on the sofa, she reflected that the tide seemed to be turning in her favor. Nothing supernatural or menacing had happened all day in the house; they were all amassing impressive ghostly material to fund their collaborative and separate projects. And best of all, her rat of an ex-boyfriend had had his face rubbed in her new, passionate threesome. She loved it. Lorenzo came out of the study. “All taken care of,” he told them. “My parents’ best lawyer will be here at eight a.m. sharp. He’s very intrigued with your case, Rachel.” A pleasant relief tingled inside her. Yes, things were finally going her way. “Thanks, Lorenzo.” He sank into the sofa on her other side. Now she was sandwiched between her two men with a bottle of wine as a fire roared with comforting cheer. Suddenly she felt reluctant to leave the house. Despite all of the terrifying incidents, it really was the most beautiful place she would likely ever call home. Perhaps somehow they could find a way to banish the ghosts… She mentally slapped herself as she realized the house had been affecting her mind again. The truth was, this place was fatally dangerous and she needed to move out as soon as they had enough material for the book and documentary. The French doors opened. “Um, guys?” It was Pedro, the quietest of the paranormal team. His face was somber and, for a

moment, Rachel’s muscles tightened with dread at whatever he was about to say. “Where the hell is Greg?” he asked. “He’s been gone a long time for just collecting a few cameras.” Oh, God. She had forgotten all about him up on the third floor. From the panic dawning in their eyes, she knew Zane and Lorenzo had forgotten him too. Everyone leapt up and ran to the staircase. “Greg!” Lorenzo shouted, taking the lead up the stairs. “Greg, answer us!” He threw open the door to the third floor staircase and charged up into the dark. That musty, oppressive scent filled Rachel’s nostrils as she followed. Zane kept a tight grip on her hand, and for that she was thankful, for the third floor was entirely unlit. Frantically, everyone groped for light switches that didn’t seem to work and shouted Greg’s name. “Greg! Are you still up here?” Rachel instinctively knew where he was—the lavish movie star bedroom at the end of the hall. The one that led to the balcony. “Greg,” she whispered in a trembling voice, moving down the hall in the dark. Despite all of her feelings of rage and betrayal, she had never wanted him to die. If he had jumped off the balcony, she would never forgive herself for sending him up here. “Greg, oh God, please answer.” Zane understood her line of thinking. He led them down the dark hall and into the bedroom, shining a pocket flashlight around the pale blue walls and satin bedspread. The door to the balcony was shut and the room was empty. Then Zane turned his flashlight into the adjoining bathroom. Greg was curled up motionless on the tiles. Quickly Lorenzo felt his pulse. “He’s alive,” he announced. Then, as he rolled him over, they gasped. Greg’s dazed eyes were open, staring into space as if completely unaware of them. “Greg! Greg, snap out of it!” Lorenzo slapped him across both cheeks. “Jesus, he’s in a trance. What could have happened?” “I don’t know, but we need to get downstairs fast,” Zane said. “I’ll help you carry him. Rachel, hold on to my waist and don’t let go.” They shuffled awkwardly through the hot musty dark, Pedro and Warren bringing up the rear. They were descending the narrow staircase when they all heard it—a rich, low laugh echoing deep in one of the bedrooms. “Just keep moving,” Zane instructed tightly. Rachel’s heart was hammering in her chest as she envisioned the door ahead of them locked in their faces—but Lorenzo kicked it open and they moved down into the well-lit safety of the second floor. From the corner of her eye, Rachel could see that dark red bloodstain splattered over the carpet and baseboards, but she ignored it, running down the curving staircase to dial 911. As she gave her address to the operator, she realized it was the second time she had called for emergency help in the last twenty-four hours. Zane and Lorenzo set Greg’s motionless body down by the fire. “What could have happened?” Lorenzo kept asking. “He’s catatonic. Greg, snap out of it! Come on, bud, wake up!” “Um, guys?” Pedro said. Rachel looked up to see that he and Warren had collected the third floor cameras. “It’s on film.” “What?” Zane, Rachel, and Lorenzo exclaimed together. “I’ll show you.” Pedro’s hands were shaking badly as he opened the display feature of the video camera and played the footage.

All of them watched as whoever held the camera moved silently down the dark hall. Why had Greg been filming when he was so scared? Rachel wondered. Yet then the camera turned into one of the third floor bedrooms to illuminate Greg, searching for the equipment. With an icy stab of terror, she realized someone—or something—else had been holding the camera. That person came closer and closer to him, until he turned. His face drained of color and his eyes grew wide with terror as the camera drew closer. His jaw opened and Rachel could tell he was struggling to scream. Then the film went dark. “Oh, fuck,” moaned Warren. “We’re not alone in this house, man. There’s something up there.” “Up there? It could have come down here when we were up there!” Pedro said frantically. “Guys, guys—calm down!” Zane said. “Take it easy. We’re all together now. Let’s make decisions rationally.” “Sorry, Zane,” Warren said. “But I told you this place was dangerous. I’m out of here. I’m not even taking my stuff.” “Ditto,” Pedro added, and the two of them ran for the front door. In the silence following the slam of the door, the only sound was the merry crackle of the fire. “Looks like it’s just us now,” Lorenzo said finally. The three of them looked at each other. Despite her pounding heart, Rachel couldn’t help admiring the play of firelight over their handsome features. Both of them looked so brave and resolute that she drew strength from their courage. Then she realized Zane and Lorenzo were only looking at each other. The two men seemed to be communicating by eye contact. “I think we’re thinking the same thing,” Zane said. Lorenzo nodded. “Rachel, we’re out of here. Tonight. We’re not going to risk your safety.” A deep sense of relief washed over her. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she had been fighting her basic urge to leave this place and never look back. Now that she knew she would be sleeping somewhere else tonight, all of her repressed terror and trauma flooded to the surface. She dropped her head on Zane’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But Lorenzo—the cats…” “Rachel, we’ll take the cats. Let’s just pack up and go.” The prospect of searching every room in the house for Jade and Samson did not appeal to her. With Zane at her side, she went into the kitchen, then loudly snapped open a can of cat food. Her idea worked; within moments, both cats ran eagerly into the kitchen. Immediately Rachel scooped up Samson’s warm furry body and Zane scooped up Jade. They had just carried them out to her car when the flashing red lights of the ambulance came wailing up through the canyon. It felt like an eerie replay of the previous night as she led the paramedics into the house. Apparently one of them had been on shift last night; he looked up briefly from their efforts over Greg. “What the hell are you people doing in this house? Drowning last night, catatonic guy tonight … don’t you know this place has a reputation for being haunted? Everyone who lives here either dies horribly or goes insane.”

“We know,” Rachel told him shakily. “We’re leaving tonight.” “Should have never been here in the first place,” he muttered, then helped take Greg’s stretcher out. The door slammed and the flashing lights of the ambulance disappeared out of the canyon. Now the three of them were truly alone in the house. The grandfather clock jumped to eleven o’clock and began to bong out eleven strikes of its chimes. Lorenzo inclined his head toward the stairs. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll just grab a few things and go. We can all come back in a big group to collect everything else later.” It sounded sensible to Rachel. Still bracketed between them, she headed up the stairs and found her unpacked shopping bag of lingerie and shoes from yesterday. She filled the bag with clean shorts, underwear, bras, and a couple of tops, along with her toothbrush and makeup. Downstairs she would pack some cat supplies and that would be it. Around her, Lorenzo and Zane hurriedly grabbed jeans, T-shirts, razors, and little else. Then the front door slammed downstairs. They all looked at each other in surprise. Everyone else had abandoned the house. Had Todd, the cameraman, returned? “Rachel? Rachel, are you here?” a female voice called. It was Beth. What was she doing here? Terrified, Rachel ran out of the bedroom and halfway down the stairs. “Beth, get out of here! We’re leaving and…” She stopped. No one was in the living room. The first floor was still empty. Upstairs, her bedroom door slammed shut and locked. Cold, crawling fear spread down her skin like the march of a thousand tiny spiders. She turned and looked up the stairs at the locked door. Somehow she knew Zane and Lorenzo hadn’t shut it. “Rachel! Rachel, we can’t open the door!” yelled Lorenzo. “Get out of the house!” “No!” she screamed back. “I’m getting you out of there!” She ran back up the stairs, then stopped. A dead man lay in the second floor hall. Clad in a satin paisley robe and slippers, his half-destroyed skull was a mess of blood and brains. Rachel knew immediately it was the corpse of Tony Reynolds. All of the breath went out of her as the dead man began to stir and rise to his feet. Her throat went tight with fear. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. Yet Tony’s shattered face turned toward her with a half-ruined smile. Rachel backed up, holding the curving iron railing for support, then ran downstairs as fast as she could. Lorenzo and Zane were pounding on the locked bedroom door, their screams drifting down the stairs. She bolted for the fireplace and picked up the heavy iron poker Zane had used earlier. Living or dead, this would ward off anything. She gripped the poker in her hands, determined to face Tony’s corpse, then realized her bare toes were sinking into the carpet, as if it were wet. With distaste, she lifted her feet from the saturated rug. She looked down to find herself standing in the midst of a rapidly growing bloodstain. A steady drip filled her ears. Then something made a tinkling noise, like the movement of a chandelier. Slowly she forced herself to look up. Bluish bare feet filled her vision; a bloodsoaked nightgown clung to lifeless legs. The hanged and bloody corpse of Christy Cole swayed before her. She began to scream in mindless terror even as a loud clattering sounded in the kitchen. Zane came

running toward her. “Get out of here, Rachel!” he yelled over her screams. “I’ll get Lorenzo!” She swung the poker at him, knowing it was just another trick of the house. It had imitated Beth, and now it was imitating him. “Rachel, it’s me!” he yelled. “I came down in the dumbwaiter, but Lorenzo’s too tall! Just get out of the house. I’m going to get Lorenzo out!” “You can’t!” she screamed and pointed at Tony Reynolds’ corpse, smoothly descending the staircase. Zane picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and ran for the front door. The coolness of the night washed over her like a blessed bath, and then Zane dropped her on the grass and ran back in. She rolled onto her side, holding herself and sobbing. She could barely process what she had just seen. All she knew was that a vision of hell was coming to life in that house and she had to escape. “I told you you shouldn’t be in there.” The dry, hopeless voice filled her with dread. She looked up through tear-blurred eyes to perceive short bleached hair and empty eyes. It was Lisa Hachey, Christy’s Cole half-mad daughter. Lisa stood amidst the blue agave bushes, looking up at the house without expression. “All these years I thought my mother was still in there,” she said. “And now I know it’s just a hellhole that wanted me to die here like everyone else.” Rachel struggled to her feet. Her heart was still pounding, and she felt sick to her stomach. “Lisa,” she managed to gasp. “What are you doing here?” “What I should have done a long time ago,” Lisa said, and walked into the house. For the first time Rachel saw the gasoline and matches in her hands. With a sickening lurch, she realized exactly what Lisa intended to do and began running after her. “Lorenzo!” she screamed, running after Lisa. “Zane! Get out! Get out now!” Both men met her at the door. Lorenzo swept her up into his arms and carried her roughly down the driveway, depositing her in his Jaguar. He jumped in and peeled out of the driveway as Zane did the same in his battered truck. “The cats,” she sobbed as he parked a safe distance down the street. “They’re in my car.” “I’ve got your keys.” Lorenzo hopped out and ran back to the driveway. She climbed out of the car on shaky legs. The sky over Oleander Canyon was bright, too bright for nearly midnight, and as she rounded a curve of the road, she saw the flames. The towering Spanish mansion was on fire, flames bursting from every window. She watched, speechless with amazement, as the third floor balcony collapsed in a shower of sparks. Lorenzo drove her car safely down the road, then joined her and Zane as they watched the house burn. The wail of fire trucks was already winding through the canyon, but she instinctively knew the house was beyond saving. Lorenzo pulled her to him with a protective arm as the fire trucks screamed up the street. “Everything I own is inside there,” she whispered tearfully. “All of my clothes, my books, my TV…” “I’ll buy you everything new,” Lorenzo assured her. “What’s important is that you’re safe.”

Zane was more somber. “You can’t replace all the footage and evidence we lost, Lorenzo. Think about it—all of our equipment and notes are in there.” The three of them fell silent then in crushing disappointment. Rachel wanted to scream. Even in its demise, the house had won. All of their terrifying escapades had been for nothing. Her book, the documentary, Zane’s study—they were as irretrievably lost as the mansion burning before them. The fire chief approached them for a statement. Lorenzo’s words were momentarily drowned out as Lisa emerged victoriously from the burning house, her face and clothes black with smoke, screaming wild accusations to the sky. Two police offers seized her and locked her in a cruiser as Oleander Canyon neighbors slowly gathered in the road. “Good riddance,” hissed one woman. “That place should been razed to the ground long ago.” Then all of them were distracted by the arrival of another car twisting up the Canyon. Rachel’s jaw dropped as she saw Leo and Phyllis Sherman emerge. “Rachel, Rachel, what have you done to our beautiful home!” Phyllis wailed, clasping her hands together. “We trusted you, and look what you’ve done!” Rachel broke away from Zane. “Shut up!” she screamed. “This was never your home! I know exactly how you set me up, and I’m going to sue you for every last penny, you evil bitch!” The Shermans shrank back, then caught sight of Lisa in the police cruiser. “Oh dear,” Phyllis murmured as they realized what had happened. Lorenzo’s dark face was contorted with fury. “So you’re the heartless bastards that did this,” he growled. “I’d rip your worthless bodies to pieces if these cops weren’t here. As it is, I will use every connection my family has to make you suffer the rest of your lives.” The tiled roof of the mansion collapsed. The house was a roaring inferno, its flames licking at the Hollywood sky, as the firemen directed their hoses in futility. The wind had carried the fire to the garden and drier scrub brush, and all the neighbors were casting nervous glances at their own homes. Yet despite the loss of her belongings, Rachel could only feel relief that the cursed spirits who had haunted its rooms for so many years would finally be expelled. Or would they?

Chapter Twelve “Come on, Rachel. We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.” Zane’s voice was tinged with lust and impatience. “Yeah, no kidding. You’re going to wind up naked anyhow—come on,” Lorenzo growled. A late summer rain was pouring down over Malibu, drumming against the windows of the beach house in a steady, sensual rhythm. To counteract the gloom, a cheerful fire roared inside Lorenzo’s lushly appointed living room. Both Zane and Lorenzo waited restlessly before the flames as Rachel primped in the bathroom. She hadn’t told them what she was doing, and they were both growing frustrated. “It’ll be worth it…” she called. She bent over before the mirror and patted a little color into her soft lips, then brushed out her long chestnut curls again. When she was satisfied that she looked as sexy as she possibly could, she walked into Lorenzo’s spacious living room and stood before the fire. “Wow,” Zane said at last. From the looks on their faces, she guessed it was worth it. Rachel stood before them in high heels, sheer black thigh highs and the first garter belt she had ever owned. A black whalebone corset pushed up her breasts into two creamy mounds on the verge of overspilling their cups. She could feel the heat of the flames beating on the bare skin at the top of her stockings. “Wow?” she repeated disdainfully. “Is that the best you can do?” Lorenzo reached for the garter belt, but she stepped out of his grasp. “I don’t think so. At least Zane made an effort to compliment me.” “And I did. And you do. Look hot, I mean,” Zane rambled. “You look great. I mean, you look awesome. Like a goddess. Like a…” She put one high heel up on the sofa and brushed her lace-covered crotch against his face. His mouth sputtered into silence, then began to move against her, tonguing her through her lingerie. “Good boy.” Rachel bent over to kiss Zane’s silky blond head, then cast a disapproving look at Lorenzo. “You could learn a lot from him.” “Fuck that,” Lorenzo scoffed, coming toward her. “He could learn a lot from me. Watch and learn, guy.” He pulled Rachel confidently into his arms, but she pushed him away and embraced Zane again. “Sorry, Lorenzo. Your turn to watch.” She sprawled out onto the sofa with her legs spread, inviting Zane between her open thighs. In less than a second, he was eagerly pushing her lace G-string to the side and running his tongue hungrily up her pink, glistening folds. Rachel smirked at Lorenzo, whose tanned face was rapidly growing dark with lust and annoyance. “Yes… just like that,” she purred as Zane’s tongue began to slide into her with unprecedented enthusiasm. Reclining comfortably on the pillows beneath her, she liberated her erect nipples from the cups of the corset and began to caress them under Lorenzo’s frustrated gaze. “This isn’t fair,” he growled. “He gets you all to himself because he said ‘wow’?”

She squeezed her breasts, enjoying the cool pliant feel of her own flesh. “You aren’t helping your case.” She closed her eyes and surrendered for just a moment to the delicious wiggle of Zane’s talented tongue inside her. But she was too physically excited to relax just yet. She needed something more vigorous. Lorenzo made a noise of impatience. “Rachel, come on. You know I think you look great. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Just let me touch you.” She reared up on her knees, letting her long hair fall down over the corset. Obediently Zane rolled over so that she was straddling his face, and resumed his oral homage to her pussy. Lightly she began to grind against his mouth, reveling in the skill of his lips and tongue. She cupped her breasts and smiled at Lorenzo. “You look horny,” she taunted him. “Is this what you want?” She pushed her breasts together. He charged toward her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “I still haven’t heard you apologize.” She could almost hear the aggravated thought flash through his brain—apologize for what? As his dark eyes smoldered with frustration, she took pity on him. With a sweet smile, she trailed her fingernails up his thigh until his muscles clenched beneath her touch. Then she looked into his eyes and unzipped his jeans. Immediately Lorenzo shoved them down to his knees and stepped out of them. She grasped the hard warmth of his cock and sucked it into her mouth. He let out a prolonged sigh of gratification as her tongue worked his shaft, licking and sucking him until he throbbed in her mouth. A tangy drop of pre-cum greeted her, tantalizing her for the reward she knew wasn’t far behind. She looked up and, seeing the loving awe in his dark eyes, began to suck him in and out with a firm grip on his shaft. She hadn’t choreographed the evening’s events precisely, but she did know she wanted it to last for a very long time. She was determined to make both of her men as happy as they made her. Lorenzo’s voice was tight. “Keep sucking me like that and I’m going to come in ten seconds.” Still locked on his eyes, she sucked him faster, her lips sealed tightly around his head. Beneath her, Zane was tonguing her clit with wide, hard strokes and her pussy felt as if it were melting into warm honey. She knew she couldn’t concentrate on Lorenzo much longer before she succumbed to the power of Zane’s mouth, and she was determined to make him come first. But as she looked up at him, at his ruffled black hair and gorgeous Spanish eyes, all of her feelings for him swept through her in an incandescent wave of desire. A wet, shuddering climax broke between her legs and she moaned around his cock. Lorenzo gripped her jaw. “Don’t stop,” he commanded softly. Still reeling with lust, she rhythmically sucked his head until his cum spurted deliciously over her tongue. Rachel released him from the wet grip of her mouth, then collapsed back on the sofa, freeing Zane from her thighs. He leaned over her, his mouth swollen and wet with her juices. “I’m feeling a little left out here,” he said. He tugged down the black corset until her breasts were fully exposed. She reached lazily for his cock. To her pleased surprise, he had removed his pants while she was sucking Lorenzo. “No one’s leaving you anywhere,” she assured him. Leisurely they began to kiss. As Zane settled himself against her, she stroked his

erection with a firm but languid rhythm. The pulsing hardness in her hand told her he had been waiting on a slow burn for quite a while. To reward his patience, she reached for a condom and slipped one leg around his waist, then guided him into her sex. “Ohhh,” Zane sighed deeply. “You feel so good, Rachel…” She wanted to tell him the same, but the sensational friction of his cock left her breathless. Instead, she held him tighter and worked her hips against him, reveling in the delight of his slow, steady thrusts. His chest was graced with a fine sheen of sweat, which clung to her corset. Part of her was dimly aware Lorenzo had left the room, but Zane felt too good inside her for her to worry about his jealousy right now. Zane slid deeper into her core, making her moan, then pulled out. He held still for an agonizing pause. “Fuck me,” she begged, twisting beneath him. He pushed deeply into her, filling her with his satisfying heat, then withdrew again. Anxiously she clawed at his back, demanding fulfillment. “Stop doing that!” she commanded, but Zane only laughed, kissed her, and fell backward on the sofa. Wild with frustration, she climbed on top of him, her breasts spilling freely from the corset, and firmly locked him between her thighs. “Oh, you look so sexy like that,” Zane sighed. “Do I?” she murmured. Taking him in her hand, she straddled his cock and slowly sank onto him until he drove deep into her wet, clinging heat. As his swollen head rubbed inside her, she dropped her head back and moaned. Two hands slipped around her front and began to feel her breasts. “Yes, you do,” Lorenzo murmured, kissing the back of her neck. Feeling him kneel behind her, his hard body against her back, aroused Rachel even more. Lorenzo’s fingertips circled her nipples as Zane began to thrust harder from the sofa. He bounced her on his hips, making her cry out from his increasingly rapid thrusts. “I’m going to come,” she moaned. No sooner had she spoken than a wave of sexual joy drenched her body, her pussy squeezing him relentlessly as Zane rammed her with ceaseless urgency. She leaned forward and steadied herself on his chest, her body shaking from the intensity. Zane held her hands against his pecs. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “Just let me fuck you.” She felt Lorenzo’s hands holding her hips immobile as Zane relaxed his tempo to drive slowly in and out of her, pushing her still-tingling pussy toward another relentless orgasm. Then she felt something cool and slippery against her backside. She started in surprise as Lorenzo began to massage her from behind. “What are you doing?” she gasped. “Lorenzo, I don’t… I haven’t…” “It’s just lube, Rachel. Relax, I won’t do anything you don’t want.” She did her best to obey him, concentrating on the gratifying feel of Zane’s stiff cock between her legs even as Lorenzo’s fingers slowly rubbed that unfamiliar part of her body. She had never tried anal sex, and she couldn’t imagine liking it. But to her surprise, the soft circles he was tracing just inside her ass actually felt good. She bravely leaned forward on Zane, offering more of her ass to Lorenzo. He was spreading more of the lube inside her, following it with two of his fingers, and the cool probing sensation was surprisingly exciting. When she felt the engorged tip of his condom-wrapped cock against her, she bit her lip and readied herself for the pain. Slowly he pushed into her virgin tightness, stretching her tender tissues until she cried out. Then

he waited until she adjusted to the wickedly new sensation, and slowly inched in deeper. At the same time, Zane drove into her pussy. Rachel closed her eyes, filled with both men’s cocks. For a moment she was aware only of the novel sensation of being so completely filled, and then Zane and Lorenzo began to move inside her, thrusting together to fill her body with a wild, thrilling fire. She gasped, her every nerve singing with excitement as they fucked her at the same time. Lorenzo was still holding her breasts, Zane spearing into her pussy from below, and every inch of her skin was wet and trembling with elation. As both of them moved against her, relentless as the surf, a euphoric rapture began to build in her blood. Lorenzo’s cock moved steadily and rhythmically inside her, in tempo with Zane’s cock, and then Zane reached forward and began to slowly rub her clit. A voltage of incomparable heat electrified Rachel’s body. She shuddered with intense bliss as she fell back against Lorenzo, her head thrashing back and forth on his shoulder. Then Zane and Lorenzo grunted and exploded inside her at the same time. Together the three of them collapsed in a wet heap. Gradually Rachel became conscious of someone stroking her hair. “I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Lorenzo asked tenderly. She shook her head. She was aware of a faint soreness, but it paled in comparison to the tingling aftershocks of her orgasm. “Just a little. It felt good.” He kissed her bare shoulder. “Yes, it did.” As the sound of the crackling fire filled the room, Rachel realized the rain had stopped. She ran her hands over Zane’s silky hair, thinking this was the most erotic afternoon of her life, and yet knowing that many more awaited her in her future with these men. A month ago, she never would have dreamed of having sex with two men at the same time. Now she couldn’t dream of life without them. Zane and Lorenzo hadn’t just made her dreams come true—they had fulfilled fantasies she hadn’t even dared to dream. Zane extricated himself from their bodies. “I hate to break the mood, guys, but I’m starving. Anyone else feel like a pizza?” Rachel headed off to change into clothes while they dialed a local parlor. Her thighs were still shaking and her bottom was a little sore, but her entire body was suffused with a feeling of satisfaction. She joined them on Lorenzo’s wind-worn deck overlooking the ocean just as the delivery boy rang the doorbell. The rain had left a faint rainbow over the still-restless waters, but the air was still cool. A seagull waited eagerly on the railing, his head cocked; she threw him a bit of pizza crust, despite a warning look from Lorenzo. Down on the sands she caught sight of a famous TV actress walking her dog, but she turned away. She’d had enough of celebrities to last a lifetime. “It’s funny,” Rachel said, removing a melting strand of cheese from her slice, “but not one of us can cook to save our lives. Since I met you both, my life has been take-out central.” Lorenzo shrugged. “Who cares? We can afford it.” Rachel and Zane exchanged a knowing look. “Uh, you can afford it,” Rachel said. “I just lost my every last possession in that fire, remember? I have to buy a whole new wardrobe just to start.” Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “You know I’ll help you out. Besides, you’re going to get a

massive settlement from your lawsuit against the Shermans…” “Assuming they have any money to win.” “—and you’re going to write a best-selling book on the whole affair that will get you a huge advance. And I’m going to release the coolest paranormal documentary of all time,” Lorenzo predicted as he bit hungrily into his pizza. “So don’t sweat it.” Rachel exchanged another look of mutual understanding with Zane. She loved Lorenzo, but there were times he definitely chose to ignore reality. “Lorenzo … all of my notes burned up in that fire, along with all of your equipment. I might be able to write my book from memory, but all of Zane’s evidence and your footage are gone.” He threw her a defiant, challenging look. “We don’t know that for sure. The firemen said they still weren’t done searching the ruins.” Rachel didn’t respond. She knew that it had to be hard for Lorenzo to admit their project was dead. For all of his twenty-eight years, fate had always gone his way, depositing money, sex, and success in his lap. Now his dream project was ruined and his career forestalled. Yet it was probably best to let him come to that realization on his own. The beach house doorbell sounded again. This time Zane headed in to answer it. A few minutes later he gave a shout of joy that brought them running. “Check this out,” he exclaimed joyfully. “That was the fire department. Rachel, you did lose most of your clothes, but our equipment survived the fire! I can't believe it!” “What?” Rachel cried. She pushed through them to view the impossible. She saw her laptop, smudged with smoke, but otherwise in pristine condition. Quickly she grabbed it and powered it up, anxious to check the state of the hard drive. Lorenzo and Zane were doing the same to the cameras, tape recorders, and other equipment. “They’re all in perfect condition,” Zane murmured. “Un-fucking-believable.” “So is my laptop,” Rachel said in astonishment. “All of my files are fine.” “Toldja!” sang Lorenzo. His eyes were glowing. “Fame and fortune is ours, guys. Our project is going to rock the world.” Something about the words fame and fortune gave Rachel an uneasy feeling. It was just too incredible that all of their delicate computer and electronic equipment had survived such a destructive fire. Yes, this could be their ticket to the big time… And yet they wouldn’t be the only ones getting famous, would they? Tony Reynolds, Christy Cole, even poor drowned Vivian Delaney and suicidal Stuart Winters would all be getting a new celebrity lease on life just like they had always wanted… Suddenly she wondered if just luck had preserved their equipment, or if a more sinister force was responsible. Zane slid his arms around her. “Why do you look so serious? This is good news, Rachel.” “Oh, I know,” she told him. “It just occurred to me that if the book and film do end up well-known, so will Tony and the rest…” Lorenzo waved her idea away. “So what? The house is just a charred pile of ruins now,” he said arrogantly. “The ghosts have no power anymore.” She couldn’t help remembering that Beth had expressed the same belief once—and had been immediately taught otherwise. But Rachel decided to put such gloomy thoughts out of her mind. She was living in a gorgeous Malibu beach house with two of the sexiest men any woman could ever want. She was going to be happy. ****

The day before the semester began at UCLA, Rachel drove up into Oleander Canyon to see the scorched ruins of the fire. It was silly, but she wanted to see again for herself that the monstrous mansion was truly destroyed. As she pulled up to the end of the canyon, she saw the smog-covered sky of Hollywood where once a Spanish revival home sat up on the hill. She smiled and pulled into the driveway. The acrid smell of burning stucco and wood still lingered in the air; charred rubble was all that littered the ground. She stared at the black smoldering ruins and considered that Lisa Hachey had ultimately made the wisest choice of all of them. Then a movement in the rubble caught her eye. She glanced back. For just a moment she saw a man in a paisley robe and slippers watching her from the ruins. Then he was gone. She shivered. Quickly she put the car in drive, and left Oleander Canyon. The End About the Author: Veronica Wilde is an erotic romance writer whose work has been published with Liquid Silver Books, StarDust Press, and Samhain Publishing. A copywriter by day, her true passion is writing fiction—particularly anything related to the paranormal. She currently resides in Arizona with her boyfriend and three cats. Please e-mail Veronica at [email protected]

Meet LSB Authors At The House Of Sin Lsbooks.NET We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books LSbooks.com for other exciting erotic romances. 2007: Terran Realm Urban fantasy world: TerranRealm.com Featured Series: The Zodiac Series: 12 books, 24 stories and authors Two hot stories for each sign, 12 signs The Coven of the Wolf by Rae Morgan Benevolent lusty witches keep evil forces at bay Fallen: by Tiffany Aaron Fallen angels in hot flight to redeem their wings The Max Series by JB Skully Meet Max, her not-absent dead husband, sexy detective Witt, his mother… And many, many more!