Chapter One

"Can you believe this place? It's amazing, and it's all yours."

Anne Kemper nodded in agreement then sank onto one end of the sofa. She surveyed the handful of boxes scattered on the hardwood floor of the bare living room. Dust-coated windows diffused the sunlight spilling into the room and softened the grime years had layered on every surface.

"I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop." She ran her fingers through her loose sable curls then rested her elbow on the threadbare arm of the sofa. If it was possible, things were going too well. "There has to be some reason this place was so cheap."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. You were lucky. Period. End of story." Debra Armstrong, her best friend, sat on the arm of the sofa and brushed her corkscrew, dark brown curls away from her face.

"Lucky." The word slid slowly through her lips as if she was testing the sound of it. A distant relative leaving her a small fortune was lucky, finding this lovely home, a Victorian cottage in an upscale neighborhood, just seemed too good to be true.

"And if I'm going to get lucky, I have to head out right now." Deb grinned and stood up. She picked up her purse from the top of one of the piles of boxes and started toward the door. "Are you sure you don't want to come? We're going to the Chrysalis."

"Not tonight." Anne only knew the member's only club via its reputation for being the hottest spot in the city, but she didn't feel like venturing into a world where culinary delights weren't the only offerings on the menu.

Deb crossed her arms, impaling her with a look that could only mean well-intentioned advice was about to be delivered. "Look, Mark's been out of your life for almost three months. It's time to plunge back into the singles' scene."

"You're right... but not tonight. I have too much to do." That was her defense, and she was sticking to it. Anne pushed off the couch, hoping to signal an end to the conversation. She walked beside her closest friend toward a wide archway leading to a spacious tiled foyer. The soft pat of her sneakers echoed off the bare walls. "This place might have been a steal, but it still needs a lot of elbow grease to make it habitable. There's no way I'm celebrating until the kitchen has been disinfected."

"If a little dirt is the only thing keeping you at home, then I'll be over tomorrow morning to help you clean." Deb laughed softly. "Make that the afternoon. Trust me, a few good lays, and Mark will be a hiccup in your past."

In spite of the knot twisting in her stomach, Anne smiled. Deb's answer to most of life's problems was sex -- the hotter and the more frequent the better.

"Girlfriend, you're far too young to be celibate," Deb said as she grasped the ridged glass doorknob. "He did you a favor moving on."

It hadn't felt like a favor at the time. Hell, it still didn't, but at least the sound of his name didn't hit her in the gut like a sucker punch any more. Like cliched dialogue in a two-bit movie, he'd said he still cared for her and wanted to be friends, but sex with her was too tame, and he needed more. He explained that he'd been patient at first because she was a virgin, but he'd thought things would heat up after they moved in together, and it hadn't. So, for the sake of their friendship, he felt it would be better if they moved on. Anne cringed mentally. She might have believed him if he hadn't move right into the bed of a hot little number who had recently joined his firm.

"Anne, if you change your mind... give me a ring on my cell. I'll meet you at the door."

"Thanks, but don't hold your breath." Anne gave her a tight hug, warmed by her friend's unfailing loyalty and friendship.

"Ciao, sweetie!" Deb strode across the threshold and onto the covered veranda, lifting her hand in a farewell salute.

Anne stood in the doorway and watched her friend's silver, imported sedan, back out of the driveway and start down the quiet, tree-lined street. She grasped the edge of the door, about to close it, when a prickle across the nape of her neck brought her gaze around. Following the uneasy feeling, she looked into the narrow-eyed stare of a woman peering at her from an Adirondack chair on a wide covered veranda like her own. Wings of white encroached on the auburn waves framing her scowling face.

With a tentative smile on her lips, Anne lifted her hand and offered a silent greeting. The scowling woman lifted her chin, pushed herself out of her chair and stomped toward her front door. A shiver slid down Anne's spine at the unexpected display of hostility.

"What's her problem?" Anne muttered as she shut the door. "I only moved in this morning... hardly long enough to offend someone."

Shrugging off thoughts about her prickly neighbor, Anne walked down the short corridor to the kitchen. Her home was a puzzling assortment of old and new. The layers of dust on every flat surface confirmed the fact that the home had been vacant for decades. Yet, according to the real estate agent, it had been maintained with regular upgrades to electrical, plumbing and other structural features as if the previous owner, a globetrotting spinster, would arrive at any time. But, she never had. Instead, she put the lovely Victorian cottage on the market.

Anne walked over to the sink where she'd left the bucket and several bottles of cleanser. Nothing was going in those cupboards until she'd scrubbed them.

Four hours later, she stepped out of the shower and toweled down. Every muscle complained about the cleaning marathon, but she didn't care. The kitchen shone, and the empty dining room, her future workshop, glowed from amply applied elbow grease.

Tomorrow, she would start setting up her workshop in the spacious dining room. Large windows in the spacious room supplied ample natural light for her to work on her sculptures. As she hung her towel over the rack, she once again thanked the childless, great-aunt who had left her enough money so that she could quit her day job at the art shop and focus on her own art.

Though tired when she emerged from the bathroom, a growing sense of restlessness drew her across the room. She followed a luminescent ribbon of moonlight that trailed across the hardwood floor. Anne pulled the belt of her terry robe tight around her waist and stopped in front of the window to draw the curtains. Her mules scuffed softly against the polished surface, the sound eerily loud in the silent room. For all the physical exertion, going to bed would be a waste of time because she certainly wouldn't sleep for quite some time.

As she reached up to catch the curtain in her hand, she glanced toward the house next door, hoping to catch a peek of her hunky neighbor, Sam Decker. He was a masterpiece created by the tempter's own hand -- tall, blond, and muscular.

From a brief exchange over the fence earlier that day, she knew his eyes were just the color of the sky on a summer morning. Unlike the disapproving, older neighbor, she and Sam had chatted amicably over the fence for a few minutes until the moving truck had arrived with her meager collection of boxes and furniture and ending their conversation.

Captured by the sight of Sam's silhouette in his bedroom window, she let her hand drop to her side. Anne sank onto the deep window seat and watched as a woman joined him, their forms framed by the window, their outlines softened by a sheer curtain.

Anne peeked over the pillows covering the back of the deep window seat. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in her role as voyeur. Intrigued, she watched as Sam placed his hands on the woman's waist. In a leisurely gesture, he drew her against his body. His lady friend tilted her head to one side, and he nuzzled her neck.

Anne placed her hand on the same spot on her neck, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips against her skin. The thought took her by surprise. After her experience with Mark, she'd assumed she had a void where a sex drive should have been.

Sam pulled his companion's top over her head then tossed it aside. The lucky lady turned in his arms and started unbuttoning his shirt. Anne held her breath as his partner slid her hands up his chest then pushed the garment off his shoulders in a deliberately sensual movement. Her hands slid down his arms, pushing his shirt ahead of them until it dropped to the floor. Then, the woman drew his head down, and they kissed. Anne drew a fingertip across her lips, wondering what it must have felt like to feel his lips against her and his bare, muscled chest pressed against her body.

She watched as they shed their jeans. He grasped her waist and spun her around, tugging her against his body. Every movement was predatory and controlled.

Anne's pulse accelerated when his hands cupped the woman's breasts from behind. Hers swelled in response to the seductive stroke. Impatiently, she loosened the belt of her robe then pulled it open. Mimicking his movements, her hands curled under her breasts, her thumbs circling the dusty rose areolas. Needy buds pinched under the light touch. Her breasts swelled, reacting to the gentle friction of skin against skin.

When his hands drifted lower, moisture seeped between swollen labial lips, and the barrel of her vagina clenched. Her robe fell to her elbows, but she didn't care. She continued to imitate his hands' erotic safari, skimming over her abdomen, then raking through her pubic curls until he swept the woman off her feet and carried her away from the window.

"Damn!" The word burst through her lips at the bite of disappointment and frustration she experienced as they disappeared from view.

"What the hell?" Anne shook her head then glanced down at her near naked body. She couldn't believe the view. She was sprawled across the overstuffed pillows of the window seat, her legs parted with her hand cupping her pubis. She'd never done anything like this. It almost felt as if another person had possessed her.

"Enough!" she muttered as she bolted out of the window seat and started toward her bed. "I might not be stellar in bed, but I'm not this desperate." Anne shook off her rob and pulled a tee shirt and boxers from a dresser drawer. She slipped between the cool, cotton sheets, and as she slipped into slumber, wondered what had happened to her tonight.

"We've only just begun, Anne," the spirit standing beside the bed thought with smug satisfaction. Virginia Marshall watched the sleeping woman, cursing the selfish lover who had fuelled her inhibitions and self-doubt.

After almost thirty years of chasing people out of her beloved home, something about Anne's curious blend of innocence and insecurity had touched her. Instead of ejecting her, as she had all the other people who had toured her home, she'd wanted to help her sample all the marvelous delights sex could provide. Virginia grinned or would have if she'd had a body. This could be a fun as well as a mutually beneficial relationship. She could help Anne explore a sensual new world, and Anne could help her find the person who murdered her.

"Now, let's begin..."