Book two in the Phantom Lovers series.
Amy Drew was once a damn good psychic until past catastrophic events stripped her of her psychic powers. Now, a year later, she has moved to a quaint, quiet southern town to help her brother restore a decaying plantation house.
The house is hauntingly familiar, and when the skeleton of a Native American is discovered in the cellar, Amy senses danger--and much more. From her very first meeting with the ghost of William Red Feather, Amy sizzles with desire for the sexy spirit. But mysterious past-life secrets separate them.
As Amy loses herself in lust-filled nights with her spirit lover, more secrets become known to her, and she soon realizes mysterious deaths at the plantation--both past and present--all point to William. Can she trust this beguiling spirit with her life the way she does with her pleasure? Amy must be certain, because giving him her heart may result in her death--again.
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Ellora's Cave Publishing, Incorporated
November 13, 2009
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Adobe DRM EPUB
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Excerpt from Shadowkeeper by Debra Glass
Amy checked her watch. It was 3:30. The museum would close in half an hour. She'd had to forgo that much needed double espresso in order to make it to the Tavern in time. Still trembling, she parked the van, wrenched up the parking brake and flew through the wrought iron gate, up the uneven flagstone path and into the entrance of the Pope's Tavern Museum.
Adrenaline pumped through her veins in energizing bursts that dispelled the need for that espresso. She clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. But once she'd entered the shadowy central hall of the museum, time seemed to stand still.
The slightly sweet smell of old things and even older wood filled her nostrils. Amy's heart thumped audibly in her ears, along with the sonorous ticking of a clock in a distant room.
A shiny hotel bell sat on a table in the center of the small hall along with a handwritten note that read "ring for tour guide". Amy popped her palm down on the button and the bell chimed.
"Hello, hello!" a friendly female voice called from the other end of the tavern. The sound of heels echoing on the wood floor hastily came closer and closer.
Amy paced, willing the guide to hurry. She had to see that portrait. She had to know if it was true. And she had to see it now. She shook with nervous tension.
A petite, red-haired woman floated into the hallway. She smiled as she caught her breath. "Hello. Are you here for a tour?" Her nametag read "Jo".
Amy, who stood nearly a head taller than Jo, forced a smile. She was in no mood to be cordial but this woman had no sense of her urgency--and would hardly understand if Amy made an attempt at an explanation. Excuse me, ma'am but I'm in a hurry because a ghost who made me come time after time last night may have killed my stepbrother's Bush Hog operator. No. That wouldn't work at all. "Not really," Amy replied. "I'm Reed Severin's sister," she added bluntly.
Thankfully, that was all the explanation she needed because Jo's friendly smile faded into a look of utter surprise. Her red lips parted. "I read that article in the paper this morning. You're here about the skeleton." She motioned for Amy to follow her back the way she'd come. "I think I know who it is."
Amy's hemp sandals echoed in unison with Jo's burnt orange pumps as she followed her across the polished wood floor into a large room dominated by a massive oak table.
A musket hung over the mantle of a fireplace in one side of the room. Several multisized portraits in various antique frames lined each wall. Amy's pulse sped up and her gaze raced frantically. Where was the painting of Sarah Winston?
But Jo didn't stop. She led her through the left wing of the tavern and into a smaller room which featured a rope bed. A cracked gilt frame held a portrait that dangled from a black ribbon on the equally cracked plaster wall.
Amy's gaze immediately flew to the man depicted in the dark, dark oils.
His black hair was swept back off his face, revealing a perfectly straight hairline. Equally black eyebrows arched like raven's wings above even blacker eyes. The expression was intense. Severe. Dark olive skin, a firm jawline and a slightly crooked nose revealed his unmistakable Indian heritage.
He was timeless in appearance--and absolutely gorgeous.
She tried to swallow but her mouth was suddenly bone dry. Her insides tightened, sending a rush of wetness into her panties.
This was the man who'd been chained behind the wall at Belle Ruisseau.
This was the man whose spirit she'd seen soaring through the cellar when Reed had knocked a hole in the wall.
She couldn't believe he was the man who killed Eddie.
But one thing was certain. He was definitely the man who'd been in her bed last night.