How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead

by Wendy Sparrow

  If he vanished, she’d assume that she’d just mistaken her eyes. She’d go on with her life…grow old, die, go on to the place most spirits went. So, sitting down—as he was—really made less than no sense at all. Using his dwindling energy to brush his thumb across her lower lip was ridiculous. Leaning down to kiss her mouth was ungentlemanly in the extreme. On the other hand, Shane Alexander Blythe had never been a gentleman in his entire thirty years of life, so why start in his death?

  *****

  A cold frost brushed her mouth, tickling it. Ana licked her lips, savoring the feel of soft, cold snowflakes on her mouth. She was lying on the ground and snow was only falling on her. The cold tasted tart like apple cider, and she opened her mouth to taste more. More snow brushed her lips and caressed her tongue. Mmm. Never had the cold felt so warm and stroked her insides with fire. Desire twisted and curled and made her squirm.

  “Mmm,” she moaned. It felt like kissing someone who’d just had a snow cone.

  A deep chuckle brought it all crashing down. Ana’s eyes flew open.

  “Well, hello, little mouse,” the ghost said from above her.

  Ana swallowed. There was a dark-haired ghost right here…with her, and she was pretty sure he’d been kissing her. Were ghosts allowed to do that? Her eyes were as wide as she could make them—but…this was impossible.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “I’m sorry, but…uhh…I don’t believe in ghosts.” There. They might as well get that out there right now.

  His mouth twitched, and he leaned back against the bookcase. “Indeed? Well, you’ve wounded me to the quick then, because I’ve always assumed I existed.”

  Now that he wasn’t bending over her, Ana sat up. “Yes.” She coughed at the dust in the air and brushed her red curls back from her face. “I mean, no. No, I’m sorry, but you don’t exist.”

  “How inconvenient,” he said, propping an arm on one of his knees. “I felt like I existed just a moment ago.” He leaned forward, focusing his intense dark eyes on her face. “You’re sure?”

  His body was see-through as if she was seeing someone in the distance in the fog. If she had to guess, his eyes were probably brown…as was his hair. Not that it mattered because he didn’t exist. Likewise it didn’t matter that his lanky build and arrogance were making her breathe a bit faster. Damn her fascination with bad boys. This is what came of being repressed. You fantasized about sarcastic ghosts who wore old-fashioned clothing including pants that were far too tightly-fitted. Her imagination was disturbing and possibly unrealistic.

  “I’m sure.” She furtively pinched her arm. Nope. She was awake. Fantasy it was.

  His smile was immediate and wicked. It was the smile of a scoundrel. Crap. Just the kind of guy she liked—which led, of course, to heartache. Deep, soul-wrenching heartache, and a guy conning you out of a hundred thousand dollars of inheritance.

  “So, I don’t exist, little mouse?”

  “I’m not that little,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m five foot six.”

  “You weigh less than some dogs, though, I’d warrant.”

  Ana’s eyes narrowed. “Did you just compare me to a dog?”

  “Favorably, though.” His lips twitched in a repressed smile.

  “Oh really?”

  He moved to his hands and knees, approaching her, and said, “So, if I don’t exist, then I certainly can’t do this.” He kissed her again, sliding one hand around her waist and the other hand to cup her cheek.

  “No,” she agreed before she opened her mouth to his.

  Ana might have assumed that kissing someone so cold would be unpleasant but, then again, she liked ice cream and this was sweet and cold and…he’d just slid his hand to cup her butt.

  Were imaginary ghosts allowed to do that?

  Apparently so.

  She lay back as he stretched over her. How strange…there was the pressure of weight against her, but no actual substance. It was as if the air was heavy and so, so sexy. His mouth broke away and traveled down to kiss her neck as his hand pulled her shirt aside to expose her collarbone and shoulder to his cold lips.

  Oh, she was repressed. She was good and repressed if she was imagining this. She was mental. She should be in therapy. But, wow, it felt good. It figured only a fantasy man would get her torn up inside with want.

  “I don’t know how far I can go, but you may want to make your wishes known.” His lips brushed her skin with each word. So cold. So hot. Her bones were melting.

  “I like what you’re doing right now,” Ana said, closing her eyes and arching slightly. Mmm. Really liked it.

  He chuckled against her skin. “I meant that I haven’t had a woman in nigh on a century, and I want to lie with you and bury myself in your heat.”

  Ana’s eyes snapped open. “Can you do that?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m certainly willing to try.”

  Analise scrambled from beneath him and was shocked that his body lost substance when she’d moved.

  “Pity,” he said, sitting back against the bookshelves. “So, mouse, what are you doing in my library at night?”

  “This isn’t your library.” That was her best comeback? Pathetic.

  He raised his eyebrows again in that supercilious way that was already annoying.

  Supercilious—conceited; overbearing; smug—in short: this ghost.

  Unfortunately, it was also a bit charming—which was why it was annoying. Why was she attracted to arrogance? Why? This was why she hadn’t dared to date for two years. She had such incredibly awful taste in men. However, dead and six feet under was a new low.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked again.

  “Researching ghost stories,” she said, trailing off. Okay, well, that did sound ironic and….

  Her ghost laughed, falling back against the bookshelf and dropping straight through it. His legs were on this side, but his torso was in the bottom shelf of books. Her eyes widened. Whoa!

  *****

  His sweet interloper was bold, and this was the best night he’d had since he’d died actually. Shane was losing energy fast, and he wouldn’t even be able to stay for the full night as he normally did. Still, kissing her had been worth it. She was a curvy package and fiery. He’d always found redheads to be so, but she was a warm dream on the cold night of his existence.

  When he sat up, he realized she was staring at him in horror. The fact that he’d fallen through a solid object clearly reminded her of things that kissing him hadn’t.

  “You are a ghost,” she whispered.

  He held out a hand. “Yes, I am. Shane Blythe, resident spook.”

  She placed her hand in his clasp and said, “Analise Franklin,” as he kissed her knuckles. He knew she’d intended to shake his hand, and he’d thrown her with the kiss, but leaving Analise off-kilter was entertaining. Even the quick brush of his lips on her fisted hand cost him energy, though.

  “But I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Yes, well, I didn’t either,” he said, releasing her hand. His appearance dimmed, and he winced. He had minutes left if he didn’t make any grand gestures. It was just as well they’d stopped when they did. This lack of substance was a type of impotency few men got to experience. Lucky him.

  “Why are you here?” Ana asked.

  Yes, well, that was a touchy subject he didn’t care to discuss. Death was personal—more personal than life in point of fact. Death was discussed in the antiseptic rooms of hospitals and in the undertaker’s offices, not on the floor with a beautiful redhead who was as warm-blooded as they came. If he’d had a heart to stir, she would have shook it up with a vengeance. Those full pink lips, and those big eyes that kept blinking at him, hoping he’d disappear. She kissed like an angel he’d like to disgrace. Death was the last thing on his mind.

  “Do people call you Analise?”

  She shook her head, sending those copper curls of hers dancing. “No, Ana.”

  “Ana.” It rolled
along his tongue beautifully, and it suited her. “I like that, mouse.”

  To his surprise, she reached out, and her hand slipped through his chest, tickling slightly. “How come you felt solid earlier when you…?” She swallowed and licked her lips—those beautiful lips he’d tasted.

  She blushed when he continued staring at her. It seemed she was conservative and old-fashioned when it should have been him. Though he was never very conservative in life and, as for old-fashioned, it wasn’t his fault fashion had muddled on without him. He didn’t generally care for a lot of modern dress, but her jeans had been soft as suede against his hands, and they fit her snugly…something he appreciated quite a lot.

  His dimming strength was therefore quite a pity.

  “I’m losing energy, Ana. I only have so much each night, and I used quite a lot when I…kissed you.” He’d been tempted to be crude just to make her blush, but tarnishing this brief time together sat sour in his stomach. She should remember it well. Those kisses and that embrace had felt more significant than any had when he’d had substance. Perhaps it was the absence of such things in his life simply made him appreciate them more. That was most likely it. What he wouldn’t give to kiss her for hours and bury his hands in that lovely hair of hers.

  “So, you’ll disappear soon?” she asked.

  Shane shrugged and nodded. “Basically. I’ll be able to see some of what happens and remember very little of it, but I won’t have a place on this plane until the deep night falls and my energy is restored.”

  She reached out, her hand falling through his shoulder. She twisted and turned her hand with a puzzled wonderment. “Amazing.” When she pulled back, he took the opportunity to solidify as her fingers brushed his chest. Her fingers on his body were worth it.

  Gasping as she touched his chest, she said, “I thought you didn’t….”

  “I don’t,” he said, leaning forward. “I wanted to be touched one last time.” One last time to last him a very long time. An inch before his mouth touched hers, he winked out like an extinguished lamp. Damn

  “So, did you?” Jenny asked, startling Ana at her desk in their small shared office.

  With a squeak, Ana threw the pencil she’d been tapping. It hit the blinds behind her before dropping to the ground. “What? No!”

  Jenny frowned. “You didn’t find anything out?”

  “No. I mean, yes…some…not much. I’ll need to go back to the library tonight.” That sounded really casual. Her friend shouldn’t be at all suspicious. Oh, hell, she needed more sleep if she was going to be clever. At all.

  “I could take a turn,” Jenny offered.

  “No!” Her vehemence made both of them jump. Wow. Ease up, Ana. Ease up.

  Jenny’s forehead wrinkled up. “Are you okay? Did you get any sleep last night?”

  Of course she hadn’t gotten any sleep. She kept thinking about Shane and what had happened. No matter how many times she turned it over in her mind, she always came back to the surety that she’d kissed a ghost…and liked it. It was an exact reversal of her earlier perceptions on the subject of supernatural events. Still, it was only a sign she was open-minded, not that she was hot for a ghost.

  “I had a restless night,” Ana said finally. Understatement of her lifetime. A restless night due to a dark-haired restless spirit. She was going to cut out of work early—something she never did—to go look up more information on a certain ghost who’d haunted her dreams and waking hours.

  “Did you meet someone?” Jenny asked.

  Ana’s eyes felt owlishly big and her mouth dropped open for a second. “How did you…?” How on earth had Jenny guessed she’d met a ghost last night? Would Jenny guess she’d really wanted to have a carnal relationship with said ghost also?

  “I knew it!” Jenny said, pointing. “I knew eventually some guy would come along who would convince you Keaton was just an aberration not the rule.”

  “Yeah, but, I didn’t expect him to be…” Well, dead. How did one put that into words? Cocky? Sure. A bit of an ass? Absolutely, that was her type. Dead? That should be unexpected for anyone, unless you were very creepy.

  “The kind of guy you’d meet in a library?” Jenny finished for her.

  Oh. Not exactly what she was thinking, so maybe she didn’t have the whole experience written on her face. That would be rather strange.

  “Sure. Exactly.” She hadn’t expected to meet a ghost in the library, so it wasn’t technically a lie. Plus, if she put the reality into words, she’d be thrown in to a place with white coats and happy pills, and she couldn’t afford the time.

  “You never know.” Jenny gave her a significant look before wandering off.

  The day passed slow as syrup and everything and everyone annoyed the hell out of Ana. Really, though, most of them were annoying on a good day. It wasn’t just her. One of their tour guides had a toothache and stayed home. A toothache. Whatever. It was a guide who had recently acquired a boyfriend who worked nights. The timing was suspicious.

  That’s what it was. She was irritated because the people around her were being so irritating.

  It wasn’t that Ana was beginning to wonder if dating a ghost was her most doomed relationship ever. Besides, what if he wasn’t that into her? What if she went there tonight, and he blew her off? Ouch. It was only a few kisses. Kisses that had been so hot even though his lips were cold. Maybe that was just how she felt, though. Sure, he was haunting her days, but she might not be haunting his.

  A car honked on the boulevard outside their office, and Ana snarled and threw her pencil at the window.

  “Oh, go already and stop growling at everyone,” Jenny said, laughing.

  “Cheryl doesn’t have a toothache!” Ana shouted, seizing on the most rational reason for her to be out of sorts.

  “Of course she doesn’t. She has a sweet tooth for some hot Italian who’ll lose interest quickly, so she should strike while the iron is hot.”

  Ana blinked at Jenny. “Really?” Cheryl had always seemed so tame and rational.

  Jenny grinned. “No, he’s a pudgy divorcee out of Des Moines which sort of makes it more romantic in my opinion.”

  It did. It also deflated her frustration. “Jenny, why can’t I be attracted to guys like that?”

  Wincing, Jenny said, “Not another scoundrel. Your Han Solo complex is disturbing.” She threw a couple peanut M&Ms into the air, catching them in her mouth. “On the other hand, Han Solo did settle down with Leia.”

  “I rue the day you dated that Star Wars geek.” There was a Star Wars analogy for everything it turned out.

  “I rue the day I got you that word of the day calendar which makes you use words like ‘rue,’” Jenny countered. “Now, go. Get out of here. I’ll put out fires, and you can go start some up. You could use a little excitement.”

  *****

  Shane watched a few people come and go from the private collection room. In his ghostly state during the day, his memory was sketchy at best. There was a girl in his mind. She had curly, red hair. He needed to watch for her. He had no idea why. People came and went every day, and he only paid the barest amount of attention to most. She was different. He wanted her to come here. Really, really wanted her to come. There was no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t come through yet today. She was special and more beautiful than any of the visitors to the C. Franklin private collection. Franklin. There was something important about that too. Hopefully, he’d remember after sundown.

  *****

  Ana was flipping through the book on hauntings, and it was useless. Utterly and completely useless. There was no way this was describing a ghost like Shane. Stupid book. She tossed it onto the stack. They were all useless. It was like no one had spoken to a real ghost.

  Real ghost?

  Wow, what a difference a day made.

  “Can I help you?” one of the librarians asked, stopping beside her. She gestured at the stack of books. “Or have you found enough books?”

  Okay. Maybe
she’d gotten carried away with yanking the books out. Carly, this librarian, was a real witch, though. Ana could have two books beside her, and Carly would’ve stopped by to complain about something. Carly with her short, perfect hair that always looked straight from a salon, and that waif-thin body that said, “I don’t exercise or diet…I’m just this way.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Ana said. “Wait, actually, I’m looking for the history on a local man, Shane Blythe. Where would I find that?”

  Carly was a few years older than her, and she added a patronizing air to every breath and her smiles were all snide. Her smile right now said, oh, you, sweet simple-minded fool, while her voice said, “He got to you too, huh?”

  Ana’s eyes widened. Shane haunted everyone? Wait. Was the private collection room like his nightly harem? She’d totally fell for a line! That was both insulting and very, very strange. Still, she had some pride and besides she really didn’t like Carly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Ana said, going back to glancing at the book. She cleared her throat.

  Carly sniffed, once, a nasty little disgusted sound. They were two seconds from a cat fight over nothing.

  Ana clenched her teeth. Must not commit homicide. Must not commit homicide…yet. In a few more minutes, it would be justifiable. Carly was such a brat, and Ana certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more insufferable people today.

  Insufferable—troublesome; intolerable; unendurable; see also Carly.

  She’d been hoping Carly would leave the whole time she’d been here today, but snipes like Carly sensed and tried to thwart all plans for peace and happiness—to annoy you more. It was working.

  “The painting,” Carly said. The “duh” was implied.

  So, this conversation had turned weird. One minute they’d been talking about Shane the hot ghost with his made-for-sin body and his arrogant attitude that made you want to slap him and drag him closer…and now Carly wanted to talk about paintings? “What painting?”