Katie and the Ghost

By amy o'connor

Kate had traveled to a 'haunted' coaching inn, The Red Lion, prepared to debunk yet another corny ghost story. In fifteen years of 'ghost-hunting', she'd never come across a real, live ghost – so why would the supposed Earl of Heatheringham be any different? It wasn't long before she saw him. Yes, the 'Earl' was absolutely gorgeous. And, yes, she fell in instant lust with the handsome actor who played his role so well. How could she not – he was a fantasy come to life. But of course he wasn't a real ghost. Or was he? It was kind of hard to explain the way she could put a hand right through him… And when he went all out to prove that there really was such a thing as ghosts, well, what was a girl to do? Argue with her dream lover? Not likely!

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781554876341

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Katie and the Ghost

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Katie and the Ghost

Copyright © 2006 amy o’connor

978-1-55487-634-1

Coverart  by Martine Jardin

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books 2006

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Katie and the Ghost

THE WIND HAD RISEN steadily for the past two hours, the old timber sign directly below her window creaking as it swung in the gale. Kate rolled onto her stomach, pulling her pillow over her head.

Ugh. Of all the ridiculously hackneyed, touristy tricks...

A sudden gust of wind caused a particularly tortured squeal. She sat up in disgust. How on earth was anyone supposed to sleep with all that racket? She could hear the wind racing along the eaves, could feel the sudden draughts as it occasionally changed direction and snuck in through a minuscule crack between the shutters. It even smelt right—like damp old salt and tar. That she could live with. It was the damn sign that was driving her nuts.

She grabbed the robe she’d trailed over the end of the bed, determined to complain. The first touch of chill floorboards under her feet had her drawing her legs straight back into the bed and under the covers. What was the point? Hell, the landlord probably put a lot of effort into getting the chains supporting the sign to squeak with just the right amount of ominous groan.

Goosebumps flared over her