Ghosts of Boyfriends Past Read Free

practiced it seemed oiled to a slick shine. “Too much too fast?”
    His lazy grin invited her to laugh with him at his own expense, and her irritation folded. Damn. He was good. He hadn’t missed a beat before shifting over to a new tactic.
    She leaned against the shelf at her back, absently swinging the crystal charm. “We run on island time around here. Diving right into it was a dead giveaway that you’re a day-tripper from the city.”
    “And that’s a bad thing?”
    “Absolutely. All city folk are here to exploit us, steal our women and rape our cattle.”
    His rough laugh grated out again, and Biz had to bite back the urge to smile at the jagged sound. “I promise I have only virtuous intentions toward your cattle.”
    “I notice you didn’t say anything about your intentions toward our women.”
    Wicked promise filled his eyes. “Haven’t made up my mind about my intentions toward you yet.”
    Her knees wobbled. Oh, baby. That’s trouble.
    He was flirting with her. Tall, Dark and Steamy was so far out of her league it was laughable, but he actually appeared to be flirting with her.
    A rack of runes crashed to the floor and reality crashed in on Biz. Thank you, Tony, for the wake-up call .
    Biz straightened and dropped the charm onto the counter. “I think you should go.”
    Tony had been out of her league too, but the curse hadn’t cared. The damned love spell had sucked him in and tricked him into thinking she was a goddess. The spell was the only explanation for why Mark Ellison would be twinkling and dimpling and flirting with her. She had to get him out of here pronto.
    The reporter with a death wish leaned forward. He should be running for the door, but he was swaying toward her, his eyes twinkling. The idiot.
    “Can we start over? I’m Mark. You’re Biz. I just want to talk to you.”
    “No. You have to leave.”
    As she spoke, the bell over the door jangled and Mrs. Kent, the busybody who owned the B&B across the street, poked her head inside, the rest of her compact figure quickly following. “Leave? Biz Marks, don’t you tell me you’re shooing off our first winter visitor in weeks. Shame on you, dearie!”
    “Mrs. Kent, he isn’t a tourist—”
    “Don’t you listen to a word she says. Everyone who visits Parish becomes a tourist. They can’t help it. You just stay as long as you please, Mister…” She trailed off, extending her hand and beaming at the Reporter of Doom. Her eyes gleamed with the fervent light of a hostess scenting a tourist in the off-season.
    Mark Ellison flicked a brief, triumphant look at Biz then turned to smile down at the petite picture of Parish hospitality. “Mark Ellison, ma’am. A pleasure.”
    Mrs. Kent twittered girlishly, instantly smitten—damn those dimples—and latched onto his hand with a death grip worthy of a boa constrictor. “Promise me you won’t go rushing off now.”
    Ellison twinkled. “Oh, I promise.”
    Biz wondered if this was how people on the Titanic felt when they saw iceberg chunks floating past their stateroom windows.

Chapter Two—The Black Widow of Sunnybrook Farm
    Elizabeth “Biz” Marks wasn’t at all what Mark expected of the Black Widow of Parish Island.
    He’d mentally cast her as dark, sleek and smolderingly sexy. Catherine Zeta-Jones, or maybe Penelope Cruz. In reality…she looked all wrong. The lethal Lolita who’d killed three men in the last three years shouldn’t look like a cross between a gypsy and a librarian.
    He’d pictured her in a killer black dress and red stiletto heels, as sexually appealing as she was coldly calculating. Instead her clothing was shapeless and drab, but she sparkled with an inner energy that couldn’t be contained. She was obviously doing everything in her power not to attract men—no makeup, hair yanked back in a brutal bun, the clothes, the get-the-hell-away-from-me vibe—but he was attracted. More than he cared to admit. Her face was a perfect heart shape, and while she