Excerpt of Phantom Pleasures by Julie Leto

Alexa Chandler closed her eyes. The stone against her back, so cold only moments before, suddenly warmed. The heat eased through the thin layer of her clothes and ignited her skin. She could feel the green-gray eyes of the man in the portrait staring down at her. Into her.

Her step-brother stepped nearer, his gaze darting with annoyance to the portrait as if the man were intruding on their conversation. “Are you crazy? You want me to leave you here alone?”

Fingers of warmth curled around her shoulders. Alexa allowed her head to drop forward and the sensations smoothed over her neck, then eased down her spine. Yes, she wanted to stay. Yes, she wanted to be here alone.

“Alexa?”

Jacob grabbed her arm and tugged her away from the wall.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Alexa shook her head. Wrong? Nothing was wrong. Was it? She was simply tired. Overwhelmed by her experience earlier in the helicopter and now in the castle.

“Look, you’ll only be gone for a few hours, right? The Coast Guard knows I’m here and I have the portable GPS. I can activate the distress signal if I need to and our friends will come running, I’m sure. And I have my phone.”

“I just lost the signal on mine,” he said, his expression incredulous.

Guard dog.

“A cell, not satellite. And you had the phone working long enough to hear the complicated and business-threatening tales of woe from Boston. If I call you and all you hear is ‘help,’ get here quick, okay? I’ve got water and supplies. Just come get me before dark.”

His eyebrows slanted together at a hard angle. “I can’t just leave you here.”

“Why not?” The farther she walked onto the landing, the more the warmth seeped out of her, the clearer her mind focused on the possibilities of the castle as a Crown Chandler resort property. The stairs would be polished, the cracks repaired. Lush tapestries would keep out the drafts and keep in the cool air that seemed trapped in the stone walls. She’d insist on electric or gas powered torches to provide light and just enough ambience to keep the shadows sufficiently spooky.

This could work.

She just needed time alone to concentrate. To allow the ideas to flow uninterrupted.

She spun and lifted her chin. “Just take care of business on the mainland and let me do my stuff here.”

Jacob made no move to leave.

She stared at him intently.

He groaned. “There’s no arguing with you when your chin tilts up that way.”

She smiled. He was right.

“I’ll be back in two hours, no less,” he promised, jogged down a few steps, then returned, removing a necklace from around his neck. “Wait. Wear this.”

Alexa eyed the offering warily. She wasn’t sure she’d seen Jacob wear this particular trinket before--a gold triangle with a jagged corner, as if ripped off a larger design.

“What’s this?”

“A talisman,” he answered.

She crossed her arms.

He rolled his eyes. “Take the damned thing, Alexa. It’s for luck. I’m betting this charm kept us from falling out of the sky today on that helicopter.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need a good luck charm.”

He thrust the necklace at her. “Take it or I’m not leaving.”

Alexa knew how to assess an opponent. From across a board room table or on the landing of an ancient castle staircase, she could estimate with amazing accuracy when someone would back down and when they would not. Jacob had correctly assessed her stubbornness a moment before. Now, he was the one who wasn’t budging. Which meant the crisis at Crown Chandler would only snowball. Sunlight would slip away. Her chance to roam the castle halls would be lost.

She yanked the necklace out of his hand and while he watched, twisted the chain around her neck.

“There,” she said. “Satisfied?”

After a quick kiss on her cheek, Jacob told her to be careful and left.

Instantly, Alexa turned to the painting. Fingering the triangle now dangling from her neck, she approached the portrait with soft, measured steps. The closer she came, the more intensely her body reacted. Her chest tightened. Sweat curled along the back of her neck. Her breathing shortened. His eyes seemed to rake over her. She jolted when her nipples hardened in response.

Whoa.

She stopped. “Just who are you?” she asked the painting.

Touch me and find out.

She staggered backward, then spun around. The door at the bottom of the stairs remained firmly closed. The voice had been a whisper in her ear, a hot breath along the nape of her neck...and yet, she was alone.

Alexa swallowed hard and turned sharply. She hadn’t come this far to be afraid. She marched to the canvas and balanced her fists on her hips.

“Say again?”

She waited.

Nothing.

“Just when things were getting interesting, you turn shy?” she quipped.

His expression remained stoic, unchanged, but his eyes brimmed with wild fury like thunderclouds rolling over white-capped waves. Even through the layers of grime coating the canvas, masking what she anticipated was a rich depth of color, he intrigued her at the same time that he unnerved her.

She shrugged out of the silk shirt she’d worn over a lacy chemise and approached the canvas.

Hung high, the painting remained mostly out of reach. She stretched on her tip-toes and flicked the shirt at the corners, removing most of the powdery dirt and spider webs that had accumulated on the surface and in the corners of the once gilded frame. With a shiver, she tossed the ruined material to the floor, but admired her handiwork nonetheless.

He was gorgeous. The fire of male strength and power had been captured in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, in the broad width of his chest. The fabric and detail in the cut of his clothes reflected money. Perhaps, influence. The time period eluded her, but she’d have experts tackle that question. She was more concerned with who he was--and if he was the man she’d seen in the window. Was he the type of man who would defy time, space and perhaps, death?

She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Who are you?

She ran her fingers over the frame. Once again, she felt a surge of warmth. Funny. Ghosts were supposed to announce their presence with cold, weren’t they? Clearly, this was no ordinary spirit.

Or she was taking this fantasy thing way too seriously.

She nearly pulled her hand away when she heard the whispered baritone once again.

Touch me.

She kept her hand steady. “I don’t go around touching strangers,” she countered.

The air around her swirled with heat.

I’m not a stranger. We’ve met before. In a dream. In your fantasy. Touch me and see.

Alexa couldn’t resist. She slid her hand off the frame, then up the portrayal of his waist. She climbed as high as she could on the top of her feet and stretched until her palm settled on the spot where his heart would beat.

Did beat.

Strong.

Hot.

Heat seared her hand and yet, she couldn’t pull away.

The temperature rose. Her skin seemed to melt into the canvas.

She opened her mouth to scream, but darkness dropped over her and pulled her into a vortex. She scratched out, stretched and twisted, fighting to keep from falling...but lost.