by Spade, Sarah
I’m grinning as I get inside my car. “Screw you. You’re just jealous.”
“Maybe I am. You at least have Casper. I haven’t had a man in my apartment since last Christmas.”
“You mean your dad, don’t you?” I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “That’s sad.”
I wasn’t in Salem last Christmas and I didn’t know Allison then. Since I’ve met her, she’s told me stories about her parents’ annual trips into town. The Shaws used to live in Salem, though they lived in Florida now. Every Christmas, they came to stay with their daughter and it’s always a disaster.
I can’t wait to see what happens this year.
Throwing my car into reverse, I press the button on my dash that transfers Allison’s call from my cell to the stereo.
“You know,” I tell her, grateful that the conversation has gone from a mind-numbing report to something a little bit more juicy, “I can always hook you up with Max. He hasn’t given up on his big brother act, even though I’m gonna be thirty soon. I can have him flying cross country in a heartbeat if you’re really that desperate. Let him take care of you instead of me for a while.”
I mean it, too. I love Max to death but he’s been on my ass since I was a kid. With one phone call, I know I can have him on his way to Salem on the next flight. Hell, he’s already done it once before. He doesn’t think I know, but before I accepted the transfer, he flew out to make sure I’d be happy here.
Sometimes it sucks when your older brother is a partner at the company where you work.
Not that I’ve ever told Allison—or anyone else in the Salem office—that Max Dennis is my brother. I’ve purposely used my mother’s maiden name as my professional name so that no one could ever accuse me of riding the coattails of my brother’s success.
Danielle Williams busted her butt to get where she is. I won’t let anyone take that from me.
Still, Max would be a catch. As hard it is to believe, he’s an even bigger workaholic than me. I can’t tell the last time he had a girlfriend. Allison—with her bubbly personality, crazy work ethic, and killer looks—would be perfect for him.
He’s single. She’s single. And if I hooked the two of them up, maybe they would both butt out of my love life and maybe leave the flippin’ office once in a while..
Allison just laughs again, as if she doesn’t think I’m serious. “You keep tossing him at me, one of these days I might give in and say yes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I make a mental note to mention Max every chance I get from now on. “I’m on my way now, so I can take a look at the Sanderson report when I get in. What was that other thing you wanted to talk about?”
“Oh, right. I wanted to ask… are you going to the Halloween party tomorrow?”
Me and my big mouth.
I had hoped she’d forget about that. Last week, when I was buried under a mound of paperwork, she took my advantage of my distraction and asked me to go to this party one of the other ad managers was throwing. I stupidly said maybe.
“I don’t know. Halloween’s not really my thing, Allison.”
“You have to. It’s not often Halloween actually falls on a Saturday and a full moon! This party is going to be epic! You simply have to go with me. Okay? You can be my date. We’ll have so much fun together.”
A Halloween party? That’s so not my scene. I’m such a homebody, I swear my couch has ass grooves in it.
I make one last ditch effort to get out of it. “I remember you saying it’s supposed to be a costume party. I don’t have anything I can wear.”
“What if I can find you a costume?”
“Allison, I—”
“No, listen. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. I’m sure I can put something together for you by tomorrow, so long as you promise me that you’ll go to the party. Please, Dani? It won’t be fun if you don’t go."
I should know better. On the other hand, Allison has been nothing but kind and friendly since I moved to Salem. She never asks me for anything.
I sigh in resignation. “Fine.”
“Great! Then leave everything to me.”
“Nothing slutty,” I warn. Allison might have the tits and the super, slender body to pull it off, but if she gives me something revealing, I’ll kill her. “I mean it.”
Allison’s laugh turns evil. “Just trust me, Dani. Maybe after this party, both of our dry spells will be over.”
“Allison—”
Click.
Ugh. She hung up on me.
I’m already regretting this.
* * *
The Sanderson account ends up being a lot more involved then I thought it would. My morning was taken up with meetings, Allison went out to talk over a proposal with a new client, and by the time we sat down to put our heads together over it, it was afternoon. We worked on it for hours, until Allison started yawning at her desk.
I told her to go home—she’d already put in more than a twelve hour shift—and spent another hour or two fiddling around with the report before all the numbers started to look like squiggles.
That was my cue. Time to get out of there.
Slinking out of the office, my back aching from being hunched all night, I drove home while dreaming of the pint of Ben & Jerry’s in my fridge.
It’s a Thursday. I don’t usually indulge in sweets during the work week, my vain attempt in trying to shed a couple of pounds. Stress always triggers my sweet tooth, though, and after a day like today, I’ll be lucky if I don’t eat the whole quart in one sitting.
I have a routine. I started it back in college, when classes and midterms and exams used to get the better of me. Monday through Friday, I focused on work. Friday nights through the weekend?
They were mine.
I was never a party girl, but I still knew how to take care of myself. These days, that consisted of a hot shower, some cold ice cream, and some fun entertainment. Movies, music, a book… just something to keep my mind off of my stress.
So what if it’s Thursday? I deserve a little me time, especially since I’m going to have to give up Saturday night.
Even better? When I leave the bathroom after a relaxing shower and waltz naked into my bedroom to look for my robe, I notice that a book I’ve been looking forward to reading has gone live early.
It’s already downloaded on my e-reader, waiting for me to dive in.
I don’t find my robe and settle on slipping into a clean pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt instead. Based on promises made in the steamy blurb for this sexy romance, it doesn’t matter what I put on.
Good chance I won’t be wearing either for long.
3
Zack
I can tell right away that Dani had a hard day at work.
I know everything about her. Trying not to dwell on how much of a stalker that makes me—I console myself with the knowledge that I’ve been trying to make her aware of my presence for months now—I focus on the way she’s hunched over as she lets herself into the apartment.
She immediately kicks off her heels, then reaches up to take her hair out of the loose bun she has it in. The long strands make my ghostly fingers twitch. I’d give anything to touch it.
It looks so damn soft.
I drift behind her as she heads into the kitchen, veering straight for the fridge. When she grabs the ice cream and sets it on the counter to defrost, I know it was a really tough day. She only ever goes for the Ben & Jerry’s when she’s stressed.
No surprise, then, when she starts stripping as she leaves the kitchen. When her blouse hits the floor, I pointedly look away. Dani will be showering and—no matter how tempting it is—I refuse to peek.
One of the tricks I’ve learned since becoming a ghost is zoning out. I’m sure there’s a more supernatural term for it. Lydia never taught me about it, and I’ve never met another spirit.
I remember the weirdest shit from when I was alive. A lot of it has to do with pop culture. See, there was this Hallow
een movie I liked. Beetlejuice.
Unlike I saw in that movie, there’s no handbook for the dead. Learning how to open doors with nothing but my will, nudging rose petals around the house, dragging keys out of the bedroom, they’re all skills I had to figure out myself.
Just like zoning out.
Being a ghost is boring. Really boring. I run out of energy too quickly for it to be useful. I can’t turn pages and read. Modern technology shorts out if I try to go near it. With Dani working all the time, I let my mind drift off until something catches my attention and brings me back to the real world.
That’s usually only whenever Dani returns to the apartment.
Today, though, is different. The ice cream, the shower, the weight on her shoulders—Dani isn’t going to be company for me tonight. No sitcoms, no late night TV where she sits snuggled on the couch and I float behind her.
She needs her rest. I zone out and let her have it.
I don’t know how long I’m out of it. In the back of my consciousness, I hear the shower turn off and will my eyes closed so that I don’t peek at her. The scent of her vanilla shampoo and floral body wash wafts past me and I know she’s tucked safely in her room. When she doesn’t reappear in the kitchen or the living room, I figure I was right. She must’ve turned it early.
It’s a different scent that catches my attention. Something rich. Chocolaty. Floating into the kitchen, I see that she forgot all about the ice cream she set out on the counter. Condensation beads along the carton, a brown pool of melted chocolate ice cream forming underneath.
I’ve grown used to Dani’s disasters in the kitchen. I think they’re adorable, and I’ve found ways to use some of them to alert her to my presence.
Only, this isn’t a mess she made out of frustration. This is forgetfulness.
I like to think I know Dani very well by now. She would never forget her ice cream.
Her bedroom door is open. I take that as an invitation. Technically, as a ghost, I can pass through the door even if it is closed. I often do, when I’m checking on her to make sure she’s sleeping all right.
Um. Dani isn’t sleeping yet.
The instant I drift in through her open door, I know what caused her to forget all about her ice cream.
My eyesight is fucking great. It might’ve been that way when I was alive, I’m not sure, but now that I’m dead? I can see everything, even in the dark. My hearing is just as amazing.
So, even though Dani has her dark purple comforter pulled on top of her, I see the furtive motions under the blanket and hear the sounds of her fingers sliding against slick skin.
For the first time since she’s lived with me, I just discovered Dani masturbating.
I’ve never seen anything so hot before in my life—er, death.
I should go. I should shut my ears, spin around, and go. She might joke, call me Casper like she really believes there’s a ghost in her apartment, but there’s no way my Dani would be happy to know that I could see her in her private moments.
I should go.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Maybe my final resting place will be Hell when I’m done, and I’ll probably deserve it.
It’ll be worth it, just to have this one moment with her.
I can’t help it. My voice is full of anguish and need as I call out to her.
“Dani.”
She answers me on a moan. Her hands don’t stop working as she says, “Yessss.”
I gasp.
Did she… did she hear me?
She answered me like she did.
I try again. “Dani?”
“Mmmm.”
She did!
I don’t know how or why, but I’m not about to question it. If she can hear me, she can answer me. She knows I’m here. She didn’t tell me to go. I can get consent to take this one step further.
Maybe I can—
Well, I don’t know. There’s not much I can do as a spirit. My hands would float right past her, so I can’t actually touch that silky-looking skin or run my fingers through her hair.
My body still hasn’t reacted so anything really physical is out.
I never expected to get this far with her. In all my daydreams, I fantasized about picking Dani up and fucking her against the wall. I know that’ll never happen. It can’t. She’s a mortal and I’m a ghost who can’t get it up.
It doesn’t matter, though. Right now, the way for me to get pleasure is to give my Dani some of her own. And that I think I can do.
But first—
“Dani. I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”
Dani
“Will you let me?”
His hoarse whisper makes me break out in chills. With a voice like that? I’ll let my mystery man do whatever the fuck he wants to me.
This isn’t the first time my vivid imagination has run away with me. Half asleep and so horny I won’t last a minute playing with myself, I know my dreams have merged with the sexy lumberjack I was reading about before I dozed off.
In the novel, the heroine woke up to find her man willing to go down on her and make her feel amazing.
Should I be surprised that, out of nowhere, I’m fantasizing that some faceless mystery man who wants to do the same to me?
My dream man wants to make me feel good? I like that plan. Lifting my ass off my bed, I shimmy out of my panties. I’m already so turned on, that I’ve soaked through the lace with my juices.
My eyes are still closed. I know this is all in my imagination—nothing but a flippin’ amazing fantasy—and I don’t want an empty room to cause me to wake up and deal with the sad reality that I’m all alone.
It’s bad enough that I’m convinced there’s a ghost haunting my apartment. I draw the line at believing he might have manifested tonight in order to help me get off.
Still, if I’m crazy, there’s worse delusions out there.
I nod.
His groan carries on the air. “Can I see you?” he asks. “Without the blanket?”
I don’t even ask how he knows that I’ve left the blanket covering me. In my vivid imagination, the gorgeous man who owns such a sexy voice can see in the dark and he’s standing at my bedside, watching me finger myself.
And he wants to see more.
Sounds good.
“Okay.”
I flip the edge of the blanket away from my stomach, kicking the rest of it off the bed with my feet. My panties are stretched out, wrapped just underneath the bend of my knee. The elastic gives enough that I let my legs fall open.
I hear another groan, deeper this time, then feel the faint tickle on the outside of my thigh.
He blows gently.
The rush of cool air feels so good against my overheated skin. With another puff, he directs it right on my clit and I go crazy.
“Mmm, yes.” Jeez, I’m already panting. Gritting my teeth, I buck my hips up, trying to get the stream right where I want it. “That… whoa, that feels so good.”
He blows harder. I want to grab him and pull him closer. Instead, I clutch my sheet between my fingers and yank.
I writhe on my bed, anxious enough to want to escape the overwhelming sensitivity while desperate for more. The coil in my belly is stretched so tight, I feel like I’ll shatter the second it breaks.
God, this orgasm is a long time coming. I don’t care if this is a dream, or I’ve finally lost it. In the throes, at this very second, I wouldn’t give a shit if a real guy was in here, doing this to me. I’d freak out and call the police after I came, of course, but as I’m chasing the elusive peak, right now I just. Don’t. Care.
I’m so close.
“I’m almost there,” I grunt, frustrated. “I just need—”
“I know what you need.”
The stream of air narrows until all the pressure is focused directly on my clit. I squirm. It’s good—it’s great—but it’s still not enough.
A break in the stream, and then a harsh command.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Probably because I’ve been waiting for him to do it for me.
I don’t know why, considering he’s a figment of my horny imagination. If I need stimulation, of course I’m going to have to take care of that myself.
I’m so slick and wet that there’s a squishing sound as I reach between my pussy lips and gather moisture. After a second, I realize it’s pointless. As soon as I slip my middle finger inside me, I know I’m aroused enough that it’ll glide easily.
It’s not enough.
I slip in a second finger. It feels a little more full, and the elusive orgasm I’m chasing is suddenly a little more in sight.
“Harder,” he rasps.
I pick up the pace. My palm slaps against my pussy. I tilt my hips again so that my clit is hit with every strike.
It’s coming—
I’m coming.
“Oh, yes, oh yes, oh… mmm… ohyes!”
The coil snaps. Pure pleasure floods me as my toes curl and my thighs shake. It’s too much, though, and I slow my rocking, slow my fucking. I want to stop—I don’t know how much more I can take—but then he whispers, “Give me more. Just a little bit more, Dani.”
So I do.
I ride out the orgasm to the point that it hurts to breathe, and my clit is so swollen, so sensitive that I’m pretty sure I had two or three consecutive climaxes all rolled into one monster one.
I pull my fingers out, wipe them against the front of my tee. My own voice comes out hoarse, like I’ve been screaming for hours.
“Oh my god. That’s was… that was amazing.”
“You’re amazing.”
A sudden breeze whispers against my cheek, soft and gentle and like a sweet kiss goodnight.
My eyes spring open, chest heaving as my hand falls to my side. My t-shirt is bunched all the way up so my boobs are moving up and down as I pant. My blanket is a tangle on the floor.
My panties are MIA.
Reaching out, I feel around for the knob on my bedside lamp. I find it and give it a quick turn.