Incorporeal

by Julia Barrett

  “Natan de Manua, I’ve come to deliver a message.”

  “From my family?” Nathan interrupted.

  A cold smile cracked the Guardian’s face. “You persist in deluding yourself. You continue to imagine these circumstances are about you. Your presence here, your contact with the woman, has never been about you.”

  Nathan raised an eyebrow. Not about me?

  “You were not allowed to come back for your own sake, but for hers. Sara Wise is chayil, a woman of noble character She possesses value. Natan de Manua is already dead. He has none.”

  Nathan inclined his head once again, this time bowing lower.

  “Have you forgotten your mission?” The Guardian’s voice hit him like a brick.

  Nathan cleared his throat and tried to stiffen his spine. “I know my mission. I’m here to protect her. But I don’t know yet…”

  “You will recognize the danger when it comes, and you will be ready. It matters whether the woman lives or dies.”

  “You must have a great deal invested in her,” Nathan said, “or you wouldn’t be here.”

  The Guardian’s stare was brittle as ice. “You state the obvious, and it is not I who has anything invested in her life or her death. I am merely a messenger.”

  What interest did the Most High…? “Then I should keep my distance, stay away from Sara. I should remain incorporeal until I’m needed.”

  “No.” The Guardian’s features softened perceptibly. “Do not turn your back on her.” Golden eyes stared into Nathan’s. “Don’t think to warn her; it will do no good. No, you must remain here.”

  The Angel studied the kitchen with undisguised indifference. He poked a long finger against Sara’s French press coffee maker. “Humans.” He made a motion that Nathan could only describe as a dismissive shrug. “They have a saying; never look a gift horse in the mouth. You are a gift horse, Natan de Manua.”

  Nathan opened his mouth to speak, but the Guardian had already vanished, empty air shimmering in its wake.

  Nathan blew out a breath, watching the coffee drip down the cabinets onto the countertop. A gift horse? The Guardian doesn’t mince words. The danger must be approaching. Still, why would Sara warrant the intervention of a Guardian? They never intervene, or at least, to my knowledge they don’t deign to intervene.

  But your knowledge is limited. You’ve made sure of that. You have no idea when, why or even how they intervene. You only know that occasionally spirits from the other side try to protect the living, and occasionally they succeed. That is your purpose, isn’t it, to play the role of guardian angel?

  The Guardian was right. Nathan had become so involved with Sara that he’d let his attention lapse. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his enhanced senses. No threat existed in the present. His woman was safe, for now.

  ***

  Oh my god, how am I supposed to concentrate? Sara closed her eyes and rubbed her throbbing temples with her fingertips. I want to be with Nathan. Who knows how much longer he can stay? What if he’s pulled out, or killed, or… Christ, I don’t know what heavenly beings do when they take someone out of a body anymore than I know how they put someone into a body.

  I only know I don’t want him to leave.

  His history, the story of his family, had rocked her. It was no wonder he had unfinished business. So much lingering tragedy. Sara wondered how many other ghosts from that time period were still hanging around, trying to fix things.

  But Nathan hasn’t asked me to fix anything.

  Sara’s eyes flew open. With a quick look to make certain her boss was nowhere in sight, she turned to her computer, opening a new tab. Neville. I’m certain the Neville family survived the Tudor era. She scanned the computer screen. Yes, there were surviving semi-royal descendants of the Kingmaker. They still lived on their properties in the north of England.

  “Miss Wise?”

  “Huh?” Sara started. She swung her chair around, hoping it wasn’t anyone associated with her boss. She didn’t recognize the young woman in the doorway.

  “I have a delivery for you.”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry, I was, uh, in the middle of something. C’mon in.” Sara rose to her feet.

  The young woman carried in a big pastel-colored box. It looked so heavy Sara gave her a hand. Together, they set it on her desk. “What is this?” Sara asked.

  The woman flashed Sara a smile. “I’m not sure, but there’s a card.” She pointed to the side of the box.

  Sara fished through her wallet for a couple dollars. “Here you go, and thanks.”

  The woman vanished with a wave. Sara pulled the card away from the side of the box. She ripped it open. It was from her friend, Dalton. As Sara read the card, she began to laugh. Dalton had written an awful poem.

  Roses are red.

  Violets are blue.

  Write what you love

  And Leah will love you.

  May this book be the first of many. Your best friend, Dalton.

  Book? What book? Sara flipped the lid off the box and tore through the yellow tissue paper. There, buried beneath a layer of red rose petals, lay a big hunk of rich, dark chocolate shaped like a romance novel. Sara ran her hand delicately over the molded chocolate cover. Her fingers traced the outline of a very buff male torso and the title, Incorporeal, by Sara Wise.

  Even as Sara grinned at the image, tears filled her eyes. Dalton was such a good friend, and she had such high hopes for her. What if I disappoint her? Chances are I’ll disappoint everyone, myself included. I’m not expecting much to come out of this meeting.

  Sara hit speed dial on her phone. Dalton picked up on the third ring. Sara put her on speaker.

  “I got your gift, Dalton. I don’t, I honestly don’t know what to say except for…”

  “Thanks?” Dalton interrupted.

  “Yes, thanks. Thank you so much. You really went all out with this.”

  Dalton crowed with delight. “I know I did. Don’t you love it? It’s a limited first edition, one of a kind. And the chocolate is so smooth, so wicked and so decadent, you know, just the way every romance novel should be.”

  Smiling, Sara swiped at a tear that trailed down her cheek. “Dalton, I think you’re obsessed with romance.”

  “Who isn’t?” asked her friend. “I’m serious. Sara, do you know anyone who isn’t obsessed with romance? The world is a dark place, romance gives us hope.”

  “You’re right. And you’re such a good friend to me. You have to come over and share this, for like, the next year.”

  “Oh no, no sharing, not until you have a contract in the bag. I have a really good feeling about your dinner. Leah Rosen is going to sign you to a contract for a paranormal series. Then we celebrate.”

  Sara laughed. “I’d almost forgotten about the dinner until I opened your gift. Two days, it’s in two days. I am so not ready.”

  “Forget?” Dalton cried. “How could you forget something as important as dinner with Leah Rosen? This is your dream, girl! Oh, I get it. He fucked your brains out again, didn’t he?”

  “Uh…” Sara glanced at the doorway to make certain there was no one in hearing distance.

  “C’mon, Mr. Mysterioso knocked every brain cell right out of your head. Maybe I should head over to your house and look for them. I can stuff them back in through your ears.”

  “Ewww. That’s gross, Dalton.”

  “Is he there? Because I’d like to have a word with him.” Dalton sounded indignant, but Sara knew she didn’t mean it. Her friend wanted to meet this mystery man.

  Sara saw her boss walk past her door. She lowered her voice. “Gotta go. I’ll catch you later and thank you.”

  Sara re-wrapped the chocolate book, pressing the lid down over box and setting it beneath her desk, away from the sunlight.

  Back to work, Sara. You’ve got to concentrate or you won’t be able to leave early on Friday. Crap. Do I even want to meet with her? I think I’d rather spend the evening with Nathan because I don’t know
how much time…” Her stomach clenched and she sat down, hard, in her chair.

  That’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t know how much time he has. He could disappear tomorrow. He could disappear today. He might already be gone. Sara’s heart began to beat faster.

  No, he promised he’ll be there when I get home. He must know, but I can’t be certain. I don’t know how much time we have together and I don’t want it to end. What if I lose him? I love him.

  “Sara, are you all right?”

  “Oh!” She jerked her eyes away from the screen saver on her computer screen. “What?”

  “You look pale, Sara, and you’ve seemed distracted lately. Are you all right?”

  Sara tried to compose herself. “Mr. O’Brien, I’m sorry, you startled me. Yes, I’m fine. I… It’s nothing. I haven’t been sleeping well, but really, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it because I need you at the top of your game. Our deadline’s been moved up. I need those graphics by noon tomorrow. Can I count on you?” Her boss crossed his arms and waited for her answer.

  Crap. No you can’t count on me. I have to get home to see my ghost lover. “Yes, of course. I can stay late tonight and if you’d like, and have everything ready for you first thing in the morning. I’m nearly done now.” Bull shit. You need another eight hours, minimum, to finish this project. You also need this job, so suck it up.

  “Excellent. I knew I could count on you. Michelle, over in personnel, is working late too, so I’d be happy to arrange some supper for the both of you. A couple salads, maybe? Or a pizza?”

  “Whatever Michelle wants is fine with me. But I might have to run home this afternoon. I, uh, think I left my crock-pot plugged in. It’ll only take me forty minutes or so, to get there and back.”

  “Whatever you need to do, as long as you finish the project.” He waved a hand in her direction. “I’ll be at my son’s Little League game tonight. You have my cell number. If anything comes up, feel free to call. Can’t guarantee I’ll hear the ringer, but you can leave a message.”

  “Okay.” Sara shot him a bright smile. “I better get back to work.” She subtly shifted her mouse, bringing up her current project, waiting for him to leave. Damn, I don’t think I’ll have time to go home. The rest of the day is gonna be a bitch.

  Chapter Seven

  “Where the hell have you been?” Nathan practically exploded the instant she walked through the door.

  “Working.” Sara hurried to set the gift box and her office laptop down on the dining room table before Nathan could grab something. He looked angry enough to hurl the computer through a window. Christ, the man looked downright dangerous. “Why? What’s the problem?”

  “You didn’t come home. I was afraid. I thought something might have happened.” He stalked right up to her, stopping mere inches from her, deliberately crowding her with his bigger body. “I’m trapped here. I can’t leave. I can’t do anything to help you if…” As fast as he’d moved toward her, he turned and abruptly stormed off, disappearing into the kitchen.

  Sara followed after him. “Nathan, wait. Nathan, there was nothing I could do. I had to finish a, a project. What on earth?” She stared, open-mouthed, at the drippy candles on the table, the bottle of wine, half-gone, the bowls of what? She closed her eyes and inhaled. Beef Bourguignon and fresh-baked bread? “You can cook?” she squeaked. For crying out loud, I sound like a mouse.

  “Yes, I can cook.” His voice was gruff, but Sara detected the tiniest hint of pride. “I used food stuffs you had here and your book of recipes. This was the best I could do.”

  Sara buried her face in her hands. “Oh my god, you cooked for me and I didn’t come home. I didn’t even call, not that you have a phone you can answer, but…” She lifted her head. “I need to sit down.” He pulled a chair up behind her and Sara sat. She dropped her head between her knees. “Nathan,” she mumbled, “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  She sensed that he knelt before her. His hands reached for her, sliding up her thighs. “Are you sick?”

  “Um-hmm.” It was all Sara could manage.

  Ghosts can’t cook. Ghosts can’t cook. Ghosts can’t bake fresh bread and make Beef Bourguignon, unless, oh my god, unless he’s secretly the ghost of Julia Child.

  Sara’s shoulders began to shake. She giggled. She couldn’t help it. The situation had become so absurd that there was nothing for it but to giggle. He cooks, he cleans, he puts away groceries; he fucks like nobody’s business.

  Suddenly she heard a familiar voice say, “Laughter is the best medicine.”

  Bolting to her feet, Sara spun in every direction. “Did you hear that? Nathan, did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Nathan stood right next to her, his arm about her waist, steadying her.

  “The voice, my father’s voice; please tell me you heard him too.” She stared into Nathan’s eyes, silently pleading with him to say yes.

  Nathan shook his head.

  Sara shook off his arm. “Oh, so now I can hear ghosts and you can’t? What kind of ghost are you?” Sara looked at him in horror. “You’re not really here at all, are you? This is me, myself and I; this is Sara Wise, going nuts.” Sara ran a shaking hand through her hair. “My mother called me crazy. She had Social Services take me away, lock me up in a mental hospital.”

  Sara reached a hand toward Nathan’s cheek, desperate to touch him, yet terrified that regardless of what she might feel beneath her fingers, he was a figment of her imagination. When her palm was a quarter inch from his face, she stopped, holding her body very still.

  Sara closed her eyes. “Nathan, tell me I’m not crazy.”

  His voice was soft. “Sara Wise, you are not crazy.”

  “How do you know I’m not crazy? If you’re a figment of my imagination, you’ll tell me what I want to hear because I’m telling you what to say.”

  “Sara!” Nathan’s hands gripped her shoulders, hard, squeezing her.

  “Ow!” Sara opened her eyes. Does your imagination hurt?

  Nathan gave her a shake. He barked at her. “Stop this nonsense.”

  “Did you just bark an order at me?”

  “Yes.” He gave her another little shake. “You’re talking nonsense. I’ve never met a woman less crazy than you. Of course you don’t understand this situation. How could you? I don’t understand this situation and I’m the one…”

  “Who’s dead,” Sara finished for him, giggling again.

  “Yes.” Nathan relaxed his grip slightly. “I’m the one who’s dead.” Sara noticed that while his attempt at a reassuring smile appeared comically lopsided, he couldn’t disguise the worry in his eyes.

  Sara took a shaky breath. “My father used to tell me, when you feel abnormal, do something normal.”

  “What do you want to do, Sara? Would you like to eat something? I can feed you.” He reached for a spoon as if to illustrate how he would feed her.

  She couldn’t help but grin at the mental picture. Studying the kitchen, Sara realized he’d cleaned up after himself. Every countertop was spotless. A cleaning, cooking, grocery-putting away, sexy incorporeal-corporeal man. Nathan’s assessment was correct. The situation made no sense, but there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do about it.

  “Nathan, let’s take a bath together, a nice, long, hot bath.”

  Without hesitation, he swept her up in his arms and headed for the stairs. “Ah, I had a similar notion,” he said, and he laughed all the way to the bathroom.

  ***

  Limp, boneless, Sara’s head lolled back against Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan had helped her achieve her goal, distracting her from their odd, inexplicable, supernatural circumstances. What could be more normal than sex, truly excellent, out of this world, mind-blowing sex? With a satisfied sigh, Sara closed her eyes, sinking further back into Nathan’s body, as his hands soaped her sensitive breasts, and other equally sensitive parts.

  “Mmmmmm.”

 
; “Feels good?”

  “Very.” She rubbed her cheek along Nathan’s wet skin.

  “Would you like to sleep? I can stop if you wish.”

  “Oh no, don’t stop. Keep touching me. I love it when you touch me.” Nathan mumbled a few sentences, his voice vibrating along her back. Sara shifted slightly, pressing even closer. “What did you say?”

  Nathan’s hands moved over her without hesitation, but his answer was slow in coming. “I said I love to touch you, Sara. I come alive in your arms.”

  Despite his groan of protest, Sara turned her body around until she could look into Nathan’s face. She laid her palm over his heart, thrilled by the steady beat she felt through his muscular chest. “Are you alive, Nathan?”

  His hands slipped beneath her hair and he massaged her head. “Yes, I believe so, although my alive-ness seems to be limited to your home.” He leaned over to kiss her.

  When at last he lifted his lips from hers, Sara asked in a quiet voice, “Do you know why?”

  Nathan shook his head.

  “Do you know how?”

  “No, Sara, I don’t.” He pulled her back against him. “Is the water growing too cold for you?”

  “No.” She stretched out her legs; her toes played with his. “The water is fine, but I have another question.”

  Nathan slipped his soapy hands down her flanks, running them over her hips. “I don’t suppose I can distract you from your questions?”

  Sara was indeed distracted, but she shook her head. “Nice try, but no.”

  Nathan wrapped his strong arms around her and drew her hard against him. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he said, “Ask your questions, woman.”

  “Ooh, woman is it? Sexy. I like it.” She wiggled her bottom against him, grinning at his immediate physical response.

  “Ask.” Nathan growled the word.

  Despite her reluctance to tackle the subject she wanted to tackle, Sara couldn’t resist a feminine snort. Nathan might be dead, but he was very much a man. Men haven’t changed over the centuries, have they? All right, Sara, jump right in. Blurt it out. You know you want the answer. Do I? Do I really want the answer?