Stranger, Seducer, Protector. Joanna Wayne

T-shirt she’d worn to rake the yard this afternoon.

      She flicked the light switch at the top of the winding staircase. Shimmery illumination from the cut-glass chandelier crept over the walls like golden wings.

      Repairing and cleaning the monstrous antique had taken months, but the air of opulence it provided the old family home was definitely worth the time and cost.

      The floorboards creaked eerily as she traipsed the hallway of the sprawling mansion. Reaching the wide double doors, Jacinth cautiously put her eye to the peephole. The gas lantern near the front walk painted entrancing shadows across the man at her door, but did nothing to disguise his rugged masculinity.

      Hard bodied, clearly evident in the black T-shirt he was wearing. Unruly dark hair peeking from beneath a Saints cap. A face with character and craggy angles. The kind of stranger you’d invite into an erotic dream—but not into your living room at ten at night.

      Jacinth unlatched the door and eased it open a crack, leaving the security chain firmly in place. “Can I help you?”

      “Just thought I’d warn you that you’re going to have one hell of a water bill if you don’t turn off your sprinkler system.”

      “I don’t have a sprinkler system.”

      “Then you’ve got bigger problems.”

      She glanced past the man and at a stream of water flowing across her soggy front yard and pouring over the curb like an infinity pool.

      She groaned. “Another wretched trick of this money pit posing as a house. I know the plumber better than I know my neighbors. I’ll call him.”

      “I can locate the outside valve and turn your water off if you like. Then you could wait until morning to call him. That might save you paying double or even triple for an after-hours emergency call.”

      Money she didn’t have to waste. “I’d appreciate that.” Her wary nature checked in again. “Who are you?”

      “Sorry. Guess I should have introduced myself. Name’s Nick Bruno. I’m moving in next door to you.”

      “Into the B and B?”

      “The other next door. I rented the carriage house apartment from Gladys Findley.”

      Bruno. The same last name as the man who’d killed her father. Not that she could hold that against this guy, unless… “You’re not kin to Elton Bruno, are you?”

      He looked bewildered. “Who is that?”

      “Forget it.”

      Jacinth couldn’t see the street in front of the Findley house from this angle, but she had noticed that the “furnished apartment for rent” sign had still been in place when she’d raked the latest deluge of oak leaves from the lawn late this afternoon. “When did you move in?”

      “I haven’t yet. I just closed the deal this afternoon and I was bringing over a few boxes tonight. I didn’t expect to need rubber boots.”

      “Sorry. Years of neglect have left this house a catastrophe waiting to happen. I’m afraid that living next to me, you’ll never know what to expect.”

      “Sounds intriguing.”

      The deep timbre of his voice coupled with a seductive smile raised her pulse more effectively than her nightly sit-ups had. “I’m Jacinth Villaré,” she said, finally unlatching the safety chain and extending a hand.

      Her cat appeared from nowhere and curled around Jacinth’s ankle, feigning protectiveness. Jacinth reached down to pick her up, but the feline yowled and made a stealthy dart toward freedom.

      “Come back here, Sin,” she ordered a cat that never followed her commands.

      Nick snatched up the cat before it could sink into the watery slush. “Sin? Interesting name for this bad boy.”

      “She’s a girl. And Sin is short for Sinister, a name well deserved for her evil stare when the royal highness’s dignity is affronted.”

      He held the cat up for Jacinth to rescue from his strong arms.

      Sin arched her back and showed her claws as if ready to attack. Nick ignored her antics.

      “I’d recommend filling some kitchen pots and your bathtub with water before I cut it off. But with that leak, you can expect the pressure to be low.”

      “Thanks. I will. Give me ten minutes.”

      “Perfect.”

      “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she called as he walked away.

      Jacinth hurried to the kitchen, filled a few pots for drinking water and then raced up the stairs to fill the tub in her bathroom. The pressure was indeed low, but if Hunky Nick gave her the full ten minutes, she could collect enough water to flush the commode until the leak was fixed.

      Hunky Nick who was now her next-door neighbor. Probably married or gay, she cautioned a few unexpected, lustful vibes.

      The bathtub was almost full when the decreased flow from the faucet turned into a trickle and then stopped altogether. Evidently, Nick had located the valve and likely saved her a fortune on her water and plumbing bills.

      Married or not, the guy was handy to have around.

      Now back to bed to finish the last chapter in her book, though she feared Nick’s image might replace the description the author had provided for the hero. Her hand was on the doorknob when a crash behind her created a deluge of flying debris.

      She spun around to find that the back wall had caved in, dropping huge chunks of plaster into her tub of previously clean water. A wall she had only last week spent hours painting.

      Her spirits caved with the chalky drywall. Why had she fallen in love with a house that didn’t love her back?

      More plaster fell, a lump of it landing near her feet. She started to step over it. Only…

      Cripes!

      It wasn’t plaster. It was…

      A scream tore from her throat as a decaying head rolled against her bare foot and its remaining, wiry blond hair came to rest against Jacinth’s toes.

       Chapter Two

      The scream stopped Nick in his tracks. No mistaking its origin. It had come from the second floor of the Villaré house.

      Adrenaline shot through him, triggering his instincts for danger. The boxes he was carrying slipped from his grasp and crashed to the damp ground near his pickup truck. A pair of tennis shoes and some DVDs flew out of one.

      He could see nothing but escaping rectangles of light from the windows of the Villaré house, but he grabbed the loaded Glock from under the driver’s seat before he took off, sloshing in the mud toward the scream.

      He took Jacinth’s front steps two at a time, then pressed on the bell with the index finger of his left hand. His right hand held the Glock.

      “Jacinth,” he called. “Are you okay?”

      No answer. No more screams. Nothing from the house except dead silence. The scream echoed though his mind. Hair-raising. Bloodcurdling.

      He was ready to shoot off the lock when he heard footsteps approach the door.

      “Who’s there?”

      “It’s me—Nick. I heard you scream.”

      She unlocked the door and opened it, standing in it rather than inviting him in. Her eyes were wide, her gorgeous face a ghostly white, and her hair was covered with dust and bits of what looked like chalk.

      Nick kept his finger poised near the trigger. He stretched his neck, trying to see past her and into the house. All he saw were indistinct shadows lurking in the hallway beyond the foyer.

      “Is someone here