Knowing

Jael Gates

Description

Natalie Dane is struggling. Against the advice of friends and family, she embraced selling real estate, a career that's gone nowhere fast. In fact, the owners of her agency have issued an ultimatum: sell the McAdoo House or clear out your office. The problem? The structure in question is over one-hundred-years old, seriously run down, and, according to potential buyers, has an odd feel to it. Enter Simon Grayson, a man with questionable experience in haunted houses and talents no sensible person should trust. Worse, he's clearly oblivious to Nat's figure flaws, an attitude that flatters as much as alarms her. Focused on saving her career and struggling with low self-esteem, she has used her busy days as an excuse to avoid men. Simon, with his easy smile and blatant compliments, could easily break down her emotional barriers. She knows she'd be smart to avoid him. But times are hard, and Natalie is desperate--so desperate that she hires the guy in spite of his charm and good look.Can Simon work his magic not only on the house, but on the woman trying to sell it? And what will happen when the job is done and it's time for him to ride his Harley into the sunset?

Informations

• Publié par: Uncial Press
• Date de parution: 01 janvier 0001
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781601741271
• Langue: English

Extrait

KNOWING
A Sensual Novel Byte
 
By
Jael Gates
 
 
Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon 2011
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are productsof the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Anyresemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-127-1 ISBN 10: 1-60174-127-8
Knowing Copyright © 2012 by Linda Varner Palmer
Cover design Copyright © 2012 by Judith B. Glad
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work inwhole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known orhereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
Prologue
"I hate being so needy," I told Simon Grayson, who sat at the other end of his brownleather sofa. It looked as used as his cluttered office. "And this has an ew factor thatonly makes things worse."
"You're human, Miss Dane. All of us need someone every now and then."
"Under the circumstances, you should probably call me Natalie."
"All right, Natalie."
I took a deep breath, still battling the residual humiliation of having just told acomplete stranger exactly what my need was. "This is beyond embarrassing."
He grinned, which brought a twinkle to his dark chocolate eyes. "I get that all thetime."
"No one can know. No. One. It would ruin me on a lot of levels."
Natalie Marie Dane, what are you thinking? You should be ashamed! I gavemyself a mental shake, trying to clear my head. Thanks to twenty-seven years of parentalmicromanaging and censure, I could too easily imagine Mom's reaction to this, my latest iffydecision. Never mind that I hadn't seen her since college graduation, when I fled Chicago to get alife of my own.
"I'm very discreet," Simon told me. "Have to be in this line of work."
I nodded and continued twisting a strand of my honey-blond hair, something I onlydid when nervous. "Your price seems a little high."
Simon casually brushed a piece of lint off his jeans, faded to pale blue at the goodspots. I saw he wore biker boots in keeping with his Harley-Davidson tee. All he needed was aleather vest or some chaps. Oh, and a bandana do-rag to keep that mop of brown hair fromgetting more tousled. "Trust me. I'm worth it."
"Can you guarantee one-hundred percent satisfaction?"
"One-hundred-ten, actually, or your money back."
That made me laugh. I liked his confidence, not to mention the amazing bicepsstretching the sleeves of his T-shirt. And the bonus? His charisma. I also felt an unexplainableconnection that I hadn't really expected to feel until after. I abruptly came to a decisionand handed that gorgeous hunk of manhood a slip of paper I'd prepared in advance. "Meet me atthis address at nine tonight."
He glanced at it, then oh-so-slowly raised his gaze to meet mine, pausing on my good spots as he did. There was plenty to see, unfortunately. At the moment, theterm hourglass figure described my body build way too accurately. "Definitely lookingforward to it."
"Well that makes one of us." I slapped my hand over my mouth. "Oops. Did I saythat out loud?"
A sexy chuckle was my only answer.
Chapter One
I was pacing the grassy front yard of the McAdoo House when I finally heard SimonGrayson's bike roaring down the road. I watched him turn the Harley into the drive, where hekilled the powerful engine. The sudden silence deafened me for a second, then I heard the nightagain--an owl, a cricket, the bark of a distant dog. Friendly sounds of an Ohio autumn at oddswith the reason for tonight's tryst. I watched him get off that motorcycle and open one of thesaddle bags to take out a backpack. Tossing it over one shoulder, he turned and headed towardme. I met him halfway, a little distracted by what I could see of him in the dark, which wasmostly the shadowy silhouette of his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. I guessed hisage to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty.
"I'm insane to be doing this."
He shook his head. "Actually, you're damn smart. Once I'm done, the house will havea different feel to it. I predict a sale in no time."
I so wanted to believe his psychic skills would solve my dilemma. Though onlinereviews sang his praises, I'd never really believed in a sixth sense, so had serious doubts aboutthe whole house-cleansing thing. But I was way past desperate now, and he was my lastresort.
"So what do we do first?"
"I always start with a walk-through to help me customize the ritual."
"No need." I dug into the purse dangling from my right shoulder to find a piece ofpaper I'd been given the day before. "I have some information about the place that was obtainedfrom the library Wednesday morning." I offered him the notes I'd been given yesterdayafternoon.
He wouldn't take them. "I prefer to experience it firsthand. Alone would bebest."
Alone, huh? Suddenly suspicious, I shook my head. "I'm coming with you."
He gave me a speculative look, but didn't argue, so I turned and led the way to thehouse. Three-stories high and spookier than Shirley Jackson's Hill House, it loomed a few yardsahead. The blue-moon night, naturally dark, enhanced the overall gloom and doom of the place,as did the ancient oak trees, their bare limbs reaching down for the roof. Reluctant to go inside atnight, I actually considered giving Simon unaccompanied access, but only for a nanosecond. If Ididn't watch him do his thing, I'd always doubt that he'd done it.
Or maybe I just wanted to rub elbows with him for a while. He smelled amazing, andI hadn't been this close to a guy in so damn long. Well, one that wasn't trying to buy a greathouse dirt cheap, that is. The wooden planks of the porch creaked beneath our feet as weapproached the front door. I felt a stab of regret that descendants of the original owners had letthe structure get so rundown before trying to sell it. The McAdoo house must've been amazing inits heyday. Now it needed many, many repairs, fresh shingles, and several coats of paint.
Simon turned to me. "Sure you want to do this?"
"Why? Are you getting negative vibes already?"
He shrugged. "The house definitely has a unique presence."
"Then no, I don't want to do this, but I have to. A lot rides on unloading thisplace."
"Starting with your job."
I looked at him in surprise. How could he know that?
Simon motioned toward the door. I dug an old-time skeleton key from my purse andstuck it in the rusty lock. The thing opened with a click and groan so eerie it set my teeth onedge.
"Relax," he said, though I was sure I'd kept my cool, at least on the outside. "There'snothing in here but the residual energy of dead people, lots of dead people."
"Thanks. I feel so much better."
Since there hadn't been electricity in there for years, we relied on flashlights as westepped into the foyer. I smelled dust and mold, mixed with the stench of a decaying rat or bird,and made a mental note to bring air freshener next time I came. "So...what do you think?"
"Please don't distract me with questions," said Simon. "I'll share my impressions aswe go."
"Excuse me." Contrite, I tugged self-consciously at my Wilson Realty tee and gavehim the run of the place by slipping behind him. He moved into the vast living room to our right,directing the wide beam of his flashlight across the sagging floor and up the papered walls,peeling and water stained. Shadows lurked and lurched everywhere the light wasn't, but alwaysin my peripheral vision. I resisted the urge grab Simon's hand.
He pointed to the brick fireplace. "I see a young man standing over there. He died inthis room, a crime of passion. It was actually a relative--no, his father-in-law--who shothim.