Gatekeeper

by Debra Glass

  One hand slipped under her hips and he held her there, his body sliding over hers, plunging into hers, his chest raking her distended nipples.

  Jillian opened her eyes, mesmerized by Benton’s austere, rigid expression. Ruggedly beautiful in his intensity, he defied time and space, life and death, until all that remained was this moment, this experience. His eyes flew open. His gaze found hers and then his face contorted into a conflicting mingling of violent passion, awe—and unadulterated need.

  A fine mist of perspiration broke out down the length of his spine just before he gave voice to a seductive, silky moan. Slowing his tempo, he pulsed inside her.

  Jillian was exultant. Her whole body hummed with ripples of vibrant energy. She buried her fingers in his thick hair and delighted in the warmth of his weight as he collapsed on top of her. She kissed his temple and held him, forgetting, if only for a moment, he was not a real flesh-and-blood man.

  He lay there for an eternity muttering antiquated terms of endearment before he lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked into her eyes. In a sudden motion that made her gasp, he caught one of her hands in his and interlaced his fingers with hers, bringing it up to the pillow next to her face.

  Jillian did not move. He was still inside her, still hard, still solid. His fingers tightened around hers. His thumb caressed her wrist.

  “I cannot offer you more than I have given.” His voice was but a hoarse, guilt-ridden whisper.

  Jillian suddenly knew why he had stopped earlier. He had feared compromising her in some way. Her heart turned over hard. No man had ever had any qualms about leading her on. She searched his gaze, astonished by the pure sincerity evident in his eyes. Something surged inside her she couldn’t name.

  What was this feeling consuming her? Why couldn’t she identify it? Categorize it? She forced herself to stop thinking. Tearing her hand away from his, she entwined both her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, holding him there, whispering in his ear things she had never told a man before.

  His arms slid under her shoulders. His long fingers splayed across her back. His mouth found her ear, where he kissed her and told her how beautiful she was to him.

  Jillian had never known anything—or anyone—like this. The enormity of what she had just done sank straight to her soul but she could not regret it. Knowing he would have to leave her only made the moment bittersweet and she resolved to memorize every kiss, every caress.

  And then he was moving again. Slowly. Deeply. His hips ground into hers, pushing her inch by inch up the bed. Jillian’s hands found the headboard and she pushed back, meeting his slow, determined thrusts with a resolve of her own.

  He pushed himself up on his hands so that Jillian could see between their bodies, down to where they were connected. The sight of his firm, taut abdomen and his thick, hard cock moving in and out of her glistening, wet pussy sent ripples of heat through her body. She trailed her fingertips down his chest, her gaze following down and then back up to where the vicious scar marred his shoulder.

  He grimaced and some old memory haunted his gaze.

  Her gaze moved to his temple. The historian had told her Benton was killed with his own sword by a blow to the head. But there was no scar she could see. Why did he carry this scar but not the one that killed him?

  He stopped moving and withdrew from her. “I know my wound is a gruesome sight.”

  Jillian looked into his eyes. How could he say such a thing? She shook her head. “I find you beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful.” She brushed her fingertips across the rough skin. “How did it happen?”

  His gaze darkened. “When my brother, John, reenlisted… His service had run out and he’d gone home to his wife and children. But when the fighting moved close to our home in Murfreesboro, I begged John to come back.” He hesitated for a moment. “We needed every man. We were fighting for our homes…”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “No. I want to tell you.” He propped himself on his elbows and Jillian looked into his eyes to concentrate on his words.

  “I knew John harbored some sort of rival jealousy against me. I was twenty years his junior, yet I was the one who had risen in the ranks. The fighting that day was some of the most fierce we’d seen. It was cold and rainy. We hadn’t had proper rations in months.”

  Benton’s gaze turned steely with remembrance. His stare fixed on a lock of her hair which he wound around his index finger. “We got pinned in by a bluff on one side and the icy river on the other. And there was John at the head of the column. As long as I saw the flag waving I knew he was safe.”

  His gaze flicked to hers once more. “Because of the rain, the gunpowder smoke hung like a thick, dark cloud over the fighting. And then…then I didn’t see our colors anymore.”

  Jillian stared as he continued.

  “I spurred my horse and picked my way to the front. John was already dead. I don’t even remember the bullet hitting me.” His voice grew whisper soft. “Strange how one kind of pain can override another.”

  Jillian’s heart ached for him. “I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for you.”

  He gave a dark, derisive chuckle. “The worst of it was taking his body home to his wife and telling her I was responsible for making her a widow.” He closed his eyes.

  Jillian cupped his face in her hands. Emotion flooded her until thin tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She had the sudden urge to confess her affection for him but she bit her tongue. Nothing she could say would comfort him. Nothing.

  But then she heard the words bubbling out of her mouth despite herself. “Benton, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  Panic gushed through her body.

  No, no! How could she have admitted such a thing?

  He opened his eyes and stared.

  Mortified at herself, Jillian started to speak but her protest stopped cold in her mouth when he dragged her bodily down toward the foot of the bed. He rolled onto his back, pulled her on top of him and sat her firmly on his arousal. She gasped at the suddenness of it as the entire length of his cock slid up to her core.

  Two big hands seized her hips and then he was plunging inside her once more, gaining leverage with his feet planted securely against the footboard.

  Jillian’s hands found the bed. Her hair fell forward to sweep his chest and face as she rode him. And once more, he was surging into her, his eyes tightly shut.

  His grip tightened and every muscle in his body grew hard and taut. He sucked in a breath and arched toward her and Jillian knew he was coming again. The glorious image of him in ecstasy and the feel of his swollen penis pulsing inside her sent her spiraling once more over the edge.

  She was suddenly on her back without quite remembering how it happened and he was kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her belly, her thighs, other places that made her quiver all over again. Basking in a decadent glow, she felt heavy and thoroughly, totally sated for the first time in her life.

  A wave of shame burned hot in her cheeks. How could she have told him she was falling in love with him? Why had she said that? Did she really feel that way?

  He was still kissing her, still sending ripples of pleasure throughout her whole body. An upsurge of panic threatened to well within her but she refused to give it credence. Not now.

  Benton raised his gaze to hers as his sensuous lips brushed the rise of her hipbone. He was so beautiful. So sexy.

  No. Definitely not now.

  She wanted to enjoy this. For once she wanted to give in to her needs heedless of the cost, but the thought was there, looming like a phantom in the back of her mind. He would be gone soon. He would leave her and go into the Light—and she would never see him again.

  And like a scene from her worst nightmares, he suddenly began to fade.

  Chapter Eight

  “Benton?” Alarm was evident in her voice. She sat and reached for him but her hand slipped through him. “What’s happening?”
Her voice rose in pitch.

  She cried out but he vanished, his absence leaving her cold.

  And alone.

  Jillian scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom, where she rummaged through her pants pockets until she found the button Amy had secreted there. She squeezed it in her hand and called to him.

  Still he did not appear.

  Where was he? What had she done? What had they done to cause this? Panic surged. Her whole body trembled.

  Had manifesting to her fully somehow affected his ability to appear to her now? She considered using her psychic sense to find out but she hesitated. If the soul collectors came after her, would his energy be too weak to fight them?

  A sickening wave rose in her throat at the idea of something terrible happening to him because of her selfish desire for him to manifest. She swiped at tears with the back of her hand. “What have I done?”

  Still clutching the button, she stood and walked shakily back into the bedroom.

  Something in her heart twisted. He was gone and it was all her fault. Jillian swallowed against the hard knot in her throat. Sinking onto the bed, she pulled her knees up to her chest. God, please don’t let anything happen to him.

  She closed her eyes and recalled the fragrance of wood fires and Benton’s own masculine scent. The memory of his kisses, of his body, of the wonderfully encompassing feel of his cock, sent a nauseating wave of guilt over her.

  Fresh tears stung her eyes. “Don’t leave me, Benton,” she whispered against her knee. “Please don’t leave me.” And all at once she felt like an elevenyearold little girl again. Scared. Lonely. Abandoned.

  She inhaled and opened her eyes. Her gaze found the phone on the hardwood floor. There was no time to sit and brood. She had to call Theo. She had to tell him about the caller.

  The person had to be caught to ensure Amy’s safety, her own safety—and if Benton was all right, his safety as well.

  * * * * *

  Jillian huddled in her oversized terry cloth robe and watched as Theo’s investigators left with her answering machine. Theo stood at the front door and tried in vain to stifle a yawn. “It was a good thing you had the smarts to tape that call. We’ll search for the source of your recent incoming calls.” He gaze swept the desolate street. The dawn sky was just turning pink on the horizon. “I’m ordering Simmons to stand guard for the night.”

  “Thanks,” she said, forcing a smile at Officer Simmons. She hugged her arms to dispel the cold.

  “You gonna be okay?” Theo’s forehead wrinkled as he awaited an answer.

  Jillian nodded but even with the officer outside, she was not okay. She was anything but okay. Benton was gone.

  Theo pursed his lips together and leaned against the doorframe. “Jillian, I didn’t want to ask in front of the investigators but what did the caller mean when he asked you about a ‘gatekeeper’?”

  A wave of heat traveled up Jillian’s spine at the thought of Benton, of what they’d done only hours ago. Nervously, she brushed her hair back with her hand. “The…um…ghost I told you about,” she stammered. “Amy called him my Gatekeeper last night at the hospital. There’s no way the caller could have known that.”

  Theo’s eyes grew wide. “This case has gone from bizarre to plain weird.” He shook his head. “All this ghost stuff gives me the heebie-jeebies.” He swallowed. “I know your sister’s been through a terrible ordeal but we’ve got to figure this out. This dude’s dangerous. He ain’t gonna stop until somebody’s dead.”

  Jillian shivered. “I’ll talk to Amy this morning and see if she can give us any clues.”

  “Call if you need me,” Theo said and strode toward his police cruiser.

  Jillian watched until he backed out of the driveway before she closed the door. Exhausted, she leaned against the doorframe and yearned to give in to the terror, the sadness, to the tears that stung her eyes. But she couldn’t. She had to be strong.

  “Who’s that standing picket duty?”

  Jillian whirled. Benton stood in the doorway to her bedroom clad only in his gray trousers and boots. A melancholy smile tugged at the corner of his sensuous lips. Relief flooded her. She rushed across the floor intent on throwing herself into his arms but as she neared him, she noticed he was totally transparent. He looked tired. Sad.

  She stopped and stared. The implication of seeing him this way filled her head with dismal thoughts. “I…I was so worried. Are you…all right?”

  He nodded and gave her an unconvincing smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me. I’ll be around. Keep the button with you at all times.”

  “But—”

  “Promise me.” He started to fade.

  “I promise,” she said. Despite the warmth of the robe, a chill pervaded her body that had nothing to do with the cool November morning.

  Benton began to fade once more. Alarm bells went off in her head.

  “Benton, don’t go! I’m afraid.”

  “Forgive me.” He reached for her hand as he continued to slip away. Jillian felt his touch as only a soft static charge which disappeared along with him. She lingered in the spot for a moment, half expecting him to reappear. When he didn’t, she walked on shaky legs into her bedroom and sank onto the bed. She shivered and then drew the gray Ralph Lauren comforter over her body. Her mind ran rampant.

  This dangerous attraction she had to him was rapidly becoming unmanageable. Her reckless abandon and equally reckless admission last night had proved that. He was wrong for her. All wrong. But the thought lurked in the back of her mind that everything had been very, very right. She swallowed. No. Nothing was right about it. He was dead. He wholly anticipated moving on—going into the Light. He had told her as much. And she knew there was absolutely no way he could stay with her. Even if there was, having a relationship with a ghost would be impossible.

  Jillian choked back a sob. This was why she hated her ability. This was precisely the reason she’d turned her back on it. Losing someone to death was terrible enough. Knowing their spirit was alive on some other plane and not being able to be with them was unbearable. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced away the haunting memory of her mother’s spirit.

  Jillian knew she’d already allowed herself to go too far. Sirius jumped on the bed, his green eyes expectant. She rubbed him on the head and resolved to maintain her distance from Benton until this mystery was solved. If she allowed herself to get involved any further, she feared she would lose her heart and that was something she had decided long ago she would never lose again.

  * * * * *

  Jillian flipped her cell phone closed and dropped it in her purse as she punched the unlock button on the Jag’s remote. Her patients would have to wait another day. Besides, she couldn’t help anyone else when her own problems continued to mount.

  She slid into the leather seat and started to put her purse in the passenger seat but something—or rather, the lack of something—caught her attention. She stared. Where was the bio she’d copied? She looked under the seat, on the side, in the back, but it was nowhere to be found. Replaying yesterday’s events in her head, she tried to remember if she’d taken it inside. No. She’d left it in the car.

  So, where was it now?

  Had someone taken it?

  She swallowed. Had the suspect been in her car?

  Unnerved and bewildered, she started the car and drove to the hospital.

  * * * * *

  Her heart twisted when she saw Amy asleep. She looked so small and frail in the big hospital bed. Her blonde lashes rested on pale, pale cheeks that were nearly as white as the cover that was pulled up to her neck. Her long hair had been washed but stretched wildly across the white pillowslip. An oxygen tube had been placed under her nose. A halfempty IV bag was suspended over the corner of her bed.

  Anger gnawed at Jillian’s insides. Whoever did this to her sister was going to pay. She was going to see to that.

  She closed the door softly behind her and tried to quietly si
t in the vinyl recliner next to the bed. She winced as it creaked. Amy opened her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Jillian brushed Amy’s hair off her forehead. “Did you sleep well?”

  She gave a weak chuckle. “I hardly remember you leaving last night.”

  Jillian was grateful. She couldn’t bear the thought of Amy lying awake and reliving the horror she’d experienced.

  A smile claimed Amy’s lips. “Did you find the surprise I left in your pocket?” She punched the button on the side of the bed to raise it so she could sit.

  Jillian flushed. She knew Amy’s psychic intuition would pick up on her emotions. She stood and pretended to examine the medical equipment, the IV, the oxygen tube. “Yes, I found it.” Her tone was short, clipped. Revealing.

  She knew Amy was staring, studying her, delving into her with her insight. Her forehead creased. “Do you have the button with you?”

  Silently, she drew it out of her pocket and handed it to her sister. Amy squeezed it and closed her eyes. Jillian gnawed her bottom lip. She didn’t know what to expect. Would Benton appear? Or would Amy be inundated with images of what happened the night before? Heat ignited in Jillian’s cheeks. She swallowed uncomfortably. She felt terribly guilty, as if she’d done something against the rules of the Universe.

  When Amy opened her eyes, her stare locked with Jillian’s. Jillian held her breath and watched Amy squeeze the button. “His energy is weak.”

  “He’s been fighting the soul collectors,” Jillian said hastily. She was relieved that Amy hadn’t ferreted out her dirty little secret.

  Amy inhaled. “That worries me.”

  “Why?”

  “The soul collectors prey on the weak. They could take his soul and—”

  Unable to hear any more, Jillian interrupted. “Don’t say it.” She sat on the side of the bed and took Amy’s hands in hers, squeezing them a little too hard.