Page 1 of Haunted By the Highwayman (Halloween Temptation #9)

“ H and me a mug?” Rick says.

I open the kitchen cupboard and leap back, screaming.

A fuzzy black spider the size of a plate just sprang out and landed on my arm.

The thing is about six inches wide, no exaggeration.

Do they even have such huge spiders in England?

Is it one of those poisonous ones that hitched a ride with exotic fruit, and before you know it, it’s taken out the whole household?

Are Rick and I about to die ? Then the spider’s many eyes start glowing orange.

Music fills the kitchen. A plinky, creepy, spooky little tune.

I glare at Rick, fists clenched, as I figure it out.

“You asshole,” I hiss.

This is the third time this week he’s gotten me with a Halloween prank.

“This is getting really old.” I grab the stupid toy spider and throw it on the worktop. It looks up at me, eyes gleaming unrepentantly.

“Agree to disagree,” Rick says. “This never gets old.”

My poor abused heart is still rattling around my ribs. I massage my chest, hoping to stave off a heart attack.

“One day I’m going to prank you back,” I mutter.

“Don’t believe you,” Rick says. “You’re too sweet for that.” He sounds serious, for once. That throws me for a loop more than the jump scare.

“Are you okay?” he says, coming closer. I tilt my head to look up at him. Even on tiptoe, I only reach his shoulder. “Not too traumatized?” he adds.

“I’m fine.”

My face feels hot, but more because of his concern than because of the shock.

It’s annoyingly difficult to stay mad at him.

He looks too good, even after being an asshole, with his perfect dark hair, chiseled jawline covered with just the right amount of dark stubble…

and those long-lashed hazel eyes. I might’ve spent a little too long trying to categorize their color, like if I could find the exact shade on the Dulux chart it would furnish the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

Today he’s wearing a skeleton T-shirt in honor of Halloween.

It’s tight and clings to his broad shoulders and lean waist. When he breaks into a smile, like now, an adorable dimple appears on the left side of his face, softening him from lofty Michelangelo-like beauty to warm and cute and real .

If it weren’t for the dimple, I’d find him too intimidating to even talk to, much less to live with.

Yeah, I know. I’ve got it bad.

“Arden, do you want to go to a party?” he says, out of nowhere.

“With you ?” I say.

He shrugs, the picture of casual. And I tell my rapidly rising hopes to chill out: he’s just being friendly. Why shouldn’t he invite his roommate to a party? He doesn’t mean it as a date.

Why would he want to date his friend’s nerdy little brother?

“A guy at work has a couple of spare tickets to the Halloween party at Gossmer Hall,” Rick says. “It’d be a shame to waste them.”

I guess it would. That party has been sold out for months.

It’s in a big, fancy stately home, almost a castle.

The kind of place they film Downton Abbey.

The kind of place my grandparents thought I’d be visiting every day when I first moved to England.

I don’t have the heart to tell them I spend more time in Gregg’s and Tesco.

“The haunted Gossmer Hall?” I say.

Rick scoffs, and I laugh to show I didn’t really mean it.

I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in ghosts.

By the way Rick is acting, I guess he doesn’t either.

The only thing holding me back is nerves.

It’s a fancy occasion, not my forte. I don’t have anything to wear, and the party is the day after tomorrow.

Rick and I had planned Halloween night at the local pub, where a few customers might dress up a little—maybe some plastic devil horns or a set of fake fangs.

I don’t have anything good enough to wear to a real costume party at a stately home.

“Are you scared?” Rick says, mistaking my hesitation.

“No way.”

“Come on, then,” he says. “I dare you.”

The word dare shivers all the way up my spine. His teasing gaze is impossible to resist.

“I’m in,” I say.

As he clasps my hand to seal the deal, I get awkward fast. It feels way too good when our skin touches. I take my hand back quickly.

To hide my confusion, I look into the cupboard. “How’d you manage to rig up the spider, anyway… hey, what are these?”

Right at the back of the cupboard, there’s a pack of playing cards. I’m sure I’ve never seen them before.

“This seems to be some kind of dare game,” I say.

Rick nods. “The previous tenants must’ve left them here.”

I flick through the cards. Most of the dares seem standard enough, if a bit dopey.

Compliment a stranger, climb a tree, go outside wearing your underwear over your pants like a superhero.

.. Then I reach a section of red cards at the back of the pack.

My hands freeze, while my cheeks burst into flame.

“What is it?” Rick says.

“There seems to be a, er… spicy section here at the back.”

I choke on the word spicy . What’s wrong with me?

I’m twenty-three years old and acting like a pre-teen.

Rick laughs at the cards, and my hopes plummet off a cliff.

He just thinks this is funny. He isn’t imagining any of these scenarios involving me.

Not like I’m imagining him. I take a quick step back, away from the warmth of his hazel eyes.

“I don’t know why they left these. Why did they think that other people would want to see this stuff?” I snap.

I sound moody and aggravated, a weird mix of surly teenager and uptight old man.

“They probably just forgot them,” Rick says, looking surprised at my annoyance. He holds up a red card which says FUCK . “Fancy a shag?” His attempt at an English accent is truly woeful, so bad it’s endearing.

“You sound like Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“A really old movie… never mind,” I say hurriedly.

He’s wrinkling his brow in thought. Endlessly curious, always hating to miss out on anything, he’ll probably suggest watching it if I don’t change the subject fast. There’s a short silence.

Through the wall the sound of a TV or laptop leaks through, way too loud.

By the sounds of violent arguing, I deduce that our neighbors are watching Eastenders.

“You know, we should play this,” Rick says, brandishing the cards at me.

“I don’t want to go around complimenting strangers,” I protest. “Sounds embarrassing.”

“I was talking about the red cards,” he says.

Somehow I manage to stay upright even though my legs have dissolved entirely. Doesn’t that break the laws of physics? No idea. Everything I ever knew about science or anything has fled my brain as I think about playing those red cards with Rick.

“You’re kidding,” I croak, my mouth mysteriously dry. “Stop pranking me already.”

Rick’s dimple makes an appearance, not helping my traitorous body to calm down. He runs one hand through his hair, bicep rippling. It’s like he’s doing this on purpose to mess with me. Though why would he? He doesn’t know I like him…

Fuck. Does he know ?

“I’m not pranking you,” he says, eyes dancing.

Don’t fall for it. I’m fooling myself if I think he means this.

Sailing fast up that river of denial. Have I forgotten the spider already?

This is just more mockery. It’s like he can never forget I’m his best friend’s little brother.

Like it’s my destiny to put up with his teasing forever.

But I’m an adult now. A postgrad student, no less. And I have my dignity.

I turn back to the sink and grab a mug to wash, just to give myself something to do.

I’m so flustered I drop it into the sink with a huge clunk.

I hold my breath, waiting for it to smash into a thousand pieces.

Luckily it doesn’t. I put a hand to my head, feeling stupid and tense.

Then Rick’s arms are around me, randomly but not unpleasantly, as he reaches around me to pick up the mug.

There’s no need for the cage-like embrace.

There’s definitely no need for my dick to pay so much notice to his touch.

“Can I help you?” I say, icily.

“Just thought you needed a little soothing,” he says, stooping down to whisper right into my ear. “You’re getting all twitchy and antsy.”

Yes, and his proximity isn’t making that issue any better. My body hums, feeling itself happily trapped in his arms.

“I’m not antsy ,” I lie shamelessly.

I wriggle out of his grip. My face is on fire. At least the blush doesn’t show too much on my skin. One of the benefits of Sri Lankan heritage. Rick isn’t blushing at all, his light tan skin the same shade as ever. His coolness is too annoying.

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” he says. “It’s just a mug.”

Is he really this clueless? Even Rick couldn’t be this clueless.

Could he? I stare up into his eyes. He seems to be genuinely wondering what’s up with me.

Although… is there a glint of something deeper, more knowing, behind the concerned stare?

The moment stretches. Through the wall, Stacey is still arguing with someone on Eastenders.

Then Rick says, “Leave the dishes. Let’s play.”