up a camera in each room. I’m going to do this one solo since the house isn’t that big.”
When he filmed in notorious haunted locations that were huge, like museums or old hospitals, he took a cameraman with him. But it made for great TV if he could say he was locked up in a haunted house overnight completely alone.
“Good. I saw a bar in the center of town called The Bar. How’s that for original? I’m going to sit on my ass on a stool there and watch football.”
“You know how to party.”
Darius started up the front walkway, picking carefully through the crunchy snow to his three hundred thousand dollar mistake. But it wasn’t so much the money that bothered him. Money he had a lot of. More than he knew what to do with. It was the fact that he didn’t believe in any kooky shit, and this house represented the moment of weakness when he’d allowed himself to believe in signs. Signs, for chrissake. All because he’d wanted to fall in love.
It was so stupid and corny he winced and wanted a shot of testosterone every time he thought about it.
Stomping his boots on the front step, he turned the doorknob and stepped into his gingerbread-trimmed albatross.
It was time to firmly put aside the image of the dark haired beauty who clearly didn’t exist and do his job.
Merry goddamn Christmas to him.
Bitter. Definitely.
ABBY grabbed her backpack and moved to the pocket doors that led to the foyer. She hid slightly behind them and paused, anticipation high, throat tight.
When he stepped inside, the light from the moon casting a glow behind him, she wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or satisfied. It really was him. The same man she’d been seeing in her head for five years. The man she was supposed to live in this house with.
Finally, he was in front of her, and looking as sexy and gorgeous as he did in her dreams. He had a military jacket on, the kind that looked both hot as hell and was weather resistant, and she knew beneath that he would have a rock solid chest with six-pack abs. She’d felt those abs, virtually. She didn’t know his name, but she knew his body. Had touched every inch of it.
There was snow on his boots and he stomped them a little, before lifting his head up and taking in the entryway of the house. Abby had the advantage in that her eyes had adjusted to the dark an hour earlier. Even if he looked to the left, he probably wouldn’t see her in the gloom. Though she had no intention of staying hidden. She was going to set down her backpack and saunter forward. In the moonlight their eyes would meet. They were going to make love on this floor and then she was going to marry him sooner than later, just like her sister had with Ian. It was in the tarot cards.
What wasn’t in the cards was him saying, “Fucking pile of wood.” He glared at the walls, like he was talking to the house.
That didn’t sound right.
Nor was it right that another guy was coming in the door behind her guy. Who the hell was he?
“Hey Darius, is the electricity on at all?” the second guy asked the first.
Darius? The guy in her dreams was Darius? That wasn’t right. Not right at all.
“It’s on. We can start the boiler up too. I’m guessing it has a switch. I want to start filming by midnight.”
That definitely wasn’t right.
Hell no was her dream guy Darius Damiano, the ass who had strong-armed her sister out of this house.
Horrified, her jaw somewhere around her knees, Abby stood frozen for a second. This couldn’t be happening. She had refused to watch his stupid TV show on principle, but she’d seen the commercials. She’d always thought that Darius was the loud guy they showed egging the spirits on, the one with shoulders like Bluto from Popeye. The other guy blended into the background in a series of white flashes and glowing night vision eyes, a greenish blob in various dark hallways. She’d never gotten a good look at him.
This must be him, the background blender. He was Darius. What.
When he filmed in notorious haunted locations that were huge, like museums or old hospitals, he took a cameraman with him. But it made for great TV if he could say he was locked up in a haunted house overnight completely alone.
“Good. I saw a bar in the center of town called The Bar. How’s that for original? I’m going to sit on my ass on a stool there and watch football.”
“You know how to party.”
Darius started up the front walkway, picking carefully through the crunchy snow to his three hundred thousand dollar mistake. But it wasn’t so much the money that bothered him. Money he had a lot of. More than he knew what to do with. It was the fact that he didn’t believe in any kooky shit, and this house represented the moment of weakness when he’d allowed himself to believe in signs. Signs, for chrissake. All because he’d wanted to fall in love.
It was so stupid and corny he winced and wanted a shot of testosterone every time he thought about it.
Stomping his boots on the front step, he turned the doorknob and stepped into his gingerbread-trimmed albatross.
It was time to firmly put aside the image of the dark haired beauty who clearly didn’t exist and do his job.
Merry goddamn Christmas to him.
Bitter. Definitely.
ABBY grabbed her backpack and moved to the pocket doors that led to the foyer. She hid slightly behind them and paused, anticipation high, throat tight.
When he stepped inside, the light from the moon casting a glow behind him, she wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or satisfied. It really was him. The same man she’d been seeing in her head for five years. The man she was supposed to live in this house with.
Finally, he was in front of her, and looking as sexy and gorgeous as he did in her dreams. He had a military jacket on, the kind that looked both hot as hell and was weather resistant, and she knew beneath that he would have a rock solid chest with six-pack abs. She’d felt those abs, virtually. She didn’t know his name, but she knew his body. Had touched every inch of it.
There was snow on his boots and he stomped them a little, before lifting his head up and taking in the entryway of the house. Abby had the advantage in that her eyes had adjusted to the dark an hour earlier. Even if he looked to the left, he probably wouldn’t see her in the gloom. Though she had no intention of staying hidden. She was going to set down her backpack and saunter forward. In the moonlight their eyes would meet. They were going to make love on this floor and then she was going to marry him sooner than later, just like her sister had with Ian. It was in the tarot cards.
What wasn’t in the cards was him saying, “Fucking pile of wood.” He glared at the walls, like he was talking to the house.
That didn’t sound right.
Nor was it right that another guy was coming in the door behind her guy. Who the hell was he?
“Hey Darius, is the electricity on at all?” the second guy asked the first.
Darius? The guy in her dreams was Darius? That wasn’t right. Not right at all.
“It’s on. We can start the boiler up too. I’m guessing it has a switch. I want to start filming by midnight.”
That definitely wasn’t right.
Hell no was her dream guy Darius Damiano, the ass who had strong-armed her sister out of this house.
Horrified, her jaw somewhere around her knees, Abby stood frozen for a second. This couldn’t be happening. She had refused to watch his stupid TV show on principle, but she’d seen the commercials. She’d always thought that Darius was the loud guy they showed egging the spirits on, the one with shoulders like Bluto from Popeye. The other guy blended into the background in a series of white flashes and glowing night vision eyes, a greenish blob in various dark hallways. She’d never gotten a good look at him.
This must be him, the background blender. He was Darius. What.
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