基本信息出版社：Pocket Star
页码：368 页
出版日期：2006年12月
ISBN：0743470907
International Standard Book Number：0743470907
条形码：9780743470902
EAN：9780743470902
装帧：简装
正文语种：英语
内容简介 在线阅读本书
Megan Barrows has retired from a brief career as a ghostbusting psychic and now uses her sixth sense to fill her Seattle antiques store with objects with happy pasts. After once nearly having the soul sucked out of her by a malevolent spirit, she prefers a quiet life.
Case Lambert is a real estate prospector who restores old houses, then sells them for profit. He has just bought a dilapidated mansion so amazing that he wants to keep it for himself, but the house appears to be haunted. Seriously haunted. A few inquiries lead him to Megan Barrows.
Megan at first refuses to help, but Case is a master of persuasion. Moving into the mansion, they discover that one of the ghosts has a thing for Case -- and there may be even more amorous spirits inside this veritable paranormal vortex. But it soon becomes clear that no one -- dead or alive -- can stop Megan and Case from ending up in each other's arms. . . .
文摘
One
Seattle, Washington
If she'd only had the right type of psychic abilities, Megan Barrows thought later that day, she would have sensed her doom when Case Lambert stepped through the doorway to Antique Fancies. Instead, when the bell over the door dinged and she looked up and saw him, her hands ceased work on the alabaster lamp she was rewiring, and her heart seized in her chest.
"Hello," she said, an uncertain smile on her lips, attraction turning her shy.
A tight smile briefly graced the man's face. "Hello." His gaze took a long trip over her tall body, and a frown formed between his brows as his gaze lingered on her chest. She moved sideways a few inches, hoping to hide her A-cups behind the inadequate lamp, her attraction to him fading as quickly as it had come. So he was one of those.
The man looked away, turning his attention to the late-Victorian tea table beside him, its top loaded with silver candlesticks. He picked one up and turned it over to examine the hallmarks on the bottom, then flipped it around, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the plating where it had begun, ever so slightly, to wear off the copper core.
Megan pretended to turn her attention back to rewiring the lamp, just as the man pretended to examine candlesticks. He was a big guy: six-foot-three according to the height markings on the edge of her door, and with a solid broadness that hinted at years of laboring muscle; no youthful lankiness here. His squarely masculine face showed signs of weathering, and his short brown hair was mussed. She had a brief flash of him driving his pickup with the window down, elbow resting on the sill, wind in his hair, howling along to a country song about the cheatin' woman who done him wrong. His jeans and battered leather shoes, and the faded polo shirt with a breast pocket made lumpy by some object, all hinted at someone in one of the trades.
One thing for sure: he wasn't a cubi
……