by Jenna Byrnes
DREAMS OF DANI
by
Jenna Byrnes
PUBLISHED BY:
Books We Love
(An Electronic Book Publisher)
192 Lakeside Greens Drive
Chestermere, Alberta, T1X 1C2
Canada
Copyright 2011 by Jenna Byrnes
Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2011
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Nick Kelly woke up alone after enjoying a night of amazing sex. The disturbing thing about it was that he had gone to bed alone. His wet and sticky sheets could be explained easily enough by any guy over the age of about eleven. The bite marks on his torso were not so easily explained.
The first time it happened, it scared the crap out of him. He woke up confused, the memory of the beautiful woman with long red hair still fresh in his mind. He could picture her vivid green eyes and the dusting of freckles that covered her nose. That was innocent enough. Where he got uncomfortable was remembering her full white breasts with the large, rose-colored nipples. He remembered feeling the weight of them in his hands and, okay, if he was truthful, he remembered the taste of them. The small triangle of red hair between her legs covered its own treasure, and he remembered the taste of it as well.
She was an incredibly skilled lover, doing a few things Nick had never actually done in real life. That was part of the reason for his discomfort the morning after—where had those ideas come from? Details were crystal clear—unlike dreams a person couldn’t quite remember, Nick remembered every moment of making love with his dream woman. His uneasiness increased when he realized that not only was he sticky, but also physically exhausted and strangely satisfied. And terrified that he was losing his mind.
The first time it happened, nearly a week ago, was the first night he spent in his new home in West Seattle. At first, he thought the dream was stress related to his cross-country move, leaving the East Coast, where he had grown up and moving to the city he had always wanted to live in. Then he figured it was his overly active writer’s imagination going crazy. The muses certainly weren’t with him during the daylight hours—ever since he moved, he hadn’t added a single word to his current work in progress, a contracted manuscript for which he had already been paid a hefty advance. He sat at the computer in his new home office with the breathtaking view of Puget Sound, and ended up staring out the window. The writing just wasn’t happening.
But something was happening at night. The second night he attempted to ward off sleep—and whatever—by sitting up in his chair watching TV. In his dream, they made love in the chair with I Love Lucy playing in the background. The third night, he fell asleep at his computer and his dream involved a particularly raucous round of desktop sex. He woke up with a stapler imprint on his ass, for God’s sake.
It shouldn’t have been so upsetting to him, because Nick was a paranormal writer. His first novel, Demon Death, stayed on the USA Today’s bestseller list for twenty weeks. He was working on the sequel, Demon Life, and had just a few chapters to go, but the big finish eluded him. There was a lot of research involved with his books, and he felt comfortable and somewhat knowledgeable about the supernatural aspects. But what was happening to him personally was blowing his fucking mind, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.
The fourth night, he was tired and cranky from lack of sleep, and went to bed figuring whatever will be, will be. He still had to wash his sheets the next day (apparently his ghost’s vagina wasn’t a real receptacle) but at least there were no imprints on his backside.
But there were bite marks. First on his thighs, and then last night, all over his stomach and back. Could a ghost with no vagina possess such sharp teeth? Nick wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he had to get to the bottom of this thing.
He studied himself in the mirror until he couldn’t stand looking anymore, then stepped into jeans and pulled a sweatshirt over his head. Running his hands through his short dark hair would have to do for now. He hadn’t shaved in a week, but it wasn’t high on his list of things to do today either. Nick wanted answers, and he had an idea where to start asking questions.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number for his realtor. Sela Cooper was a friend of a friend of his mother’s—not exactly a close relationship, but better than pulling a name out of a hat when it came to the huge number of realtors in the greater Seattle area. She had proven to be professional and hard working; she didn’t stop looking until she found what Nick considered the perfect house. Little did he know. “Sela Cooper, please. Nick Kelly calling.”
In just a moment, she came on the phone. “Nick, how are you? How’s the house?”
“Pretty good,” he answered hesitantly. “I had a couple questions, though, and wondered if you were going to be in the neighborhood anytime today?”
“Sure, I can be. I need to drop off your home warranty papers anyway. What time works for you?”
“I’m here all day, Sela. Staring out the window, trying to write…”
She chuckled. “The view is stunning, isn’t it? Maybe you need to close the blinds while you work.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He wished it was the view distracting him. “So stop by whenever you can, would you?”
“You bet. I’ll shoot for around two.”
“Thanks, Sela.” He hung up the phone and looked around the house. Boxes were stacked high in every room. She would wonder why he wasn’t unpacking when he wasn’t writing, but frankly, he just couldn’t deal with that yet. He was getting along okay living out of boxes; at least he knew where everything was.
He burned a couple pieces of toast under the broiler because he couldn’t find the toaster (okay, he didn’t know where everything was…). But he was too distracted to worry about that now. He sat in front of his computer and brought the internet up, typing his address in a search engine and looking for whatever he could find.
People who said one could find anything on the internet had never tried searching for information about Nick’s Seattle address. There wasn’t squat to be Googled or Yahooed, and even Jeeves had no answers. By the time Sela arrived, he was on the verge of cranky again, and tried to dial it back a notch for her benefit. It wasn’t her fault, after all.
“Hey! How are you?” She stepped into the living room with a green plant in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.
“Fine, fine.” He motioned her in. “What’s this?”
She glanced around. “I thought it might make the place a little homier. I can see that it’s going to take more than a plant to do that.”
Nick rubbed a hand through his hair and chuckled. “Yeah, I haven’t directed all my energies towards unpacking yet. You know writers—once we get involved with something, it’s the only thing we can focus on. I’ve got a few critical chapters left in my manuscript, and I’m trying to deal with them.” A big fat lie, he told himself. But he wasn’t sure how much he could or should confide in Sela. It wasn’t the easiest subject to talk about, especially with an attractive woman. Did you realize the ghost who lives in the house you sold me gives one hell of a blow job? No, he didn’t think he was quite ready to bring it up.
Sela was an attractive woman. Her straight, shiny black hair fell just above her shoulders, and she had a pretty face and a damn good body. He guessed her to be about thirty-eight, which would make her ten years older than he was. The idea of an older woman turned him on, and if he wasn’t getting dra
ined to the point of dehydration every night, he would definitely consider knocking on Ms. Cooper’s bedroom door.
The manner in which she responded gave him cause to believe she would open that door willingly. She set the plant on an empty corner of the coffee table, and when she approached him with the packet of papers, she let her breast brush against him ever so gently. “These are the warranty papers for all the major appliances in the house. The real estate company extends the warranty for a year from the date of purchase, so you’ll want to hang on to these.”
Nick could have sworn she was talking about her breasts. He eyed them for a moment thinking that he really might like to hang on to them, and then brought himself back to reality. How could he explain fresh bite marks on his body? It was considered tacky in all circles to take different women to bed within the same twenty-four hour period. Besides, he wasn’t sure he had the stamina. Red left him exhausted most nights. “Thank you,” was all he could muster for Sela and her bodacious set of knockers.
He turned and headed into the kitchen. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coke, tea?”
“I’d drink a Coke.” She followed him, looking around. “Wow, Nick, you really need to spend a couple days getting settled in. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if things were unpacked?”
He shrugged and pulled two cans of soda from the fridge. “I don’t think about it that much. I go off on tangents—right now, I’m trying to tie up the end of my book…though I have been giving some thought to the house, here.” He offered her the can and opened his own, taking a drink. “Tell me what you know about the former owners.”
Sela leaned back against the kitchen island and took a sip of her drink. “Well, the family before you was a nice young couple with two children. When the wife found out she was pregnant again, they knew they needed to find a bigger place—the three bedrooms here weren’t enough. Plus they wanted a living room and a family room for the kids, and you just have the one room—”
Nick waved her off. He wasn’t that interested in their family dynamics. He was curious if daddy was screwing a ghost on the side, but considering mommy was pregnant, he figured probably not. “Do you know anything about the owners before them?”
Sela got a funny look on her face. “Why, Nick? Is there a problem?”
“No, of course not. I’m a writer, we’re curious types, I guess. I like to know the history of a place when I can.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know of any history before the Petersons. They lived here a few years, and I moved here just about five years ago.”
“Where did the Petersons move to?”
“Somewhere out in Redmond, I think. He works for Microsoft, and I know he was getting tired of the commute.”
Nick nodded. He could talk to Mr. Peterson, he supposed, but again—how would he broach the subject of the insatiable, sex-crazed ghost?
Sela finished her drink and took a step closer to him, setting her can on the counter. “Thanks for the Coke, Nick. Was there anything else I could do for you today?”
He let his eyes wander to her tits one last time before shaking his head regretfully. “I guess not. Thanks for coming out, Sela, and for the plant. I’ll try to have a decent home for it the next time you come over.”
Her eyes sparkled and she smiled at him. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Nick could tell by the expression on her face that he could have Sela in a wink if he just said the word. Flattered and more than a little aroused, he was tempted to go for it. If he took her hard and fast, she might not keep her eyes open long enough to see the marks on his body. The idea of holding a real woman in his arms excited him all of a sudden. He pictured himself thrusting his cock into her very real, very wet pussy and he went rock hard. “Sela…” he murmured in a breathy voice, and stepped toward her.
The patio door flew open and a rush of cold air breezed through, sending both Coke cans flying. Sela’s empty can hit the wall and Nick’s hung in the air long enough for the last half of his soda to pour out onto the floor.
“Holy shit!” he muttered, looking from the door to the two cans, now lying quietly on the floor. “That was bizarre.”
Sela moved over to the patio door and closed it, making sure it was locked securely. “A really strong gust of wind,” she observed.
Nick knelt down to wipe up the spilled soda, and she handed him some paper towels. When he stood to throw them away, Sela stepped close to him. “I don’t think it will happen again.”
“Probably not,” he agreed, and he knew the reason it wouldn’t. He not only lived with an insatiable sex-crazed ghost, but she was a jealous, insatiable, sex-crazed ghost. His erection was literally gone with the wind, thanks to Red and her little tantrum. Sela wasn’t going to get lucky today. And if Red’s temper got any worse, Nick wasn’t sure how long his own luck would hold out.
* * * *
He thought about it in bed that night, after Red had come and gone. (He had too, literally: he had come twice and gone was any hope he had of sleeping.) He slipped into his jeans and stood at his office window, staring out at the city lights. He almost wished he smoked, so he could light one up. Thoughts swirled around in his head, and he tried to sort them out.
He didn’t write about ghosts, but the phenomenon wasn’t totally new to him. He understood that his beautiful redheaded ghost must have died here in his house, and for some reason, had unfinished business that needed taken care of before she crossed to the other side. He wondered if he could help her, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he really wanted to. He shook his head—of course he did.
The internet had been no help, but perhaps the public library would be worth a try. Nick knew they kept copies of the local newspapers there on microfiche. Perhaps if he went back far enough, he might discover something about his house and its former occupants. It would be time consuming, but at this point, he was willing to try anything.
Eight hours and five year’s worth of the Seattle Times later, Nick had discovered nothing except for a pretty cool article on the opening of the Science Fiction Museum next to the Space Needle. He was scanning the screen faster and faster (mentally planning a trip to the museum and maybe even to the top of the Needle) when a picture in the paper caught his eye.
He scrolled back and saw her. He was sure it was her. Hell, he’d been having sex with her for a week—he ought to recognize every inch of her. But this was just her face, next to one of a man, with the headline “Murder-Suicide Discovered in Seattle home.” Nick glanced over the first paragraph quickly: The body of local businessman Ross Lenhart was discovered early this morning when a 911 call sent police to a West Seattle home, owned by Danielle Marcomb. Lenhart, 33, was shot twice in the chest, and was pronounced dead at the scene. Marcomb, 25, died from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Police indicate that Marcomb presumably shot Lenhart before turning the gun on herself. Neighbors heard…
Nick stopped reading and looked back at the picture. So Red finally had a name: Danielle Marcomb. He bet she went by Dani. He also bet that she did not kill Ross Lenhart. Punching the ‘copy’ button on the microfiche machine and inserting a quarter, Nick printed out the article to take with him. He hurried to his car and drove directly to the real estate office of Sela Cooper.
She was on the phone when he charged in without stopping at the receptionist’s desk. Sela looked up at him and ended her call quickly. “Nick, hello! What is it? You look upset.”
He slapped the photocopy on her desk and Sela scanned it. “Oh my,” she murmured.
“Don’t you have disclosure laws in this state?” he asked. “Where I come from, when someone is murdered in a house, future owners are informed of that little tidbit.”
Sela was shaking her head. “I’m so sorry! I honestly didn’t know! I would never lie to you, Nick.”
He looked at her. “Someone should have known.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “We try to get all the information we can on our listings
. I’m not sure how this was omitted.” She stood up next to him and touched his arm. “Does it bother you very badly?”
He stared at her and then looked around to be sure none of the other three people in the office were listening. “It probably wouldn’t, if Danielle had left. She’s still there, Sela. I see her every night.” He couldn’t bear to elaborate.
She laughed and then stopped when she saw he wasn’t joking. “Nick, I know you write sci-fi and those strange stories, but are you expecting me to believe—”
“I’m not expecting anything, Sela. I’m just trying to piece together what I know. I have a ghost in my house—a beautiful, sexy, red-haired ghost with the same face as a woman who died there five years ago.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
He took a step closer to her. “You’re sure about that? When you left my house yesterday, did you notice how windy it was?”
“It wasn’t windy at all,” she said. “It was a beautiful day.”
Nick looked at her. “Then where did the gust of wind come from that blew open the door and spilled my drink?”
“Well…” she hesitated.
“I’ll tell you where it came from.” He lowered his voice. “I was thinking about taking you to bed yesterday. I was one second away from pulling you into my arms when my ghost—Danielle—interrupted.”
Sela swooned, and caught herself against her desk. “Oh, Nick.” Her face flushed and he knew she was thinking about his taking her to bed rather than his ghost. “I would have liked that very much.”
He gave her a regretful look. “I would have liked it too, Sela. But I have a problem, and I can’t start anything new until I resolve this situation with Danielle.”
Sela’s eyes flashed angrily. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”
Nick snapped back at her “No, I fucking am not. I know enough about ghosts to understand that Danielle has some unfinished business. I’ve got figure out what it is, and then hopefully, she can cross to the other side and rest in peace.”
