Thirteen Chances

by Cindy Miles

“You’re ready, then?”

  The intense blue gaze and buttery, deep voice nearly made her run back up the steps. She’d been around good-looking guys before, but they were all relatively safe. They were the bridegrooms of the weddings she photographed. Other than that, she’d really not dated much at all. Nothing serious, really, and nothing runway model good-looking.

  Then, she stopped and looked at Christian. Really looked at him.

  Sure, he was by far the most absolutely gorgeous guy she’d ever seen in her entire life. Talk about safe? How much safer could one get than an eight-hundred-plus-year-old ghost?

  Her smile, along with her confidence, grew. “Ready!”

  Emma continued to stand there, jubilant, waiting. Smiling.

  Christian just continued to watch her. Finally, he cocked his head toward the door.

  “Oh!” cried Emma. “Sorry.” She quickly opened the door and bounded outside. Christian followed, chuckling.

  The crisp night air stung her cheeks and reminded her that it was the first of October already. She thought she liked the breathless feeling the chill air brought. Together, she and Christian walked up the lane. A crescent moon hung behind them, having risen to just above the tree line in the craggy forest of Arrick. It threw a silvery blanket over the ground, making Arrick’s stones nearly shimmer with moonshine. Slipping her camera out, she adjusted the settings and took a few photos. When she slipped a glance at the impossibly tall warrior beside her, she was surprised to find him just a little bit less tangible than during the day. She wanted badly to reach her hand out and brush his. She knew it’d go straight through, but she wanted to feel it go straight through.

  Emma refrained, in case that was considered bad manners in the ghost world.

  Still, she wondered what it would feel like …

  “Deep in thoughts tonight?”

  She laughed. “It’s all still just a bit much to take in,” she said. She gave him a quick glance. “You in particular.” She shook her head. “Very, very weird.”

  Christian chuckled. “I’m weird then, aye?”

  “No! Not you, exactly,” Emma explained. “Your … ghostiness.”

  That made him laugh. She thought she’d do and say more silly things to make him do it more often.

  As they passed through the darkened gatehouse, Emma shivered.

  “You’re not scared, are you?” asked Christian.

  Emma chuckled. “Not hardly. Even though it is incredibly dark in here.”

  “It used to not be,” he said. “Just there, at the foot of those small spiraling steps, a torch was continuously lit.” He nodded to the opposite side. “And there, as well. If you look closely in the daytime, you can still see where the stone was charred. ’Twould be the gatehouse sentry’s duty to keep the torches well coated and replaced when they no longer burned properly.”

  “That is so interesting,” Emma murmured, peering at the places Christian pointed out. How fascinating it was to hear of how life carried on at Arrick more than eight hundred years ago.

  The courtyard looked surreal bathed in moonlight, and Emma’s critical photographer’s eye scanned the area, looking for the best place to shoot it from. She grinned when she found it. “Let’s head over there,” she said.

  “Whatever you wish,” Christian said, his voice washing over her just as smoothly as the light of the moon.

  Emma gave a light laugh. “That’s a dangerous suggestion to give a woman, you know.”

  “Mayhap. I’m bold that way.”

  Emma laughed harder. “Here we go,” she said as they reached the ivy-covered steps. “Let’s go up there.” She pointed to the top. When she glanced up at Christian, his blue gaze locked on to hers. It was strange how much more ghostly he looked at night—almost as though an eerie light, or aura, vaguely surrounded him. She had no difficulty seeing his features clearly.

  A single mahogany brow rose and disappeared into the windswept bangs hanging in his face. One corner of his mouth lifted into a boyish grin. “No dangling?”

  Emma’s heart skipped a beat. Christian was so substantial standing there. She could hardly believe he wasn’t alive.

  She smiled in spite of her pounding heart. “No dangling.” She held up her injured hand. “I can’t dangle with only one hand.” She winked. “Not for long, anyway.”

  Christian shook his head and chuckled. “I’ll go up first, and you step where I step, aye?” He looked down and gave her a fierce glare. “And for the saints’ sake, be careful. I cannot save you if you fall.”

  “I promise to be careful,” she answered. How strange it felt, she thought, to have not only a total stranger but a dead total stranger actually care whether or not she fell.

  She found she liked it. As a matter of fact, she found she liked a lot of things about Christian of Arrick-by-the-Sea.

  She smothered a sigh as she watched his backside climb the steps in front of her.

  A man who’d once lived, long ago. A knight. A warrior. He was charming, handsome, and he completely fascinated her. It made her heart ache that they’d never be anything more than acquaintances …

  Christian reached the top and stepped onto the parapet. He could have just materialized there, but he wanted to try to maintain what small scrap of normalcy there was between him and Emma. He glanced down at her now. True to her word, she was being very careful. Her good hand clung to the wall as she climbed the steps.

  Once she stepped onto the parapet, she stood without hesitation and glanced out across the silvery sea. “Wow. This is truly amazing.”

  He looked at her and his insides twisted. “Truly.”

  Thank the bloody saints, Emma had kept her attention trained to the sea. He was an idiot, in truth. How could he maintain a mere friendship if he continued to allow such ridiculous things to fall from his mouth?

  So they spent the next hour making conversation while Emma took photographs. ’Twas vastly astounding. After she took the picture, she’d press a button and turn the camera toward him. He could see the image right away.

  They were sitting on the parapet now, he with his legs over the edge, Emma with her legs folded crosswise over each other. She’d just finished snapping several shots.

  She leaned toward him. “How’s this?” she asked.

  Christian knew Emma didn’t realize how close they were sitting. He, on the other hand, was painfully aware. He tried to ignore it—that feeling in the pit of his gut, the feeling that he wanted to lean closer still, and put his lips as close to hers as possible.

  Instead, he leaned away from her. He peered at the small screen on the camera, then looked at Emma. “You have a gift, lass.”

  Her lovely mouth stretched into a wide smile. “Thanks. I mostly take photos of people, though.” And before he knew it, she’d lifted her camera, faced it directly at him, and snapped a shot. With a shrug, she glanced out over the courtyard. “You never know what may end up on the picture.”

  Christian was sure she’d find it fairly void of him, anyway.

  The wind had picked up—not that he could feel it, but he noticed Emma’s hair had begun to toss about. He clinched his hands into fists to keep from trying to push a long strand out of her eyes.

  Thankfully, she did it herself.

  “I was thinking something,” she said.

  “And what is that?” Christian answered. Her voice sounded hesitant.

  Emma gave a light laugh, shook her head, and continued to stare down at his hand. “You’re going to think I’m a complete weirdo, but …” She shook her head again. “Never mind.”

  “Go ahead, ask,” Christian encouraged. He suddenly discovered he wanted to know everything there was to know about this Emma. Emma Calhoun. She seemed to have so many fascinating sides of her personality that, well, the others had somehow lacked. Mayhap it had to do with the century?

  “I’m embarrassed,” she said, looking down at her hands.

  Christian swallowed, cursed himself for tempting himself the way he
was about to tempt himself, and leaned closer to her. “Do not be, Emma.”

  Slowly, she turned her face toward his. They weren’t so very close—not nearly as close as Christian would have liked. But closer than they had been. Emma’s eyes widened as she locked on to his gaze, and a brief smile touched her lips.

  Then her gaze dropped to his mouth.

  Quickly, she brought it back to his eyes. She smiled. “I, err … want to touch you.”

  Christian all but choked. On what, he hadn’t a clue. He had no spit, air couldn’t get caught, and God knows he hadn’t had food in more than eight centuries.

  ’Twas fear, he realized. He was bloody choking on fear.

  Emma suddenly chuckled. “You perv. I want to touch your hand.” She shook her head. “Jeesh. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Christian steadied his gaze onto her blue ones, which seemed glassy in the darkness. “Too bad.” He held out his hand. “Go ahead.”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at Christian, then turned her full attention to his outstretched hand. It hovered between them, and she inspected it mightily before moving.

  She hesitated and looked up. “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.” He wasn’t. Not really. This would only make it tougher on him. But if she wanted to, he’d not deny her.

  Moving her hand closer to his, Emma suddenly stopped. She again looked up at him, their faces not all too much apart. “Will it hurt?”

  Christian couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Nay. It will hot hurt, Emma.”

  “Okay.” With a quick smile, she glanced back down at their hands. With painful slowness, she brushed hers through his. He hid his reaction well, he thought. But he’d braced himself for it.

  She gasped, then yanked her hand back at the sensation Christian knew she immediately felt.

  Then Emma slowly swiped her hand through his once more. With wide eyes, she searched his. “What is that?” she asked in a whisper.

  What he wanted to tell her was that the feeling only occurred between two souls destined to belong to one another. Intendeds. He couldn’t. He could not bring himself to tell her. Not now. Not ever. He’d done it twelve times in the past. And twelve times she’d grown to love him.

  Twelve times he’d lost her.

  He’d not lose her again.

  As long as he knew Emma was alive and happy, living somewhere in her world with a husband, mayhap several children, he’d be satisfied. He’d deal with his pain, his loss, and he’d do it his bloody way.

  So he did the one thing that went against all things he’d vowed so long ago, to a king who’d convinced him that war in the Holy Land was the right thing—the Christian thing to do.

  He lied.

  “ ’Tis merely the sensation of your bodily matter passing through what little remains of mine,” he said, then shrugged. “Nothing more.”

  Her face immediately fell. “Oh.”

  Quickly, he removed his hand and stood. “Are you ready to head back, then?”

  Emma stood, too, and swung down to the steps. “Sure.”

  Inside, Christian cringed. Her mood had changed from light to hurtful, and ’twas because of his stupid, flippant remark that it was so.

  As he watched Emma clamor down the stone steps, he briefly applauded himself.

  He’d not lied fully. He hadn’t completely broken his knightly vow not to lie.

  ’Twas in fact a tingle caused by the passing of their bodily matters that Emma had felt. She simply didn’t realize the impact it’d had on him.

  Or that he was saving her from the same wretched heartache he’d now endure.

  As they walked back to the manor in silence, Christian silently cursed fate.

  Chapter 13

  Emma all but stomped back to the manor. She had no idea why, but, well, dang it—she felt like stomping.

  She glanced to her left. Christian kept up with her. Silently, but he kept up.

  Why had she felt so hurt all of a sudden, when he’d brushed the feeling of their hands passing off as nothing out of the ordinary? She’d thought it was extraordinary.

  Perhaps he’d felt it many times before?

  Ooh. She hadn’t thought of that. Then another thought bonked her on the brain. Man, she must be full of herself for not thinking of this before.

  Maybe, just maybe, Christian had experienced that tingly, phenomenal, electric feeling with … someone else?

  Sheesh.

  She was an idiot. He’d lived on the earthly plane for more than eight centuries. How had she not thought it possible that he’d … encountered someone, another female someone—one he might have possibly had feelings for?

  Okay—had someone openly discussed this with her a week ago, she would have immediately urged them to see a doctor. A shrink. A voodoo priestess. Anything. She would have thought it completely and utterly insane. But now she was experiencing it herself, it didn’t sound so insane.

  Emma knew ghosts existed now.

  Her life was changed forever. She glanced at Christian and sighed.

  She’d just acted like a horse’s ass.

  Pouting. Pouting of all things!

  Time to reevaluate her attitude. In the time it took them to finish walking up the lane, she’d given herself an attitude adjustment.

  At the manor, Emma turned to Christian, looked up at him, and smiled. “Thank you.” She meant it, too.

  The expression on his face looked puzzled. He cocked his head. “For what?”

  “For … I don’t know,” she stammered. “For opening my eyes, for one. You’ve shown me a whole new world I never believed existed.” She looked down. “And for not making me leave after all.”

  Christian was quiet for so long, Emma finally looked up at him. His eyes flashed in the moonlight, and bored profoundly into hers.

  “You’re welcome,” was all he said.

  It made her shudder in her boots.

  Pretending he didn’t affect her, she grinned. “How obvious would it look if you went into the village with me tomorrow?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Why do you want to go there?”

  His smile was infectious. “To photograph, of course, and to go to the chippy. The sisters told me how fabulous it was.”

  “Ahh,” he began, and leaned against the stone wall beside the door frame. “ ’Tis your belly you seek to satisfy.” He shrugged. “We can make it look … not so obvious, if you wish.”

  Emma narrowed her eyes playfully. “What do you mean by that?”

  His grin widened. It actually looked more … devious. “You’ll see,” he said. He stared at her for several seconds. Then he pushed off the wall. “Now off to bed with you. You’ll get dark circles beneath your eyes if you don’t get enough rest.”

  Emma smiled. “Okay.” Gosh, she almost felt as though this were a date. She immediately envisioned Willoughby flickering the porch lights on and off as a warning. She stifled a giggle at that thought. “Will you be at breakfast?”

  He grinned. “I will if you wish me there.”

  “I do wish it.” She opened the door and stepped inside. “Good night.”

  Christian’s gaze lingered on hers for some time. Then he gave her a short bow. “Until.”

  And then he disappeared.

  Emma fought the urge to throw her back against the door and heave a heavy, hearty sigh. Obviously, she’d watched too many movies. She refrained and kept the excitement of spending time with the most gorgeous creature she’d ever met all to herself.

  She wouldn’t let anyone—including the gorgeous creature himself—know just how he made her feel. It’d do no one the first bit of good.

  In less than a month, she’d be gone.

  As she crept up the three flights of stairs to her chamber, Emma considered just how much that seemed to bother her. The leaving, anyway. Of course, she had to leave. Her life, her job—her business was back in Savannah. She loved her work. It’s what she lived for, really.

  At her door, she let h
erself inside, dropped the camera bag onto the bed, and kicked off her boots. Gently, so she wouldn’t jostle her sore hand, she pulled her sweater over her head and laid it across the back of the chair.

  The same chair Christian had sat in the entire time she rested …

  “Okay!” she grumbled at herself. “Seriously, Calhoun.” She growled low in her throat, much like Christian did. “Seriously.”

  Now that she had a plan in motion (she wouldn’t call it a date out loud), excitement made her steps a bit quicker, her mood much lighter, her attitude thoroughly adjusted. Quickly, she jumped in the shower, washed and shaved as fast as she could without skinning herself alive, towel-dried her hair, lotioned her legs, brushed her teeth, and yanked on her pajamas. Wrapping her hair into a knot, she secured it with a scrunchie, flicked off the lights, and dove into bed.

  Reaching over, she turned off the lamp, then settled back into the fluffy comfort of the down mattress topper, pillows, and duvet. It felt as though she were floating on a cloud.

  Her thoughts strayed to the twelfth-century warrior who was now her friend.

  How she’d give anything to have him as more than just a friend.

  Emma resisted the urge to slap herself against the forehead.

  She sounded like a dorky ole greeting card.

  Her eyelids grew heavy, and the lines between conscious and awake blurred, and Emma heard her own voice whisper out loud. “Christian, are you there?”

  Just as she slipped into slumber, she heard him reply. “Aye. Now go to sleep.”

  Smiling, she did.

  At seven a.m. the alarm on Emma’s watch sent out a series of shrill beeps, dragging her from sleep. When her eyes fluttered open, she was surprised to find the palest of light streaming in through the picture window in her room. Kicking out from beneath the duvet, she flew to the window and peered out.

  While a far cry from sunny, it wasn’t overcast and rainy, either. The mist had risen, as well, and Emma could clearly see Arrick’s ruins, and the Irish Sea beyond. The treetops bent ever so slightly, so she figured the wind wasn’t too bad. Leaning her face against the glass, she was surprised to find it cool, but not freezing as it had been.

  She smiled. It was going to be a perfect day. If the light remained as it was, photography conditions would be her most favorite—light, with no shadows, no flash needed. Perfecto.