by Jo Leigh
Her gown. Memories of his conversation with Ryan invaded the moment, bringing with it the realization that he needed to try to control the sexual intensity of this, or she’d disappear again, and he’d have wasted a chance to find out how to hold on to this, hold on to her, for longer than a mere visit.
It took every ounce of willpower to break away from her kiss. “Celeste. Please.”
“Anything,” she whispered. “Just tell me what to do. I want to learn.”
Have mercy, she was going to be the death of him. “Trust me, you’re doing fine,” he said, then pulled against his restraints to move his head up on the pillow. She hadn’t bound him overly tight, and he suspected that if he pulled hard enough, both hands would be free. But hell, that’d really get him in hot water with the powers that be, wouldn’t it? And they had let her come back, even if only briefly, so he didn’t want to do anything to piss them off.
“Then what is it?” she asked, and Dax noticed the concern in her eyes. “Dax, I know I’ll get pulled away again, and I have no idea when that will happen. I don’t want to waste time.”
“Neither do I, believe me. But I also don’t want to lose you again without trying to figure out how to get you back. I know there’s got to be a way, and I’m thinking you can help me figure it out if we talk for a minute.” He smiled at her, and eased his body to the side so he couldn’t feel her through the sheet. He needed to make this last, and weakening her wasn’t the way to make that happen. “Let’s talk a little first.”
The pain in her eyes touched his heart. “Dax, if I cross without ever making love to you, I’ll never forgive myself for not taking advantage of this chance.”
He wanted to ask her so many questions-why she couldn’t control the time she came to him or the time she left, why she grew tired when no other ghost he’d ever known needed sleep, why she was wearing that nightgown again, if indeed she could change her clothes at will. And if she couldn’t change, then why couldn’t she, when Ryan had been able to? So many questions, but looking into her eyes, he realized-none of them mattered. What if they started talking, as he’d suggested, and then she was pulled away before they touched again? Could he forgive himself if he caused her to cross, completely, and never experienced making love with her?
“I don’t want to talk either,” he said honestly. “I want you, Celeste.”
She smiled and stood from the bed. Then she looked at him, and her gray eyes turned charcoal with desire. “In your dream, what was I wearing?”
“Nothing.”
She moved one finger to her shoulder and pushed the shiny fabric down, then she shifted slightly, and the other side also spilled down her arm, so the fabric rested at her elbows, and her breasts were bare.
His dream had been amazingly accurate. Full and lush and tipped with rose-tinted peaks, they were perfect. As in his dream, he ached to caress them with his mouth, and to learn the sweet sounds she’d make when he did. He wanted to learn what excited her, what aroused her, what ignited that slow burn within her until it exploded…around him.
She shifted her hips slightly and dropped her arms to her sides, and the fabric continued on its path to the floor.
Dax’s erection pushed high against the sheet, and he forced himself to breathe. She was naked, boldly, beautifully naked, and exceptional, from the tiny navel that centered her slim waist, to the curved hips, a little more than in his dream, and damn if he didn’t like the extra too. Her legs, as he’d imagined, were toned and well sculpted, perfect for nuzzling when they finally made love, and he would nuzzle them, kiss them, caress them, on his path to her core, hidden from his view with shimmering golden curls. He wanted to part those curls and taste her, feel the most heated part of her against his tongue, feel her pulse against his mouth as she came.
She turned toward the bed and he watched her attention move to the tented portion of the sheet, and the damp spot where he was already preparing to enter her. “You said it has been a long time,” she whispered, then her hands grasped the sheet, and she slowly slid it down his body, eyeing each revealed inch of his flesh. “How long has it been?”
Her eyes were nearly black as she looked up at him from the foot of the bed. In the back of his mind, he knew that something wasn’t right about that either. Her eyes had been lighter earlier, then darker, and now darker still. But he didn’t have time to analyze it, because she dropped the sheet to the floor, then climbed up on the bed, and took his breath away. Her hair fell wildly across his legs as she brought her face near his erection and asked again, “How long has it been, Dax?”
“I haven’t been with a woman since I met you,” he said, giving her the truth. “No one else would do.”
Her hands circled his penis, and then she brought her mouth to the tip and licked the first drops away.
The heat of Celeste’s mouth was even more potent, as though he were being flicked with hot coal…and he didn’t ever want it to stop. He’d never had any sexual encounter remotely like this, where he honestly felt as if his body couldn’t take it, but he prayed that it could.
“I’ve never done this before, Dax, and yet, I can sense exactly how this makes you feel, exactly where you want me to touch, exactly what you want me to do. It’s-it’s making me burn inside.”
Dax grit his teeth and nodded, unable to speak. He didn’t want to lose control, not yet, but the heat was so intense that he knew he wouldn’t make it much longer. He wrapped his hands tighter within their restraints and forced himself to leave them where they were. He couldn’t touch her, but he wanted to, to reach down and take that exquisite mouth and pull it to his, then slide her hips up his body and learn if she was as hot there.
She was trembling all over, her body shaking as she placed hot, wet kisses down his penis, massaging him with fiery circles of her tongue, until she reached the base. Then, emitting a low moan of contentment, she took that same technique to his testicles, and Dax’s heartbeat soared, thundering in his chest, roaring in his ears. His pulse hammered through him, his need for release beckoning him to let go.
Celeste licked him solidly again, from base to tip, then she ran her tongue around the end and took him inside, deep inside, and another of her intense moans vibrated against his heated flesh as she worked her way up and down, up and down, moaning and clamping that hot mouth tighter against him, until Dax’s body tensed fiercely, a tingling rush poured through him, and he growled through an orgasm that tore from his very soul.
He sucked in a breath, exhilarated by what she’d done for him, and miserable because he feared what it would cost her. She wanted to experience making love, but now that she’d put so much of her energy into pleasing him…
“Celeste!” he yelled as she looked up at him, her black eyes filled with pleasure at what she’d done, and no regrets, none at all. “Celeste!” he repeated, then he watched in complete agony as the woman he wanted more than any other-disappeared.
7
DAX WAS COVERED in sweat, both from the orgasm that had thoroughly shaken his world and from anger at losing Celeste again without fulfilling her needs, or learning how to get her back. “Dammit!”
He yanked his hands free from the restraints, then climbed from the bed and hurriedly dressed, grabbing the first clothing he could find, worn jeans and a black tank undershirt. The digital clock beside the bed proclaimed it two-thirty in the morning, but Dax didn’t care what time it was; he needed answers, and he wasn’t going to find them while he slept. More than that, he needed help, and he believed he knew where to go to get it.
Obviously, no one on this side was able to provide him with the help he needed. If anyone could have, it’d have been Ryan. But there was one person on the other side who had never let him down, and that person surely had the ability to help him now.
Even though he was only four when she passed on, he remembered one thing he could always count on from the feisty Vicknair matriarch. No matter how hard Ad
eline Vicknair tried, she simply couldn’t tell him no. Maybe it was because he was her youngest grandson. Maybe it was because he’d been as headstrong and trying back then as he was now. Or maybe it was just that all his older siblings, cousins, parents, aunts and uncles had spoiled him rotten. But for whatever reason, not once could he remember the woman turning him down, for anything.
Dax was counting on her not to break that record.
His bedroom was on the second floor of the plantation, so it was a short walk to the sitting room, its traditional rose-tinted lighting spilling from beneath the doorway across the hardwood in the hall.
One of the plantation’s oddities that the Vicknairs had grown accustomed to over the years, Adeline’s fringed antique lamp never burned out, not when the light was switched off, nor when the power in the entire parish was out due to storms, or even when the bulb was removed. As a matter of fact, even when Katrina took its toll, this room remained lit.
Tonight was no exception.
He pushed through the double doors and entered the undeniably feminine room, where big bold roses covered the wallpaper and shades of pink and burgundy covered nearly everything else, and he stormed toward the coffee table where the silver tea service sat, shining as it reflected the lamplight.
“I want answers, and I can’t get them without your help,” Dax said, dropping onto the settee and then leaning toward the silver platter. He stared at the open space between the ornate pitcher and two gleaming silver cups, the spot where Adeline sent all of their assignments. He’d never asked for anything beyond what she’d provided, or rather, he’d never asked for anything beyond what they’d provided. Never. He’d always taken his assignments as they came, used the information to help spirits cross, and never even considered asking for anything more.
But that was before Celeste. Before tonight.
“If I cross without ever making love to you, I’ll never forgive myself for not taking advantage of this chance.”
If the powers that be had sent her to the other side before she’d known what it felt like to be completely and thoroughly satisfied by a man, to be completely and thoroughly satisfied by him, he’d be damned before he’d ever help them again.
“I am not leaving this room until you give me something to work with here,” he said. “I swear it, and you know damn well I mean it.”
Two heavy heartbeats passed, then two more, before a thick sheet of lavender paper, the size of a postcard, appeared in the center of the silver tray with his name scrawled across the outside in his grandmother’s script, but not nearly as neat as usual.
Good, he had her attention.
He snatched it up and turned it over, eager to see what she’d say. Her message was scribbled even more hastily than his name had been on the other side, and true to her nature, she didn’t waste time getting to the point.
There is no need for cursing, young man. You may be twenty-three, but I’m still your grandmother, and believe it or not, I do have friends in very high places! Good God, and to think I actually believed Celeste was the more stubborn of you two.
Dax’s tension eased a bit. So she thought Celeste was stubborn too. He’d have to agree about that, particularly after he’d attempted to get her to slow down and talk to him, and she’d outright refused to do anything less than what she wanted. Luckily for him, it happened to be pleasing him more than any other woman ever had.
Yes, his grandmother was right. Celeste was stubborn. Wild and sweet and tempting and adorable and sexy…and stubborn. Well, fine. Dax had a feeling it’d take two hardheaded and determined souls to get her back on this side, and obviously, between the two of them, they fit the bill.
He read the rest of his grandmother’s note, written in sharp, slanted penmanship, as though she was in a hurry, or really pissed, or both. Dax wasn’t overly concerned. She was helping him, and that was what he wanted. Plus, she was his grandmother, and she’d love him no matter how much he ticked her off.
Okay, first of all-she hasn’t crossed, not yet anyway. Although if you keep exhausting her, she will, and there won’t be a thing I can do about it. You can’t continue to tempt fate, Dax.
Second, she needs to rest, and I’m making her stay here longer this time. Yes, I’ll let her back through, when I think she can make the trip, but don’t expect to see her for at least a few days. And in the meantime, use the brains God gave you to figure out how to get her back. I am not allowed to tell you, Dax, so you’re going to have to figure this one out on your own. But you are the puzzle solver of the bunch; use your talents to put the pieces together.
Third, and this is important, the only clue I can give you. What you need, and what Nanette needs too for that matter, is in the attic. That’s all I can say.
One more thing, and I thought you knew already, but…the no-touching rule. It only applies to your hands, chère. It ONLY applies to your hands.
Dax gawked at the words on the page, absorbing all of the information before-
The note disappeared, and he struggled to mentally repeat the information she’d provided, so he wouldn’t forget. Celeste hadn’t crossed and she’d return, but he couldn’t let her get exhausted or he’d lose her; they’d have to be more careful next time. He’d have to control the beyond-natural sexual urges they had for each other and force her to slow down, force himself to slow down too. He wanted her, but he was determined that next time he wouldn’t be the only one to have an orgasm.
And he could touch her? Not with his hands, but hell, there were plenty of other body parts he could use, in plenty of interesting ways. If he’d only known earlier, he would most certainly have given her what she needed.
No use wasting time thinking about what he would have done now. Next time, he’d do it all, repeatedly, but he’d have to find a way to spread their lovemaking out, to take their time and not let her drain her energy so quickly. A challenge for sure, but a challenge he was definitely up to. Keeping her here longer was worth it.
And speaking of a challenge, Adeline’s note had given him a place to look for answers. The attic.
Dax left the sitting room and took the stairs two at a time to the third floor and the attic access. The string to open the attic door was typically wrapped around the door’s tiny knob in the ceiling, well above nine feet high, but tonight it was hanging down and waiting for Dax’s arrival.
He pulled on the string and the folding ladder came barreling straight at him like an arrow heading for a target. Dax jumped out of the way just in time to keep the thing from colliding with his head.
Looking down the hallway, he waited for Nanette to come check out the racket. Surely something as loud as that ladder pounding against the floor would wake her, but after a minute passed and there was still no sign of his oldest cousin, he climbed on up. Obviously, she was a sound sleeper. He swallowed, immediately thinking of Celeste sleeping in the hospital chair in Mr. Fontenot’s room. Dax had tried to wake her when he first arrived, but he couldn’t even make her stir. For a moment, he’d considered the possibility that she was dead, then had realized how foolish that was. She was dead. But she was also exhausted. And he still couldn’t fathom how that was possible. But hopefully, he’d figure it out soon, with the help of something in this attic.
The light from the hallway below illuminated a small portion of the room, but Dax knew the only light within the massive attic was a single pull-string bulb. He waved his hands in front of him as he moved so he could find the string. It took several kicked boxes and even more knocks into furniture, but he finally found it, with his face. He moved his hand to the thin nylon, pulled it, and saw that in spite of Monique’s haul, the place was still at least three-fourths full of furniture, boxes and plain old stuff.
“What I need is in the attic,” he repeated from his grandmother’s note. “Couldn’t you give me something a little more vague?” he asked sarcastically.
A loud, roaring clap of thunder r
attled the side of the house, and Dax knew this thunder didn’t come from a storm. It hadn’t rained in days, nor was it supposed to.
“Fine,” he said, grinning in spite of his predicament. “I appreciate your help, Grandma Adeline, but really, don’t you think it might be a bit difficult for me to figure out what it is I’m looking for?”
Another booming clap of thunder, louder than the first, provided his answer.
Dax scrubbed a hand down his face, remembered the golden-haired beauty that was worth whatever it took to bring her back for good and uncovered the closest piece of furniture, a tall highboy dresser. He opened each of the drawers, slid his hand inside to check for contents and found none.
What was he looking for, anyway?
“One down. A thousand to go.”
He moved to a box nearby, rummaged through its contents and found a variety of antique kitchenware. Old-fashioned sifters, potato mashers and even aluminum Jell-O molds were stuffed inside. He moved to another box filled with crocheted doilies of various shapes and sizes, which brought back an early memory of his grandmother, crocheting in the Bentwood rocker in her sitting room. He dropped the doilies back in the box, then sat on the dusty floor and surveyed the eternity of furniture and boxes surrounding him. Wasn’t that just his luck? He was the descendant of packrats, and finding whatever he was looking for in two centuries’ worth of their accumulation could very well take him longer than he had, longer than Celeste had.
Kitchen gadgets and doilies. Dax couldn’t imagine how any of those items were supposed to help him get Celeste back. Narrowing his search was necessary, but he had to determine how. Boxes were scattered sporadically throughout the room, some sitting solo, others stacked up four high. It’d take longer to go through them than the furniture, particularly if every box was packed with dreegailles, the Cajuns’ popular term for junk.
