Hot and Haunted

Hot and Haunted by Megan Hart, Saranna DeWylde, Lauren Hawkeye Page A

Book: Hot and Haunted by Megan Hart, Saranna DeWylde, Lauren Hawkeye Read Free Book Online
Authors: Megan Hart, Saranna DeWylde, Lauren Hawkeye
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Steve, and Madeline too, but I couldn’t. Kyle had left for yet another business trip earlier that day, and I no longer had a way of contacting my ex.
    I wanted to scream. Someone had to pay, had to share this feeling of madness that was descending upon me.
    Though I was already sitting on the floor, I collapsed the rest of the way, curling into a ball, the prickles of the carpet poking uncomfortably against my skin. I allowed my mind to wander free, searching for a course of action that would make me feel better, would act as a release valve for the unbearable pressure in my soul.
    Kyle was out of town, would be for the night, which meant that I couldn’t confront him in person for nearly twenty-four hours. The thought of waiting, of keeping all of these emotions inside, nearly made me scream.
    I would go see him. No, I would stay here. I would go out. Oh, how could I decide when my head was so full?
    I knew one thing for certain, however. Something had to give, or I would explode.

 
    Chapter Four
    “ W HY?”
    Shaken out of my thoughts, I shot Brody a look designed to make him feel even more naked than he already was, with his pants down around his ankles. Naked, and a little bit foolish too. Under my glowing gaze he hastily reassembled his clothing, hitching his jeans back over his hips, beginning to rebutton his shirt. I watched, calmly, as he struggled in the narrow confines of his seat.
    “I like to read, too.” It took him a minute before he realized what I was referring to, that I was continuing our conversation from before . . . well, just from before. He made a noise of encouragement as he looked wistfully at the wine bottle. My eyes followed his, and I wished quite desperately for something cool and wet to ease the discomfort of my parched throat.
    I supposed that I could just go stand outside and open my mouth if I got really desperate.
    I wondered what he was thinking. Wondered if he was at all impressed by any part of this woman that I’d dreamed up. I was sure that he was perplexed—his face showed that clearly enough. And after all, who could blame him? One minute I was in his lap, writhing away; the next, I was attempting to engage in a fairly intellectual discussion.
    He snorted, as if following my train of thought. I can almost hear the word that followed.
    Women.
    “Do you think your boyfriend will come back for you?” Brody was fidgeting so much by that point, the entire situation so strange, so unreal, that I was sure he was beginning to wish that I was gone and that he was once again on his way.
    “Why?” I tilted the seat back and saw that it was still pouring outside, whipping droplets through the crack in the window, tiny beads that landed on my collarbone and mingled there with my salty sweat. Inside my head, I snorted with derision.
    Kyle didn’t yet know that I was gone, and likely wouldn’t until he got home from his trip. Failure to communicate on any meaningful level during his absences was a habit of his.
    “Anxious to get rid of me? Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?” I laughed, mirthlessly, angry all over again. Having seduced this stranger hadn’t made me feel any better—not inside, at least. But the feel of his skin on mine had made me forget everything but him, at least for a few precious minutes.
    I wanted more.
    Shaking his head no in answer to my question, Brody placed a hand on my shoulder, a hand that I shrugged off irritably, disgusted with myself.
    “I was only thinking that if your boyfriend comes back looking for you, maybe he can help us get the car out of the ditch.” I wanted to scream. It was true, I could see it was true, but it was only a half-truth. The full truth was that he really couldn’t handle my mood swings, and those, combined with my bizarre behavior over the course of the evening, had him wanting, desperately, to call it a night.
    Almost as much as he wanted, perversely, to continue his evening with this fascinating woman. With me. Me, yet

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