by Meg Benjamin
He cut a substantial slice of cheese for himself. “I looked you up too. Only you weren’t on DeVere’s site.”
She grimaced. “No. The only one on Gabrielle’s site is Gabrielle.” For a moment, she stared at the wine again, then she raised her gaze to his. “You looked me up?”
“Tried to.”
“Because we were working together.”
He gave up fighting the grin. “Among other things.”
“That’s . . . neat.”
“Neat?” He reached across the table, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “Neat?”
Her cheeks were back to pink. “Well, yeah, you know.”
“I know.” He stared at the minuscule bits of cheese on her plate. “You need to eat more than that.”
She shook her head. “I love cheese, but it’s not part of my diet. I’m really cheating.”
He frowned. “Diet? Why are you on a diet?”
Her cheeks flushed pink again. “When I went to work for Gabrielle, she told me I needed to lose twenty pounds. So far I’ve lost sixteen.”
He narrowed his eyes. “DeVere made you go on a diet?”
“Like I said, we’re in show business. Size and attractiveness matter a lot more than in other businesses.” She sighed. “Gabrielle said that I represent the show, and I need to look good.”
Ray shook his head. “You do look good. Hell, you look sensational.”
Her lips curved up. “Thanks. I’m working on it.”
He paused for a moment, wondering just how he could get from his side of the table to hers with minimum effort. He pushed himself to his feet, extending his hand. “Let’s go.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Where?”
“Upstairs.”
“Now?”
He stared at her—the wisps of red hair curling around her neck, the pink cheeks against the milk white of her skin, the sapphire eyes. The body that curved in all the right places, no matter what Gabrielle DeVere might think. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Right now.”
***
Emma stood in the half light of the bedroom watching Ray undress. She never quite got used to him—the firm slabs of muscle, the golden hair sprinkled across his chest and abdomen, the way his hips angled down, the jut of his arousal from the golden hair. He ought to be a painting or a statue, something that caught the perfection of his body.
A body she was going to have for herself within the next ten minutes. Unbelievable. What’s wrong with this picture?
She was the wrong part. Somebody who looked like she did wasn’t supposed to end up with somebody who looked like Ray Ramos.
Of course, that was what that voice had been trying to tell her at the Hampton house. You’re nothing. Her jaw tightened. Quit it. Stop thinking. Just stop thinking.
He stepped next to her, light and shadow playing over his skin. “You have too many clothes on, ma’am. Allow me to help you with that problem.”
He pulled her T-shirt loose from her jeans, tossing it somewhere. His fingers worked at the catch on her bra and then it went flying somewhere else. Typical Ray Ramos disrobing job. She managed not to cross her arms over her chest.
“Beautiful.” He cupped her breasts, rubbing his palms against her nipples. “Perfect.”
She fought the impulse to disagree with him. Maybe for tonight she could be perfect. Maybe for him she was. Maybe . . .
He pressed his lips behind her ear, then let his tongue glide down the side of her throat, a line of whispering kisses that sent what felt like gooseflesh from her knees to her center.
You’re nothing. She closed her eyes, fighting tears all of a sudden.
Leave me alone! Go away!
She drew a shuddering breath as his hand dropped to her belly. Does it stick out too much? I need to lose that last four pounds.
“Emma, you’re thinking,” he murmured, sliding his tongue along the edge of her ear. “Stop thinking.”
Good advice. She closed her eyes, sliding her arms around his waist so that she could lean against him, letting the warmth of his skin flow through her.
You’re nothing.
Shut up! Go away!
She pressed her palms against the firm muscles of his lower back, running her fingers along the indentations at the top of his hips as he sighed. At least, she could do that. She could make him sigh.
He pushed her shoulders gently, toppling her onto the bed then following her down. She reached for the button on her jeans, unzipping them quickly, then let him pull them down along with her panties.
And then she stopped, staring up at him, his dark brown eyes lost in the twilight shadows.
“What?”
I’m falling in love with you.
Her eyes widened. No, no, no, no, no. I’m so not falling in love with anyone. Particularly not somebody so far out of my league. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. She shook her head slightly. “Nothing.”
His lips edged up slightly. “Ominous. When you say nothing in that tone of voice it sounds like there’s something, only you’re not going to tell me what it is.”
She reached up, catching his shoulders and pulling him down to her. “Less talk, more action.”
“That I can do.” He pressed his lips to her abdomen, his hands cupping her breasts again, his thumbs rubbing across her nipples. Then his hands slid to her hips as his lips followed a line down her body.
She lifted for him, opening herself as he moved lower with his lips and tongue, his thumbs parting her sex so that his teeth gently grazed her clit.
She caught her breath, grasping the sheet in her fists. All of a sudden it seemed very important not to let down her guard, particularly not if letting it down meant becoming talkative. As of right now, she decided to confine all bedroom conversation to moans. Moans didn’t disclose embarrassing information. Moans didn’t commit her to anything.
He slid his fingers inside her body, and she did moan, her hips arching up to him. “Please,” she whispered.
“Not yet.” He caught her clit between his lips, sucking gently, while his fingers moved in and out. The heat rose to her center, and moans suddenly weren’t enough. She closed her eyes, gasping, and felt him move up her body, his lips touching the place between her breasts before he took her nipple into his mouth.
She gasped again, moving against him, trying to lever his body into hers.
He chuckled softly. “Easy, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”
No we don’t. Not really. But it wasn’t the best time to have a discussion about their future. Or the lack of it. Instead she pushed his shoulders, turning him on his back and straddling his hips.
He stared up at her, eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”
“Having my way with you.” She grasped his shaft in one hand, guiding him inside her slowly, then propped her hands on his chest and lowered her body over his.
His breath hissed. “Good Lord, woman.”
“Shhh.” She brought her hips up and down again, taking the length of him deep as she stared into his eyes. It seemed important to keep that connection unbroken. Maybe I’m not in his league, but he’s mine right now.
The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room as he groaned. “Emma . . .”
“Shhh.” She took a deep breath, speeding up as he took hold of her hips. Heat spiraled again from her core, her body trembling with it. She gasped, struggling to hold his gaze.
“Emma . . . sweet Christ.” His body arched beneath her, driving deep again and again until she felt him give way. He grasped her waist, rolling again so that he was above her, the movement touching something deep inside her that seemed to set off a series of explosions until her body was shaking with the aftershocks.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him close, her cheek pressed to his chest. She was pretty sure she’d never ex
perienced anything like that before. “Wow,” she whispered.
He nodded, stroking his hand through her hair. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth flow over her. If she managed to limit herself to wow, she’d be okay. If she said anything else, all bets were off. I am not falling in love with you. Not, not, not. I can give you up when the time comes. I will give you up. I’ll have to. There’s no future in this.
“Hey?” He slid one finger under her chin, tipping her face slightly so that he could look at her.
Danger, danger, danger. “What?”
“That was good.” His lips turned up in a faint smile. “That was very, very good.”
She swallowed. He wasn’t supposed to be sensitive. He was supposed to be the big, strong guy who asked if she wanted some post-sex pizza or something. “It was . . . intense,” she said carefully. “Really, really intense.”
He frowned slightly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Great, actually.” She managed a smile, although it probably wouldn’t fool anybody in full light. Fortunately, they were in a darkened bedroom.
I love him, but I’m not in his league. I am in so much trouble.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then leaned back again, grinning. “Want some food? I’m starving.”
“Yes. Right. Let’s do that.” She felt the world snap back into place. Hungry guy. Post-sex pizza. She could work with that. Even if she just had a salad.
Chapter 17
“Riordan!”
The voice echoed in Ray’s head, interrupting a very pleasant dream involving Emma, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries.
“Go away,” he muttered.
“Riordan, get up. I don’t have all night.”
Ray flipped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Beside him, Emma moved in her sleep, nuzzling his shoulder, her body soft and warm in the dim light from the window. He really didn’t want to leave this bed.
“Riordan! Now!”
Sighing, he slid out from under the sheet, careful not to disturb Emma. He didn’t want to have to explain why he suddenly felt the urge to go to the living room. He pulled on his jeans and headed for the stairs.
Skag was standing in front of the fireplace when he got there.
Ray narrowed his eyes. Correction: Skag was floating in front of the fireplace, bobbing up and down gently like a leaf in a stream. At least he wasn’t glowing around the edges this time.
“About time you got here,” he snapped.
“If we set up a designated time to talk, I could be there exactly when you arrived. Otherwise, you have to wait until I wake up. Live with it. Or something.” He moved a chair into the center of the room, turning it around so that he could rest his chin on the back.
Skag paused, staring down at his feet. “Get away from me, you ridiculous beast.”
Ray blinked. He wasn’t sure whether he’d just been insulted or not. “Excuse me?”
“Not you. This . . . absurd hellhound of your sister’s. She’s attached herself to me. Sometimes literally.” He jerked to the side.
Ray stared at Skag’s feet, or rather where his feet would be if he weren’t floating several inches above the floor.
Helen stared back at him placidly, chewing on something black she held between her paws.
He sighed. “I wondered where she’d gone. She was here a couple of days ago.”
“I’d prefer she was with you again. Unfortunately, she’s managed to transport herself to my dimension, and I’ve been unsuccessful in persuading her that this is not a love match.” Skag glowered in the dog’s direction.
Helen gave him a doggy grin in return, then went back to chewing.
“What’s she chewing on?”
Skag grimaced. “A wingtip. A rather nice pair dating from the thirties. Fortunately, I have others.”
Ray paused for a moment, trying to figure out exactly how Helen could be chewing on a spectral shoe stolen from a spectral owner. He decided not to pursue it. “What’s happening?”
Skag sighed, pulling his cigarette holder from his pocket as he took a few more steps away from Helen. “First, I located your Allard Hampton. Not that he was able to tell me a great deal once I was able to find him.”
“He’s not mine—the only thing we have in common is that house. What did he say?”
“So far as he can remember, there were no ghostly manifestations during his residence.” Skag blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “And I feel quite certain that if there had been something along the lines of your experience, he would have remembered.”
Ray nodded. “Right. He’d definitely remember unless he had wild monkey sex with unknown women on a regular basis. So I guess that means the séance let the ghost loose in the house. Or set it free. Or something.”
“Of course.” Skag waved an impatient hand. “We already knew that. However, it’s always good to have confirmation. Hampton also confirmed that some of the objects in the house predated his residence, although he was unable to provide a list. He seemed rather preoccupied. Apparently, he had a golf game for which he was already late.”
Ray considered asking where the hell ghosts played golf, but decided to let it go. Probably best not to get sidetracked. “Anything else?”
Skag arched an eyebrow. “He’s not at all happy with his heirs, but that’s not unusual. The dead frequently overestimate their impact on the living. However, I gather that his nieces and nephews were a particularly venal lot.”
“They didn’t strike me as grieving for him all that much,” Ray agreed. “They spent most of their time in court, fighting over the division of the spoils.”
“If there was any logic in this affair, Hampton would be haunting the heirs, rather than some unknown woman haunting the house, but he seems to have better things to do.”
Like golf, apparently. “Did he have any idea who the ghost might be? Had he heard of the Grunewalds?”
Skag tapped his ashes into his suddenly appearing ashtray while Helen stretched in his direction. He did another quick sidestep. “In terms of the ghost in residence, he was no help at all since he never saw or heard anything. He did, however, remember the Grunewalds, or one of them, at any rate. Livingston. Your bon vivant.”
“Livingston.” Ray frowned. “How did Hampton know Livingston? I thought he’d been run out of town by his father.”
“That might have been true originally, but according to Hampton he came back to visit at least once. He told Hampton he’d lived in the house previously and asked if he could look around. Hampton allowed it, although he said Grunewald seemed remarkably decrepit for a man who was supposedly in his sixties at the time.”
“My guess is he didn’t have an easy life.” Ray shifted in his chair, watching Helen sniff at Skag’s feet. “Did Livingston pass on any information about the house while he was visiting?”
“Not that Hampton recalled. He seemed to spend most of his time in the front bedroom, for some reason.” Skag pulled his foot away from Helen. “Perhaps that was where he held his trysts with Miss Becker.”
In which case, it was most likely the room in which Miss Becker committed suicide. Ray had a sour taste in his mouth all of a sudden. It had been his bedroom. “I wonder why he came back. His father hushed up the scandal at the time, but the details had already come out. That police detective had written it up in his memoirs. He took a risk in coming there, particularly if Hampton had heard the story.”
Skag arched an eyebrow. “Possibly he wanted to make sure no hint of suspicion remained about his involvement with Miss Becker. Possibly he assumed it no longer mattered, given his advanced age.”
Ray pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off a headache. “That still doesn’t get us any closer to positively identifying the ghost—or figuring out how to deal with her.”
“Have you found anything at the house that might be the love token Siobhan mentioned?”
He shrugged. “A locket. It looks like the right period, but there’s nothing to associate it with Grunewald or Amina Becker. If I brought it here, could you tell me if it was the keepsake Great-grandma Siobhan was talking about?”
“Doubtful. And bringing it here would risk contaminating this house if it’s the object connected to the ghost.”
“Then how do we know if we’ve found it or not?”
Skag shrugged. “Simple enough. Destroy it. If it’s the right keepsake, the ghost disappears.”
Ray sighed. “I figured you’d say that.”
Skag tapped his ashes into the hearth, keeping a wary eye on Helen’s progress with wingtip. “Break it into pieces. Throw the pieces into the fire so that they melt. Seems simple enough.”
Ray sighed again. It would have been simple enough if Emma hadn’t had doubts about the locket. Listen to the sensitive. Great.
“I still wish we knew for sure who this ghost is,” he mused. “If it’s Amina Becker, we might be able to communicate with her. Get her to leave on her own.”
Skag frowned. “Whatever this ghost might once have been, it’s no longer connected to anything human. Trying to reason with her would be both futile and dangerous.”
Ray narrowed his eyes. “You mean because she’s one of the Old Ones. Because she’s been around here long enough to lose any humanity.”
“In a way.” Skag exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. “In reality, while Amina Becker may have originally been involved in the situation that produced your haunting, I doubt that her spirit is any part of the ghost currently occupying your house. At least not anymore.”
“Okay,” Ray growled, “enough with the mystery. What are we dealing with here?”
Skag sighed. “The Riordan family has always lacked patience. You sound remarkably like your Great-great-great uncle Fergus.”
Ray bared his teeth. “I’m not exactly interested in family history right now.”
“Very well. My guess—and it’s only a guess, but it’s an educated one—is that you’re dealing with a succubus. Rose floated the possibility, and I concur. The ghost seems to show all the signs.” He paused, raising an eyebrow.
