Love & Ghosts: Crescent City Ghost Tours

by Pulkinen, Carrie

  His smile faded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.”

  Change the subject. She needed to change the subject before she melted. “LeBlanc. Is that a common name in New Orleans? I’ve heard it before.”

  “Very. LeBlancs have been in New Orleans since the seventeen hundreds.”

  “Are you all related?”

  He chuckled. “I suppose it’s possible, from way back when. But not closely enough to claim each other anymore.”

  “That makes sense.” The tightness in her chest released, and she could breathe again. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore. “Well, let’s get started.”

  He lifted his shirt halfway up his chest and winced. “I, uh…might need some help.”

  “Would you like me to cut it off?”

  “Then I’d have nothing to wear when I leave. Could you help me get it over my head?”

  Holy moly. Okay, she could do this. She was a nurse practitioner with years of experience. She’d seen plenty of half-naked people in her practice and removed dozens of articles of clothing. Some of them on good-looking guys too. This shouldn’t be any different. Her gaze darted about the room, looking at anything and everything but the beautiful man before her. Maybe she could do it with his shirt still on. But she needed to sterilize the area, and the scrapes extended far up into his sleeve.

  The shirt had to go, and she had to remove it.

  She sighed and reached for the hem, pulling it up toward his right arm. The backs of her fingers brushed against his stomach, and she bit her tongue to keep the whimper from escaping her lips. He bent his right arm, and she worked the sleeve over his elbow, carefully lifting the fabric over his shoulder. He grunted and ground his teeth. Obviously, she wasn’t being careful enough.

  “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “It’s okay. How bad is it?”

  “There’s some rust embedded in your skin, but I can clean it out. You’re going to need a tetanus shot though.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “It’s a doozy of a shot. Think you can handle it?” She made the mistake of looking in his eyes again, and she melted a little more.

  “As long as you’re the one to give it to me.”

  This time she couldn’t stop the whimper, but she tried to hide it with a nervous laugh. “Okay. Let’s get this shirt off so we can get started.” She worked the garment over his head and pulled it off his left arm, being extra careful to avoid irritating the gash. He straightened his spine as she stepped away and admired…no, not admired…examined his torso for more injuries. He was all smooth, tanned skin and rippling muscles.

  “Your chest is flawless.” Even to herself, she sounded breathless. She really needed to get her act together.

  His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Why, thank you.”

  “No. That came out wrong. I mean...” She took a deep breath and composed herself. “How did you manage to tear up both arms, get a huge knot on your head, and not have a scratch anywhere else?”

  “Lucky, I guess? I hit the cart with my right arm and my head, apparently, and landed on a pair of hot dog tongs with my left.”

  She giggled.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It is, actually. It’s kinda funny.” And funny was good. Funny would distract her from those washboard abs and amazing pecs.

  He smiled. “Yeah, okay. I guess it is a little funny.”

  “Lie back, and I’ll get you stitched up, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She numbed the cut and cleaned it out. “So, what exactly were you doing when you got into this scuffle with a hot dog cart?”

  “I was walking a shelter dog. A…something distracted me, and I dropped the leash about the same time the dog got a whiff of the hot dogs. I caught up to her and grabbed the leash, but I was too late. Strong dog. I tumbled. You know the rest.”

  “A something distracted you. Do I want to know?”

  He glanced at her and looked at the ceiling. “I’d rather not say.”

  Probably a woman. A man this attractive probably had a different woman in his bed every night.

  “And no, I wasn’t checking out a woman.” His gaze caught hers, and she swallowed.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  “I wasn’t… I’m going to close you up now.” She tied the first suture, acutely aware of his dark gaze on her face.

  “You didn’t tell me you were a doctor.”

  She tied the second suture. “I’m not. I’m a nurse practitioner.”

  “Oh? Are you sure you’re qualified to be giving me stitches? I thought only doctors did that.”

  “I am highly,” she yanked the last suture closed, and he winced, “qualified.” She cleaned the wound and bandaged it. She heard comments like that daily, and she always shrugged them off. It shouldn’t have been any different coming from him, but his words cut deeper than most. “All done. I’ll send Becca in to clean up your other arm, and you’ll be on your way.”

  “What about the tetanus shot? You promised you’d give it to me.”

  “I made no such promise. Becca can administer it.” She tossed the soiled gloves, gauze and equipment into the proper bins and rose to her feet.

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t go.”

  Fisting her hands at her sides, she turned to look at him. His dark brow furrowed over his intense eyes as he rose into a sitting position.

  “I shouldn’t have said that. It was out of line. I’m familiar with nurse practitioners, and I know you’re highly qualified. It was a joke. A terrible, poorly executed joke.”

  She inhaled deeply and fought the urge to roll her eyes. Damn, he was good at apologies. “Okay. I forgive you. Lie back again.” She rolled the tray around the other side of the table and placed a towel beneath his right arm. “This might hurt a bit. I can try to numb it if it’s too much to handle, but it’s a big area.”

  “I can handle it.”

  She squirted the sterilized water on the scrape, and he winced. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” he said through clenched teeth.

  She finished cleaning the wound and bandaged it.

  “I am sorry about what I said earlier.” He sat up and watched as she cleared away the mess.

  “It’s okay.”

  “But we are even now.”

  She stopped and turned to face him. “What do you mean even? I never insulted your profession. I don’t even know what you do.”

  He grinned and started to run a hand through his hair, but grimaced as he lifted his arm. “On the ghost tour, you said all the evidence was fake and the tour guide was spreading lies.”

  “I said I was sorry about that. I didn’t know the tour guide was your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend. Well, I guess he is my friend now, but he’s also my employee.”

  Her mouth fell open, her stomach twisting as his words set in. “Your employee?” She forced the words out in a whisper.

  “That fake, untruthful tour you took? I own the company.”

  Her stomach dropped to her knees, and her ears burned like she’d stuck her head in an oven. He simply sat there smiling, his hands folded in his lap, his feet dangling from the table, his bare chest in all its gloriousness taunting her.

  If she could’ve found a hole, she’d have crawled into it and died. “I…oh. I am so sorry, Mr. LeBlanc.”

  His grin widened. “It’s Sean. And it’s okay. We both apologized. We’re good. Right?”

  Her mouth hung open again, so she snapped it shut and nodded. Could this situation get any more awkward?

  “So, how about that tetanus shot?”

  Oh, yeah. Way more awkward.

  “Umm…right.” She picked up the syringe and filled it with the vaccine. “Usually, this shot is given in the deltoid. But because of your injuries, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re already going to be sore for a few days, and this will
make it much worse.”

  “What do you recommend?” The sly tone of his voice told her he knew exactly what she’d recommend. He wanted her to say it.

  “Well, the other place this vaccine is administered is in the…uh…in your…” She’d turned into a babbling idiot. She was a professional. She did this every day. But twenty minutes with a half-naked Sean LeBlanc, and her brain had forgotten how to string words into sentences.

  “In my ass?”

  Did he wink when he said that?

  “Glute. In your gluteal muscle. That’s where I recommend you get the vaccine.” Finally, her brain was working again.

  He reached for the button on his jeans. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get me naked?”

  She shouldn’t have looked. She didn’t need to see his long fingers slip the button through the hole. His left hand held the fabric aside as his right hand slowly slid the zipper down, the teeth coming apart one by one to reveal the dark gray waistband of his underwear.

  She dropped the syringe on the floor.

  “Oh, shoot.” She scrambled to pick it up and toss it in the trash. Putty. She was turning into putty. “Maybe you should put your shirt on first. Here.”

  She picked the shirt up off the counter and carried it toward him. As she stepped toward the bed, her ankle twisted, sending her tumbling into him. She caught herself with her palms flat against his bare chest as he threw his hands to her waist to catch her.

  Her fingers splayed against his chest, her hands so pale against his warm, tanned skin. He was soft and hard at the same time, and he didn’t move his hands from her hips. She dared to raise her gaze to his and was met with his dark, intense stare. Her knees felt like jelly, but she managed to step away and hold herself upright.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not usually so clumsy?” He arched a brow.

  “No, I’m not.” It was an accident. It was not her thing. She didn’t have a thing.

  He slid his arms into his shirtsleeves and held them out shoulder level. “Could you help me get it over my head?”

  Dear lord. Anything to cover up that incredibly, amazingly distracting body. She pulled it up over his head and slid the hem down to cover his stomach. Her gaze lingered a little too long on his unbuttoned jeans before she stepped back to retrieve another vaccine.

  “You don’t have to remove your pants. If you’ll stand up and turn around, you can pull them down just enough for the vaccine.” Because if he pulled them down completely, there would be nothing left of her but a blob on the floor.

  He stood and turned to face the table. “Is this how you want me, Emily?” Her name rolled off his tongue like music, sending goose bumps chasing down her arms.

  She filled the second syringe and turned around to find him grinning at her over his shoulder, half his ass exposed as he leaned against the table. Her bones felt like rubber. She wiped an alcohol swab against his skin. His backside was round and firm, and she had to stop thinking about him like this. What was wrong with her? She’d never had such inappropriate thoughts about a patient before. And his flirtatious smile and charming words weren’t helping one bit.

  “Your hands are shaking. Do you need a minute? Seeing me half-naked seems to have done a number on you.”

  “I’ve seen plenty of naked men.” She jabbed the needle into his ass and depressed the plunger.

  “Ow. A little rough, don’t you think?”

  “Most men can take it.” She tossed the syringe into the receptacle.

  He buttoned his pants and stepped toward her.

  “You’re free to go.” She handed him the folder. “Take this to the receptionist, and she’ll get you checked out.”

  He took the folder and caught her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the butterfly on the inside of her wrist. “That’s a nice tattoo. What’s it mean?”

  Her breath caught at the gesture. He’d done the same thing Westley had done at the masquerade. But he couldn’t be. She refused to let him be… “It means I like butterflies.”

  “I like them too.” The corner of his mouth pulled into that familiar crooked grin.

  Her stomach fluttered like a dozen butterflies had been turned loose inside her as her hand slip from his grasp. It wasn’t possible. She would not believe it. “Do you have someone at home who can watch you tonight? Wake you up every two to three hours to check for a concussion?”

  “I’ll stay at my mom’s. She’ll take care of me.”

  “Good. Ibuprofen will help the pain and swelling.” It was a coincidence. This was not the same man she met at the ball. Please don’t let it be him. I’ve embarrassed myself enough.

  “Emily.” Becca opened the door and stuck her head inside. “We need you in room two.”

  She tore her gaze away from Sean’s, welcoming the relief of the distraction. “I’ll be right there.” She turned to him. “Put some ice on your shoulder.”

  He dropped his chest into a low bow and looked up at her. “As you wish.”

  Her heart stood still for a beat or two before slamming into her breastbone like it was trying to break free. “Westley.”

  He rose to his full height and smiled that familiar smile. “It’s good to see you again, Buttercup.”

  “Emily,” Becca called from the hallway.

  She didn’t know if she wanted to throw herself into his arms or turn tail and run, but her feet instinctively led her through the door toward her next patient. “I’m sorry. I have to…I have to go.”

  Her thoughts scattered in a million different directions. Sean was Westley. And he knew she was Buttercup. Did he know who she was on the ghost tour? Had he just figured it out? Had he known all along?

  She stepped into the next patient room, and seeing the swollen man lying on the table collected her thoughts into pinpoint focus. His clothes were covered in red splatters, but the sharp tinge in the air told her it wasn’t blood. Several angry, red welts adorned his arms, and his face had swollen to the point she could hardly see his eyes.

  She picked up a syringe of epinephrine and swabbed his skin with alcohol. “Paintball?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Let me guess. You’re allergic to red dye?”

  He nodded.

  She gave him the injection, and within minutes, the swelling subsided. But what had started out as a slow Thursday afternoon turned into a chaotic evening. Patient after patient poured through the clinic with everything from broken bones to strep to colds. The last patient left at seven-fifteen, and Becca locked the door.

  Emily took a deep breath for the first time that evening, and a sick feeling formed in her stomach. She stepped behind the reception desk and scanned the counter for any notes that might have been left for her. Nothing.

  “Becca, that man who was in earlier, the one who needed stitches…Sean LeBlanc… Did he, uh… Did he leave a message or anything for me? A note or something?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “That good-looking guy with dark hair?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “No. He paid his bill and left.”

  Her chest deflated. “Oh. Okay.”

  Becca shuffled through a stack of papers and pulled out a registration form. “But all his info is right here if you need to contact him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She flashed a mischievous grin.

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

  “He did ask for you specifically. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a call. You know…check on him. See if he has any questions…like if he wants to ask you out to dinner.”

  She chewed her bottom lip and eyed the form. It was tempting. “No. It wouldn’t be ethical to use a patient’s information for personal use.” She balled her hands into fists to stop herself from reaching for the paper.

  “Okay. But you know where it is if you change your mind.”

  * * *

  Sean slipped his key into the front door of the Garden District mansion and pushed it open. The scent of roses wafted into his senses as he steppe
d into the foyer beneath the ornate crystal chandelier and closed the door. He’d never noticed the overwhelming floral scent when he lived here, but if it was always this strong, he probably smelled like a pretty girl his entire childhood. Fantastic.

  “Momma? You home?” He hung his jacket on the coat rack and carried his backpack into the sitting room, dropping it on an off-white chair. An old woman in a high-necked dress from the 1900s lifted a translucent hand to wave.

  “Good evening, Lenore. Is Momma home?”

  The ghost nodded and pointed toward the kitchen.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Have a good evening.” He pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. “Hey, Momma.”

  She sashayed toward him and cupped his face in her hands, turning his head as she examined the knot on his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay. A little sore.” He shrugged off her concern and sat at the table. “Lenore’s fading. I don’t know if she’s going to be around much longer.”

  His mom smiled wistfully and nodded. “I haven’t heard her moving around much lately. She will be missed.”

  His great-great-grandmother had probably haunted the house since the day she died. She’d been there his entire life, and when his dad had figured out Sean could see ghosts too, he’d enlisted Lenore to help him learn to control his ability. Sometimes spirits sought him out specifically if they needed to pass on a message or just wanted to be acknowledged, but Lenore was tied to the house she’d grown up in.

  “So she’s crossing over?” His mom lifted his shirt sleeve and clucked her tongue.

  “A little bit at a time, apparently.”

  “If you had a good woman at home, she could be taking care of you tonight instead of your momma.”

  He grinned. “A good woman did take care of me this afternoon, until she had to move on to her next patient.”

  She set a plate of food in front of him. The savory scents of slow-cooked roast beef and carrots filled the air, and his mouth watered. She sat in the chair next to him and sipped a mug of spiced cider. “Oh?”

  “Her name is Emily, but you already knew that.”

  A warm smile spread across her face, deepening the fine wrinkles around her eyes. “You found your Buttercup.”