Page 16 of The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year
“Is this place haunted?” Ethan whispered to Maggie. “Five bucks says it’s haunted.”
And maybe he was on to something because all the color drained from Cece’s face as she went to the window and started wiping condensation off the glass.
“They’re early.” Cece groaned as the sound of slamming car doors echoed up from the drive below. “They must have tried to beat the storm...” She was already walking away when she stopped and pointed to a pair of open doors. “Those are your rooms. We have cocktails in the library at six. Don’t be late for cocktails. Aunt Eleanor hates it when people are—” More shouts sounded from outside. “If you need anything, there are bell pulls and—” A baby’s cries echoed through the glass. “Library. Six o’clock.” Then Cece turned and dashed away.
“My money’s still on ghost.” Ethan sounded smug.
“That was a baby.”
“Name me one thing that’s creepier than a baby ghost.” It was the most serious she’d ever seen him and Maggie bit back a smile because she didn’t dare agree.
Instead, she chose a room at random, but before she could step inside, Ethan eased in front of her and rested a forearm on the doorframe and just kind of... leaned. He looked big and strong and confident while Maggie stood there, grateful she hadn’t fallen on her face in Eleanor Ashley’s driveway. Worse: she knew her ability to stay upright had been largelybecause of him, and Maggie knew she should say thank you. Or something. She should definitely say—
“So how will we pass the time? Wanna make out?” He flashed a grin and Maggie darted under his arm.
She could still hear the deep timbre of his laughter long after she’d closed the door and thrown herself onto the four-poster bed and screamed into the pillow.
You’ve been invited to spend Christmas with your biggest fan,Deborah had said. It was probably an exaggeration. Maggie didn’t actually believe that Eleanor Ashley had read her books. But Eleanor knew Maggie’s name. She’d invited Maggie into her home.
The mattress bounced. The bed-curtains jiggled. And Maggie let herself think that maybe—just maybe—Christmas might not be so awful after all.
Chapter Twelve
“You know, you really shouldn’t sleep after a red-eye.”
The voice was too deep to be Colin’s. Too warm and too close and too...
“Ethan!”
He was lying on the bed beside her, rugged jaw propped on his upturned hand. “There’s a reason they call jet lag the silent killer.”
“No one calls it that.”
She tried to push her hair out of her face. Then she gave up and tried pushing him off her bed, but he was like a Greek statue, fully clothed but just as heavy as if he’d been carved out of stone.
“Why are you in my room?” Her mouth was too dry and her eyelids were too heavy and there was nothing but darkness outside the window. She had no idea what time it was. She just knew that Ethan Wyatt was on her bed and that wasn’t even the weirdest part of her very weird day.
“I knocked,” he told her simply.
“You should have—”
“I knockedloudly,” he cut her off. “And repeatedly. You didn’t answer.”
Had she swallowed wool? Is that something that happens in England?
“Why—”
“It’s almost six,” he told her. “And Eleanor doesn’t like—”
Shoot. Maggie looked at the darkened window again as if it were a clock, but she knew he was right. It felt like she’d been out of it for hours, and now Maggie had sleep in her eyes and wool in her throat and she was still wearing her omelet sweater and she didn’t have any idea what one wears to cocktails in Eleanor Ashley’s library!
She flew from the bed and towardthe pair of giant suitcases that sat inside the door.
“I brought those in for you.” Ethan sounded smug. “You’re welcome.”
Luckily, Maggie had packed options. So many options. Every possible, conceivable option, but as she unzipped the biggest bag she realized she was frozen. Precious seconds were ticking by and Ethan was still there. She saw his confused face reflected in the mirror.
“What?” Maggie snapped, waiting for a joke but he just shook his head.
