A Ghost for Christmas
Kacey Hammell
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance
Release Date: December 6th
ISBN#
978-1-77130-211-1
After receiving a long weekend at an elegant hotel
beside the majestic Niagara Falls as a Christmas gift, Jodie Gibson is
determined to do nothing but relax and enjoy the scenery. And, okay, just maybe
meet someone who makes her toes curl.
Sebastian is sophisticated, tall, dark and
gorgeous--everything a woman fantasizes about. But he's also an 18th
century ghost. He haunts the halls of the hotel, seeking the one true love that
can help him find peace…
Excerpt ©
Kacey Hammell
As she peered into the reflective glass, a face appeared
behind her. Jodie whipped around and fell back against the window.
Oh my fucking God!
Before her, in what looked like a shimmering bubble, stood
the most breathtakingly beautiful man she’d ever seen. Dressed in a white shirt
and black pants, he had dark unruly hair and striking, magnetic blue eyes that
held her in place.
Jodie blinked, uncertain, scared and breathless.
How was it possible? She’d read the newspaper clippings,
yes, but it was unimaginable to think ghosts might actually walk among the
living.
Not everything made sense. She only believed in things
that could actually be seen, felt and touched. This seemed surreal.
Stunned by the apparition before her, dressed in what
looked like centuries-old clothes straight out of Esquire, he seemed to look straight through her, and his smile
warmed her clear to her toes. Lord, she was in trouble.
“Hello.” Soft and gravelly, his voice alone seduced
her…all the way to her toes. Her body quivered and her center tightened.
Whoa. What the hell am
I thinking? There’s a ghost in front of
me and I’m ready to jump his bones. Not bloody likely.
“What are you doing here? Get out. I don’t care who you are, you’re leaving,
right now.”
He frowned. “No need to be frightened. I’ve been here for centuries.”
Jodie laughed, and not one to wilt like a scared little
girl, stood tall. “This is all a joke.” She looked around, up and down, and all
over the room. “Are there hidden cameras somewhere? Hey, Ashton, if you’re behind the camera, you
can come out now. I’ve been Punk’d good. Thanks and all, but I’d
like to get on with my evening without you.”
“Who is this
Ashton? What is a punk? A rake,
perhaps?” he asked.
Jodie squinted. “A
rake?” She hadn’t ever heard that term
spoken, but had read it in historical romances. No one talked like that these
days. “No. Never mind, it’s not important. Listen, I just want you to go. I
want to enjoy my evening.”
His smile was gentle. “I’m sorry, my dear, but this evening
every decade is the only time I am visible to the human eye. I never miss a
chance to watch the Falls.”
Every decade…
“You’re telling me you do this every ten years? How old
are you?”
“I was born in 1781. That makes me—”
“Two hundred thirty-one,” Jodie whispered, legs weak. She grabbed the
back of the chair nearby and sat down. Were such things even possible?
Jesus.
An eighteenth century ghost stood before her.
Merry Christmas to me.
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