USA Today Bestselling Author Lauren Smith is an Oklahoma attorney by day, author by night who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including: New England Reader’s Choice Awards, Greater Detroit BookSeller’s Best Awards, and a Semi-Finalist award for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award. She was a 2018 RITA ® Finalist in the Romance Writers of America Contest. To connect with Lauren, visit her at www.laurensmithbooks.com

Haunted, schmaunted. 
Bastian, infamous playboy and the current Earl of Weymouth doesn’t believe his English castle is haunted. So what if a few windows and lightbulbs shatter? That happens. OK, bleeding portraits are hard to explain…  But he is not going to be deterred. Not even by Jane, a seductive-as-sin grad student who has assigned herself the task of ghost hunting at Stormclyffe Hall. All Bastian wants is to restore his ancestral home, not be distracted by her curvy hips, bedroom eyes and gorgeous smile—
 
Fine, maybe he does want to get naked with Ms. GhostBuster, but that’s only because she practically follows him around, nosing into his daily life. And yes, because she looks so damnably sexy, however, he refuses to give into lust.  No matter how much she tempts him.
But when the ghosts up the ante and try to kill them, Bastian realizes he will have to keep Jane close. Very, very close. Purely to protect her, of course.
 
At least that’s what he tells himself. All bets—and some clothes—are off, as he shows her what a real earl is made of.


The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall

Jane stripped her clothes off, admiring the expensive Italian marble bathroom. The shower had a walk-in entry and was large enough to hold five people. There was a marble bench opposite the huge shower nozzle. She tiptoed into the stall and turned on the water. The initial blast was cold, and mist formed a layer of dew on her skin. When the water was hot and steam filled the shower, fogging all the mirrors and doors, she ducked under the spray. 


The heat was intoxicating, and she closed her eyes. Her hands rubbed, massaged, and slid over her body, her breasts, down her thighs. The warmth of the water lulled her into a dreamy state of lust. She leaned back against the shower wall, indulging in a fantasy of Bastian. It was his hands cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples. His mouth drew one aching peak between his lips, sucking hard in long pulls that had her fisting her hands in his hair to urge him on.


Chapter 34