Love & Ghosts: Crescent City Ghost Tours Page 9

  “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “It would be a waste of time.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  Determination creased her brow as she merged into the fast lane. “I’ll text Robert. Maybe he can still find the key. If not, I’ll try another locksmith. Or break it open, I don’t know. I have to know what’s inside. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “I can tell. You should call Madeline too. If she can put you in touch with Dreamboat, maybe he can get your mind off the box.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sean flipped his sketchbook shut and laid it on the nightstand. The blonde ghost finally came through fully in his dreams last night and was even able to utter a word. Though “help” wasn’t the most helpful thing she could’ve said. Of course she wanted help. At least now he had a good sketch of what she looked like when she was alive. He could give it to the police if she wanted help finding her killer or her body. But it didn’t seem like that was the kind of help she needed. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him the spirit wasn’t recently dead, which made her appearance to him even more mysterious.

  He slipped on his shoes and shuffled into the dining room. His gaze landed on another sketchbook, and he couldn’t fight the smile tugging at his lips. While the other book contained mostly images of spirits he saw in his dreams, this one was filled with portraits of Emily. She’d been on his mind constantly all week, and he was finally going to see her again. In a private place, where they’d actually have time to talk.

  He ran his finger across his latest sketch of her in her white lab coat, stethoscope hanging around her neck, a timid smile curving her lips. He still had a little pain in his ass where she jabbed the needle in so hard, but that was his own fault for taunting her. She was just so damn sexy when she got all worked up.

  He closed the book, slid it on a shelf behind the table, and glanced at his watch. If he was going to make it to his mom’s by ten-thirty, he needed to leave. Turning, he stepped away from the table and smacked right into a frigid ball of energy. Ice seemed to claw through his body, ripping its way from front to back as he passed through the spirit. A sickening feeling formed in his stomach, and his entire body trembled and shivered as the energy dissipated from his system. He fisted his hands at his sides and pressed his lips together. He’d opened himself up to this, and it was time to shut it down.

  He turned around to find the blonde ghost standing in his dining room, her bulging eyes and rope-burned neck vibrant as ever. Her face still held the same strangled expression, but this time she managed to raise an arm to reach for him.

  He took a step back and a deep breath to quell his frustration. “This.” He gestured to her and then to his house. “Is not okay. You can’t follow me inside my home.”

  She lowered her arm and stared at him.

  “And I can’t help you while you’re in this condition. You’re too weak to communicate.”

  The spirit opened her lips and mouthed the word help.

  “Yes, I know you want help. But until you can build up enough energy to tell me what you need help with, there’s not much I can do. I can’t help you cross over. That’s not in my skill set, so if that’s the kind of help you need, you’d best look somewhere else.”

  She stood there and stared.

  “Showing yourself to me all the time is draining what little energy you have.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t want to do this, but I’m going to have to block you for a while. You need to leave my house, go do whatever it is spirits do to gain more energy, and come back when you can tell me what you need.”

  He stepped toward the door, and the ghost floated in front of it, blocking his exit. If he could get the spirit out of his home, he could block her from his consciousness. At least for a while. “Please leave. I don’t want to force you out.”

  She didn’t move. He glanced at his watch. Ten twenty-five, and he still had to pick up the champagne for the mimosas. “I have somewhere to be, and I do not want to step through you to get out my door.”

  The spirit only tilted her head.

  “All right. You asked for it.” He opened a drawer and grabbed a bundle of sage. Lighting one end, he waved the burning herbs in the air, wafting the smoke toward the spirit. “I asked you nicely. Now I’m ordering you. Leave my home.”

  The spirit’s expression contorted with even more pain, and she disappeared.

  “Finally.” He extinguished the burning herbs and clamped down on the channel the ghost had used to communicate with him. He’d open himself up to her again in a few days. Hopefully by then, she’d either be stronger, or she would have found someone else to help her with whatever she needed. Now he could focus his attention on the living.

  * * *

  “Thanks for inviting me over for brunch, Madeline. I appreciate it.” Emily set her purse on a table in the foyer and followed Madeline into the sitting room.

  “It’s my pleasure. Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you. I’m good.” She looked at her seating options. Two straight-backed, cream-colored chairs sat across from a pale-yellow loveseat. She walked toward one of the rigid-looking chairs, but she thought better of it and opted for the sofa.

  Madeline held a hand over one of the chairs and smiled. Then she moved to the other and sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Have you had any luck running into your Dread Pirate?”

  Warmth spread through her chest, and she gazed at her hands in her lap. “About that. The way you talked about him at the ball, it sounded like you knew him.”

  “Oh, I know him very well.”

  She cleared her throat. “Do you know him well enough to… I mean, would you mind giving him my phone number and asking him to call me? If you think he’d be interested in seeing me again?” What was she doing? She felt like a shy teenager trying to convince a friend to talk to a boy for her. She might as well write “Do you like me? Circle yes or no” on a sheet of notebook paper and slip it under the desk.

  “I think he would be very interested.” An amused grin lit on Madeline’s lips, and Emily couldn’t bear to hold her gaze.

  Instead, she focused on a portrait on the wall behind Madeline. The woman wore a burgundy high-necked dress reminiscent of the early 1900s, and her dark hair was piled on top of her head with shiny ringlets hanging down to frame her face.

  Madeline followed her gaze and rose from her chair. “Do you like it? Come have a look.”

  Emily stepped closer to the portrait and admired the artistry. The smooth lines and careful attention to light and shadow reminded her of the picture from the masquerade. The signature in the bottom right corner confirmed her suspicion. The initials SPL were barely discernable from the rest of the portrait.

  “This is by the same artist who did the one that went for five thousand dollars at the ball, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. He’s very talented, isn’t he?”

  She had to agree with her there. The artistry was incredible. Almost lifelike. “Yes, but the picture at the ball was supposedly of ghosts. Is this…?”

  “She was my husband’s great-grandmother, Lenore.”

  “Oh.” Cool relief washed through her system. “So the artist based it off an old photograph or painting?”

  Madeline laughed. “The only portrait we had of Lenore was done when she was fifteen years old.”

  “Where did this come from?” The woman in the picture appeared to be in her early forties.

  “This is how her spirit showed herself to him.”

  Emily clamped her lips together and refrained from making a comment. Too many people in this city believed in ghosts, and she’d have to talk until she turned blue before she could convince them their beliefs were based on nonsense. It had taken her long enough to convince herself. “How much did you have to pay to have it commissioned? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Nothing, of course.”

  “Of course?”

&n
bsp; “I’d be offended if my own son charged me for a portrait of our ancestor.”

  “Your son drew this?” Her gaze landed on the signature. SPL. SP LeBlanc.

  “He did. And I hope you don’t mind, I invited him to brunch with us today.”

  S LeBlanc. Sean LeBlanc.

  The front door opened.

  Her stomach dropped.

  Madeline clasped her hands beneath her chin. “He’s here.”

  “Momma?” Sean called from the foyer.

  “In the sitting room.”

  His footsteps echoed on the polished wood floor, and Emily rested a hand against the wall to steady herself.

  “Hey, Momma. Here’s the champagne.”

  Madeline kissed her son on the cheek and took the bottle. “You’re late.”

  His gaze locked with Emily’s, and a familiar smile played on his lips. “Hi, Emily.”

  She tried to speak, but her voice came out as a squeak. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Hello.” She cast her gaze to the floor. Sean LeBlanc was Madeline’s son. How could she be so stupid? She’d touted herself as being an analytical mind, but she’d quickly dismissed any notions that connected Sean to his mother or the man she met at the ball. And she knew exactly why. Every time she looked at him, her thoughts scattered like light hitting a prism. She couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him, much less a logical thought. That had to stop.

  “A LeBlanc is never late,” Sean said to his mom. “Everyone else is just early.”

  “That line only works for this LeBlanc.” She pressed a hand against her chest. “You are late.”

  “Sorry, Momma. What’d I miss?”

  “I was just showing Emily your portrait of Lenore, but she doesn’t believe you drew her spirit.”

  He followed Madeline to a wet bar in the corner of the room. “It’s okay. She doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

  Emily shuffled to the loveseat and lowered herself onto the cushion. Her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. She didn’t have much faith in her knees at the moment either.

  Madeline filled three flutes halfway full with orange juice, and Sean popped open the bottle of champagne. “Would you like a mimosa, Emily?”

  If he didn’t stop saying her name like that, she would go into cardiac arrest. “Just orange juice, please. I have to work later.”

  “As you wish.” He handed her a glass and settled onto the loveseat next to her. Angling his body toward her, his knee brushed against hers, shooting a tingling sensation right to her chest.

  She started to pull away, but she stopped herself. She was acting like a shy teenager again. What was wrong with her? She’d wanted to see him, and here he was. She might as well make the best of it.

  “How’s your arm?”

  “Still sore, but it’s getting better. I didn’t count on my ass hurting this long, though.” He raised his eyebrows accusingly and sipped his drink.

  “It can take three or four days for the pain to go away completely. Is it bruised or swollen?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want to check?”

  She held his challenging gaze. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  Holy moly, she was turning to putty again. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from those intense dark brown eyes.

  Madeline sat in the chair across from them. “I woke him up every two hours, like you ordered, and let me tell you, Sean is a grump when he doesn’t get enough sleep.”

  He glanced at his mom. “You’re one to talk, Momma.” He turned to Emily. “She’s more grizzly bear than human before she has her coffee in the morning.”

  “Hush, Son. That’s not true, Emily.”

  A bell chimed in another room, and Madeline rose to her feet. “I’m going to check on the quiche. You kids talk amongst yourselves for a bit.” She sashayed out the door.

  Emily stared straight ahead. Her body hummed with electricity. A static charge seemed to build around her, making her arm hairs stand on end. Her thigh still rested against Sean’s, and the heat radiating through their clothes sent more heat pooling in other parts of her body. But a chill ran down the back of her neck.

  Sean cleared his throat and shook his head. The electric feeling dissipated, leaving only the warmth behind. What a strange sensation. She sucked in a deep breath and looked at him. She would not let this man scatter her thoughts to the wind again. She wanted answers.

  “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

  He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa. “What did I know?”

  “Who I am. That we met at the masquerade.”

  A smile played on his lips. Those soft, kissable lips. His kiss would be even softer now that he’d shaved the Westley mustache. Oh no. She was staring at his mouth. His smile widened, and she forced her gaze to his eyes.

  “I did. And I’m a little offended you didn’t recognize me.”

  She shifted in her seat. “I suspected, but I thought you’d be blond.”

  “Blond?”

  “Your head was covered. I imagined you with light hair like the character.”

  “Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “I’m not disappointed.” Quite the opposite. “But why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  He took a deep breath as his gaze traveled over her face to linger on her lips. Was he replaying that magical kiss in his mind like she was? “I was going to at the ghost tour, but then you ran away.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “And your hands were shaking bad enough at the clinic. Would you have been able to sew me up if I dropped a bomb like that on you?”

  She straightened. “I’m sure I could have.”

  “Well, you know now, and that’s what’s important.” His gaze met hers, and she felt her body drifting toward him. She fought the urge to lean into his side and rest her head on his shoulder. Setting her glass on an end table, she folded her hands in her lap.

  Sean set his glass down and put his hand on top of hers. “Have dinner with me.”

  “Umm…” A yes tried to escape her lips, but she bit back the answer. His hand was warm and soft and strong. An artist’s hand. She’d never dated an artist before. She normally went for the intellectual type. For routine. Stability. Dating Sean would certainly be an adventure.

  But he thought he could see dead people, and she would not allow herself to get involved in that again. She couldn’t. He seemed sane enough…but so had her sister in the beginning.

  “I don’t know, Sean.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Just dinner. That’s all I’m asking for.”

  She took a deep breath and shook her head. Well, maybe one dinner wouldn’t hurt. It would give her a chance to gauge his sanity, at least. To see how far his obsession with the so-called spirit world ran.

  “I know what the problem is.” He picked up her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “You’ve forgotten how attracted you are to me.”

  She laughed. Like that could happen.

  He tugged her arm toward his body, tucking his elbow inside hers, securing his hold as if afraid she’d run away. “I think you need to kiss me again.”

  Her body involuntarily drifted toward his as she arched an eyebrow and tried to play it cool. “Oh, you do?”

  “Yeah. Before you say no to dinner, kiss me. If you don’t feel fireworks, we don’t have to go out.”

  She didn’t need to kiss him to feel that kind of burn. Just looking at him lit her fuse. But if he thought they needed to kiss, she’d play along. “Fireworks, huh? That’s asking a lot.”

  “I wouldn’t accept anything less.” He leaned toward her, his masculine, woodsy scent drawing her in, holding her captive. “What do you think?”

  Oh, yes. She was going to kiss him. But first, she’d make him work for it. She leaned away. “Here? In your mom’s house?”

  He pursed his lips and glanced at the empty chair. “You’re right. That’s weird. Le
t’s go outside.” He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her through a doorway into the kitchen. Madeline leaned against the counter, sipping her mimosa and grinning.

  “I’m going to show Emily your garden, Momma.”

  “Okay. You kids have fun. I’ll let you know when the food’s ready.”

  She had a hunch the food had been ready for some time, but Madeline was too busy playing matchmaker to bother with it.

  * * *

  Sean pulled Emily through the back door and led her down the porch steps into the yard. Her hand slipped from his grasp, and she turned a circle on the stone path.

  “Wow. This is so pretty.” She stepped toward a stone fountain bubbling by the fence. A mermaid sat atop a rock, pouring a bucket of water into the basin below. Towering oak trees created a canopy over their heads, and vines of ivy climbed up the metal fence behind the fountain. He’d sketched that setting dozens of times, always in awe of the way the sculptor had captured the splendor of the scene. But it paled in comparison to the beauty standing before it.

  He stepped back and watched her admire the surroundings. She was dressed for work in tan slacks and sensible brown shoes. A pale blue sweater hugged her curves, the shallow V-neck giving him a modest peek of the soft flesh beneath. She’d tied her red hair into a knot on top of her head with two chopsticks sticking out at opposing angles, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. The sunlight glinted in her eyes, shone in her hair. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he’d have been happy to just look at her all day.

  She turned and stepped toward him. “This garden is amazing.”

  “You should see it in the spring when everything’s in bloom.” He moved toward her and brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

  “I bet it’s beautiful.”

  “Very.” He glanced over her shoulder, where a silhouette of his mom darkened the window. He could’ve handled kissing Emily in the sitting room, in front of the ghost Lenore. But having his mother watching through the window… That wasn’t going to work.