“What time?
“Geri, can you repeat that? Where does she want me to make dinner reservations?
“You’re kidding, right? How am I supposed to get reservations there on such short notice, not to mention do all this driving?
“How many people did you say? Eight? Are you insane? Eight people, there, at six-thirty?
“No, Geri, that won’t work. They’ll laugh me out…
“Whose credit card is all this going on?
“Oh yeah? Great, just great.
“Geri, listen to me. Geri, stop. This is way over the top. I’ll work on the dinner reservation tomorrow, but I can’t promise anything. I’ll probably have to give someone a blow job to get a six-thirty reservation.”
“Over my dead body.” The snarl came from somewhere behind her.
Sara whirled around, but she couldn’t see him. Covering the receiver with her hand, she hissed, “You’re already dead.”
“Sorry, Geri, okay, yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow when I get off work. Geri, you do know that they’ll insist upon a large deposit for a party of six or more. If a bunch of people don’t show I’ll get stuck paying for…
“Fine. We’ll discuss this tomorrow. Good night.”
“Jesus!” Sara clicked off the phone. “Who does she think I am, Miss Moneybags? Superwoman? I can’t be four places at one time. Oysters and Tattinger sparkling wine? Holy Christ!”
“Who?”
“This, this publisher who’s coming into town, the woman I’m supposed to pick up at the airport.” Sara stared into empty air where she sensed he stood. “And why the hell am I telling you? It’s not as if you care.”
She heard a grunt in response.
“And what does that mean?”
“What does what mean, Sara?”
“That noise, that dismissive noise. What does it mean? Does it mean you care? You don’t care? You’re dead? You’re not dead? Why am I talking to you at all? Why are you still here?”
“I told you, I have no choice. I’m not permitted to leave.”
Sara grabbed a paperback book from her bedside table and tossed it in the direction of the voice. It smacked against the closed window shade and fell to the floor with a plop. “Tell me why? Why can’t you leave?”
There was no reply.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Sara tapped her foot. “Answer me, ghost.”
“No.” The voice came from over her right shoulder and Sara let out an involuntary shriek. Turning around so rapidly her head spun, Sara found herself falling toward the dresser. At the last minute she threw her hands up to protect her face, fearing she was about to crack the side of her head. Strong arms went around her, her feet left the floor and she was dumped unceremoniously onto the bed.
The air whooshed out of her lungs.
“You make my job very hard,” he said, his voice rough as sandpaper.
Sara tried to find her own voice. She could barely manage a whisper. “Who, who are you? What are you?”
“I suggest you go to sleep, Sara. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“Are you a…” Sara swallowed hard and lifted herself up on her arms, “are you a, a demon?” She felt invisible fingers, soft as a warm summer breeze, ruffle her still damp hair.
“I will not hurt you, Sara. Go to sleep. All will be well.”
Before Sara could say another word, the light switch flipped off and the bedroom was plunged into darkness.
I must be an idiot, because I believe him. I don’t think he’ll hurt me. If he intended to hurt me, he could have done so at any time, and he’s right, I’m not thinking clearly.
I must really be out of it. He’s turning lights on and off and tossing me around; and oh-my-god, I’m actually, um, kind of liking it. But only with him, not just any ghost. I’m not easy. I don’t want other ghosts getting the wrong impression, thinking they can manhandle, or rather ghosthandle me like this.
Smothering a giggle, Sara leaned over the edge of the bed to set her laptop onto the floor. She was naked beneath her robe, so she crawled under the bedcovers before removing it. She tossed it to the bottom of the bed; then pulled the quilts up to her chin. Sara yawned and turned onto her side. She closed her eyes.
She had to ask one more question before she fell asleep. It was a question she’d asked him many times before, but he’d never answered. For some reason, she had the distinct feeling he’d answer her now. “What’s your name?”
The voice came from the pillow beside her. “My name is God has given.”
“Nathan,” Sara murmured, as she drifted off. “Your name is Nathan.”
***
He came to her in the dream, but this night was different. She could see him as a whole person, not as scattered bits and pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
Looming above her in the night, he leaned forward and took her mouth, his own lips warm and sweet and hungry. As always, she responded in kind, ravenous for his kiss, his touch. Her lips parted and she pulled him closer, her hands sliding along his muscled rib cage, her fingernails grazing his back. She felt starved, wild for the press of his hot, demanding body.
She tore her mouth from his, arching her back to thrust her aching breasts against his hard chest, waiting for him to spread her legs and enter her. No preamble, no beating around the bush, she wanted him now.
Nathan nuzzled the side of her neck, his breath tickling her ear. Do ghosts breathe? Oh yes, in dreams ghosts can do anything they want. He used his knees to spread her legs apart and he thrust into her. Sara moaned with pleasure. He can have whatever he wants in a dream.
“Is this how you like it, Sara?” he murmured, his lips barely brushing the side of her neck. “Or do you want it like this?” In one swift, smooth movement, he switched their positions, moving until he lay beneath her and she straddled him, her palms pressed flat on his chest, her body cradling him.
“Use me,” he growled. “Use me, Sara.” He followed those words with a few sentences in a language she didn’t recognize.
Must be dream-speak. Screw the meaning, the sound of his voice alone made her burn like an old time coal-fired boiler. Sara felt her lips turn up in a dream smile as she rode her own private sex ghost.
“Oh god…oh god... yes, yes, yes, Nathan, yes.”
Sara’s eyes flew open. She was on her stomach, arms outstretched, blankets gone, in the midst of the strongest orgasm of her life, screaming with pleasure. She swore she could feel Nathan beneath her, in her. She swore his palms held her breasts while her hands clutched at his upper arms. He’s here, damn it. He has to be here. But he wasn’t. Her hands reached for him in vain. She was alone.
“If you can hear me, ghost, pardon my French, but fuck.” Sara flipped onto her back, her body still burning. She trailed her fingers along the collar bone he’d kissed. Sara closed her eyes and inhaled, remembering his scent, toasted cinnamon, cloves, amber, incense, raw sex.
She bolted upright. His scent still lingered and she smelled sex.
“Nathan,” she called out. “Nathan, are you here? Ghost, are you here?”
There was no answer. Grabbing for the sheet, she pulled it over her chest and lay back on the pillows. I don’t understand this. These dreams are not simple dreams and they aren’t sexual fantasies. I’ve never, ever… Ghosts don’t do this. Ghosts aren’t capable of this. Whatever Nathan is, one thing he’s not is a ghost.
This is freaking me out in so many ways. Not the least of which is that I am having dream sex with something unreal. Sara sat upright again. Or maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe that’s it. Nobody else can see him. How do I know he’s even here?
“I’m crazy. I’m looney tunes. That’s it. I am certifiable. I’ve finally gone off the deep end.” Sara lay back down. “I guess this is what happens when you’re a horny, sex-starved ghost seer.” She turned onto her side. “I’m calling my psychiatrist in the morning. You hear me, Nathan?”
Imaginary or not, he’s so good, so very good. Do you really wa
nt to go back on meds? You tried it once and you lost your ability to feel anything. Are you willing to go through that again?
Restless, Sara flipped over onto her other side. I don’t know what I want to do. I’m lonely. He keeps me company in more ways than one.
Yeah, a ghost keeps me company. Loser, Sara, you are such a loser.
Sara closed her eyes. After tossing and turning, wondering if she could make it to work in three hours, let alone keep it together for the increasingly stressful demands of looming publisher Friday, she drifted off into a fitful sleep.
***
“Fuck isn’t a French word,” Nathan murmured. He stretched out on the bed next to Sara, reaching out a hand to stroke her tangled hair. He swore he could feel the silky strands beneath his fingers.
Every time he took her, each time he made love to her, he became more alive, more real. To his surprise, Sara sighed as he touched her, as if she felt him too. He waited to see if she’d open her eyes, but she tucked a hand beneath her cheek and settled into a deeper sleep.
How does this work? I can’t answer her question because don’t understand what’s happening to me any better than she does.
Nathan lay back and stared at the ceiling. Am I dead, a ghost, as she claims? I don’t know what I am. I only know I no longer feel quite so cold. The more time I spend with her, the more she dreams of me…
Nathan held his own hand before his face. He waved it back and forth above his eyes, keeping his movements slow and steady. He methodically made the appendage disappear and reappear, over and over again, testing his ability, entertaining himself while she slept. Nathan didn’t sleep, but looking at Sara’s closed eyes, listening to her quiet breathing, he remembered the pleasure, the innocence, the trust involved in giving oneself over to sleep, and he envied her. Sara seemed a little restless; her brow furrowed just a tiny bit as if she worried about something, but still, he envied her.
Nathan rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. “Come, Sara, let me hold you.” He didn’t know if this would be possible or not, but he wrapped an arm around Sara, urging her to turn away from him and onto her side. She murmured in her sleep, and then wiggled back against him, molding her body into his broad chest. She felt warm.
Warm? I must be imagining it.
Nathan inhaled, or at least he pretended to inhale. His chest expanded, his nostrils flared, and he swore he tasted the sweet summery scent of her hair.
I’m a fool. Only a man who’s been dead and buried for five hundred years believes the scent of a woman can save him.
Chapter Three
I swear I woke up in his arms. He was behind me, pressed against me. He didn’t feel cold, like a ghost is supposed to feel. On the contrary, he was giving off heat like a furnace. Or was that me giving off heat like a furnace? Or did I imagine the whole thing?
Sara’s cheeks burned at the memory of her dream. Closing her eyes, she threaded her fingers through her hair, remembering his fingers do the very same thing. Did I imagine that too? I must have.
“Sara.”
Startled, her head flew up so fast she was surprised she didn’t pull a muscle in her neck. Her supervisor stood beside the open door, his tall, bulky frame blocking the light from the hallway. Sara hurriedly shook off the remnants of her dream. “Yes, Mr. O’Brien?”
“I’ve received your request for time off on Friday. I’m afraid I can’t give you the entire day. The Quik Project is due by two o’clock, but if everything goes according to schedule, you should be able to leave a couple hours early.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. O’Brien. Is there any wiggle room?”
“No. I’m sorry.” He shook his head and vanished, heading down the hall towards his own office.
Well, that’s kind of a load off my shoulders. Geri’s going to have to pick her up and do all the schlepping. Sara smiled. She couldn’t help it. Relief washed over her with the realization that she wouldn’t have to drive for hours and risk any more money, funds she didn’t have.
Getting a reservation at the restaurant Leah Rosen had insisted upon had been a real bitch. Sara had to beg and plead, and pretend to get all tearful, but still she hadn’t been able to secure a table any earlier than seven-thirty. The manager insisted she put a nonrefundable hundred dollar deposit on her credit card to hold a table for eight. Apparently that was their policy for parties of six or more. If the rest of the women failed to show, she’d be out a hundred bucks.
As soon as she could take a break, Sara grabbed her cell phone and headed outside to give her friend, Geri, the news that she would be responsible for entertaining Ms. Rosen on Friday.
“I know you’ll have to borrow your husband’s car and I’m sorry, but…
“Geri, I can’t pick her up. Look at it this way, you’ve been wishing for an appointment with a literary agent or a publisher for ages. Now you’ll have Leah Rosen all to yourself for the whole day.” Sara tried to keep her voice positive. “It’s okay that both your manuscripts are unfinished. She might still be…
“C’mon, Geri, you have to admit you’ll make a much better hostess than I will. I don’t have a clue how to drive anywhere in San Francisco. I can get myself over the Golden Gate Bridge and into Golden Gate Park, but if I have to find anything else, I’m screwed.
“No, she isn’t coming specifically to see me. She’s stopping off in San Francisco for one day on her way to a conference and she’d like someone to show her around. Look, sweetie, I’ve got to get back to work.
“Okay, we’ll talk later this week. Oh, Geri, I did get a reservation at the restaurant, but they can’t seat us until seven-thirty and one of us needs to confirm that everyone who says they’re coming is actually planning to show up. I gave the hostess my credit card number to hold the table and I’m out a hundred bucks if the rest of the women don’t show up.
“Oh? We’re down to four? Okay, I’ll call and let them know. That means they can seat us at six-thirty.
“Thanks, Geri, and I am sorry. Bye.”
Sara headed back to her computer. She had client web pages to edit and the animated graphics for the Quik Project needed tweaking.
I wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he off in suspended animation? Or is he in my kitchen trying to figure out how to grind coffee? She smiled at the thought. Is he corporeal or incorporeal? Which is it? What is it? I mean, what is he? Because that was no ghost I felt up against me this morning. Maybe it’s been a while since I had a man in my bed, but dang, I still remember a rock hard morning erection when I feel one.
The corners of Sara’s mouth curled up further into a broad grin. Too bad when I rolled over he wasn’t there because I would have… What? Done him? Had ghost sex again?
You are desperate, Sara. Maybe pathetic is a better word. Stop by that adult toy store on the way home and buy yourself a vibrator if you’re so hard up. Sara giggled. He was very hard, wasn’t he?
***
Blast the woman. Where is she? Impatient, Nathan paced back and forth before the fireplace. He’d actually managed to get a fire started, not that he was cold, but he wanted to do something, prove something to himself and to her. He swore he could feel the warmth of the blaze on his face. So where is she? She should have been home from this job of hers two hours ago.
He reached for another log, gripping the wood carefully with both hands. His muscles flexed as he lifted it, just as they’d flexed when he’d actually been alive. There was no doubt; he felt the heft and the weight of the log. The rough bark abraded his palm. Nathan smiled with satisfaction.
Cautious, lest he become incorporeal again and the heavy piece of wood slip through his fingers, He knelt onto the floor and slid the log into the fire. As it began to smoke and smolder, Nathan sat back on his heels and contemplated his new abilities.
I don’t know what I am, but I like it. Nathan wondered if he deluded himself, but he swore his heart beat loud and strong, bringing life to every single cell of his body. If this is purgatory, I’ll gladly sta
y, even if I can’t leave the bloody house.
“What the hell?” The front door flew open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t do this. Ghosts can’t do this. I don’t want you in my house.”
Nathan turned to see Sara, a mixture of fury and fear on her face, brandishing a paper bag of groceries like a warrior’s shield.
He rose to his feet. “I’ve told you, I cannot leave.” As he watched, her eyes flicked from him to the fireplace and back to him.
“How did you do that?” She tilted her head toward the blaze.
“The same way any man builds a fire.”
With jerky movements, Sara kicked the door shut behind her and set the bag down on the couch. “No. Listen to me.” Her voice sounded strained, her words forced. “How did you do that? You’re dead. You’re a ghost. A ghost can’t build a fire in my fireplace.”
Without hesitation, she strode toward him, a hand outstretched. Her index finger poked him in the chest. She drew her hand back as if she’d been burned. Nathan watched the blood drain from her face.
“How? Who are you?”
Nathan caught her as her knees buckled and gave way. He swung her up into his arms.
“This can’t be happening,” she murmured, her mouth pressed against his shirt. “You can’t do these things. It’s not possible.”
“I don’t know what’s possible and what isn’t,” he replied, his voice rough. He didn’t bother to hide his raw, desperate need for her. “Sara, I’m taking you to bed.”
“But the ice cream and the…” Her protest was surprisingly mild.
“It will keep. I don’t know that I can. I may not have much time.”
Sara lifted her head and looked into his eyes. She seemed to be studying him, wondering if he was real or nothing more than a dream. He thought she might ask a question, but instead she wrapped both arms around his neck and nodded. Nathan needed no more encouragement. Either God or the devil or both had given him this opportunity and he did not intend to waste a single moment.
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