by Anne Hope
Matt fixed her with a startled stare. “Why, Evie, I’m shocked.”
Done with the books, she turned from the bookcase and walked his way. “Why is that?”
“It appears you’re a romantic.” A lopsided grin tugged at his mouth, only this time it wasn’t laced with arrogance but with an odd blend of affection. His statement, along with that handsome, crooked smile caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in her ribcage. “Tell me, Evie, have you ever been in love?”
The butterflies grew fangs. “No, and I never plan to be,” she answered curtly.
“That makes no sense. Why would a romantic not want to fall in love?”
She stared deeply into the hearth, watching the flames mate and blend into one until she could no longer tell them apart. “Because I have no desire to die of a broken heart,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
“Ah, I see.” He moved closer, forcing her to look at him. “Then I’m the perfect man for you.”
“How do you figure that?”
He flashed another one of those devastating grins. “I’ll never die on you, seeing as I’m already dead.”
The laughter started deep in the pit of her stomach, rumbling like an earthquake until she had no choice but to release it. “You have a very unique way of seeing things.”
“What can I say? I like to think outside the box.”
She swept her gaze over his perfectly chiseled face, wondering what kind of life he’d led, whom he’d loved and left behind. “What’s your story, Matt?”
Instantly, the humor seeped from his expression. The mocking glint in his eyes dulled. “I don’t really have one.”
“Everyone has a story.”
He gave her one of his trademark shrugs. “My mother was an actress, my father a screenwriter. They were married long enough to have me and my brother. Then they divorced. My mother decided to stay in New York, while my father high-tailed it to L.A.”
He crouched before the fireplace, gazing into the heart of the flames. “My brother and I spent most of our childhood commuting between the two cities—winters with our mother, summers with our father. Eventually, I got into the film business, too, and decided to call L.A. home.”
“That mustn’t have been easy for you, going back and forth that way.”
“I got used to it. I can tell you one thing—life never got boring.” Despite his attempt to infuse levity into his voice, Evelyn caught a dark flicker in his eyes that told her his road to adulthood hadn’t been nearly as smooth as he wanted the world to believe.
That’s when she understood something fundamental about Matt Alexander; he was just like that boy at the orphanage. The more he wanted to be a part of something, the more he pulled away. The more he hurt, the more he pretended not to care, and humor and sarcasm were the tools he used to forge the impenetrable barrier of his isolation.
Just then, Slippers crept up to Matt, circling him, warily sniffing the air.
“I think he’s starting to like you.”
“She.”
“Sorry?”
“The cat’s a she.”
Evelyn hadn’t bothered to inspect the animal. “How do you know?”
“Only a female would have such morbid fascination for me.”
Later that evening, as Evelyn finished washing the dishes, she felt the heat of Matt’s gaze upon her, and a tingling sensation spread across her abdomen. Nothing unsettled her more than being observed, especially by someone like Matt. He oozed cockiness and confidence—the two things she sorely lacked. She wondered what he was thinking as he watched her, with one eyebrow raised ever so slightly and his arms braided across his magnificent body.
She couldn’t help it. She had to ask. “Why are you staring at me?”
“I’m trying to picture you in a slinky dress.”
She nearly dropped the plate she was drying. “Excuse me?”
He stood. She felt the air stir as he approached. “When’s the last time you painted the town red?”
The soft hum of his presence enveloped her. “I don’t remember.” She set the plate aside and turned to face him, shocked to find him standing mere inches away from her. What would happen if she reached out and touched him? Would her fingers slide through him? Or would they become entangled in a whirlwind of energy?
“Now that’s real sad. I bet Ms. Delaney remembers.” There was unspoken challenge in his taunt. She told herself not to fall for it, but a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was right.
He leaned closer, and her flesh prickled in response. “Come out with me, Evie.”
Her heart gave an involuntary kick. She wasn’t sure if it was a result of fear or anticipation. “Are you out of your mind? It’s Sunday night. I’ve got to be at the library bright and early tomorrow—”
He feigned an exaggerated yawn. “Yup, twenty-nine going on eighty. I might as well mosey on down the street and ask Ms. Delaney to join me.”
Indignation knifed through her. “Very well. I’ll go.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Not only had she lost her mind but her better judgment. Matt had an uncanny way of getting under her skin and making her do things she normally wouldn’t even consider.
His face literally shone with pleasure.
“But if I end up making a fool of myself again,” she warned, skewering him with a finger aimed at the chest, “being dead will be the least of your problems.”
The sound of his heartfelt chuckle rent the air. “I love it when you’re feisty.”
She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. The man—uh, spirit—was incorrigible. With a defeated sigh, she strolled out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her room.
“Hey, Evie,” he called after her. She stopped mid-way, turning around to face him, her hand braced on the balustrade. “Leave your hair down tonight.”
She frowned. “It’s so wild. I just can’t seem to do anything with it.”
“Nothing wrong with wild. It goes well with feisty. And throw on something sexy while you’re at it.”
Sexy? She wasn’t sure she owned anything that qualified as sexy.
Dread swamped her. What had ever possessed her to agree to this? She’d never been much of a party girl. She hadn’t even gone to her own prom. The only date she’d had in years was with shy, sweet Earl from the library, and they’d spent the evening at a used bookstore.
And here she was, going out with a ghost! A ghost who’d been named sexiest man alive by People magazine, no less. She really had taken a dive off the deep end.
The moment she turned her back to Matt, the smile she’d been fighting wriggled free, spreading across her face. Eagerness tap-danced along her nerve endings, infusing her with a stimulating blend of excitement and schoolgirl jitteriness. The feeling was new, as irrational as it was perilous, and completely intoxicating. A silly giggle bubbled in her throat. It felt surprisingly liberating to be nuts.
When she got to her room, she spent an exceptionally long time examining her closet, and was quite disappointed at what she discovered. She did not own a single item that wasn’t practical. Was she truly that boring? Perhaps Matt was right. Ms. Delaney probably had a sexier wardrobe, and the woman was in her seventies!
With a discouraged moan, she carefully assessed each outfit—too drab, too old, too matronly…
And then she saw it—buried so deep within her closet she’d forgotten it was there—a dress she hadn’t worn in nearly seven years.
Perfect, she thought and briskly yanked it off the hanger.
Matt paced at the foot of the stairs, struggling to crush the seeds of exasperation taking root inside him and failing. What was taking so damn long? Open heart surgery probably took less time than a woman getting ready for a night out. He was tempted to innocently drift upstairs and peek into her room, but he curbed the urge.
Patience is a virtue. Wasn’t that what Eberhart had said? Matt needed to rack up as many virtues as he could right about now.
H
e would’ve liked to pass the time surfing the net or channel flipping, see what some of his old buddies were up to. Maybe even read up on his death and check out what kind of media coverage it had gotten. But unfortunately, Evelyn didn’t seem to own a computer, and the only television set was upstairs in her bedroom. He’d never been this cut off from the world, and it left him feeling antsy, completely at loose ends.
Better get used to it, he told himself. I highly doubt hell has cable or high speed internet.
A patter at the top of the stairs interrupted his musings. “It’s about—” He flung a glance over his shoulder and paused mid-sentence, dumbfounded. His entire being thrummed with a strange kind of heat at the sight of Evelyn wobbling down the steps in a pair of high-heeled black pumps.
For the first time, Matt was speechless. As an actor, he’d seen costume designers and make-up artists perform some pretty remarkable transformations, but nothing had prepared him for this.
She wore a beaded, black cocktail dress with a flirty mesh hem that stopped just above the knee, displaying a shockingly hot pair of legs. The bodice hugged her figure, perfectly cupping her breasts, the straps wrapping seductively around her neck. A thin mesh shawl that matched the skirt hung around her shoulders, beneath a shower of untamed copper-kissed curls. She’d removed those ghastly glasses and had even gone as far as to brush some color onto her cheeks and coat her lips with a sparkling pink lip gloss.
Now we’re talking.
Evelyn Hyde was absolutely stunning. Too bad she went to such great lengths to conceal it. If that wasn’t one of the seven deadly sins, then it sure as hell should’ve been.
Uncertainty sparked in her eyes the moment she stood before him. “It’s too much, isn’t?” A nervous, mewling sound escaped her lips that would have made Slippers proud. “I’m going to go change.”
“Don’t you dare! You look—” thick, syrupy emotion coiled deep within him, “—incredible.”
A deep flush stained her cheeks, and long, black lashes fell to shadow her cheeks. “It’s the only fancy dress I have.” She sounded apologetic.
“It’s perfect.”
“I bought it ages ago for my Aunt Lydia’s and my Uncle Bob’s silver wedding anniversary. I’m surprised it still fits.”
“Like a glove,” he reassured. “You’re going to turn some heads tonight.”
“Oh, no.” Dismay darkened her features. “I don’t want to turn any heads. I’d rather be—”
“Invisible?”
“I was going to say inconspicuous,” she replied pointedly.
“Same difference.” He arched a quizzical brow. “I’m curious, Evie, why do you try so hard to be a wallflower, when you’ve got more spirit than any woman I’ve ever known? And believe me, I’ve known quite a few.”
“I don’t try to be a wallflower,” she said in her own defense, but the statement lacked conviction.
“Then prove it. Come out with me tonight and let the world see you—really see you—for once. How long do you plan to hide behind the shabby clothes and that godawful bun? Life’s short,” he added for good measure. “It can end in the blink of an eye. Take it from someone who knows.”
Her shoulders sagged as the fight went out of her, and he knew he’d won. With one last glance down the length of her body to assess her appearance, she walked past him and grabbed her coat from the closet. “Fine, have it your way.”
Matt glided to the front door, quirking his lips. “Finally, a woman after my own heart.”
The Spirit Lounge—a tasteful nightclub located a short twenty-minute drive away in Portland’s Old Port District—buzzed with live music and conversation. Evelyn was surprised at how crowded the place was for a Sunday night. The glistening hardwood dance floor overflowed with gyrating bodies, swinging and hopping to some upbeat tune. A bustling swarm of people, clad mostly in black, surrounded a circular bar, which squatted at the center of the club. Tables and white leather couches were scattered throughout the establishment, where patrons sat nursing their drinks.
Evelyn stood frozen at the entrance, anxiety ballooning inside her. This world was as alien to her as Mars…or L.A. for that matter. The lights, the music, the animated crowd made her mouth go dry and her palms grow clammy.
“Now, this is more like it.” Matt beamed, his voice tinkling with approval.
“Maybe we should go somewhere a little less busy,” she proposed.
“Why the blazes would we do that? This place is happening. And the name’s got a certain ring to it,” he quipped.
Reluctantly, she followed him through the lively throng to the only empty table available. She rigidly slipped into the puffy white chair across from Matt, her pulse drumming in perfect beat with the song. The excited glimmer in his eyes told her he felt right at home here in the heart of the city, where people lived fast and partied hard.
“It ain’t L.A.,” he told her, “but Portland’s got a certain charm. I could almost get used to this.”
Evelyn thought of Harborside—the small town where she’d lived most of her life, located just outside of Freeport—with a hitch of longing. She just couldn’t picture herself as a city girl. She loved the slow-paced lifestyle, the mint-peppered scent of nature in the breeze, the safe, close-knit community of Harborside. Everything was bigger and brighter in Portland. So bright, her eyes burned from it.
Within minutes of their arrival a waitress, wearing a skin-tight black dress, shimmied up to their table. “Can I get you something?” she asked her.
Evelyn felt a stab of panic. “I don’t know what to have.” She didn’t have much experience with drinks. They all had fancy names she could never remember.
“A cosmopolitan,” Matt suggested. “Girls always order cosmopolitans, thanks to Sex and the City.”
“A cosmopolitan,” she parroted, without having the slightest idea what she’d ordered.
A few minutes trickled by with Evelyn sitting ramrod straight, clicking her fingernails on the polished wooden surface of the table.
“You really don’t go out much, do you?” he observed.
“I don’t have much of a social circle,” she said self-consciously. “It’s not usually customary for a woman to go dancing by herself.”
“Why not? I go out on my own all the time. Or I used to,” he corrected, a hint of nostalgia peppered with regret lacing his words.
“It’s different for guys.”
“Guess you’re right. For some reason, you women always feel compelled to go around in groups. You can’t even go pee without your girlfriends there to cheer you on.”
The waitress returned with her drink, and Evelyn busied herself paying for it, then curiously grabbed hold of her straw and drew an experimental sip. The beverage had a bit of a kick, but it was actually quite tasty—sweet but not too fruity, with a hint of lime and just the right tanginess. She gulped down a couple of mouthfuls, quite pleased to notice it took the edge off her nerves.
“Like it?”
She nodded. “Now I know why all the girls order it.” She took another swallow.
“I wouldn’t drink it too fast if I were you,” he warned. “It might not taste like it, but that little concoction delivers quite a punch.”
The deafening strains the band hammered out of their instruments suddenly died down, replaced by a ballad, and she actually started to relax. The melody gently rocked her as the singer crooned in a warm, raspy voice and shadowy figures swayed in the dark.
She ventured a glance in Matt’s direction and found him watching her with a sizzling keenness that sent a tickling sensation skittering from her throat all the way to the pit of her stomach.
“I wish I could ask you to dance.” His voice was gruff, simmering with an undercurrent of longing.
Her next breath rattled in her chest. “I’d look silly dancing on my own.”
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it? What people think.”
“I just don’t want to be—”
“Conspicuous,”
he finished for her.
Dipping her head, she took a nice, long swig of her drink. “What the heck.” She stood decisively and made a beeline for the dance floor. Matt happily followed.
She squeezed through the crowd, finding a nice little corner where she could stand and let the music transport her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the pleasure of sinking into the melody without the distraction of the hundred or so strangers surrounding her.
And then she felt it. A feathering sensation gliding across her waist, an electrical prickle tenderly guiding her forward until her entire body thrummed with energy.
With a gasp, she parted her lids and realized in her dazed stupor that Matt was holding her. She could actually feel his hands on her, a tingling heat that burned a trail straight to her soul. Warmth flooded her system, squeezed the air from her lungs until her chest ached.
She closed her eyes again and leaned into him, drowning in the strange, unfamiliar sensation of being embraced by sheer electricity. Matt’s touch was like no other. She felt the heat of his hands, but not the weight of them. She knew his fingers stroked her, but couldn’t make out their shape or texture. Still, in that brief wedge of time when he held her, he was more real to her than anyone she’d ever known before. He filled every corner of her mind and heart, made her senses swim and her pulse race. But worst of all, he made deep, sultry emotion bloom inside her.
And that’s when dread dribbled in to pierce the smoky bubble engulfing her…because as darkly seductive as this dance was, the last thing Evelyn wanted was to fall for a ghost.
Chapter Five
Matt edged in closer, losing himself to the totally addictive feel of her in his embrace. He’d never thought he’d be privileged enough to hold a woman again, and here he was dancing with Evelyn, drawing her tightly against him, feeling her heat sink into him and slowly bring his body to life.
He savored the wispy caress of her hair against his chin, the warmth of her breath fluttering across his cheek, the softness of her breasts grazing his chest. Each sweet sensation was like a piece of heaven, fueling his desire. And as his desire for her grew, so did his ability to feel her.
