Oleander House: Bay City Paranormal Investigations, Book 1

working in the cotton fields.”
“Actually,” Bo said, “this place never grew cotton, or any other crop. It was a simple private residence, not a plantation. And there’s never been a suicide recorded in this house.”
David clamped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Cecile flushed. “It’s possible I’m wrong, of course.”
“Hey, the use of psychic powers is an inexact science, at best.” Bo gave Cecile a kind smile. “Your impressions are recorded, along with all the readings and any other thoughts or feelings anyone else has.”
Cecile gave a curt nod, then sat in a chair beside the table and crossed her arms. David caught Sam’s eye, pointed at Cecile, and tapped the side of his head. Sam bit back a laugh.
The group spent another twenty minutes or so comparing notes and making sure everyone’s impressions were written down. The Polaroids from the nursery were blurred by a strange, dark fog. After a few minutes’ debate, they decided to wait until they’d used all the film in the thirty-five mm camera before taking it to be developed.
Sam didn’t mention what he’d sensed in the nursery. He wasn’t sure why, except that he couldn’t quite pin down how he felt about it.
“Well, guess that’s it for tonight.” Bo glanced at the big grandfather clock in the corner. “Nearly midnight. Let’s set up video cameras and tape recorders in the servants’ quarters and the nursery, then get to bed. Breakfast at eight sharp, be there or miss out on the best biscuits and gravy you ever had.”
Everyone stood and started shuffling out of the room, talking together about the evening. Sam followed, lost in his own thoughts.
“Sam? You okay?”
Sam turned toward Bo’s voice with a smile as they started up the steps. “Yeah. Just tired. It was a long drive.”
“I bet. You must be exhausted.”
“Kind of. I like driving, but it does wear you out.”
“Yeah.” Bo gave Sam a sidelong look. “You were pretty quiet just now. But I guess when your day’s been as long as yours has, you don’t feel like talking much.”
Sam swallowed, trying not to stare at the graceful curve of Bo’s neck under the thick braid. “Um. Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
They reached the top of the stairs, and walked on down to the end of the hall. The nursery opened to their right, Sam’s room to their left. Bo stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out how. Sam wondered what it would be like to pull Bo against him, slide his fingers through Bo’s shadowy hair, open those soft lips with his tongue…
“Sam? You sure you’re okay?”
Startled, Sam blinked. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I zoned out.”
“Why don’t you go on to bed?”
“I will, after we get the cameras and stuff set up.” Sam stifled a yawn.
“The rest of us can handle it.” Moving closer, Bo laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam managed not to moan out loud. “You’re falling asleep on your feet. Go on to bed.”
Sam started to protest. Another yawn stopped him. “Okay,” he relented. “I’m going. ‘Night, Bo.”
“‘Night. Sleep well. See you in the morning.” With a quick smile, Bo turned and headed into the old nursery. Sam allowed himself a brief second to watch the way Bo’s body moved, then opened the door to his room.
    Bare skin, hot and smooth, slick with sweat. Blunt fingers digging into his chest, strong thighs pressing against his hips.
    Sam couldn’t see the man who straddled him in the humid darkness, but he could feel him. He could hear his grunts, smell the musk of his arousal. The man’s ass contracted around his cock, burning hot and almost painfully tight. Semen spurted onto Sam’s chest and he came with a shout…
    His own soft cry woke him. He lay gasping in a tangled nest of damp sheets, trying to blink away the lingering shreds of the dream.
    “Christ,” he whispered. He’d had erotic dreams before, but none this vivid. A faint scent of sweat and sex still perfumed the air and he could almost feel the man’s hands on him, the fierce heat clutching his cock.
    His hand wandered beneath the waistband of his boxers before he realized what he was doing. He gave in to the inevitable without a fight.
    Sam stared at the ceiling as he slowly caressed himself. Motes of dust turned lazily in the morning light, hazy forms swirling tantalizingly in and out of existence. If he let his vision blur just a little, Sam imagined he could see his