by J. D. Mason
Abby looked at him, surprised, as if she’d forgotten she’d told him about them.
He looked back at her. “In your e-mail? You mentioned ghosts in your video.”
“I did,” she said, staring wide-eyed at him.
“So, you think the house is really haunted?”
Not that he cared one way or another about haunted houses, but he had to get talking, to distract her from the host of second thoughts that he knew were probably already starting to creep upon her.
“Sounds crazy, huh?”
He shrugged. “A bit. What makes you think that it is?”
“Well, it’s been rumored to be haunted for years,” she began. “But that in and of itself would not be enough for me to believe it. I mean, I’m an engineer, Jordan. By nature, I’m a logic- and reason-driven creature. Know what I mean?”
He was about to respond, but she interrupted him.
“So, after I closed on the house, I went in and made my assessment of what needed to be done—flooring, new roof, updating the electrical and plumbing systems, and the back room, which is the main bedroom, was ice cold. Freezing,” she explained dramatically. “Which made no sense, because it was the middle of July and there was no air conditioning. I thought it was odd, but I didn’t dwell on it.”
He listened patiently as she continued.
“What really got my attention was hearing the floor creak in the living room, when I’d be in another part of the house. And it wasn’t just creaking. It was like someone taking steps. Someone walking. Then one day before I’d moved in, I was repairing the drywall in the hallway, and I thought I saw someone out of the corner of my eye standing near the front door. Scared the mess out of me. But when I turned to look directly at it, there was nothing there.”
Abby explained how she’d invited a friend of hers, the woman he’d met the day he’d met Abby, who was supposedly a psychic but who denied being a psychic, to confirm that the house was indeed haunted.
“And she said it was. But after you told me what happened there, I started to put it all together.”
By the time she’d reached the conclusion to that story, Jordan was parking in front of her house, and Abby froze. Jordan turned off the engine and sat quietly for a few moments before getting out of the truck and walking around to her side to open the door.
“This probably isn’t a good idea,” she quickly said.
And there it was. That logical and reasonable-thinking engineer. She’d simultaneously told him ghost stories and talked herself out of spending the night with him. Jordan could honestly not think of one time in his life where he had actually not gotten the girl. This would be a first, and if things worked out the way she wanted, at the moment, he’d have a long drive back to Dallas and a vicious hard-on to contend with.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and slowly nodded. The look in her eyes said it all. He was definitely not getting the girl.
He sighed. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed,” he said, trying not to feel as rejected as he amazingly was.
This was one of those things that never happened to a man like him. But apparently, she was going to pat him on the head and send his ass home.
Abby wouldn’t look at him. “It’s just that we barely know each other, Jordan.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true, Abby,” he said patiently with a hint of optimism still struggling to survive in his gut. “You know more about me than most people.”
She finally looked at him. “I just don’t feel comfortable with this,” she said softly, batting those pretty brown eyes at him.
Jordan realized that he would have to actually concede. “Can I at least walk you to your door?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said apologetically.
On this, he was not taking no for an answer. “I insist.”
Jordan held out his hand. She reluctantly took hold of it and climbed out of the truck. Abby stepped onto the first step of her porch and turned to Jordan.
“Thank you so much,” she said warmly. “I’m sorry I—I didn’t mean to send mixed signals.”
Jordan was being dismissed. It was a phenomenon to end all phenomena. He wasn’t used to not getting his way and a silent explosion went off someplace deep inside him. Jordan didn’t know whether to cuss or laugh. If he’d told this story to anyone of he knew back in Dallas, that he’d been shot down by a cute, little woman in Blink, Texas, they’d have thought he was making the whole thing up.
“You should probably get on the road and head home,” she said sweetly. “It’s getting late and you’ve got a long drive.”
She was too pretty to not at least try to kiss one last time. He leaned in slowly, cautiously, prepared to back off if she made it clear that she wasn’t interested. It was as uncharacteristic a thought as he could ever remember having. Abby accepted him wrapping one arm around her small waist. If this was going to be it, he was going to make sure that it was damn good and that he didn’t rush through it. His approach was hesitant, grazing his lips against the softness of hers, pressing hers between his and lulling her into that space where she began to relax and feel comfortable. Abby gradually began to push her soft and warm body closer to his, pushing into him, placing the palms of her hands against his chest. Slow, even breaths escaped from both of them. Jordan held her tighter, more securely in his arms. Her lashes grazed his cheek, and he slipped his tongue between her lips without warning. Abby moaned and mated hers to his. Jordan’s erection grew more and more demanding the longer the two of them stood here doing this until he couldn’t take it anymore. He was either going to have to leave or … damn!
Jordan stopped kissing her and asked breathlessly, pressing his forehead to hers, “Are you sure you want to send me home?”
Abby mercifully shook her head. “No,” she confessed, turned around, took hold of his hand, and led the way to her front door.
She was noticeably nervous and perhaps a little awkward. Jordan sat down on the side of her bed while Abby stood barefoot in front of him.
“Do you have a condom?” she asked, looking and sounding more like a young college virgin than a logical and business-owning engineer.
No. He did not have a condom, and Jordan hated the notion that this encounter could end here and now because of it.
Abby read the expression on his face, then leaned over to her nightstand, opened the drawer, pulled out a condom, and handed it to him.
“I-I keep them just in case. I mean, it’s not like I’m always … well, but, I replace them every six months. But not because … I haven’t had sex in four years, Jordan,” she finally blurted out, then thought about it. “Or five.”
Jordan was stunned but thought better of pursuing that statement with any sort of question. He set the condom back down on top of the nightstand, slipped his thumbs at the waistband of her skirt between the fabric and her skin, and slowly slipped it down past her hips, letting it fall to the floor. His gaze locked onto the lacy pink triangle of her thong and he lightly grazed the tips of his fingers up the curve of her waist until his hands disappeared underneath her top. He looked up into her eyes and gradually pushed the material up, exposing a matching sheer bra, and caught and held his breath. Abby raised her arms and slipped the top off over her head.
Five fucking years? No man had touched this body in five years? Except him. He relished the thought. Jordan pulled her into his chest, then leaned back on the bed with Abby in his arms. This was special, and it needed to last for as long as humanly possible. She was vulnerable and timid and absolutely gorgeous. He rolled her over onto her back, then stood over her, taking in the view of every perfect curve and committing them to memory.
Jordan bent down, balancing himself on his hands on either side of her, and kissed her slowly, passionately, savoring the flavors of the two of them mixed together. Abby pulled on him at the shoulders, coaxing him closer to her.
He pulled away, stood up, and began unbuttoning h
is shirt, peeled out of that, loosened his belt, and shucked out of his jeans. His dick was ready to explode.
Slow the hell down, man, he told himself.
He lowered himself down on top of her. Abby welcomed him between wide-open thighs, that beautiful mouth of hers, and soft arms wrapped over his shoulders. Jordan pushed himself down until his mouth was in line with her dark nipples straining against the thin fabric of that bra, and he wrapped his lips around one. Abby grabbed him by the back of his neck, arched her back, and gasped. Jordan flicked his tongue against it, grazed his teeth over it, and sucked, and it seemed like it would burst, and then he turned his attention to the other one.
It was tantalizing through the material, but it wasn’t long before he craved the warmth and the flavor of it. He reached up to her shoulders and pulled down the straps until Abby’s beautiful breasts were fully exposed and Jordan lost his damn mind in a feeding frenzy on both.
She said his name over and over again.
He had always exercised constraint. Jordan’s lovemaking was metered and planned, but not this time. This time it wasn’t about her. It was about him, consuming her, losing himself in her, and for the first time in a very long time, Jordan was out of control and greedy for this woman.
At some point, he must’ve reached for the condom and slipped it on. The act of making love blurred into images flashing like snapshots one after another of Abby facedown on the bed with Jordan easing long, deep thrusts in and out of her from behind. And of Abby straddled on top of him, biting and tugging on his lips, raising and lowering her hips against him. It wasn’t until he had her pinned underneath him, holding her legs up at the knees against his biceps, pressing down on top of her, slowly and methodically driving into her until, finally, he released so hard, so powerfully that he nearly passed out.
Sounds coming from her disappeared in a vacuum. The room started spinning, and Jordan released the most painful and delicious orgasm he’d ever had in his life. When it was over, he moved his arms, allowing her to lower her legs on either side of him. Jordan almost made the mistake of collapsing all 230 pounds on top of her petite little ass, but had presence of mind enough to roll over onto the bed. And thankfully, Abby rolled over to him and placed her head on his chest. He got the girl. He got this girl.
Yes, I Have Known
HIS FACE WAS FAMILIAR.
The sound of his voice was familiar.
But what was he doing here?
He shouldn’t be here. Not here.
* * *
The memories in this house played out like films. And he watched. And he recalled the details with such clarity, as if he had played a part in their unfolding. But how could that be? His frustrations were growing. Anxious and impatient feelings had begun to consume him and distract him from a focused sense of purpose that he’d had for as long as he could remember.
He stood in the living room.
Home.
Two women, arguing. Angry shadows. Bitter and cold. He stood there watching, squinting to try to get a clearer perspective on the scene in front of him. And who was he? A man in the midst. Yelling. He could never make out fully what they were saying. Only that their tones were angry, biting.
The curse words came through, though.
Bitch!
Fuck you!
Mother fucker!
Everything else was muddled and vague.
* * *
Music. A dance tune, light and laughter.
Boogaloo! Ha! Yes. He remembered boogaloo. That little girl loved to dance. Like her momma.
And there she was. That little dark-skinned beauty with pigtails and a frilly dress. Bouncing. Taking hold of his hand and spinning until she was dizzy. Until she spun like a top and fell to the floor.
* * *
Pop! Pop!
He jumped, startled by the sound, and an angry and warm feeling washed over him as he jerked to the source.
This house was too small for all these things to be happening at once.
Pain! Ah!
He raised his hand to his chest. It was … hard … to breathe.
Oh, and that pissed him off.
No! No. He pulled his hand away from his chest, and blood seeped through his shirt and covered his palm.
No. She could not take this from him. He wouldn’t let her.
Fuck you, Oli—
* * *
They were making love. Panic arose inside him. No! Not in this house. In his house!
He could hear it. Moans and groans. The heat of fucking filled the air. That good kind of fucking.
Sweet.
He knew it well. It was addictive because it was liberating. It set him free. She set him free.
He followed the sounds down that narrow hallway, fearful of what he might see.
Ida with someone else? No. With him. Only him.
The passionate sounds tugged at him and ignited delicious memories of his own, though he could not recall the details.
Only her face. Her beautiful eyes and long, soft hair.
Burying himself in between her thighs was such a treat.
Because he loved her. Because she loved him.
Truly.
* * *
This man was in his bed.
The woman he knew, though she wasn’t his. Reminded him of her, though. He sighed. Relieved.
Who was this man?
He was familiar. Distant and familiar.
He reminded him of someone. Himself? In a way. Yes. He had a way about him. Even sleeping. There was something about him.
But he shouldn’t be here. Not in this room. Not in this bed.
He needed to see the man’s face. A closer look. So, he bent down to see who he was.
These eyes of his had grown tired. He squinted, struggling to see the lines and features of this other man’s face.
In his frustration, he raised a hand to touch this man’s face.
“Julian.”
He turned at the sound of her calling his name. Ida stood in the doorway of the room.
“Home,” she whispered. “See it?”
See … what? This was not his home. This was not another man’s home. It was Julian’s home.
* * *
He turned to the man again. Who was he? And why would she believe that this was another man’s home?
Julian turned back to Ida. She was gone.
And when he looked down at the man again, he saw that the man was looking at him.
* * *
Jordan’s heart caught in his throat. What the fuck? Was he dreaming?
Abby slept soundly with her head still on his chest. He woke up out of a sound sleep and thought he saw something—someone hovering over him. It looked like …
Julian? His father’s face? He blinked and it was gone. But the air in the room had cooled dramatically. Jordan had been dreaming. That had to have been it. Jordan took a few deep breaths to calm himself. All of Abby’s talk of ghosts must’ve gotten to him. Still, it took several minutes for calm to come over him again. It seemed real, real enough that Jordan thought that if he’d raised his hand, he could’ve touched—
She stirred in her sleep, and instinctively, he held her tighter and kissed her forehead. She was definitely having one hell of an effect on him. Jordan couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually spent the night with a woman or the last time he’d wanted to. But tonight, he didn’t want to leave, and he hoped that morning took its sweet-ass time getting here.
He’d called Robin back earlier after finding out that Abby was going to be at Roscoe’s and told her that something had suddenly come up. Her disappointment was evident and warranted. He had no idea where this was leading, if it would lead to anything beyond this, but Jordan needed to break things off with Robin. She deserved someone who could give her the time and attention she wanted from him. And Jordan had outgrown the need or the desire to entertain more than one relationship at a time.
The startling effects of that dream he’d had, or what
ever it was, were starting to wear off, and the need to go back to sleep was starting to creep up in its place. Jordan had never given much thought to the possibility of ghosts one way or another. But this house held something that alighted on him every time he set foot inside it. Maybe it was some kind of remnant left behind from his father’s death. He wondered how much any of that mattered anymore. The man had died thirty years ago, taking anything Jordan might’ve needed from him with him. The only thing he cared about now was this moment right here. It was basic. No frills. But it meant so much to him in ways he didn’t quite understand.
Eventually, his eyes fell shut, and he drifted back off to sleep, making sure that she stayed close.
Is It My Turn?
IT TAKES A REAL TIGHTROPE walker to balance on that hair-thin line of being respectful to the boss’s girlfriend and straight-arming the woman at the same time. Phyl Mays had mentally begun preparing herself for the task two days ago, when she’d accepted Robin’s invitation for a drink.
“Thank you for coming,” Robin said graciously, greeting Phyl with a smile as Phyl sat down at the table where Robin was waiting.
Robin’s acknowledgment of Phyl had always been cordial, cool, and pretty dismissive before today. The woman was one of the most gorgeous women Phyl had ever seen, and she was almost Phyl’s type, except for the fact that she wasn’t nearly butch enough.
“Well, of course,” Phyl replied, trying not to sound as fake as she felt. “Needless to say, I was surprised by the invitation,” Phyl admitted, “but I never turn down the offer for a cocktail if I can help it.”
The small talk flowed smoothly enough for the first few minutes of the conversation. Robin complimented Phyl on her shoes, and of course, Phyl raved over Robin’s designer clutch. Phyl wasn’t stupid. Robin Sinclair was not the type to hobnob with the hired help. This was the longest conversation Phyl had ever had with the woman in the six months since Robin and Jordan had started seeing each other. Now the woman was acting like she and Phyl were sorority sisters. She beat around the bush for as long as she could, but when the moment of truth came, Robin was as smooth as silk when she finally broached the real reason for this meeting, as if Phyl hadn’t already figured it out.
