by Ellen March
Automatically her hand came up, and she winced when she touched it, remembering when he’d given it to her.
How he’d given it.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” Sage flung the sheet back and leapt out of bed. Folding his arms, he chilled her with his accusatory glare.
“I don’t know. Are you telling me it wasn’t you who made love to me?” Grace grasped at the sheet and pulled it over her.
“Certainly not.” Sage ticked his fingers. “Firstly, it’s not Saturday. Secondly, I was sound asleep,” he flashed her a scowl, “until you manhandled my old boy. And thirdly, I’ve got no inclination. When I shower, it’s to wash, nothing else.”
“Well, someone made love to me. Did you lock the door? Maybe someone sneaked in?”
Sage gave a short shake of his head. “Yeah, he just nipped in to rob the place, happened to spot you, then gave you a quick going over in the shower instead.”
“Well I don’t know!” Uncharacteristically she snapped at him, wishing he’d give some moral support instead of condemning her.
“Then tell me what happened,” Sage demanded.
Breece spat the words out. “I fucked my girl, asshole, that’s what happened.”
“What did you say?” asked Grace, another frown line moved over her.
Sage tapped his foot, a clear sign of fury. His patience at an end. “I asked you to tell me what happened. Is that so hard?”
“No, but my cock was, ramming hard inside her.” Breece continued to bait him, thinking it was a shame he couldn’t hear his words.
Grace glanced around, looking for the source of the sexy voice. But where the hell was he? Then came the gradual dawning …. But it couldn’t be! She didn’t believe in ghosts.
It was a wind-up; it had to be.
So who had fucked her so sensationally in the shower? Another thought came to her and she voiced it.
“Sage, do you sleep walk?”
“No, never, next question?”
She dug the heel of her palm against her closed eyes. “Am I going mad?”
“I’d say you were going deaf. You still haven’t answered my question.”
Grace glanced up. How could she tell him she’d had brilliant sex, had come with the force of a tsunami? Her orgasm hadn’t washed over her; it had bolted and trampled everything within its path.
She pushed her hair back. It was still wet, and the tendrils clung to her fingers. “I was in the shower and someone joined me. I thought it was you.” Grace refused to look at him; instead her hands clenched and unclenched the sheets, twisting and knotting them.
“And …? Why would you think that?”
Grace looked up at him then; he really could be dense at times. “I’m glad you’re a surgeon and not a lawyer.” She couldn’t resist bitching. “But as there’s only the two of us in the house, who else would it have been?”
“Don’t try and be sarcastic; it doesn’t suit you.”
“Then stop asking stupid questions,” she snapped back.
Again she looked around at the distinct sound of clapping. “Can you hear that?”
“Grace, I think it’s good you’re having a few days off. I believe you need a rest.” He shook his head. “When I go into work today, I’ll arrange an appointment. With my colleague, Joanne Lovelock.”
“The shrink?” She all but shrieked the word out. “No way am I doing that. I’m telling you it happened.”
“What happened?” He paused from leaving and turned, waiting. “Hurry up, Grace, I need the bathroom.”
“Someone made love to me when I was in the shower.” She frosted him with a wintry glare, livid that he would conclude she was nuts.
“So you didn’t see who he was?” He raised one sceptical eyebrow, which arched into a smooth curve, and pursed his lips.
“No. You, he—whoever it was—told me to close my eyes.” As she said the words, she realized how bizarre the whole situation sounded.
“And you listened? You’re telling me you did exactly as ordered?”
She nodded. “It was supposed to make it sexier, to make me use my other senses ….” The words trailed off as she thought back. Because it had made it sexier. She’d felt on fire, hotter than any volcano or exploding star.
Sage gave a curt nod. “I’ll make that appointment.” He closed the door quietly behind him.
Grace scrubbed at an angry tear that had trailed down her cheek. Stepping from the bed, she moved to the mirror to examine her neck. A dark love bite glared back at her, just at the dip where her neck swayed into her shoulder. She remembered arching into him, welcoming his sucking and fucking.
She hadn’t dreamt it.
Breece watched her. He wanted a re-run. He also wanted to smash that sanctimonious twat in the face. Her sadness ate into him, the tears she shed. He wanted to lick them up and show her how to smile, to be happy.
Grace stood at the mirror, oblivious to another tear sliding down her pale cheek. Her skin shimmered, almost translucent. He couldn’t resist going to her. The back of his fingers traced across her cheek. He scooped the teardrop up and raised it to his lips.
She felt the feather-light kiss against her skin and swallowed, staring in horror as the teardrop moved through the air then disappeared. Oh my fucking God.
Grace grasped her throat and backed warily away. She held a hand out in front of her, as if warding something off. “This can’t be happening,” she said aloud. She stumbled and fell against the bed, where she lay on her back, unmoving.
“Careful.”
Again his word whispered over her.
“Who are you?”
Her gaze swept the room fear, oozing out of each and every pore. The fact that he’d made the most precious love to her didn’t take away the fact she’d been fucked by a dead man.
“Breece.”
He smiled in satisfaction. He was counting the days until she’d see him.
“Oh my God! I don’t believe it.”
“Now what are you talking about?” asked Sage returning to the room. Then stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, for God’s sake, cover yourself up, woman.”
He was suited up, his hair immaculate. Straightening his tie, Sage picked up his briefcase. His tux, covered under wraps, was draped over his arm.
“Nothing, I was just talking to myself.” Quickly she rolled the sheet over her, covering her nudity. And then realized that Breece had seen her; hell, he’d done more than that.
“We’ll forget the gym. Try and get some rest.” He was about to turn, then stopped. “And I’ll make that appointment, no arguments.”
The door closed again, and Grace glanced warily around, wondering where her ghost had gone. Only silence greeted her. “Breece, are you there?” There was no sound, apart from the muted roar of Sage’s car growling down the short drive.
She dug into her bag, searching for her mobile, and with a surge of impatience emptied the contents out onto the bed. Wishing the mobile wasn’t so small, she keyed in Amy’s number.
* * *
Amy was on her third cup of coffee and prepared to admit she was a caffeine addict. She conveniently ignored the stash of biscuits that rode alongside. A flicker of surprise crossed her features when her mobile rang so early. She was even more surprised when she saw Grace’s name appear.
“What’s wrong?” She put her coffee down, creating another ring on the surface of the breakfast bar. “Don’t tell me Sage has decided to make a move on a weekday, up the ante, move the goalposts from his ten o’clock rub?” She gave a throaty chuckle and snatched at a biscuit from her stash.
“It’s Breece. He’s here.”
Saying the words out loud made her feel like a lunatic. How could she be having this conversation?
It didn’t make sense, and then she recalled her dream. She was determined to have a word with him about that. He’d taken advantage that night. Grace tried to reason how that worked. Because he’d taken and she’d given a damn sight more than
that. She couldn’t think straight and needed to talk to someone who didn’t think she was mad.
Amy dropped the biscuit that she’d hovered over her coffee. It fell in a splash, and brown liquid splashed out. “What? Are you serious? This isn’t a wind–up, is it?”
“Amy, I’m serious. It was him that night, when I thought I was having a wet dream.”
“I knew it. I knew something had happened. Oh my giddy aunt, how did he make contact?”
A flush stained Grace’s pale cheeks. “With his cock. We had it off in the shower.”
“I don’t believe you just said that. What about Sage? Where was he?” Amy rose and paced around the small kitchen. She held one hand to her throat. Excitement animated her face, and her eyes were wide open. “It sounds like he’s one randy son of a bitch.” Her words were laced with a note of envy.
“That’s who I thought it was, Sage. I had my eyes closed.” Grace lay back on the bed, still naked, then glanced around and pulled the sheet over her. He could be hiding. She wasn’t taking any chances.
“And you didn’t realize, didn’t guess he was a ghost?”
“Well, excuse me, how am I supposed to know the difference? He felt warm, and he had muscles most men would die for.” She paused. “Excuse the pun. Call me naïve, but how was I to know? His cock, his whole package, was everything I’d ever wanted.”
“And you couldn’t see him?”
“I turned, and he made me close my eyes, asked me to keep them shut.”
“You heard him? Yet still didn’t know it wasn’t Sage?”
“He was whispering; then there were the sounds of the shower.” She grinned. “And trust me, with what he was doing with his hands, I couldn’t think straight.”
“I knew it. That wasn’t a wet dream. I told you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you told me, but what’s going to happen next? He can’t stay here.”
“Give me a moment. I’ll need to get in touch with a friend of mine. She’s a medium.”
“And?”
“And she’ll get rid of him, exorcise the house.” Amy took another slurp of coffee. “Oh, my goodness, this is so exciting!”
“Well, it would be to you. You’re not the one he’s intent on fucking!” Then she thought back and wished she could’ve had that experience with Sage. Was that too much to ask for?
“We’ll be over after work, probably about sevenish. Okay with you?”
“Fine, anything I need to do?”
“Nothing at all. Jeez, my first ghost and my first exorcism. It’s unreal.” Amy was bursting with uncontained glee. “So, how did it feel?”
“What?” Grace was having trouble keeping up with her.
“You know, sex?”
“Truly scrumptious. I’ve never had so much pleasure in all my life.” A sigh snaked out, a long, ragged release of bated breath. “Christ, I wish he wasn’t dead, that I could screw him on a regular basis.”
“But you don’t know what he looks like,” reminded Amy.
“Nope, but believe me, if his face is anything like his body, that man should achieve sainthood.”
“What did Sage say?”
“That I’m bonkers, but wait till you see the mark on my neck. Even that wasn’t enough to prove it actually happened, of course. Only that I’d been screwed by something, obviously not him.”
Amy dragged in a breath and checked the time. “Okay, I’ll see you tonight. Where is he now?”
“No idea. Either playing ’possum or gone on walkabout, but he’ll be back,” said Grace with conviction.
“Do you think you can introduce me to him before we start sending him back?” Amy was keen to talk to a real live ghost.
“Suppose so, but I’m no expert in this field. In fact, I haven’t got a bloody clue. How can I feel him as if he’s real, body to body?”
“No idea. It’s not the norm,” said Amy, dropping her mug into the sink to join several more. Domestic she didn’t do. Not until she was forced to. Until she’d run out of crockery.
“So, how does your lot know what should be considered proper? How a ghost should act, what it should do?”
“Experience?” she hedged.
“How the hell can you gain experience with the dead? How do you learn how they should react? What you should feel?” Grace was confused and angry. And frustrated. She’d finally found someone who could satisfy her, and he had to be fucking dead!
And her best friend was intent on sending him back to wherever he’d arrived from.
Did she want to lose him?
Hell yes, her sensible side screamed. Shit no, cried her fanny.
She felt her crotch get damp at the mere thought of him. Her sex wasn’t just twitching; it was tugging at her lips, wanting his cock. Filling and twirling, thrusting every inch deep inside her. Shit, but her life was crap, she thought. She had her own personal fucking machine and yet was forced to send him away. It was a shame that Sage couldn’t learn something from him.
“I don’t know,” Amy admitted. “I have no experience with ghosts.”
All Amy knew about the paranormal was from reading what live people had written. What they’d experienced could be denied and exaggerated. It could all be lies, yet it could all be construed as the truth. Even down to the films. She’d yet to come across anything remotely like them.
“Hmmm, well okay. I’ll let you go. Catch you later.” She hung up. She glanced around. Was he there? Was he watching her?
She called his name. “Breece?” No answer, only silence.
Heaving a sigh, she snuggled beneath the sheets. Drawing them up, she felt her early shower catch up with her. And she slept.
* * *
Grace nibbled on her nails. She was worried. She hadn’t heard from her ghost, if indeed he was one. Could some sexually deviant asshole have snuck in? Now that it came down to it, everything pointed to her nerves, a squall of regret, and an overactive imagination.
Sage had rung, checked to see if she was sober, and told her to pencil in her appointment. Which she’d dutifully done, all the while cursing him beneath her breath. Why couldn’t she ever tell him no? Whatever he said, she followed his orders.
She wished she had the nerve to tell him where to go. To ask him to believe in her. Yet now, as she waited for the arrival of Breece, she began to wonder if Sage was right. That she was losing her grip, because everything that rambled in her scrambled brain steered to that.
Maybe it was her hormones—sexually inactive ones that were playing up. She’d heard of women experiencing all sorts of bizarre reactions to them.
Whether it be her period, pregnancy, or the change … either way, something was seriously wrong with her.
Chapter Eight
Grace stood before the mirror in the lounge and checked the time. It was almost seven. She glanced around and knew Breece was there before he spoke, before he made his presence known. She could sense him, crazy as it sounded. His addictive male scent invaded her space. The heady, testosterone-laden air flooded over her.
“Breece?” She reared up and glanced around her, and then, arching her back, melted into the sensations assaulting her body.
“I’m here, baby.” He slipped behind her. His hands scooped over her luscious tits, weighing them, and flicking over her nipples. He ground his groin against her ass.
“Oh, dear God!” She leaned back into what looked like thin air. The reflection of her podgy body bounced from the mirror before her. It appeared strange, it looked weird—shit, a lot of words could describe it, but at the moment none came to mind. All she could think of was the sweet sensations that racked her body, the tunnel of heat that rippled on a molten lava flow. Her stomach muscles scrunched. And—oh, Christ—how her clit responded! She sought to ravish the hand that caressed her.
* * *
Breece laved his tongue across her throat, tasting her. He thrust his hard cock against her ass. Wriggled suggestively, digging his hips in.
Suddenly the doorbell r
ang, pealing through the air. Both stopped, and groaned. Grace pulled herself together, smoothed down her clothes, and collected her thoughts before moving away.
Breece followed her, liking how her wide ass swung. All he could think of was what he’d be doing tonight—holding her hips and sinking in deep.
That was until he saw her guests, and recognised the short stubby one from her work. He didn’t like the look of the second guest, a woman who looked like a hippie. A colourful scarlet scarf fitted tight around her head, the ends swirling down her back. She hauled with her a large bag, a tapestry monstrosity. It looked to Breece as if she were moving in.
Amy glanced around, her eyes wide as saucers.
Breece wondered if she was expecting the apocalypse.
Turning to Grace, Amy asked. “Well where is he?”
“No idea. I can hear him but not see him.”
When he whispered in her ear, she jumped. “Tell her I’m right beside her.”
“He said to say he’s beside you.”
Amy swivelled around. “Who are you, Breece, and where do you come from?”
Breece tried to stay serious. “Tell her she’s talking to fresh air. I’m the other side. And I come from Krypton. Where the hell does she think I’ve been?”
“Amy, he’s on the other side of you.” Grace deliberately didn’t add any more.
“Oh right!” She turned to the side. “We’re here to help you, to send you back where you belong.”
His words dripped over Grace. “I belong in bed with you.”
Grace ignored him. Her fanny didn’t. It leaked, fuelled by a stream of female hormones.
“Do you want to get started?” Her question was addressed to the hippie who doubled as a medium.
The woman nodded. “Let’s get underway.”
“Whoa, where do they think they’re sending me?” A wave of concern edged his words. He had just found a woman he enjoyed fucking and some asshole was intent on taking his pleasure away? He didn’t think so.
Grace was everything he wanted, at least that’s what he thought right now. Because Breece was pretty certain he’d never experienced this overwhelming, constant need to be with any woman. In bed, out of bed, it made no difference—well, okay, he’d prefer in bed, but what the hell. For the short time he’d known her something had clicked for him. And he hoped it had for her. There was only one slight hitch. He was dead. But he was pretty sure he’d somehow overcome that.
