Read Online The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) by Brenda Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brenda Hill
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helped her under the covers and sat down beside her.
“Now tell me everything.”
She began from when she set her book down and told him everything except the intimate details of the lovemaking. It was lovemaking, she realized, remembering the gentle touch that made her feel more alive than she could ever remember. Whoever he was, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, she was sure of that. Instead, he was offering pleasure.
Pleasure? He? He who? That was crazy. No one had been there. She shivered and pulled the covers to her chin.
“And when I opened my eyes—”
“When you opened your eyes,” Eric repeated. “That’s the key. You’d had several glasses of champagne, and since you don’t drink much—”
“I only had two glasses, Eric. I hadn’t even touched the third one yet, so I was not tipsy.”
“Okay, you must’ve fallen asleep and been dreaming. Couple that with the champagne. That’s the only logical explanation.”
“Not everything was a dream! I woke up when he, when—” she broke off. She didn’t want to tell Eric she’d felt an erection.
“Think back, honey. You said you tried to read but put the book down, and you lay back and closed your eyes. You even said you dozed.”
“Search the house, Eric, please. Search everywhere. Just to make me feel better.”
She listened closely while he checked every bedroom and even the bathroom once more before going downstairs. She heard him open and shut the front door, then she heard nothing more until he yelled from downstairs that everything was locked up for the night. When the sound of footsteps ascended the stairs, she tensed.
“Eric? Is that you?”
“It’s okay, honey.” He walked around the landing to their bedroom. “Nothing there.”
“Did you check the attic?”
“There’s no one here, Lindsay. I assure you.”
“Please, just for me.”
He sighed. “All right. Then I’m coming to bed.”
In a short time he was back in the bedroom peeling off his clothes. “I don’t know what it is about the attic, but I just don’t like it up there.”
“Maybe it’s because the lighting’s different. Or it could be the sloping roof.” She held the covers for him, and after he undressed, he climbed in beside her.
“Honey, I’m beat.” After giving her a quick kiss he wrapped his arms around her and was soon snoring softly.
She cuddled into him, secure in the safety of his arms, but she couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t think of anything but what had happened in the bathtub.
The amber numbers of her bedside clock read one in the morning, then two.
Was it actually possible she’d had been dreaming? Could something that had felt so real been a dream?
Since no one had been in the house, it had to have been a dream, although she didn’t fully believe it. She had felt him, felt his lips on her breast, had felt his erection—and she’d wanted him with a passion she had never known.
My God, what was wrong with her?
Was she so sex-starved that she’d invented a phantom lover?
She and Eric hadn’t made love in months. Yet, while she was curious about his decline in interest, she had to admit her desire for him had faded as well. She still loved him dearly, and she believed he loved her, so what was the problem? What had caused both of them to lose their desire for each other?
She’d felt exquisite desire in the attic that first evening, and then again tonight in the bathtub, desire so intense she nearly climaxed, something she didn’t experience with Eric.
But no one was there—at least anyone she could see.
What was going on? Something was. It couldn’t all be her imagination.
It had to be something about this house.
Starting tomorrow, she’d find out everything she could about the history of the Peterson home.
Finally at daybreak, when the birds started their morning chirping outside her window and the dawn brightened their bedroom enough so she could see that no one was in the room with them, she closed her
“Now tell me everything.”
She began from when she set her book down and told him everything except the intimate details of the lovemaking. It was lovemaking, she realized, remembering the gentle touch that made her feel more alive than she could ever remember. Whoever he was, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, she was sure of that. Instead, he was offering pleasure.
Pleasure? He? He who? That was crazy. No one had been there. She shivered and pulled the covers to her chin.
“And when I opened my eyes—”
“When you opened your eyes,” Eric repeated. “That’s the key. You’d had several glasses of champagne, and since you don’t drink much—”
“I only had two glasses, Eric. I hadn’t even touched the third one yet, so I was not tipsy.”
“Okay, you must’ve fallen asleep and been dreaming. Couple that with the champagne. That’s the only logical explanation.”
“Not everything was a dream! I woke up when he, when—” she broke off. She didn’t want to tell Eric she’d felt an erection.
“Think back, honey. You said you tried to read but put the book down, and you lay back and closed your eyes. You even said you dozed.”
“Search the house, Eric, please. Search everywhere. Just to make me feel better.”
She listened closely while he checked every bedroom and even the bathroom once more before going downstairs. She heard him open and shut the front door, then she heard nothing more until he yelled from downstairs that everything was locked up for the night. When the sound of footsteps ascended the stairs, she tensed.
“Eric? Is that you?”
“It’s okay, honey.” He walked around the landing to their bedroom. “Nothing there.”
“Did you check the attic?”
“There’s no one here, Lindsay. I assure you.”
“Please, just for me.”
He sighed. “All right. Then I’m coming to bed.”
In a short time he was back in the bedroom peeling off his clothes. “I don’t know what it is about the attic, but I just don’t like it up there.”
“Maybe it’s because the lighting’s different. Or it could be the sloping roof.” She held the covers for him, and after he undressed, he climbed in beside her.
“Honey, I’m beat.” After giving her a quick kiss he wrapped his arms around her and was soon snoring softly.
She cuddled into him, secure in the safety of his arms, but she couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t think of anything but what had happened in the bathtub.
The amber numbers of her bedside clock read one in the morning, then two.
Was it actually possible she’d had been dreaming? Could something that had felt so real been a dream?
Since no one had been in the house, it had to have been a dream, although she didn’t fully believe it. She had felt him, felt his lips on her breast, had felt his erection—and she’d wanted him with a passion she had never known.
My God, what was wrong with her?
Was she so sex-starved that she’d invented a phantom lover?
She and Eric hadn’t made love in months. Yet, while she was curious about his decline in interest, she had to admit her desire for him had faded as well. She still loved him dearly, and she believed he loved her, so what was the problem? What had caused both of them to lose their desire for each other?
She’d felt exquisite desire in the attic that first evening, and then again tonight in the bathtub, desire so intense she nearly climaxed, something she didn’t experience with Eric.
But no one was there—at least anyone she could see.
What was going on? Something was. It couldn’t all be her imagination.
It had to be something about this house.
Starting tomorrow, she’d find out everything she could about the history of the Peterson home.
Finally at daybreak, when the birds started their morning chirping outside her window and the dawn brightened their bedroom enough so she could see that no one was in the room with them, she closed her
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