Free Endless Night by Maureen A. Miller

that.”
    But how could he say that? When was the last time he was in an erotic pool of mud with a sexy woman squirming all over him?
    “Neither do I.” Megan’s voice broke his fantasy.
    Jake looked up and expected to see distrust and anxiety in her eyes, but something in that gaze had shifted. Some minute detail became mirthful, maybe even devilish. Whatever the look was, it suited her and did nothing to tame the effect she was having on his body.
    And now she expected him to go downstairs and take his clothes off ?
    “Well, let’s just chalk that up to—”
    “Let’s just forget it, okay?” she rushed.
    Before he could offer more, Megan’s fingers caressed the discolored wallpaper and reached for a secreted doorknob obscured within the heart of a faded rose. She tugged and the panel swept open with a squeal.
    “You’re coming down there too?”
    Her profile revealed a quick jerk of her lip, as much a phantom as any other specter in this house.
    “No, I’ll wash up upstairs. I don’t have any clothes that you can change into, so you’re going to have to hang out down there till the dry cycle completes.”
    Jake didn’t mind that at all. He caught a hint of the icy draft wafting up the stairs. Perhaps standing naked in this tomb would finally make him forget how perfect the wet curves of Megan’s bottom felt in his hands.
    “No problem.” Two strides and he started down the stairs.
    “Jake.”
    “Huh?”
    Her silhouette was eclipsed by the dim glow of the foyer. “The light?”
    Jake turned so fast he nearly tumbled down into the abyss. “That would be helpful, wouldn’t it?” He reached for the switch, a chipped piece of plastic jutting out from a metal electrical box. The fact that he flipped it and there was a five-second delay before any radiance erupted did not sit well with him.
    “When was the last time you had an electrician here?”
    Megan cocked her head and actually smiled. “You’re the first.”
    He was still stunned by that smile as she turned around and called over her shoulder, “If you need anything, just call.”
    Jake stared at her receding back. The things he needed while standing naked in her cellar, he didn’t think she would come running to.
    “Likewise.”
     
    The dungeonlike atmosphere smothered any desire Jake still felt. Leaning his hip against the dryer, he watched the red digital numbers on the washer decrease. Bored, he shifted and looked at what was visible under the scope of the single bulb dangling from a wire that ran the length of the ceiling. The washer and dryer were appliances from this decade, but from what he could discern, everything else down here defied modern technology.
    A breeze originated from a source he couldn’t pinpoint, but it swayed the yellowed bulb so that the light hit both walls in a pendulum effect. He crossed his arms to ward off the chill and watched that wave of light till it lulled him into a trance.
    The final click on the washer snapped him back to attention, his sigh shuffling the dust in this desolate crypt. With the dry cycle under way, he tried to entice circulation by moving around the rim of the throw rug, a welcome barrier between his bare feet and cold stone. That’s what the floor was. Not cement, but rather a well-honed sheet of bedrock.
    At the edge of the rug, and the farthest extent of the scope of light, Jake found an old washbasin, its tub charred and tarnished black. Deeper into the shadows, he squinted at the wooden shelves bolted into the walls, some planks hanging askew, a pile of books lying in a dusty heap on the floor beneath them. Perhaps Megan never dared venture off the safe perimeter of the rug or out from the boundary of light, but he was always up for a challenge, and more importantly, here to learn more about the proprietors of Wakefield House.
     
    Megan set the silver-handled brush back down on her dresser. She looked up at her gaunt reflection in the mirror and thought surely she had imagined the