“Now, walk.” He’d said it as if nothing happened.

I stood speechless and, yes, still savoring the world-stopping kiss as I ran my finger around and around my lips. Ghosts schmosts, I thought.

Jagger was nearly up the small hill to the church when he turned and looked at me.

I yanked my hand from my face and sucked in a huge breath, which I let out very slowly all the way up the sidewalk-as if that would help me walk better.

We headed up Mary Street past the Vanderbilt Hall Hotel, an imposing brick mansion that sat on the hillside. Lamplights flickered in the darkness, and Jagger walked close enough so that our shoulders touched-why the hell he didn’t put his arm around me I had no idea.

But, believe me, I was sending mental telepathy suggestions to him nonstop and to no avail.

We rounded the corner and made a circle, ending back up where we started, at the base of the hill of the Trinity Church. It wasn’t a very long walk, but Jagger had been leading the way, and since I wasn’t familiar with the area, I couldn’t complain.

Well, I could, but found out a long time ago that complaining to Jagger was like talking into the wind. Your words merely flew back at you unanswered.

Since we’d remained silent the entire walk, I decided I’d had enough. “Okay, Jagger, spill about the ghosts. Are you talking Samuel here?”

He stopped mid-stride, turned and gave me a look that had me shiver. Yikes.

“Don’t go messing with this one, Pauline.”

Oh, boy. When Jagger used my real name, he meant business. And most of the time-well, all of the time-I’d listen.

But there were those damn glasses of wine that just made me not myself. So I said, “Messing with a ghost?” I laughed. “Come on, Jagger. Even you don’t believe-no, especially you don’t believe-in ghosts or spirits or anything woo woo.”

“What the hell is woo woo?”

“You know,” I leaned closer. “Woo woo. Spiritual stuff. Horoscope stuff. Anything that sounds woo woo.”

He shook his head, but thankfully only once. “I believe that we shouldn’t be so self-absorbed on this earth to think we are the only ones here. I believe there are spirits out there.” He looked into my eyes. “And they don’t like to be messed with.”

The ride back to the lodge was pretty dull. Jagger kept his eye on the road and played a Tim McGraw CD while I looked out the window, fascinated by the historic houses in Newport, by how I could peek inside ones whose lights were on and the fact that Jagger really believed in ghosts.

Who would have thought?

I might have found that hysterical if it weren’t for the fact that I actually felt someone or something push me into his arms earlier. A shiver chased up my spine and I gasped.

“What?” he asked, not even looking.

“Oh. Nothing. Just cold,” I lied and kept looking out the window. I had to switch my thoughts from imaginary beings, so I let myself remember The Kiss. I gasped again-only this time it was followed by an “Ah.”

“Jesus, Sherlock. If you keep up those orgasmic noises I won’t be able to drive.”

My face had to be redder than the damn lobsters we’d devoured for dinner. But my memories were fun to relive-and, okay, not far off from delicious Jagger’s accusations.

We pulled into the parking lot. I looked up to where my room was and noticed the light on. Maybe the innkeeper’s helpers were turning down my bed and leaving me chocolate. One could only hope!

I said good-night to Jagger. Gave him a quick peck on the cheek since I was chicken to take his face into my hands and give him a real kiss on the lips-even though I really, really, really wanted to.

He mumbled something akin to “Good night” and turned toward the kitchen. Certainly he wasn’t hungry.

Deciding to ignore Jagger and get some sleep to work on my case tomorrow-since now I needed to find out a hell of a lot more about Olivia Wheaton-Chandler-I walked up the carpeted staircase.

My door was locked, so I fished around in my pants pocket for my key. Old places like this still used real metal keys and not the key cards of the more modern hotels. After jiggling the key in the lock, I pushed my shoulder into the door to get it to open.

And I gasped again.

A maid would not have left my room in such disarray. Someone had been in here looking. Looking for what? A cool gust of air flew into my face. I tried to scream but nothing came out. As if it were swirling around me, I reached my hands up to my face.

“Sam…u…el?” I asked as meekly as Dorothy speaking to the Wizard. “Is…that…you?”

Nothing.

Although my heart was in tachycardia (speeding like a demon) I eased my hands from my face, pulled my shoulders straight and said, “I am not afraid of you.” But inside my head I was the lion saying, I do believe in ghosts. I do believe in ghosts. I do. I do. I do.

The curtains flew toward me. I stepped back ready to die. Then I noticed that behind them the window was open. “Great, Sokol. There’s your ghost.” I walked to the window, tucked the curtains back and pushed the frame until it closed out the night and the sea breeze pretending to be a spirit.

“Thank goodness no one saw me,” I mumbled and laughed-more out of relief than humor. I decided to relive the earlier part of the evening and ignore my recent visitor.

Tonight was wonderful having dinner with Jagger. Fabulous food. Delicious wine (which now had my head pounding) and, well, the company, the kiss.

Nice.

Still, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, someone had been in there. Someone had opened the window. And someone had opened my drawers. Couldn’t have been the maid.

Right about then I’d love to have known that it actually was a ghost’s shenanigans. I wouldn’t mention someone being in my room though because it might tip the culprit off that I was investigating the fraud.

It took some doing, but I was beginning to convince myself that I couldn’t let threats and a sense of danger interfere-and paralyze me from my job.

I had work to do so I slipped off my shoes and jeans and thought I’d forgo a shower until the morning. When I unbuttoned my shirt, took it off and left on the camisole, I decided I at least needed to wash up. I turned toward the bathroom and walked into the doorway-and screamed.

Go home.

Just as my eyes were rereading the lipstick-written message on the mirror I heard a crash and felt arms around me.

So I did what any normal girl would do. I slammed my foot onto his toes and jabbed my elbow back-into a very soft spot that made him yell.

“What…the…hell! Pauline?”

“Jagger!” I swung around to see him double over in pain.

Oh, boy. Guess he wasn’t in any mood or condition to congratulate me on my quick self-defense reflexes-which I’d learned from him.

He looked up at me with his forehead wrinkled and his lips pursed. “Put on some clothes.”

Put on some clothes? That was all he could say after I’d been scared to death by a ghostly open window, a lipstick threat, and the door to my room being busted open? As a matter of fact, it did feel cool. In my current brush with fear I’d forgotten that I had been getting ready for bed. I looked down. Oops. I went to yank a towel from the rack, which pulled out of the wall and clattered to the floor, taking said towel with it. When I bent to grab it, I looked up.

Jagger was still staring.

Since I couldn’t get the towel fast enough, I decided to follow my earlier advice and act nonchalant. Act as if nothing had happened. Hell, I’d have on less in a bathing suit. However, I would not be standing in a hotel room (very close quarters with a bed in it) with Jagger ogling me in a bathing suit. I’d be in the wide-open spaces of a public beach where male ogling wouldn’t be so personal.