All Through the Night by Shannon McKenna, Lori Foster, Suzanne Forster, Thea Devine Read Free Book Online Page B

weapon. Her vision had adjusted to the dark, but he was still too brightly haloed with light.
Damn . No electricity meant her curling iron was useless too. She kept it on her nightstand, plugged and ready. Guns frightened her, and the iron got hot enough to sizzle water in less than thirty seconds. She had the scars to prove it. There was a brick stashed under the bed and a baseball bat behind the door, in case of break-ins, but that had never been a problem before this. Her doors and windows were triple locked, and she had an alarm system.
“How did you get in here?” she asked.
“I have no idea. I’m here, that’s all I know. Touch me, see for yourself.”
Kerry’s heart leaped as he held out a hand to her. How could he be here in her bedroom when just this afternoon he’d been the sexy heartthrob on her computer screen, watching her undress? Oh, God!
“You can’t be real,” she protested. “Because if you’re real, then I should be screaming, right? Or calling the police—”
There was a phone on her night table too. She lunged for it, but he was there before she could punch a single number.
The receiver fell to the floor as he caught her wrist. His grip was powerful enough to push her back on the bed and hold her there. Not painful, but firm.
“Don’t do that, Kerry. Hear me out, please . I am real, but not in the way that you think. I’m only here because you wished that I would be.”
“I didn’t wish anything of the kind!”
“Yes, you did, just before you spilled your tea.”
She shook her head in confusion. She had no idea what he was talking about, and the sheer strength of his hold was terrifying. She might have been able to see him if it weren’t for that damn blue light. He was close enough. Lord, was he close.
“Try to remember,” he urged. “It’s important. You said something like, ‘Me too, Jean. I wish you were real.’ Do you remember that?”
Someone was crazy, and it wasn’t her. Whoever this guy was, he must have been watching her through the window today. He was a Peeping Tom who spotted her undressing and overheard her conversation with the video game.
“There’s five hundred dollars in my bunny slippers in the closet,” she told him. “Take it and go. I won’t call the police. I won’t scream. I won’t do anything. Please, just take the money.”
He released her arm and fell silent, as though he didn’t know what she was talking about. As though he wasn’t programmed to respond . She wanted to throw up her hands. What kind of crazy nightmare was this?
“I don’t want your money,” he said.
She chanced another look at him and thought she could make out the enigmatic features that had graced her computer screen—the same sea-deep eyes and sexy black hair, shorn close but curly. The same strong, handsome, haunted face. Fine details were lost in shadows, but this had to be him. She couldn’t be having a dream this elaborate, could she?
Was it him, Jean, living, breathing, above her?
The comforter had slipped away, exposing her tank top. She took advantage of his retreat and yanked the blanket back, tucking it around her. She’d worn her underwear to bed? That was something she never did. It was much too cold, among other things.
Calming her voice was an effort. “Well then,” she said, “if you don’t want money, what do you want?”
“Actually, it’s not that easy to explain.”
“Please! Try .”
“All right, but I don’t want you to take this wrong, okay?”
He retreated farther, walking to the other side of the room, possibly to think about what he was going to say. She waited to see if he was coming back, but he hesitated near a white pine shutter console that had been part of her grandmother’s trousseau. The shadows couldn’t hide his expression. It was somber and filled with portent.
“There’s a curse on me, Kerry, and only you can break it.”
She just stared at him. Stared and wished she’d bought a gun for her nightstand. Guns didn’t need