by Anne Hope
“No problem, Ms. Delaney. Please come in.”
Agnes followed Evelyn inside. “The vet says I shouldn’t give them too much milk,” she explained, “but they just love it, and I can’t bring myself to refuse them.” She tossed a surprised glance over Evelyn’s shoulder. “Is this a bad time, dear? I didn’t realize you were entertaining a young man. And such a handsome lad he is too.”
“Ms. Delaney, there’s no one—”
“Of course, I can see you. I may be getting on in years, but I’m not blind,” she said to the phantom only she could see.
Evelyn heaved in exasperation. “Ms. Delaney?”
“Yes, dear?”
“There’s no one here but me.”
Ms. Delaney reflected for a moment, then shot another glance over Evelyn’s shoulder. “She can’t? You poor dear. How frustrating it must be to be invisible.”
Evelyn gave up. “I’ll go get that milk.”
When she returned a few minutes later, Ms. Delaney was still talking to herself. The poor woman really was off her rocker. If that was what prolonged solitude did to you, perhaps it would be best to reconsider some of the choices she’d made for her life.
“I wish I could help, young man,” Ms. Delaney was saying, “but she won’t be able to see you unless she wants to.” Agnes paused for a moment, a befuddled frown creasing her forehead. “Who’s Eberhart?”
“Here’s your milk, Ms. Delaney,” Evelyn said in her most upbeat voice, attempting to mask the disturbing effect her eccentric neighbor’s visit was having on her.
“Thank you, dear.” Ms. Delaney took the mug Evelyn offered, staring at her with a contemplative look on her grandmotherly face. “There’s a lot of negative energy around you, Evie. It hems you in, and keeps everything and everyone out. Let go of your fears. Only then will you see what I see.”
Evelyn thanked the woman for the strange advice, tactfully escorting her to the door. The moment Ms. Delaney stepped out of the cottage Evelyn’s shoulders sagged with relief. What a bizarre week this had turned out to be.
Exhaling a lungful of air, she hastened to the living room, where her book—Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol—patiently awaited her return. She barely had a chance to sit down when a strange sound broke the blessed stillness surrounding her. Oddly enough, it sounded like meow.
“What now?” Both curious and annoyed, she stood to investigate.
Meow. The sound led her to the back door. She quickly swung it open, and a blast of cold air instantly invaded her home.
Her gaze drifted downward, and the sight she beheld made her blood run colder than the crisp March breeze gushing in. There, on her back porch sat a miserable-looking kitten. Its gray fur was wet and matted, its white paws stained like a dirty pair of slippers.
“Oh, no. Shoo!” she cried.
The cat refused to take the hint. It shivered and mewled, looking at her as if she was the answer to all its prayers.
“Please, shoo!” Her voice rang with desperation. “If I feed you, you’ll keep coming back.” She placed her hands on her hips, struggling to crush the compassion fisting in her chest. “I’m willing to bet this is precisely how poor Ms. Delaney got her first cat.”
The kitten continued to stare at her, its eyes two round, beseeching pools of despair.
Evelyn groaned. Despite her better judgment, she went to the kitchen and returned with a saucer of milk. The grateful cat bulleted into the house and hungrily drowned its whiskers in the bowl.
Evelyn crouched next to her new companion, scratching it behind the ears. A dejected sigh escaped her lips. Her descent into madness had officially begun.
Matt slouched on the couch across the room from the aggravating woman he’d been ordered to seduce, contemplating new ways to die. He’d spent the last three hours watching Evelyn read, and if he still had an ounce of flesh on him he’d be slitting his wrists right about now.
This day was turning out to be as thrilling as an evening at the bingo hall. And it was barely two in the afternoon. He thought back to how he usually spent his Saturdays. Chances were he’d still be in bed—a woman’s bed—doing things that would’ve made prissy little Evelyn blush just reading about. Instead, he was stuck here in Deadsville, counting off each minute that crawled by, listening to nothing but the frustrating echo of his own thoughts.
The only sound that pierced the monotonous silence was that damn cat hissing each time she crossed his path. Matt had decided about an hour ago that the mangy beast was a female. Probably the reincarnation of one of his exes, if any of them had had the misfortune of suffering the same fate as he.
She sat on the rug across from him now, curled at Evelyn’s feet, glaring at him with blatant mistrust. The blasted creature refused to take her eyes off of him, so he decided to alleviate his boredom by engaging in a staring competition.
The cat won.
Feeling more than a little antsy, he stood and stalked the room. Once again, the cat hissed at him.
“What’s wrong, Slippers?” Evelyn asked, finally allowing her gaze to stray from the lousy book she clasped. “Does the fire frighten you?”
“This is great, just great,” Matt growled. “She’ll talk to the cat, but she won’t as much as spare me a glance.”
To Matt’s surprise, the book plunked to the floor as Evelyn vaulted to her feet. “Who said that? How did you get in my house?” She scanned the room with wild-eyed alarm.
Matt approached her, finally experiencing that adrenaline rush he so missed. “You can hear me?”
Evelyn squealed with fear. “Where are you hiding?”
“Nowhere. I’m right in front of you.”
“Why can’t I see you then?”
“Because, apparently, you don’t want to.”
“Of course I want to. Why on Earth wouldn’t I want to see someone standing in my own living room? Who—what are you? A figment of my imagination?” She wagged her head in dismay. “I’ve taken leave of my senses, haven’t I?”
“Lady, you’re asking the wrong guy. I’m not exactly what you’d call the poster boy for sanity. Or common sense, for that matter. But I can promise you one thing—I can take you on one hell of a ride.”
Evelyn squealed again, this time in revulsion. “Get out of my house!”
Guess he’d said the wrong thing. Funny, that pick-up line had always worked for him in the past. “Sorry, can’t do that. For the next week we’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not.”
“No, no, no,” she whined. “You’re not really here.” She sank to the floor and retrieved the book she’d dropped. “It’s this book,” she attempted to convince herself. “I’m reading about ghosts, so I’m imagining one in my house. Yes, that makes perfect sense.”
“If you say so.”
“Stop doing that!”
“Doing what?”
“Talking.”
“Why would I stop talking now that you can finally hear me?”
“Because I’m teetering on the edge of a complete meltdown.”
Matt chuckled. “This I gotta see.”
“You’re insufferable!”
“So I’ve been told.”
Evelyn sighed. “Of all the ghosts I could’ve imagined, I pick one who fancies himself a comedian.”
“Maybe you could use a couple of laughs, among other things.”
An appealing flush crept up her throat to stain her cheeks. “I have everything I need right here.”
“Sure you do,” he taunted. “That’s why you’re standing around talking to yourself.”
Distress tugged at her brows. “You’re right.” She let her body plop into the recliner. “It’s finally happened. I’ve lost my mind. I knew I never should’ve let that cat in.”
Evelyn had never before experienced such abject misery. She’d finally gone and done it. She’d fallen off the turnip truck. And to think just a few hours ago she was lamenting poor Ms. Delaney’s state of mind. How the tables had turned.
&n
bsp; “My name’s Matt, by the way,” said the gruff, surprisingly silky voice. A voice that caressed and teased in the same breath.
“Pleased to meet—” She bit her tongue. “No, I’m not doing this. You’re not real. I refuse to engage in this delusion any longer.”
“Suit yourself. But just so you know, I’m not going anywhere.”
She opened her book decisively and continued to read where she’d left off. Scrooge had just awakened in search of the second ghost and was overcome by a trembling fit. She suddenly found herself empathizing with the old miser.
Just then, a tickling sensation skittered across her left cheek. “How do you read this stuff?” The voice asked, only inches from her ear. “It’s archaic.”
“It’s a classic,” she replied emphatically.
“Sure, a classic bore.”
She bristled. “Have you ever read it?”
“Saw the movie once.”
She felt him beside her, a tangible energy that pulsed with each word he intoned. She nearly reached out and touched him, but—realizing how silly the impulse was—she kept her fingers in her lap, where they lay curled around her book.
“If you ask me, these ghosts had it easy. Scaring the bejesus out of an old man is a heck of a lot easier than—” A long, pregnant pause followed.
“Than what?”
“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
She huffed, annoyed. “Well, don’t.”
She’d barely read a paragraph when the voice interrupted her yet again. “Tell me, Evie, what do you do for fun? Besides read, that is.”
Evelyn was stumped. What else was there? “I went to the movies last month.”
“How exciting.”
She struggled not to take offense at the caustic remark. “In the summer I love to garden.”
An unmistakable snort punctuated the air. “Just how old are you, thirty going on eighty?”
Defeated, she closed the book and placed it on the end table beside her. “Twenty-nine.”
The ghost clicked his tongue. “Shame.”
“Will you please go haunt someone else?” she moaned.
“Wish I could oblige, but you’re the one I’ve been ordered to haunt.”
“Why?”
“Because for some reason, the powers that be believe you need me.”
Struck by a bolt of indignation, Evelyn stood and began to pace, nearly tripping over Slippers. “I most certainly do not.”
“Tell that to Eberhart.”
“Eber what?”
“Eberhart. The spirit who sent me here.”
A punishing headache threatened to assail her. She stopped in front of the hearth, placing her palms on the limestone mantelpiece for support. Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her anxiety, as the very foundation of her reality slowly collapsed around her.
That’s when she felt the subtle pressure of a comforting hand upon her back. The touch thrummed with heat, like the prickle of an electrical current needling her skin. The sensation was disconcerting, but not entirely unappealing.
Swallowing past the knot in her throat, she pivoted on her heels to face her phantom…and saw him standing before her as clear as day. He looked like an angel with his golden hair and pale blue eyes, a pearlescent glow pulsating around him like a halo.
For a moment she felt blinded by the sheer beauty of him. Then darkness fell to enshroud her.
Chapter Three
Something soft, like fur, brushed her face. Warmth blanketed her chest. A strange, earthy scent teased her nostrils. Evelyn swam toward awareness, forcing her lids open, and the room slowly spun into focus. She awoke to find the cat sitting on her chest with its rear end only inches from her chin, its bushy tail fanning her face. Gently, she placed Slippers on the floor beside her and eased herself to a sitting position. The fire crackled. It licked the logs with long, orange tongues and filled the room with the soothing yet pungent scent of burning wood.
As the fog swirling in her head cleared, she remembered what had happened moments before blackness claimed her. Had it all been a vivid dream?
“Welcome back to the land of the conscious, Sleeping Beauty.”
She closed her eyes and released a mewling whimper, not unlike the sound Slippers had made when she’d found him on the porch earlier today. “You’re still here.”
“Told you I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m a man of my word. Well, not really. But now that I’m a ghost, I’ve got to be on my best behavior to avoid the fiery depths of hell.”
She followed the sound of his voice, angled a tentative glance in his direction. He stood by the fireplace, one elbow propped against the mantelpiece. The sight of him made her heart stampede against her ribcage with steel hooves.
He was tall and lean, angular and sinewy. Wide shoulders tapered down to a flat abdomen and narrow hips, leading to a pair of well-defined, muscular legs. There was a quiet, if not arrogant, confidence about him—the way he held himself with both strength and elegance, one knee slightly bent, a cocky grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.
She could tell this man was acutely aware of his seductive charm and abrasive personality, and prided himself on both. His jeans and T-shirt were transparent—as was he—yet somehow, he still managed to look powerful, solid.
His gaze simmered with a scrutinizing kind of heat, lazily drifting toward her breasts. Too late she realized Slippers had somehow undone several buttons on her blouse, exposing her black cotton bra. Blood whooshed up to suffuse her cheeks, and she wasted no time buttoning up. “I can see you, you know.”
Pleasure flitted across his face, that wry grin spreading into a full-fledged smile. “Well, Hallelujah! It’s about time.”
“What happened? Did I pass out?”
“You took one look at me and went out like a light.” With three fluid steps, he closed the distance between them, squatting beside her. “I know I have a powerful impact on women, but I’ve never had one faint at the sight of me before.”
He exuded a tiger-like grace as he crouched next to her, his heels barely touching the floor. There was something predatory and dangerous in the way he leaned forward, invading her personal space as if they were intimately acquainted.
“I’m honored to be the first.” Evelyn made no attempt to mask the sarcasm in her voice.
She let her gaze wander to his face, and something thick and wet clamped over her heart. He looked like a painting, with his straight patrician nose, his full lips, and those liquid blue eyes, which at the moment twinkled with an unspoken taunt. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
“I’m Matt Alexander.”
The name rang a bell, but she didn’t place it right away. Then it struck her. No wonder he was so beautiful. He was some famous actor. She’d seen one of his movies once, ages ago. “You were in a car crash.” She remembered reading something about it on the cover of People magazine the other day at the grocery store.
“That’s right.”
Something she’d read about his accident nagged at her, skirting the perimeter of her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. “How awful for you.”
He flashed one of those boyish grins that simply oozed charm. “Not really. I didn’t feel a thing. But being dead does kind of suck.”
Despite the compassion lumping in her throat, she couldn’t suppress a ripple of laughter. “I’m sure it does.” She rose and walked toward the window to stare at the meager sprinkle of snowflakes the overcast sky had finally decided to release. “Tell me, Mr. Alexander—”
“Matt.”
“Matt,” she conceded, “with all the gorgeous starlets you’ve known, what could you possibly want with me?”
“I want to take you out of here,” he said with unfaltering conviction. “For once in your life, Evie, you’re going to kick up your heels and have some fun.”
She turned two stunned, disbelieving eyes his way. “You’re insane.”
“Then, sweetheart, you and I are a match mad
e in heaven.”
Evelyn couldn’t believe she’d let Matt talk her into this. But he’d kept nagging and nagging, refusing to grant her a single moment of peace, until she’d finally agreed to dig out her old skates and allow him to escort her to the skating rink.
“You cross this place every day on your way to work and you’ve never once thought to go ice-skating?” he asked.
She reluctantly laced her skates, anxiety snowballing inside her. She hadn’t skated since she was fifteen. “I’m really not very good at this,” she muttered to the specter beside her, hoping no one noticed her talking to herself. “I’ll just make a complete fool of myself.”
“And what if you do? Take it from someone who knows, foolishness can be very enjoyable.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re invisible.”
He fixed her with a challenging stare. “And you might as well be.”
“Ouch. That wasn’t very nice.” She swung her leg to the ground, burying her blade in the wet snow.
He shrugged. “I’m not a very nice guy.”
Evelyn watched him with a knowing smile. “The gentleman doth insist too much, methinks.”
Matt cocked a brow. “Run that by me again? In English this time.”
She stood on wobbly legs, trying to get accustomed to her skates, wondering who ever had the bright idea to strap knives on a pair of boots. “You’ve never performed a Shakespeare play?”
“Sorry. Hollywood potboilers were always more my thing.”
A couple passed by, giving Evelyn a puzzled stare. She cleared her throat self-consciously. “Just practicing some lines for a play,” she told them.
They forced a smile, but the look they gave her right before they walked away convinced her they thought she was nuttier than a peanut-butter sandwich. Now she understood how poor Ms. Delaney must have felt earlier today. Evelyn swore never to pass judgment on anyone again.
“Stop stalling and get out on that ice,” he commanded.
She sighed. “If I do, will you stop talking?”