Page 53 of The Haunted Hotel

“Christ, this whole place is like a massive whodunnit. Are you sure Agatha Christie didn’t stay here?” Morgan plucks a stray heart from his ear.

“Actually, she did. I believe she wrote one of her books here, but I’m not sure which. I must remember to ask,” I muse, sure that Bertie or one of the other ghosts would probably know the answer.

“Seriously?TheAgatha Christie?” he replies and I nod. He leans further into the cupboard, an odd expression on his face that I can’t quite put a name to. “I wonder what the purpose of this cupboard is. Other than to hide bodies in, that is.”

Suddenly, I feel a hand at my back shove me forward, and unable to keep my balance, I crash into Morgan. We both fall into the cupboard as the door slams shut, plunging us into darkness.

“Ouch, sorry.” I wince as Morgan accidentally elbows me in the ribs and I manage to tread all over his toes.

“No, it’s okay… just let me…ow.”

We stumble again, tangled up in each other, and hit the side wall of the cupboard.

“Maybe if I just—” I feel the breath knocked from me as I’m pinned.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just going to—” I hear a loud thump, and Morgan groans. “Ouch, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Okay, stop moving,” I pant, and he stills.

For several long seconds we freeze, our heavy breathing the only sound in the blackness of the small, confined space. My heartbeat picks up and my dick stiffens as I feel the heat of his body and smell the wonderful scent of him. Something slightly spicy mixed with a citrus, orange maybe. I’ve never been particularly good at identifying individual scents, but there’s something almost Christmassy about his. It’s like all my favourite things, and I want to press up against him, burying my face in his neck and dragging my lips against his throat as I breathe him in.

Okay. Not helping the dick situation.

“What happened?”

“We’re stuck in the cupboard,” I reply, trying not to sound as aroused as I feel, but my voice is still a breathy gasp, and I swear he presses into me a little closer.

“I guessed that.” His voice is a delicious growl in my ear, his breath tickling my skin.

I’m so tempted to turn my head a fraction closer to that voice so I can find his lips with mine, but instead I swallow hard, trying to focus.

“Please tell me this cupboard opens from the inside,” Morgan says.

“Yes, um.” I clear my throat and reach out, patting across the surface beside me in my search for the door handle. After waiting for a few moments while I don’t find it, Morgan shifts.

“Here, try this.” He fumbles around in the dark.

I have a brief, wonderful fantasy of him reaching for my trousers and unzipping them so he can slip his hand inside,then realise he’s actually reached into his own pocket. A moment later, the dim glow of his phone’s flashlight shines in the cramped space.

The light skims over the walls and when it falls on the door handle, I reach for it. Nothing happens. I frown and jiggle the handle again. Morgan shifts away and I put my shoulder against the door to give it a shove.

Still nothing… except for an amused giggle on the other side. An amused giggle I recognise.

“Roger!” I yell through the door. “I know it’s you, which means you’ve most likely got Bertie with you. Open the door this instant and let us out!”

The giggle comes again, accompanied by Bertie’s hissed,“Sssh, they’ll hear us.”

“I can already hear you,” I shout. “Open the door! This isn’t funny. The confetti cannons were bad enough. I was saving those for Valentine’s Day, and you know they’re totally going to clog up the hoover. John the Maid will not be happy.”

Silence on the other side.

“BERTIE! ROGER!”

“Who’re Bertie and Roger?” Morgan scowls. “And why did they lock us in a closet?”

I sigh and look over my shoulder at him. “They’re ghosts.”

He stares at me long and hard, as if trying to gauge whether I’m serious or have some kind of head injury.