by Debra Glass
“No, darlin’. You saved me.” He practically glowed. “Your love saved me and because of what you did, they let me come back to you.”
Their gazes clung for another heartbeat before his mouth descended on hers. He tore his lips away only to say, “Damn, I love you.”
Laughing, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around once more. And then he kissed her again.
Epilogue
Six months later
Jillian knew she shouldn’t have worn her brand-new pumps to this place but she had not wanted to go all the way home to change and risk missing this.
She clicked the key remote to lock the doors of her new black Jaguar, hoping it would be safe here, parked on the steep hill.
A dark flutter of remembrance passed through her when she saw the historical marker. The first time she’d come to Shy’s Hill, she hadn’t read it. Now, a little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she read the words raised in gleaming silver on the black metal marker. “Battle of Nashville. Shy’s Hill. On this hill was fought the decisive encounter of the Battle of Nashville, December 16, 1864. At 4:15 p.m., a Federal assault at the angle on the top of the hill broke the Confederate line. Colonel W. B. Shy and General T.B. Smith, 20th TN Infantry, were killed.”
“Not hardly,” she said aloud and then started the steep climb to the summit.
At the top of the hill, a historian dressed in the attire of a Confederate soldier was explaining the battle in lurid detail to a crowd of thoroughly enthralled high-school students.
One spectator stared, slack jawed. “Man, you make it sound like you were there.”
The dimple at the corner of Benton’s mouth deepened.
A sense of pride surged through Jillian. Benton had made quite a name for himself as an imminent historian of the Civil War, especially in Nashville. Already, the book he had written on the regiment he’d commanded one hundred fifty years ago was at the publisher just waiting to be printed and distributed. Unaware he had actually taken part in the war, the press had interviewed him on the subject countless times and he’d become somewhat of a celebrity.
Jillian’s gaze swept the students’ eager faces and then those of three female teachers who watched from the back of the group. They gaped openly at him, practically salivating.
And when Benton’s gaze collided with hers and hung there for a heartbeat, Jillian’s stomach tightened. She knew he was all hers and would always be.
“Any questions?” Benton’s commanding voice boomed over the kids.
Several hands shot into the air. He pointed at a freckle-faced boy. “Mr. Smith,” the boy’s voice squeaked. “Were you related to the General Smith who was killed here?”
“I guess you could say that,” Benton replied. “He was an ancestor of mine.”
“Way cool!”
He entertained a few more questions before the teachers herded the kids toward the stairs. Jillian heard the ladies commenting on Benton’s good looks as they filed past her on their way down the steep path.
Smiling, Jillian approached him. He opened his arms and drew her into a tight hug before giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He shot a furtive glance toward the path. “Are all those kids gone?”
She nodded. “I didn’t see anyone else.”
“Good,” he said as he tilted her face up to his. His mouth brushed hers softly and then his tongue slid between her lips as he deepened the kiss until a wave a heat rushed up her spine. It was a kiss filled with such passion and power—and deep, deep love—that it left Jillian breathless when he finally drew back just far enough to look into her eyes.
His hands slid down her arms to her own, where he fingered her wedding band. “I love you, Jillian Smith.”
She gave him a broad smile. The past six months had gone by like a whirlwind. Creating an identity for Benton had not been as difficult as Jillian had thought—with Theo’s help.
At first, Theo had had qualms about connecting Jillian with document forgers but he said he’d turn his head—just this once. She and Benton had married as soon as they procured the proper papers and no one but Theo and Amy were the wiser.
Theo had adamantly refused to listen to any of the details, simply holding his hands up and saying, “There are some things you just don’t need to know.”
Amy hadn’t seemed all that surprised a ghost could come back to life, and she seemed happy enough for the couple. She had stopped giving psychic readings and Jillian knew a part of her would never recover from the horror of being buried alive. She’d sold her little house in West End and was planning to move south to Alabama where their stepbrother, Reed, lived. Jillian fervently hoped Amy would be able to find love and learn to trust a man, to share her life and find happiness the way she had with Benton.
In the last year, Jillian had closed her office and was now profiling criminals for various police departments on a national basis. Her dead-on accuracy and knack for being able to speak with the actual murdered victims had even prompted a national television network to consider basing a weekly drama on her casework.
They’d bought Benton’s boyhood home and had completely restored it, doing most of the work themselves—and Jillian had insisted on keeping the chair she’d found in the parlor on her first visit.
“Darlin’.” Benton’s voice brought her out of her reverie. His gray eyes smoldered. “Are you positive all those kids are gone?”
Comprehension flooded Jillian. Her pulse sped up. “Why?”
He squeezed her hand and pressed it against the arousal which strained against his buttoned fly.
Jillian gasped. “Here? Now?”
He raised an eyebrow wickedly. One devilish dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. “I found this little spot right over here behind a bench. Nobody will see us and—”
Jillian interrupted. “Benton Smith! You mean to tell me that before a group of students arrived, you were up here scoping out a spot to…to…” She was unable to finish her question.
Benton merely stood there, looking very guilty—and tremendously aroused. “To fuck you? Yes, that is exactly what I was doing.”
Jillian inhaled sharply. Heat flooded her pussy. She couldn’t believe she was entertaining the idea of making love to him right here, outdoors, in a public place.
But he was dangerously handsome with his searing gray gaze and wavy black hair. He still looked every bit the pirate with his moustache and spade beard and Jillian was so attracted to him and so utterly in love she was powerless to resist him.
She blew out a resigned breath. “So, are you going to show me this spot you found or what?”
And then, both sexy dimples became visible.
About the Author
Debra Glass’ previous experience as a medium inspired her interest in writing Alabama ghost stories, although she’s also got a passion for spine-tingling paranormal romance. Since 2002, Debra has written several books on regional folklore and has had numerous articles published in Fate Magazine and various Civil War magazines.
Now she’s writing steamy erotic romance and dabbling in the paranormal with her Phantom Lovers series which features passionate and sexy ghosts who are guaranteed to keep you up at night!
Debra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
Tell Us What You Think
We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at [email protected].
Also by Debra Glass
Bad Kitty
Badcock
Bought and Paid For
Death by Chocolate
Ellora’s Cavemen: Flavors of Ecstasy I anthology
Having Patience
Lucid
Phantom Lovers 2: Shadowkeeper
Phantom Lovers 3: Watchkeeper
Rebel Rose
Restraint
Scarlet Widow
Slave to Fashion
Spirit Lifter
; Twice the Novice
Print books by Debra Glass
Behaving Badly anthology
Bound and Determined anthology
Phantom Lovers 1: Gatekeeper
Phantom Lovers 2: Shadowkeeper
Phantom Lovers 3: Watchkeeper
Some Like it Sweet anthology
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
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