If I'm right, and McIven agrees to Nick's offer, the moment the sale is a done deal, Nathan will have no choice but to quit haunting Foxton Hall and disappear. I don't want Nathan to disappear. But short of McIven refusing to sell, I have no idea how I can prevent it.
When I reach the top of the stairs everything looks the same as it did the first time I came up here--dust, dirt and cobwebs in every direction. I walk down the hallway and check each of the rooms. Nothing! If Nathan does live up here, there's absolutely no sign of it. But since Nathan's a ghost, what can I realistically expect to find? Gum wrappers, chip bags, and empty soda cans?
For all I know, he's already passed over and is laughing at me from the other side. But, on the off-chance he's still around, I hesitate at the top of the stairs and, feeling like the idiot of the week, I say loudly, "Nathan Berringford? If you can hear me, get your cute butt downstairs asap. We need to talk."
I don't expect Nathan to appear the moment I snap my fingers, so I'm not disappointed when nothing happens. The truth is, I'm still wandering around in a twilight zone of what's real and what's not when it comes to ghostly behavior. I'd always thought ghosts were misty, unsubstantial wisps of ectoplasm, wafting their way around damp, musty old buildings, and we all know how wrong I am about that.
There's nothing insubstantial or wispy about Nathan. He's hotter than a firecracker. His cock is every bit as good and maybe even more substantial than his brother's, and he definitely knows how to use it to best advantage.
I'm wondering if the way I feel about Nathan has something to do with the fact he and Nick are identical twins--a case of not being able to love one without the other--when Nick calls. He tells me he misses me, that he hopes to be home for the weekend, and then he says, "I tried to contact McIven, but according to his London office, he's in Brazil and they don't expect to hear from him until some time next week."
"Did you leave your phone number?"
"Of course. The person I spoke with promised to have McIven get in touch with me the moment he hears from him."
I want to raise the possibility of Nathan's ghost disappearing if McIven agrees to sell, but I remember our previous conversation and let the opportunity slip by. I know Nick feels badly about Nathan's spirit being trapped here, and I know how close the two of them were, or are, etcetera, etcetera. Even so, I have a sneaky feeling Nick would feel a lot better if said spirit simply toddled off into the sunset.
However, there's something I really do need to ask Nick. And now is as good a time as any.
"By the way, what room was McIven's girlfriend in when she woke up and found Nathan there? Do you know?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because, from everything I've heard and read on the subject, ghosts generally seem to hang out in one particular part of a house--like one special room, or a balcony or stairway. They don't go running around all over. And since both Polly and I thought we saw something or someone, I was just wondering..."
"Polly said it was in the yellow room at the back of the house. The same one you're using. And the same--"
My nerves tighten, and I feel a rush of something that's a cross between elation and apprehension. "The same what? The same room Nathan died in?"
"As a matter of fact, it was."
"And what about the housekeeper? Which room did she use?"
"I'm not sure, but I can find out. Is it important?"
"No. I just wondered."
"You get a real charge out of all this, don't you?" he says with a chuckle.
"I wouldn't say that," I reply, realizing I need to downplay my interest in Nathan's activities. "This is the first, and probably the only, time I'll have free rein of a genuine haunted house. And I'm interested in the subject anyway, so I think it's only natural for me to be curious. But purely from an academic standpoint, of course."
"You're planning on writing an article for the Ghost Busters Weekly?"
"And have hoards of gaping tourists blocking the driveway? I don't think so. This is just for me. I like puzzles, and I don't have much else to occupy my time down here, so it gives me something to do."
"Have you seen Nathan again?"
"No."
"But you're being honest when you say you don't mind being there all by yourself? You're not scared or anything?"
"Why would I mind?"
Nick doesn't have an answer for that, but I hear him sigh, then he says, "I have no idea. But, please, take care. And don't do anything stupid. I'll see you either late Friday night, or early Saturday morning."
I don't bother to ask what he means by stupid. "You take care, too. And, Nick?"
"Yes?"
"If it's Saturday morning, don't forget to bring the donuts."
* * * *
That night, something wakes me just as it's getting light. I hear the sound of wind buffeting the house, and there's rain lashing against the windows. It's exactly what the TV weatherman was calling for. And it's started right on cue, sometime before dawn.
But I don't think that's what awakened me...
"I just love to hide under the covers when a storm's in progress. Don't you?"
I hear the question and freeze. The voice is faint and muffled and seems to be coming from somewhere beneath the voluminous duvet. At first, I think it's my imagination...
But someone is massaging my feet and sucking my toes, one toe at a time. It feels so wonderful, so decadent, and, at the same time, soothing and relaxing. I'm about to fall back to sleep when the sucking ceases, and I hold my breath as I feel the irresistible glide of cool hands as they move upward, parting my legs. There's a moment's hesitation before insistent fingers are tangling themselves in my muff as they open my folds and slide up inside me.
"Nathan?"
His fingers begin to move up and down, fueling my need, and I feel desire coiling in my belly. "Who did you think it was?"
"Jack The Ripper? I don't know."
He gives a burst of muffled laughter. "You mean you'd let any old whacko such as Jack finger-fuck you like this?"
"No. Of course not."
"Just me and Nick, right?" His fingers slow their pace and he rubs my clit until my juices flow, then his mouth is there licking and sucking and driving me wild.
I don't want to come without him, so I tug on his hair, urging him to stop.
He settles himself between my legs with the head of his cock nudging against my slit. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I...umm...I just hope you don't mind about Nick."
I wrap my arms around his neck, and he slips his hands beneath my butt, lifting me up to receive the attentions of his eager cock. "I told you, Nick and I share everything." He buries his stiff shaft inside me in one quick, smooth push, then holds me close. "You love Nick, don't you?"
"I love him very much."
"And you love me, too."
I wrap my legs around his waist and rock my pussy against him. "You know I do. But it doesn't make sense. I can't love the two of you at the same time in exactly the same way. And I shouldn't be sleeping with you both. It's...it's... I don't know what it is." I really don't know--except I suspect most people would think I'm a bit perverted, as well as being dishonest by cheating on Nick.
"Why not? It makes perfect sense to me. My brother and I are two halves of the same whole. So you loving us both like this must be the way it was meant to be."
"I doubt Nick would see it like that."
He withdraws a little and laughs as he pushes back in, sending my need spiraling. "He might surprise you. But we're not going to worry about Nick right now, are we?"
"I still have to tell him."
"I know that. But not at this particular moment."
"Think he'll tell me to get lost?"
"No. Why would he? We've always shared everything. Why stop now?"
As he starts to up the pace of his thrusts, he slips a hand between our bodies and pinches my clit. I give a sharp yell of surprise, but he laughs and does it again. And then keeps on doing
it until he pushes me over the edge, and I explode like a rocket.
As I try to get my breathing back to normal he turns onto his side and pulls me close so we are literally eye to eye, and I realize just how identical he and Nick are. If I didn't know there were two of them, I'd really start to wonder. Of course, it would help if he felt all wispy and insubstantial, the way ghosts are supposed to be. But Nathan is hot, hard, and insatiable when it comes to sex--the kind of lover every red-blooded American woman dreams of having.
"You love being fucked by both of us, don't you? For you, it's a real high."
I hesitate and as he opens my legs and slides his finger back and forth over my nub, I begin to play with his prick, coaxing it back to life.
"Come on now. Tell me the truth."
I squeeze his now erect shaft and it starts to grow and buck against my hand. "I'm in a unique situation, and I like sex. Is that a crime?"
"No. And you like it so much you don't want anything to spoil what we have here, right?"
"You're right. I don't. But it's complicated."
"In what way?"
"In the first place, I'm only here to look after the house for a few weeks until Sam McIven gets back from his business trip."
"It's a big house. Perhaps, if you ask nicely, he'll allow you to stay."
I sigh and tuck his hard cock between my legs, close to the heat of my pussy. "I've already thought of applying to work as his housekeeper. But we have a much bigger problem than that. Nick has asked me to stay, so I have to tell him about you and me, He's also determined to buy the hall back, just the way you and he planned. But if that happens, I'm afraid..."
"Afraid of what?"
"That you'll vanish."
'Why would I do that?"
"Because..." I pluck at the lace trim on the pillowcase. I've never felt quite so stupid as I do right now. Commonsense tells me Nathan must know that he's dead and his spirit is trapped here in this room, but he's not behaving as if he knows. "Because I think the only reason you're still here in this house is because the plan for you and your brother to get your home back was never completed. And once it is..."
"I'll disappear?"
"I don't know. Will you?"
"I have no idea. I thought I was here because of Nick. There's absolutely no way we can be separated. Not now. Not ever."
"But you don't know that for sure, do you?"
* * * *
When Nick arrives on Saturday morning, he has the familiar, grease-stained brown paper bag in one hand and a big smile on his face.
"You look happy. What's going on?"
"Tell you later." He puts the bag down on the kitchen counter and pulls me into his arms for a kiss that involves a marathon dance session with our mouths and tongues, and goes on and on until I'm compelled to come up for air.
"Wow! What was all that about?"
"I missed you, and I can't wait to fuck you silly." He laughs as he unzips my jeans and pulls them down so he can get his hand between my legs. Holding my gaze, he slides a finger up inside me and wiggles it around. "That feel good?"
I pull him close for some more lip action. "Better than chocolate."
"But I think we're both ready for something even better than that."
"You mean this?" I've missed him, too. More than I realized if I'm honest. Ghosts are all very well, but they only show up if and when they feel like, so they don't replace the real thing. Kicking off my jeans, I undo his belt and slide down the zipper of his pants and reach inside for his prick. It's hot, hard and ready to go. I drop to my knees and greedily lick and suck the purple tip, loving the taste of him as I draw him into my mouth.
But a few seconds is as much as he can take. He lifts me up, sets me on the table and disposes of the rest of our clothing. Telling me to close my eyes, he parts my legs and I feel his tongue, touching and teasing, rimming every sensitive inch until I feel a sudden rush of wetness. Then he's opening my folds wide and I feel the heat and hardness of his erection as his cock pushes against my slit.
I wrap my arms and legs around him, drawing him all the way inside me. Once we're skin to skin, I press my heels hard against his butt, restricting his movements and attempt to use my vaginal muscles to give him that extra thrill.
But we're too impatient for the subtleties of that kind of slow lovemaking. He pulls out and slams back in, riding me as hard and fast as he can, and in no time at all it's over for both of us.
"I needed that," he murmurs against my mouth. "Next time, though, I promise we'll take it nice and slow, just the way you like it."
I laugh and pretend to bite his nose. "Would you be shocked if I said I like it any way I can get it?"
"Not in the slightest."
"No?"
He looks happy, satiated, at least for now, and mischief sparkles in his dark brown eyes. "Want to know the two things I like best about you?"
"Sure. I'll bite."
He gives me a lecherous grin and pinches my bum. "You have the face of an angel, and you really like sex. The more you get, the more you want, right?"
I pretend dismay. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No, love, it's a very good thing. Just don't change, okay?"
For a split second I'm tempted to tell him about Nathan. But how do you tell someone you're having it off with a ghost and loving every moment without sounding like a complete head case? Especially when you're also having it off with him and loving it even more.
I'm not sure if I qualify as a nymphomaniac, a sex addict, or something as boring as your every day pervert, but I collect my clothes and put them on, then change the subject by asking, "So, what's this big, exciting thing you're just bursting to tell me?"
"Sam McIven rang me from Brazil late last night."
I look directly at him. "And?"
"He said he'd been intending to put Foxton Hall up for sale, but hadn't gotten around to it. And if I wanted to make an offer that would be great because it would save him the bother."
"Just like that?"
"Exactly like that. We agreed on a price--he said he wants a quick, private sale, so it was less than I expected. All that's left to do now is to have our solicitors work out the details."
"What about me?"
He frowns. "What about you? I've already said I want you to stay."
"I mean what did Sam McIven say about me--the employee he hired to take care of his property while he's away?"
"Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot. He said he would instruct his lawyer to arrange with you for the removal of any of his personal possessions that are still here, and to pay you three months' salary in lieu of notice. If that's acceptable, of course."
"Sounds good to me. What about the furniture and everything else?"
"It comes with the house. Some of it, including the bed you're currently sleeping on, belonged to my parents."
"And some of it's junk."
"As soon as the lawyers get the paperwork done, and I get possession, which shouldn't take long, we'll go through all the rooms and decide what we want to keep and what goes."
"We?"
"Absolutely, we. If I do it alone, I might throw out something you want to keep."
"Like that old fake fur rug, for example?"
From the moment I first brought that rug down to the library, I knew it meant something to Nick, so I grab the opportunity to say, "But you would never throw that rug out, would you?"
A touch of color invades his pale complexion, and he looks a tad embarrassed. "Nathan bought it with his pocket money at a church bazaar when we were kids. We can keep it if you want."
I love all this "we" stuff, and I love the way he draws me into his arms and begins kneading my butt cheeks like bread dough.
"Any plans for today?" he asks as he releases me.
I pick up the coffee pot and fill it with water. "Not beyond making a pot of coffee and checking out that brown paper bag you brought with you. Why?"
"I thought we could go for a drive and have lunch somewher
e."
"Sounds good. I've been stuck inside all week."
He takes two mugs from the cupboard and milk from the refrigerator, then he says casually, "Have you seen my brother again?"
I hesitate for less than a second. This is it. Either Nick is okay with me loving Nathan, or he's not. I just know I can't keep on hiding it from him. "I saw him the night we had the storm. The high winds and heavy rain made so much noise they woke me up."
"And he was there in your room?"
"He visits from time to time."
His facial muscles tighten for an instant, but then he relaxes. "Like he did with Polly?"
"Unless I was either dreaming, or hallucinating. That storm was pretty wild."
"He didn't frighten you?"
"No. He's a lot like you, but he isn't. If you know what I mean."
"Nathan always was a charmer. Everyone loved him." He hesitates and looks straight at me. "Do you?"
"Yes. Like you say, he's a real charmer. But if you want me to stay away from him, just say the word, and I will."
"Nathan's dead, Ali. How can I be jealous of a dead man? Come to that, how can you stop his ghost appearing whenever he fancies?"
"I don't know."
"But you don't have a problem with it?"
"No. I think it's kind of cool having our own ghost."
"Me, too. It makes my brother's death seem a little less final."
"You don't mind him being here then?"
"No. I love my brother, and I love you, too." He sighs as he takes out the sugar bowl and puts it on the table beside the milk and the mugs. "I just wish I knew what will happen once I acquire title and move back in. Will he stay, or will he go?"
* * * *
As November ends and we move into December, the days grow shorter, the weather colder, and I often find Jack Frost has spent the night painting delicate, lacy patterns on my windows.
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