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A rush of air swept through her. But instead of the cool night air she’d expected, this was a warm tropical breeze. A pleasant smell assailed her nostrils. Slightly sweet, and vaguely comforting. Lemons, maybe? Her arms erupted in goose bumps. But strangely enough, she was neither cold nor frightened.
A door slammed behind her. She spun around just in time to see a shadow dash across the room. The warm lemony smell vanished, replaced by a voice inside telling her that she was in big trouble. The door was padlocked. Which meant that whatever had gotten inside the building had bypassed the lock. Which was…impossible.
Allie tried to scream, but her throat wasn’t cooperating.
Luckily, her legs weren’t so chicken shit.
She turned to run but something charged at her, smacking her solidly in the chest. The air flew from her lungs. Her last thought before hitting the floor was that ghosts weren’t supposed to make physica
l contact. They needed Whoopi Goldberg for that.
She struggled to roll out from under whatever had attacked her, but it was no use. The thing on top of her was composed of solid bone and muscle.
“Hold still,” hissed a deep voice. For a second there, it sounded like… No, that too was impossible. “I told you the next time I caught you breaking into the place I’d call the cops.”
Allie nearly swallowed her tongue. She knew that voice. Hot, dark, male. And definitely alive.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” she gasped.
The body above her stilled. Did he recognize her voice, too?
A light shone directly in her face, temporarily blinding her. Enough was enough.
She found the flashlight clutched in her hand and aimed it in retaliation at the two-hundred-pound mass pinning her to the ground. “Hey, can you stop with the Dragnet treatment?”
It was almost worth being crushed to death to see the incredulous look on Tom Donalan’s face. “Allie? Allie Grant? What the hell are you doing here?”
“First things first. I’ll drop my flashlight if you drop yours. And if it’s not too much to ask, maybe you could get off me while you’re at it? You’re not exactly made of air, you know.”
He jumped off her like she was on fire.
After a few long and tortuous moments, he reluctantly extended his hand. Considering that she was flat on her ass, she should have taken it. But it would be a snowy day in Florida before she accepted help from Tom Donalan. She pushed herself up on her elbows and rose as gracefully as possible under the circumstances.
It had been twelve years and two months since she last saw, talked, or even thought about Tom Donalan. Not that Allie had been counting. Six hours ago he’d been nothing more than an unpleasant memory. Like a pimple on the chin on prom night, or a lost library book racking up fines. Okay, so maybe she had thought about him some.
The fact was she couldn’t cross over the Choctawhatchee Bay Bridge without thinking of him, and she couldn’t get to Whispering Bay without crossing that bridge. Hence, he was the first thought (regret) she had whenever she drove home for a visit. The last she’d heard of Tom Donalan he’d made it big in Atlanta. Some kind of hot shot in the construction business, recently divorced from his perfect hometown sweetheart.
Allie tried not to stare, but it was impossible. This certainly was not the Tom Donalan of her fantasies. The ones she had (only occasionally) after eating too much Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. In that world Tom Donalan had a beer belly, was bald, and missing a couple of front teeth. A lot of deterioration for only twelve years, but, hey, a girl could dream, right?
This Tom Donalan, on the other hand, had far superseded the promise made by his high school boyish good looks. Tall. Broad shouldered. With a full head of dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He stood there staring at her with his arms crossed over his chest like he was Captain Friggin’ America in charge of the planet.
He looked angry, which didn’t make sense. She was the wronged party here! He’d practically attacked her, for Pete’s sake.
She took a deep breath and tried to act as if running into her ex was an everyday occurrence. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Tom Donalan. I see you still have all your teeth.”
He blinked and shook his head. “What?”
I see you still have all your teeth.
Argh!
Of all the Tom Donalan scenarios she’d played in her head over all the years, this was not what she was supposed to say to him. She was supposed to be witty. Charming. He was supposed to be dumbstruck by her brilliance. He was at a loss for words, all right.
Allie pasted a smile to her face and tried again. “You need to be more specific. What, as in, what’s my favorite color, or what do I have programmed on my DVR for tomorrow night, or what—”
“What, as in, what are you doing inside this building?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I could ask you the exact same question. Where’d you come from anyway?”
