Gold Rush 2
Desire's Golden Dreams
Hannah Janes loves two men. Slim is a ghost trying to earn his way to his eternal rest. Bolt Carmody is a scientist with a mother who detests Hannah and a sexpot neighbor who wants him for herself.
Slim tells Hannah stories of her ancestor, the first Hannah, and her sexual exploits with five men she considered her husbands. Modern day Hannah is aroused and aches to enjoy both Slim and Bolt. Convincing Bolt, her longtime love, to accept her love of a ghost will not be easy. Outwitting his neighbor and his mother to keep his love may be impossible.
As Slim struggles with telling Hannah what he has done to earn eternal unrest, Bolt struggles with resisting his urges toward the persistent neighbor. The warnings of Bolt’s mother about Hannah’s fitness gain credence when Hannah asks him to engage in a ménage with the ghostly spirit who lives in her family’s defunct gold mine.
Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Western/Cowboys
Length: 51,292 words
DESIRE’S GOLDEN DREAMS
Gold Rush 2
Tish Domenick
MENAGE AND MORE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage and More
DESIRE’S GOLDEN DREAMS
Copyright © 2013 by Tish Domenick
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62740-155-5
First E-book Publication: July 2013
Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
To all those whose ghosts come back to haunt them from time to time and to all restless souls wherever you are.
DESIRE’S GOLDEN DREAMS
Gold Rush 2
TISH DOMENICK
Copyright © 2013
Prologue
Present Day, Golden Touch Mine, San Francisco Foothills
“So this was where your family dug up all their wealth.” Bolt Carmody slapped his hat against his thigh.
“Yep, lots of ghosts lurking around here.”
“Is that why your father insists on lugging a huge wreath up here every year? Does he know people who died digging up the gold here?”
“I don’t think that’s the reason. My mother used to do it. She was a birder. The wreath is made of nuts and seeds and suet with a salt lick base as you can see.” She fanned her face with her hat. “But the ghosts, they say, are actual night-stalking spirits. One in particular has been seen by many people.”
“Right, Hannah darlin’, if you say so.”
“You don’t believe in ghosts?”
“Of course not and neither do you.”
“Don’t be too sure about that or about me.”
Bolt took her arm and stopped her forward progress into the cave. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hannah shot him an enigmatic smile. “Darned if I know, cowboy. Let’s go inside and see if a ghost or two can make believers of us.”
“Your father said under no circumstances was I to let you prowl around in there. It’s not stable.”
“He’s a worrywart. They’ve put up steel braces everywhere. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Then why is it closed off with barbed wire?”
“I’m going in, come or don’t come. I don’t care, cowboy.”
Bolt looked around for help. “Where is your father?”
“Dad won’t be back for awhile. He always goes off somewhere to commune with nature.” She took several steps into the mine.
Bolt panicked. “Wait, Hannah. Tell me about the people who discovered this mine. I know your great-great, uh, is it three greats?”
Hannah nodded. “Three greats for Granny Hannah Brown Tolliver and three greats for the first Grandpa Wade.”
“They became rich and famous and built a house on Nob Hill, and later the one you live in now in the Berkeley Hills.”
Hannah kept going. Bolt walked with her while trying to hold her back from going too far before her father returned.
“What of the others who owned this mine?” He tried to distract her. “Didn’t you once tell me two of the guys were gay? What happened to them? It couldn’t have been easy for them the way the world felt about gay men in those days. Who else was in on the mine’s discovery ?”
“I don’t know all those stories myself. Wish I did. I’m going to explore the mine while I have the chance.” She took off.
Bolt chose not to follow and encourage her. “Damn, that girl is headstrong.” He doubted her cell would get reception inside the mine, but he texted her anyway. “Take Care. Luv U.” He went in search of Hannah’s dad. He was the only one who could make the headstrong woman behave.
Hannah was a bit disappointed in Bolt. For a cowboy and veterinarian who wrestled animals three times his size, he could wimp out in the face of her father. She wound her way into the darkness and shined her flashlight on the damp walls of the mine. After it had been played out for years it still sparkled with glints of gold dust.
She sat on a stump someone had left here years ago, her mind swimming with all the snippets of stories about the mine’s owners she’d heard over the years. Never had she learned whole stories of her an
cestors. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up Hannah Brown from Plantsville.
“Howdy, sweetheart. You sure do favor my Hannah. But she would never have worn pants that tight or a skimpy shirt where her nipples poked through.” Laughter shook the rafters. “Though she did love to be poked herself. Gads, that woman loved to fuck. Uh, excuse me. Who are you and why are you disturbing my peace?”
Hannah’s eyes popped open and a wavering stem of light gradually took the form of a man, a tall, rugged stud of a man, muscular to his slim waist and hips. Strangely, Hannah was not at all afraid of the apparition. She’d heard reports of the ghost in the mine. And here he was.
“Who might you be, sir?”
“I asked you first, woman.”
“I’m Hannah Tolliver Janes.”
“Ah, one of her descendants.” He came close and drew a finger down her cheek. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
“Not at all. You’re quite handsome for a ghost. Were you one of the original Hannah Brown’s lovers?”
“No, I was not fortunate enough to be of that group.”
“Not one of her husbands?”
“So, you know about Hannah having more than one husband?”
“Some of the lore has been handed down through the family, but not nearly enough. I’d love to hear what you know about my ancestors. Can you stay and talk awhile or will you disappear in a puff of smoke at any moment?”
“I am not a magic act. Certainly, I can stay and talk. I have nothing but time. Though I suspect you might be searched for soon. I sense a presence at the mouth of the cave.”
“Oh, worse luck. I’d better go, but is it okay if I come back? I am so curious about the first Hannah Brown Tolliver.”
“Come back anytime. I have many stories with details you could not hear anywhere else.”
Hannah stood and the ghost used her hesitation to take her in his arms. Although shocked at having a ghost touch her, Hannah was adventurous and went with it. His kiss was burning and arousing and left her breathless. She staggered toward the entrance of the cave dizzy and disoriented. When she turned back, no one was there.
Hannah used her hands as a megaphone and called out to the ghost. “Who are you? I didn’t get your name.”
Silence. Then, her father’s harsh words. “Hannah, you scared the life out of me.”
“Sorry, Dad, I’m perfectly fine as you can plainly see.”
Bolt looked helplessly on and she blew him a kiss as her father all but dragged her out of the mine. Tomorrow her dad was off on a business trip. She would come back alone tomorrow. The ghost said he had stories no one else knew. Nothing could keep her from hearing them.
Chapter One
She hopped out of the SUV, ignoring her father’s calls to stop. Home—refuge or jail? Hannah couldn’t decide as she ran up the front walk toward the Nob Hill mansion her ancestor had built during gold-rush days. The door opened for her before she reached it.
“Good afternoon, Miss Hannah.” Riley, the family’s oldest retainer, handed her a note listing the day’s menu.
“It’s fine, Riley, just fine.” She returned the menu and scooted upstairs to her room. All she wanted was to be left alone to think about what she’d seen in the mine—or thought she’d seen. Poor Bolt, she hadn’t said more than two sentences to him before they dropped him at his house. The kiss or whatever it was that happened to her in the mine had set her mind reeling. No, it had all her senses reeling. She and Bolt had been kissing since she was ten, fucking since they were teens. They’d lived together in college. But never had she had the reaction she’d had today when that stranger kissed her. Stranger? Spirit? Ghost? Something passed between them, something raw and terrifying and enticing.
Hannah threw herself facedown on her bed. One kiss and her body burned for sex. Not ordinary sex. She wanted, no, craved, rough sex with a cock inside every orifice of her body. She couldn’t stay still. The quilt rubbing her hardened nipples stimulated her. The movement of plopping on the bed scrunched her jeans against her pussy and made it throb. She grabbed one of the four posters to sit up. It became a phallic symbol in her hand. She scooted off the bed and ran to the window forgetting for a moment it was nailed shut as were all the windows. The ancient house had been climate controlled for years now and the windows barred for protection.
She ripped off her clothes and undid her ponytail on the way to the shower. The jets aimed at every part of her body were like electric shocks to her unsettled nerves. Scrubbing her hair and scalp didn’t help. Every touch to her own body only stimulated her throbbing pussy more. It needed a cock inside it. She needed good, hot sex. After toweling off, she slipped on sweats, no underwear, just sweats and sneakers and a ponytail holder.
A vigorous run on the track girding a series of tennis courts out back should return her to a normal state. The shaded area of the track that snaked through a copse of trees gave her pause. It reminded her of being in the mine. It reminded her of the kiss. The memory made her nipples pucker. She stopped to take her pulse and found it elevated more than her short run warranted. A bench placed for just this circumstance was around the next bend. It was there, but occupied—by Bolt. Oh, thank heaven, a cock.
“Man, am I glad to see you. How’d you know I’d be running?”
“I know your moods and something was bugging the hell out of you on the way home from the mine. I checked the stables first and when Beauty was in her stall stuffing her face with hay, I figured you’d be here trying to run off whatever was eating at you.”
“That’s one of the many reasons I love you. You can read me like no one else. Read this.” Hannah whipped her sweatshirt over her head and pounced on Bolt.
“Hey, this is a stone bench I’m sitting on.”
“Then roll me over and fuck me missionary style. I’ll be glad to take the bruises to my backside, only hurry. I need this.” She stripped off her sweatpants.
“Hey, slow your roll. I’m not going to do that. You’d be crushed. What’s wrong with you? You have several good mattresses only a few yards away in that mansion you live in.”
“Don’t ask questions. Just stick your cock in my pussy, now, dammit.”
“I love when you talk dirty and your wish is my command.” Bolt unzipped his shorts. “Straddle me.”
She slid onto his cock and closed her eyes with a huge satisfied sigh. “Egad, that feels good. Come here, Brady. I want you, too.”
Bolt paused. “What did you say?”
Hannah kept her eyes closed and didn’t answer. Bolt grasped her hips and manipulated them into the rhythm they’d established long ago.
Hannah’s head thrashed back and forth. “Not like that. It’s not enough. I want it hard and fast.”
He moved faster until she climaxed and wiggled off his lap. He zipped up and grinned at her. “Since when do you like it hard and fast? You always made me go slow before. And who the hell is Brady, Babe?”
“Brady? What are you talking about?”
“You called out for Brady. And you said ‘egad.’ Where did that come from?”
“I never said ‘egad’ in my life and I don’t know anyone named Brady. The only time I ever heard the name was in connection with my great-great-great-grandma.” Hannah pulled her sweats back on. “You must have heard wrong.”
“Oh, it was loud and clear. You said ‘egad.’ And you called to Brady.”
“I didn’t say it. I’ve never said it. And I didn’t call Brady.”
Bolt adjusted his jeans. “Okay, cupcake. Maybe you need a good night’s sleep. I’m going to run back down the hill and sleep in my own bed. Dad’s picking me up early to look at some ranch cattle that are off their feed.”
“And your mother’s all right with you taking off for the ranch again?”
“She has nothing to say about it now my internship is completed and I’m earning money. Her only comment was that she hoped the beasts had foot-and-mouth disease and Dad caught it.”
Hannah ran he
r fingers through her tangled ponytail as she watched Bolt take off. Had she really said “egad” and called out “Brady” while making love to Bolt? Did she really meet a ghost in the mine? And did he really kiss her? She shrugged. At least her nerves had settled and she was herself again, she hoped.
* * * *
Bolt slipped in the side door that led to his private wing of his mother’s house. This was where he called home when he visited her. In his royally outfitted bedroom, he shook his head at the unbridled opulence. He could easily live with his mother’s outrageous taste in decor and save the shocking sum he paid for his dinky apartment downtown. The move would help pay off his loans and bring him closer to marrying Hannah. But then he’d have to deal with his mother on a daily basis. He was not about to subject himself to that.
Living here had lots of pros and one big, huge con, his mother’s controlling nature. He wouldn’t have these vet school bills if she’d continued to pay his college fees from his trust fund. By some quirk of his grandfather’s will, his mother had control until he turned thirty-five, eight more years.
She would have been delighted to dole out money for Yale, Harvard, or Oxford if he’d studied something other than veterinary medicine. Dealing with large animals put him in his father’s camp, according to Alice May Grant-Carmody. And anything that even remotely smacked of ranching infuriated his mother.
She had married the cowboy, Buckminster Carmody, in a fever of lust. Ranch life soon lost its caché and the novelty of being wed to a cowboy gradually lost its glamor. She couldn’t change him—not “Plucky Bucky” as she now referred to him. Instead she divorced him, left the ranch, and took possession of her ancestral home while her father was on his death bed. To give her credit, she nursed her father for months before he succumbed to the cancer riddling his body.
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