Easy Magic (Boudreaux #5)

“It’s lovely on the outside,” I reply, silently making sure all of my walls are secure, just in case there’s something, or someone, here that I don’t want to feel.

“It was built about a hundred years ago,” he says. “It’s survived its share of hurricanes and bad weather over the years.”

“How long has your family owned it?”

“They built it,” he says with a smile. “And my mother and I are the only ones who use it now. For the most part, anyway.”

He leads me into a beautiful grand foyer, with a double staircase, on either side of the room, leading up to a landing.

“The bedrooms are all upstairs, as well as the ballroom.”

“Ballroom?” I ask.

“We have one,” he confirms. “It’s empty. It hasn’t been used in, hell, I don’t think it’s been used since my parents got married here.”

“They married here?” I ask, then realize I’m repeating everything he says. “I bet it’s a great spot for a wedding.”

“Wait until you see the view in the morning,” he replies with a smile. “There’s a back patio with lounge chairs and cabanas, so we can sit out and enjoy the view all day if you like.”

“I like,” I say with a smile.

“I can also seduce you out there.”

“I noticed you don’t have close neighbors.”

“We’re alone,” he confirms and leans down to kiss me, but I duck out of the way.

“I need to brush my teeth before you kiss me,” I say, cringing. “I hurled.”

“Ah, yes. That. Okay, let’s get this tour finished so you can freshen up and I can get you naked.”

My eyebrows climb. Surprisingly, despite the way I felt earlier, just the way he’s looking at me right now makes my body heat and spine tingle.

“This is the kitchen.”

“This has been recently remodeled,” I comment, in love with the black and white color scheme. It’s clean, with pops of teal and yellow, giving it a beachy feel.

“About a year ago,” he confirms. “We have to have modern kitchens.”

“That’s what I always say,” I reply, then wink at him and he slaps me on the ass.

“You’re sexy when you’re sassy.”

“I’m glad you like it, because I don’t plan to change any time soon.”

“Good.” He leans in, and rather than kiss me on the lips, he plants a wet kiss on my neck, sending my already humming nerves into full sparks.

“You’re good with your mouth.”

He just smirks and pulls me through the rest of the downstairs, showing me a parlor, formal dining room, home theater and massage room.

“Nice,” I say. “I’ve never had a massage.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. I don’t like to be touched by strangers,” I remind him and shrug.

“We’ll see what we can do about that.”

He leads me upstairs, and shows me all six bedrooms, with attached baths. I don’t know how an upstairs can be bigger than the downstairs, and it probably isn’t, but it feels like it goes on forever.

“I don’t use the master bedroom because Mama still uses that room. This is the room I use.” He opens French doors into a room with a massive four-poster king bed, and another set of French doors that lead out to a balcony.

“I can hear the ocean,” I say, walking to the balcony and opening the doors. The air swirls around me as I step out and lean on the railing. “Oh, this is lovely.”

“Yes, it is.”

I turn to find him staring at me, pure lust and happiness in his whiskey colored eyes.

“I can see why this is your happy place.”

“And you just got here,” he replies with a smile and crosses to me, pulling me into his arms. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Oh, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” I reply and hug him tightly. I love how small I feel in his arms. He’s a big man, tall, with broad shoulders.

I feel safe here. In this place, and with this man. I let my guard down, cautiously and a little at a time. There are spirits here. Two. No, three.

“What do you feel?” he asks quietly, as if he knows what I’m doing.

“I feel a few spirits here,” I whisper. “But I don’t sense that any of them are malicious. They’re attached to the house, not a person.”

“Do spirits attach themselves to people?” he asks with surprise, as if he’s truly beginning to believe in what I do.

“Oh, yes,” I reply. “And that’s not always bad either. But it can be.”

“Interesting.”

I nod and lean against the railing again, breathing in the salty sea air. The palm trees around the home are moving with the light breeze, and I can see the white caps of the waves in the moonlight.

I glance back at Beau, and am surprised to see a woman standing behind him.

“Hello,” I say cautiously. She’s not living. She’s short, and as round as she is tall, it seems. She’s dressed in a maid’s uniform, with a white apron tied around her ample waist. Her mocha skin is soft and lovely, her black hair pulled up under a white hat.

Beau spins and looks in the direction I’m looking, but can’t see her.

“Who’s here?” he asks.

“I’m Liselle,” she says softly.

“Liselle.”

His brows climb into his hairline, and he’s blinking rapidly, like he’s seen, well, a ghost.

“I’d like her to leave.”





Chapter Twelve


Beau

Mallory’s eyes widen, and then she frowns. “She doesn’t want to hurt you in any way.”

No, she wouldn’t. I shake my head and rub my fingers over my mouth, not sure how much to tell her. I trust her, implicitly, but I’m not used to feeling vulnerable.

And this is one of the things I feel most vulnerable about in my life. It certainly ranks in the top five.

“I can ask her to go,” Mallory says and reaches out to touch my arm, gently rubbing my bicep. She says I calm her, and I believe her, because I’ve seen it. But she’s come to calm me just as much. Her eyes are on me, not on the spirit standing behind me.

And the fact that I just thought that sentence surprises the hell out of me. A month ago I would have scoffed and brushed off the thought. But now, being with this woman, it feels almost normal.

“Beau?”

“Liselle was our housekeeper here when I was a little boy. It was only me, Charly, and Eli then. The twins and Gabby hadn’t been born yet.

“I loved her,” I whisper and then shake my head, surprised that a memory from so damn long ago could shake me. “She was sweet and fun, and she loved to snuggle us while she read to us before our afternoon nap.”

Mallory smiles and says, “Curious George was your favorite.”

Jesus.

“I’d forgotten that,” I reply and turn, but still can’t see her. “She died here, in this house, while she was reading to us. Charly and Eli were still too little to know what was happening, and so was I, really, but I was old enough to know that something was wrong.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Mal says and immediately walks into my arms, hugging me around my middle.

“Heart attack,” I say, surprised to feel emotions that I’d long forgotten course through me. “My dad told me many years later that she’d had a heart attack that killed her instantly.”