“Get off me,” she demanded between clenched teeth, struggling to free herself from his sleekly muscled body.
“Are you talking to me?” he asked in a ragged whisper, his breath warm against her mouth and chin. “Or to yourself?”
She understood then. He intended to force her into acknowledging that he was certainly more than a product of her mind. “Maybe I am talking to myself,” she retorted. “I must be delusional—wrestling with a man who isn’t even here.” To prove her point, she defiantly opened her eyes.
But he was there, heart-stoppingly real—all human, all male, and furious as a thundercloud. His silver-hot gaze fused with hers, and traitorous joy sparked in her heart. She’d wanted so much to see him, to hold him....
“If I’m just your imagination, Elissa,” he whispered as he lowered his dark, glowering face, “then let your imagination run wild.”
His mouth accosted hers then with persuasive insistence—laving, tasting and probing until the kiss slanted and flowed. Caught up in the sensuous revelry, she kissed him back with a vengeance. If this was madness, then mad she wanted to be.
His muscles hardened in immediate response and erotic heat flared between them. His fingers worked at the buttons of her nightgown, then tugged at the interfering fabric until he had stripped it completely off of her. He then drew her against him with another kiss, this one deeper and slower.
Elissa lost herself in the feel of his skin pressing against hers, the smooth brawn of his muscles bunching beneath her palms, the exquisite heat of his mouth as it glided in a swirling path to her throat, to her breasts.
He worked his way steadily downward. She wove her fingers through his silky hair as he kissed her in provocative, lingering ways that made her tremble.
With his hands hard and controlling, he captured her mobile hips and laid siege. Every advance heightened her sublime sensitivity, until involuntary shuddering set in.
And then he stopped. Withdrew his mouth, his hands.
“Jesse,” she breathed, “what are you—?”
He started again—a strategic attack, using every weapon in his arsenal this time. She gasped as his hardness probed, entered and slowly inched into her. The pleasure steadily compounded and grew acute. Too soon, he retreated.
Through a swelter of need, she cried in a tortured whisper, “Don’t you dare stop!” Then with a breathless sob, she moaned, “You’re driving me crazy....”
His body lunged across hers and he caught her hands above her head, pinning them against the mattress. With his gaze dark and determined, he thundered, “Who’s driving you crazy, Elissa? Who?”
She knew she could distract him with moves of her own—moves that would drive all rational thought right out of his head. She saw the barely leashed desire straining behind the purpose in his steel gray eyes.
But that purpose stopped her. He wanted her to admit that he was real, and here, and loving her. That was one admission she couldn’t make. She had to send him away before her love destroyed him.
Surly and hoarse, he demanded, “Who?”
She squared her jaw. “No one.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
His bottom lip curled, his hands tightened on her wrists. And slowly, intently, he rocked forward. His male hardness pushed in, completely in, filling her to capacity.
Pleasure radiated to every fiber of her being; pleasure, and the love she struggled to hide. He gave another smooth, hard thrust, his gaze locked intently on hers. She couldn’t stop her body from meeting his thrusts, couldn’t stop her gaze from dancing with his.
He released her wrists, braced himself on his knees, and deepened the penetration. His rhythm quickened, his urgency grew, until each gliding thrust lifted her hips off the bed.
“I want more from you,” he growled, “and you know it.”
She loved him too much to give it.
With a groan of desperation, he lowered his fevered body to hers, his hardness still throbbing inside her. His fingers slipped into her hair, his thumbs rested beside her mouth. “Believe in me, Elissa,” he begged. And he kissed her with a deep, aching need.
She melted into his all-consuming kiss, undone by his ragged plea. Their arms coiled tightly around each other, their legs intertwined, and their bodies writhed in slow, sensual opposition.
Later, when the tremors of aftershock had subsided, Jesse whispered into her ear, “You love me, Elissa. I feel it.”
She did love him, so much it hurt. So much that she couldn’t fathom losing him. And though she felt as if she were ripping her own heart out, she whispered, “No, Jesse.” The acute pain of those two words almost defeated her, but she had to persevere, for the sake of his very existence. She choked out the blackest lie of her entire life. “Whatever it is you think you feel, well—” she even managed a shrug “—it’s just your imagination.”
Suffocating bleakness overtook her as she disengaged herself from his embrace and edged away until she no longer touched him. She fully expected him to reach for her, to pull her back.
He did not.
She felt as though she’d never sleep again. But soon enough, a drugging slumber blotted out her anguish.
A similar lassitude overtook Jesse—similar in its narcotic effect, yet very different. Different also from the numbing weariness that had so often attacked him these past few weeks. This sleep submerged him into a pulsating darkness, then plunged him headlong into some vacuumlike abyss. He tried to fight it, but found he hadn’t the energy—or the reason—to resist.
She had wanted him to leave her. The pain of that realization sapped his strength way more than anything so far. To find her, then to lose her, even as he held her in his arms and loved her with all his heart...
The pain grew into a live, gnawing force. The darkness hummed as he sped through it, hummed with an inhuman wailing. Gradually the wailing turned into a dull babble of voices. Though incoherent, they seemed to be calling to him, not by name, but unmistakably beckoning in tone. He strained against a blinding wind to see. Vague forms hovered around in the murky distance.
Why had Elissa turned him away? Had they been right, all those monsters of his youth, lurking in every darkness, taunting him with the likelihood that no one could ever love him? He hadn’t known then exactly what he’d been missing. He hadn’t known until she’d shown him.
The pain intensified.
The darkness narrowed, tunnellike.
He looked for it. He looked for the light.
12
SHE SHOT UP IN BED with a violent start, her heart thundering. She had to hurry. Hurry.
In panic, she gazed around until she recognized her surroundings—Jesse’s bedroom. The sun hadn’t yet begun to filter through the morning darkness. The terrible urgency pumping through her veins had to have been caused by a nightmare.
Weakly, she leaned against the pillows. She couldn’t remember the dream. And though she knew that there was no reason to leap from the bed and scramble into her clothes, the urgency continued to drum in her heart. Hurry. Hurry. But to where, to do what?
With a trembling hand, she turned on the bedside lamp. The fire in the hearth had dwindled to ashes and chill bumps had risen across her skin. Her nightgown lay on the floor, and only a linen sheet covered her. The soreness of her muscles, the swollen feel of her lips, and the musky male scent of Jesse that clung to her skin brought back vivid memories of last night. Jesse, though, was gone.
She stared at the indentation in the pillow where his head had rested. She was alone, she knew. He wouldn’t reappear, or whisper to her from thin air, or even watch her from some mystical vantage point. He had finally left her.
She should be glad that he had gone, that she had sent him in the right direction. Instead, she felt only an aching sense of loss...and this peculiar urgency.
It had to be a reaction to his departure. How would she face the prospect of living her entire life without love, without passion, without laughter? Withou
t Jesse? She certainly couldn’t face that prospect right now. The pain of it nearly doubled her over.
She gave in to tears—silent, anguished tears—for the man she had sent away. For the bleak, empty future she faced without him. After a while, when she’d cried herself out, she realized the urgent feeling that had awoken her remained. As if someone essential to her was in mortal danger.
Unnerved, she hurried from the bed to Jesse’s closet and, looking for a robe, rifled through his shirts, pants and military uniforms. The sight of his clothes pierced her with fresh anguish, but she couldn’t wallow in her grief. She had to figure out what was causing this odd rush of adrenaline.
At last she found a bathrobe, shrugged into it and padded across the hall to peer down into Cody’s crib. The baby lay peacefully sleeping. So why did she still feel this sense of impending disaster? As she slipped her feet into her bedroom slippers, a shrill ringing split the silence. The doorbell this early?
The emergency had come to her doorstep! She took the steps two at a time, flicked on the light in the foyer and unlocked the door, bracing herself for whatever awaited her.
Her parents stood in the predawn darkness.
“Mom, Dad!” she exclaimed.
They peered at her with worried eyes, their mouths straight and grim as she ushered them inside. Her mother’s auburn hair hadn’t been curled, and her lips hadn’t been polished their usual frosted pink. “Are you okay, honey?” she asked Elissa with perplexing concern.
“Me? Of course I’m okay. What’s this all about?”
Her parents exchanged an anxious glance, and her lanky, silver-haired father said, “Dean stopped by.”
She stared at them in dismay. He must have gone straight from here to their house. What had he told them? She turned away from their probing eyes and led them out of the foyer. “What did he tell you?”
Her mother watched her anxiously. “He said you think you’re being...haunted.”
Her lips tightened with anger at Dean. She hadn’t expected such a low blow. “Dean and I had a disagreement, and I asked him to leave. But other than that, everything’s perfectly—” Her assurance broke off as she flicked on a wall switch that illuminated the living room.
The place resembled a war zone. Shattered glass glinted in the debris that littered the Persian carpet and flagstone floor—books, vases, paintings, model ships, sculptures, rose petals, popcorn. Every lamp in the room had been smashed; every picture yanked off its moorings. Her parents gaped at the wreckage in stunned silence. She searched her mind for an explanation, but couldn’t think of one.
At a little shriek from her mother, Elissa swung around to see her pointing at the gold letter opener buried a good inch in the wall where Jesse had barely missed Dean’s head last night. “Dean told us about that,” whispered her mother, aghast. “Oh, Elissa, you could have killed him!”
“I didn’t throw that at Dean!”
“Then, who did?” countered her father.
She took refuge in righteous indignation. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly capable of dealing with my own problems. Dean and I are having difficulties—in fact, we parted ways—but he shouldn’t have come to you.”
“Your difficulties become my business when they involve your mental health,” exploded her father, “and the safety of my grandson.” The mention of Cody’s safety filled Elissa with new foreboding. Her father continued, “When I get a visit in the middle of the night from a young man who looks like he’s been mugged, and he tells me my daughter flew into a rage and attacked him because she thinks she’s possessed by the ghost of that no-account drifter who—”
“Don’t call Jesse that,” she admonished him sharply. “He’s the father of my child and deserves your respect.”
Her father stared at her incredulously. “Was Dean right, then? You think you’re possessed by his...his ghost?”
“Of course not.” Her throat closed, and she worked furiously to open it. She wished she could simply tell them the truth, but that would be tantamount to locking herself away in a padded cell. “I do feel a connection with Jesse,” she admitted, “emotional more than spiritual. I mentioned that to Dean, and he obviously took it too literally.”
“Is that Jesse’s robe you’re wearing?” asked her father.
She glanced down at the oversized robe and felt her embarrassment rise. “I didn’t have time to find my own.”
“Staying in his house, wearing his clothes...” Her father looked white, drawn and older than when he’d walked in. “I had no idea,” he murmured more to himself than to her.
Anxiety curled like sharp talons in her stomach. “I’m okay, Dad. I swear.”
“Of course you are. You’re a bright, fine girl.” His eyes welled up with sudden shininess. “This Jesse just got under your skin, that’s all. You weren’t used to men like him. You were too sheltered. You should have dated more.”
“I’m going to call the doctor,” said her mother in a voice that warbled with unshed tears. “we’ll take her to Peachtree Hospital, Walter.” She addressed her husband as if Elissa weren’t present. “It’s one of the best private hospitals in Georgia. She’ll get good help there....”
“I’m not going to a hospital, Mom.” She couldn’t possibly waste that much time when this bewildering sense of urgency beat through her with an even greater force than before. Hurry. Hurry. But what crisis called out to her?
“It’s for your own good, Elissa,” insisted her father. “And for Cody’s. We’ll take care of him until you’re home.”
“You’d rather believe I’m crazy than doubt Dean’s word?” She tried to forget that she herself had believed him implicitly until Jesse had shown her better.
“Not crazy!” reproved her mother, visibly appalled. “Just...emotionally overwrought. Professional help might ease you through the worst of it, honey. And there’s no need to blame Dean. He only confirmed our fears. You haven’t been yourself since you met Jesse. Going to bed with him when you didn’t even know him. Swearing he was with you after he’d died. Leaving your home and business on an impulse. And now, loak” Her mother lifted her hands in a gesture that encompassed the ravaged living room. Pain glazed her eyes as they met Elissa’s. “Can’t you see that we have to get some help for you? We can’t take the chance of you hurting yourself, honey. Or hurting others.”
Elissa’s anger gradually seeped out of her, like air from a deflating balloon. They were doing what they truly felt was best for Cody and her. Realizing she’d get nowhere arguing, she swallowed her pride. “Okay. I’ll see a doctor.”
“At Peachtree Hospital,” her father pressed. “Today.”
AT LEAST HER PARENTS allowed her to take a shower before she left. Most of her luggage would be loaded into their car by now. Cody, whom she had woken and fed, would be freshly diapered and dressed.
“Emotionally overwrought,” they’d called her. She couldn’t argue with that. She wasn’t even sure she could argue if they’d called her “crazy.” If she hadn’t gone at least a little nuts, why was every beat of her heart reverberating with warnings of disaster?
She leaned her forehead against the glass door of the shower stall and let the water beat against her. Jesse, oh, Jesse, I need you. But she couldn’t allow herself to think that. What if her own panic somehow drew him back again from his ultimate destiny?
Have you found your way to the other side, Jesse? Are you happy and safe now? The only answer she received was an increase in the panic she barely held at bay.
Believe in me, Elissa, he had begged her last night. He had wanted her to believe he wasn’t dead, that they could have a future together. But she’d have to discount the evidence of her own eyes, her own senses, to believe him.
Her heart whispered, You were wrong before.
She had to acknowledge the truth of that. She had come to believe Jesse before only because of cold, hard proof—the business card on which he’d written his address for Dean. Would she ever have bel
ieved him—that he hadn’t received his mail in time and hadn’t deliberately ignored her pregnancy—if she hadn’t seen that black-and-white evidence?
She blanched at the mistake she’d almost made in trusting Dean...and remembered the lesson it had taught her. Listen to your heart.
But her heart wanted her to believe that Jesse wasn’t dead. Which was, of course, preposterous. Wasn’t it? An odd, shivery heat crept beneath her skin. At one time, she had considered the existence of ghosts to be preposterous.
As she lathered shampoo into her hair, she thought back to every occurrence, every conversation she’d had with Jesse. She’d reached the conclusion early on that he was a ghost, and assumed he had to be dead. But what if she’d been wrong?
Again the compelling sense of urgency pulsated through her, stronger now than ever. And she saw her own words and actions of the past few days in an entirely different light
Oh, God, she thought with a plummeting heart, what if I was wrong?
FULLY DRESSED AND PACKED, she flipped through the cards in her wallet to be sure she had the ones she would need: credit cards, identification, passport. With an anxious glance at the locked bedroom door, she then dialed the number of a travel agency on her cellular phone. Little had Dean known that his gift would provide her with a separate line to the outside world when she needed it most.
“Let’s go, Elissa,” called her father from outside the bedroom door. “We have a long drive. Dr. Harrison will be waiting for us at the hospital.”
“I’m almost ready, Dad.”
His footsteps thudded down the stairs. A travel agent answered the phone. In a hushed voice, Elissa inquired about flights to the army base in Asia where Jesse had been stationed. It would take two connecting flights, she was told, and a bus trip to the base. By the time she had mapped out her route, another knock pounded at her door.
“Are you talking to someone?” called her mother. Elissa, however, was in the middle of reading her credit card number to secure a flight. Hushed panic entered her mother’s voice. “Walter, I think she’s talking to herself in there. Does she think she’s with that ghost?”
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