by Wendi Zwaduk
The warmth of a hand spread across his chest. The scent of cherries filled the air. The taste of her kiss lingered on his tongue. Blinking his eyes open, he glanced to what would’ve been her side of the bed. “Lis, honey, are you there?” He propped himself up on his elbow. “You never wanted to see me again.”
Her form shimmered next to him. “I’m here, like I am every night.” Mesmerising grey eyes stared at him. A smile curled the corner of her lush mouth and a rogue ebony curl slid over her shoulder. “Remember lying in bed all day in college? That was your life. Me. You’d hold me and I’d keep you from class. We were a fucking team.”
He reached out and stroked her shoulder, imagining the silk of her skin under his fingertips. “You didn’t want what we had.”
Felicity stood, or rather floated to a standing position at the foot of the queen sized bed. The delicate material of her nightgown dipped low between her breasts and hugged the sharp curves of her body, like a second skin. Lace covered her nipples, leaving little to his imagination. Had she been alive, he’d have taken her in his arms in an instant to explore until the sun rose. “So I made a mistake. Do you like this gown?”
He rolled his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth. “Yeah,” was the only word that developed. The silk would look better on Samara, but he wasn’t about to let that little gem slip.
“I thought you would. The softness begs to be touched.” She swished the skirt, smoothing the invisible wrinkles down her hips. “I saw you today. Didn’t look like she was too into you.” She crawled up the length of the bed, failing to dent the sheets as she straddled him. “Want to tell me about her?”
He sat up and bit down hard on his tongue, not wanting to discuss Samara. Felicity had come to him for two weeks straight, but damn, the woman had a fickle streak a mile wide. When she evaded him, she had a tendency to dance around something bigger. Like a new woman in his life.
“Oh, silent treatment. Fine.” She snorted and sat back on her heels. “Does she know you’ve never got over me?” Her nails glistened as she toyed with the hem of the sleepwear.
“I loved what we had.” The thought struck. Why did his grand confession sound so…hollow? Love meant forever, right?
She cocked her head and her brows furrowed. “Ryan Black, you deserved way better than marrying me and ending up in the middle of butt-fuck Ohio farmland.” She folded her arms, bunching her breasts to the point of nearly spilling from her nightgown. “I lied, I cheated and yet, you won’t let me go. Have you lost your mind?” Her voice came out harsh and biting.
The past once again washed over him. The moment she came to him crying, saying she wanted out. She loved another man and yearned to carry the child of his former friend. Ohio wasn’t where her heart lay. Ryan gritted his teeth, disbelieving the truths bombarding his mind. He’d been a fool.
A chill rambled up his spine. “What the hell, Felicity? Why this? Why now?”
“I wish I could cry so you’d know I’m serious.” Twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger, she looked away. Her shoulders sagged and wrinkles crinkled at the corners of her eyes. “Being dead means I can’t shed tears, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be blunt.”
“Then by all means be as blunt as your heart desires. You seem to like coming back to me to tear my life to shreds.”
“Move on. I want you to.”
“Why now?” Either being dead meant she had found a conscience or a higher power forced her to be civil.
“Look, Samara is perfect for you. It’s killing me to say this, but she’s the kind of woman who wants devotion and never-ending love. Forget about me and go after her.”
Her image flickered and dimmed a bit, sending a panic through his veins. She couldn’t leave him just yet. Not until she explained everything. “There was a time when no one could replace you.”
“She will replace me and you will move on. You’ll fall in love the way love’s supposed to be—pretty and tied in a bow. Because if you move on, I can move on.”
Felicity’s ghost faded enough so he could see the photos of her on the wall.
“Lis?”
She glanced at her hands and chuckled. “I can’t stand to see you mope any longer.” Her lower half faded into oblivion. She groaned. “It’s quick, too. Shit. Look, I’m pleading for you to move on. Find her and when you do, I’ll get to go to the Great Beyond.”
As she spoke the last words, the room grew dark once more. Ryan reached out for her, only to swipe his hand through empty air. If she wanted him to move on, then fine. He had his orders and ten days to convince Samara Jacobs they belonged together. Talk about mission impossible.
Chapter Three
A week and a half of boring desk work later, Samara shifted her tank top to smooth out the wrinkles and plopped down in front of her laptop. The encounter with Ryan sat fresh in her mind—like a bruise, even nine days after the fact. The nerve of him to interrupt her lunch every afternoon! Of course, she’d struck the first blow by sticking her two cents in when he wasn’t even talking to her. Go figure. She never did know when to keep her mouth shut. Still, he acted like his television show and semi-celebrity status helped people, like it changed lives.
The moment he found a real ghost or encountered an honest-to-God spirit, then she’d agree such things existed. Until then, Ryan Black—sexy as hell or not—could rot.
She cringed and tried to focus on her computer screen. She wasn’t going to fall for him. If he hadn’t been so forward, she might have even considered dating him. Too bad he had a nice body.
Oh well. Her luck with men tended to run out after one date, most preferring a woman who entered wet T-shirt contests, not one who knew the difference between an asphalt track and a clay oval.
Samara tucked a loose hank of hair behind her ear and adjusted her ear phones. Once settled, she resumed her typing. The transcript from the last episode of Ghost Explorers sat idle on the screen. Listening to Ryan Black talk about the scratchy voice he claimed to hear, or the shadowy figure lurking in front of him bored her to tears. But the public loved him.
Especially Matilda Snodgrass, the WPFG version of gossip online. According to the shop talk and Matilda’s blog—since no one actually saw Matilda—he’d rebuked her hundreds of times, but who believed the gossip? At least once a week, Matilda commented on his ‘nice glutes.’ He did have a sexy ass—tight, but not too full, just enough to grab and fill out his jeans while leaving nothing to the imagination. She licked her lips. Boxers? Or briefs?
The image of Ryan Black in nothing but black silk boxers came to mind. All muscle and smooth skin…
And so off limits!
She shook her head to clear out the thoughts of Ryan Black’s buns and hot body and resumed typing. Even the soothing sound of Billy Joel wasn’t enough to buoy her mood. In the middle of the current song, her email pinged. She clicked on the message. Another transcript, courtesy of her boss, Tony Cox. At least she’d have something to do besides fantasise about Ryan Black. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she went back to her transcription.
A tap on the shoulder pulled her from her focus on the screen. When she turned, she clamped her mouth shut.
Ryan Black. In the flesh—again.
A grin curled the corner of his mouth and mischief danced in his eyes. “I hear you want to work the cameras.”
Yanking the earphones from her ears, she nodded. “How’d you know? You don’t have a clue who I am, other than the meeting in the cafeteria and a couple of nods in the stairwells.”
He folded his arms and leant against the wall of her cubicle, like he owned the place. The bulge in his jeans caught her attention. Gravy. He wanted to talk to her after getting a hard-on from someone else?
“If you’d look at my face, not my crotch, we’d get somewhere.”
Her cheeks burned as she forced her gaze to his eyes, a mix of amber and sea green. No wonder women fell for him. He did have mesmerising eyes. Dammit.
“I have you tongue-tied.” He
waggled his toffee coloured brows. “Nice, but not what I came here for.” He inched forwards, his lips a mere whisper from her ear. “You have something I need. And yes, I’ve talked to you before. Besides the other morning, the Christmas party comes to mind.”
“Yeah, I guess you did.” At least she’d found her voice. Still, he could get closer—no, no, back away… Double dammit. If he got any closer, she’d be snagged in his web like the rest of the female population of SnakeFalls. “What do you need?”
“I’d say you, but all the girls talk.” He backed up a bit to look her in the eye and licked his lips. “I’m tired of fuelling the rumour mill with lunchtime meetings. I want something more concrete.”
She swallowed a sigh, following the damp trail of his tongue. He had kissable lips. Firm, with a sprinkling of five o’clock shadow decorating his square jaw below. Enough to abrade her inner thighs when he lapped at her pussy. When? Oh good grief, she needed to get her mind out of the sewer.
“You want to work the cameras and I need someone I trust to go with me to the abandoned TamasMansion on Friday.”
“Me?”
“Sure, I need the extra set of hands, and you need to learn there are such things as ghosts. I know it’s short notice, but if I can’t have you I’m screwed.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Samara Jacobs, I know lots more about you than you could possibly imagine. Matilda is a whiz with gossip and loves to talk. Plus, I orchestrated some of those random meetings in the stairwell to get you to notice me.”
Talk about a revelation. He wanted to see her? Narrowing her eyes, she attempted what she hoped was her best frustrated face. “Go back to your little ghosty show and pretend I don’t exist, okay? I’m not interested.” She turned away. Maybe she’d given up a chance to show her skills with a camera, but she’d held onto her dignity and that was more important, right? It didn’t feel so right all of a sudden. It felt wrong—like she’d made the mistake of her career. God, she hated the flip-floppy feelings swirling in her mind.
“I have three days to work things out and I can’t film the next episode when you’re running rampant through my thoughts.”
Without looking at him, she snorted and buried her fingers in her hair. Give the man credit for trying. “Does that line work on anyone?”
Running the backs of his fingers along her bare arm, Ryan knelt next to her, demanding her attention without words. Sincerity and something else she couldn’t pinpoint shone in his dark eyes. “Are you falling for me?”
“No.” Not at all…not in the least bit…maybe a little…damn.
“Then I’m oh for one, and still in need of a camera operator.” The stroke of his finger on her skin sent shivers through her body. “Tell me you’re game. I’ll beg.”
She swallowed hard, ignoring the ache between her thighs. At this rate she’d need to run home to change her sopping panties.
“Besides, Matilda bugged Tony and got the waiver for the both of us.” He stood at his full height and sighed. The mirth in his eyes reached the gentle curves of his mouth. “In all honesty, if it’s not you, then I’m in big trouble. I’ll give you my vital stats if it helps.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Where to begin? I was born in Nevada, Ohio. Mom and Dad still live there. I’m an only child. I’ve been married once, now widowed. I’ve got a BA in journalism and I hate spiders. Oh, and I reserve Sunday afternoons to root for the Cleveland Browns.” He grinned, the mirth sparkling in his eyes as well as across his lips. “Convinced I’m not the bogey man?”
Widowed? She chewed the inside of her cheek. He could still be the devil in blue jeans for all she knew. Despite her gut feeling to back away, Samara’s resistance crumbled. “Fine.”
The grin blossomed into a full wattage smile. “See? I knew I’d start to work on you. In no time, I’ll prove to you I’m loveable and sexy.” His brows bobbed as if to punctuate his words.
Before she could form an answer, Ryan strolled away from her cubicle and into the main aisle. Even after she bluntly ignored his come-ons, he’d persisted. Okay, she had to give him kudos for determination, but he cancelled out his progress when he told her he’d basically already signed her up for the investigation. Still, he deserved merit points for good looks…and for being widowed. She’d have to file that away.
Shit. As much as she wanted to not fall for him, she had. Always the ones out of reach. Samara refocused on her computer and blinking icon on the desktop. One new message.
She opened the email document.
To S. Jacobs
From M. Snodgrass
CC: T. Cox
Re: GE Investigation 8/5
Samara, I signed you up to work with Ryan. He insists your camera work is above standards and won’t settle for another person. Please come to my office tomorrow by 4 to sign the waiver. You and Ryan will take a tour of the TamasMansion Friday morning and then lockdown at 9. K?
Tx,
M. S.
Samara leant back in her seat and rubbed her forehead with the pads of her fingers. “So now I’m a Ghost Explorer. Wonderful.”
Chapter Four
Ryan sat on the edge of Matilda’s desk and drummed his fingers on his thighs. He’d offered the job to Samara twenty-four hours earlier. Plenty of time for her to change her mind and avoid him. Ample time for her to accept. He glanced at the door. Each time he’d tried to talk to her, Samara took another route or left before he could catch her. Had he said too much? Not enough? If she was supposed to be his Spirit Mate, she didn’t seem terribly interested.
For her part, Matilda sat on the couch, sipping a glass of wine and examining her crimson nails. Never one to confine herself behind a barrier, she snuggled into the plush leather and dangled her shoe from her toes, bouncing the pump to a rhythm only she could hear.
“I don’t know what you see in her. She’s rather plain and a tad on the chunky side. Sits at her computer too much.” Boredom tinged her sugary sweet voice. “Thank God Tony isn’t here. He’s part of the reason I want to move on. He’s so stuffy.” She pointed her foot in Ryan’s direction. “Speaking of stuffy, how do you like these shoes? They looked cute online, but I’m not sure they showcase my legs?”
“I haven’t looked at your legs.” Ryan groaned. Trust her to turn the conversation to herself. “Just because you think you know everything about everyone doesn’t mean you know me.” He stood and began to pace. Snippets of his conversations with Samara danced in his head. “I gave Samara my best personal pitch, but what if she doesn’t show? What if she laughs in my face? She’s not exactly my biggest fan, even if she did agree.”
“That’s what you like about her, though, and you feel sympathy for her.”
Compassion might have made the list, but it wasn’t near the top of the reasons he liked Samara. He’d rather explore her inch by inch, touching and tasting her sweet skin, finding the honey spots where she cooed and moaned. Until then—if a relationship with Samara happened—he needed to deal first with his erection, then helping Matty move on to the great beyond. He shifted his jeans to relieve the pressure. “You’d better stop drinking. Besides the fact that you’ll never get drunk, someone will think you actually care about Samara. On second thought, care to your heart’s content. It might help you get out of here and advance to the next level, away from Tony.”
“Pah, I don’t give a rat’s rumpled arse about her. But you! You have a soft spot for the damsel in distress…and yes, the woman needs saving. She needs a rescue from her hideous wardrobe and that ridiculous hairstyle. No one wears side-swept bangs these days.”
“Believe it or not, I really like her. She’s sexy in a beguiling way.”
Matilda burst out laughing and nodded to the door.
“What?”
“I think she heard us.”
Samara stood just inside of the door, cheeks the colour of crushed red velvet and the line of her mouth white with tension. “Hello Matilda, Ryan. You wanted to see
me?”
Tension and Matilda’s perfume hung thick in the room. Ryan’s gaze vacillated between Samara and Matilda in a combination of shock and disbelief. Samara saw Matilda. She had the gift.
Ignoring Matilda’s cackle, Ryan strode forward, waiver in hand. He needed to speak to Samara as soon as humanly possible. “I want to see you, but not here.” He ushered Samara through the doorway and down the hall. “I’d like to talk to you without prying eyes.” He stopped at the atrium, finding solace in the lush greenery and cooler air. “I’m sorry—she’s being herself.”
“You don’t have to apologise. I’m used to the digs and insults.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. She’d been hurt before, he wasn’t sure how, but the pain resonated deep in the blue orbs. He’d like to kill the bastard who had ribboned her dignity. Had he been any better, acting like she should fall at his feet because he told her so? Or maybe he should mention her gift and really drive her away… No, he sensed something stronger with Samara, something destined.
He shored up his courage. With Felicity, he believed the lies. For Samara, he’d be completely honest. “I wanted you to come along tomorrow, but not because you were forced. I know you’re a damned good camera tech. Why Tony had you moved to the cubicles is beyond me.”
“From what I’ve heard, he gets off on torture.” Samara shrugged and toyed with the brick in the amber retaining wall, scraping her thumbnail over the rough surface. “Look, I’m game for the investigation. You don’t have to beg or inflate my ego.”
He crunched the paper in his grip. “The waiver is a formality in case we get hurt.” His heart ached in his chest. Maybe he did like women who were out of his league, but dammit, he wanted Samara too much to ignore the feeling that she was more than just another female. “I wanted you to come along because I like you and I’d like for you to like Ryan, not the Ryan Black. Does that make sense?”