by Keta Diablo
Heat traveled up her legs resembling the caress of a lover’s touch. Alert to where this might lead, she blinked and struggled to make the image disappear. "You loved him and enjoyed spending your life with him."
Instead, the impression of him moving closer invaded her senses, his sensuous caresses arousing intimate places. She squirmed and sat up, hoping to push the titillating fantasies from her thoughts.
It’d been so long since she allowed herself such pleasures. Need pooled in her core, and her body rebelled at not having the personal attention of a lover, especially one that possessed the knowledge of how to please her. Fighting the emotions the ghost was sharing, she shifted to the edge. Her heart racing, she fought the hunger clawing through her. Never had she wanted a man so much.
The image flickered. Instead of a complete stranger, Konnor walked toward her.
She bolted off the bed and rushed to him. "Konnor, please, I need...."
The solid wall of his chest under her hand had her mind reeling. She wobbled on her feet in her abrupt attempt to halt her forward momentum.
The man caught her around the waist and held her steady. "Easy there, sweetheart, take a moment and catch your breath."
The sudden change in the masculine voice jolted her back through time and reminded her where she was and with whom. Unfortunately, her body didn’t care that he was different. In fact, something inside her wanted him more now than when she was locked in a ghost’s memory.
Hoping for a moment to recover, she shook her head and buried it against his chest. "I, huh...?"
His arms tightened around her, and he drew her deeper into his embrace. His unique masculine scent assaulted her senses, ending the war between fantasy and reality. Pleasure won.
She floated in a seductive haze and circled his waist with her arms. The smooth glide of his hand over her back reminded her that their clothes still stood as a barrier. She wanted nothing between them.
Shifting further away from him, she stared into his face, noted the slight frown on his brow.
"Why didn’t you answer me when I called your name?" He glanced behind her at the bed. "And what are you doing in here?"
The cold truth washed all remnants of the ghost’s memories from her head. She stiffened and tucked her hands up between them, gaining a few inches. "I’m sorry. I was trying to connect to the ghost that we met down in the dining room the other day."
He tilted his head to one side and continued to examine her. "And did you?"
She dropped her gaze and shoved away from his chest in hopes of breaking out of his embrace. "I did find out a few things."
The small space between them didn’t allow her enough room to breathe. "Why don’t we go downstairs and discuss it?"
A hand cupped her jaw while he kept her from escaping by keeping his other arm securely around her. He lifted her chin until their gaze met. "Were you lying on my bed?"
Unwilling to lie, she nodded. "Yes, I believe the quilt on top might have been your ghost’s. Do you remember where it came from?"
"It was part of the things given to me from my grandmother. As the oldest grandson, I received several personal items and some furniture. This bed frame is only one of the pieces."
Realizing the connection Ruth relaxed and focused on the case. "That explains why the man I saw looked so much like you. He was probably a distant ancestor of yours."
"What man?" His hold squeezed her against the hard line of his body, and his eyes narrowed.
"The one in the ghost’s memory. She was sharing with me, things from her past." The seductive pleasure of being near him fought with her duty as a ghost detective. She met his gaze and worked on an explanation he’d understand. "Remember, I told you I talk to dead people."
After that comment, she expected him to loosen his grip and turn for the door.
He didn’t. Instead, he cupped his hand around the back of her neck and held her head in his palm. "And what exactly was this man doing?"
She stared at him, grappling with how to describe the situation. "I believe she was trying to show me how much she loved him."
"That’s not what I asked." He pulled her up onto her toes and leaned in closer. "You were on my bed while he was where?"
The heat in his gaze told her he’d already surmised what was happening between the spirit and her lover. "I was merely getting intense impressions and sharing the experiences of the ghost. It was—"
"Not the answer to my question." He growled.
She wrapped her hands around his face. The tiny hairs on his cheeks from the day’s growth of his beard rubbed against her palms. "You’re right. I haven’t. Because you won’t understand the connection, I have with the spiritual world. You are imagining me spread across your bed making love to another man."
"Exactly." He hauled her even closer.
"But that’s not what happened." She brushed her fingers through his hair and smiled. "I only receive the emotions, the light impression of a touch. There is no physical connection."
"Then why did you rush into my arms the minute I stepped through the door? You were aroused and said you needed me." He loosened his grip and rubbed her back, stopping short of her shoulder blade before retracing the path to the curve of her waist.
"You’re right. I did, because I was locked in the passionate response the ghost was having to her lover. She loved him with all her heart, and he felt the same. They shared a life together that I can only hope to have." She studied the slight crook in his nose and melted under the intensity of his gaze. He deserved so much better, maybe a girl without the label of crazy on her head.
Following a wild impulse, she dropped a quick kiss on his lips and released him. "When you walked in the room, I wanted to experience that same connection with someone else."
"So you’re saying you would’ve had the same reaction no matter what man stepped inside?" He drew back as if preparing himself for the worst.
She allowed distance to form between them and broke free of his arms. Nevertheless, she needed more space and continued to retreat until she ran into the bed’s foot post. "As much as I want to say you’re right, I can’t. I wanted you."
He stepped forward.
"No," She said and held up her hand to remain detached. "This proves the point I’ve been trying to make. I’m not like the other girls or women you’ve known. I come with a host of baggage. Some that’s not even my own. Though, I have more than enough."
"Right, and you think I have none?" He grinned, and his gaze darted out into the upstairs hallway.
"Other than having a ghost as a resident, you seem pretty normal." Ruth didn’t see anyone, but footsteps sounded on the stairs. Who else was in the house?
"That’s only a small part of it." He held out his hand and directed her into the hallway.
"Konnor, what’s taking you so long?" The female voice had Ruth pressing back against the solid wood post.
"Who’s that?" she whispered.
He stepped through the doorway and waved for someone to join them. "We’re down here, Mom. Ruth was just telling me she believes that my spook might be one of our ancestors."
Stiffening her spine, she fought back the whirlwind of emotions she recently experienced and put on her best detective face. Now was not the time to work out her feelings for Konnor. She needed to answer questions and learn more about the ghost living in this house.
Pasting a smile on her lips, she stepped forward and greeted the tall woman strolling through the bedroom door. Unlike her son, she had blonde hair with streaks of gray and bright blue eyes. "Hello, Mrs. McKee. I’m so glad you came by. I was hoping Konnor might know who the original owner of this bed and quilt were."
"Oh, dear me, you are a tiny thing." The smile on the woman’s lips spoke of her amusement at the situation. She waved at the furnishings as if they held no importance. "All those things were passed down through Ray’s family. I can’t tell you how glad I was to be rid of them."
"Ray?"
"My hu
sband. His relatives are big on keeping furniture and artifacts in the family." She glanced around the room, turned to the door, and walked into the hallway. "Mind you, I was thrilled to have them when Ray and I first married. We didn’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of, so we needed everything we could get our hands on."
"Come on, Ruth. Why don’t we head downstairs so I can introduce you to my father?" Konnor waited for her outside his room and directed her to follow his mother. "It’s lunch time. Mom was nice enough to bring us over a pot of stew. I put it on the stove before I came upstairs."
Unsure how to play this, Ruth did as he instructed. After all, her only reason for being in his house and bedroom was to find a ghost.
Chapter Five
Konnor fought back the irritation he felt at his parents’ sudden visit. He had expected it but had hoped to have things settled with Ruth before they appeared.
The perfect opportunity had materialized only moments ago when he found her in his bedroom. She’d even admitted that she wanted him. Then his mother’s footsteps had sounded on the stairs.
Damn, how was he supposed to secure himself a wife if people were consistently interrupting them?
The light swish of Ruth’s bustle captured his attention. His thought rushed to having her in his arms, and he envisioned the incredible pleasure of having her lying beneath him on his bed.
She walked into the kitchen, and he mirrored her footsteps. The room appeared much smaller with the table pulled out from the wall, providing space for the four of them to have a place to sit.
"Well, hello, Missy." His dad stepped away from the stove where he’d been stirring the soup and held out his hand. "Ray McKee."
"Ruth Olivia Wilson." She slapped her palm against his and greeted him with a handshake.
His dad caught Konnor’s gaze and nodded. "Right pretty little gal, you might want to keep this one."
Konnor opened his mouth but didn’t get a chance to respond.
"I’m not someone you’d enjoy having in your family. Remember, I hunt ghosts for a living." Ruth stepped back and strolled by him on her way to the table.
He captured her hand, drew her to his side, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I agree, Dad. I’ve been trying to sweet talk her into staying since she arrived two days ago, but she keeps giving me the same ghost detective excuses."
"Then she must not know about the witches we have in our family lineage." His dad stepped to the other end of the table and drew out a chair. "Those ladies are most likely behind that ghost running off Wilhelmina. Not that I’m sorry to see the woman go. She just wasn’t right for you, son."
"That’s right." Konnor’s mother turned with a basket of bread and set it next to her husband’s place setting. "You must have forgotten those old stories concerning your father’s ancestors and what they could do with love spells and healing potions."
Surprised by this information, Konnor drew Ruth closer. Did she now have another reason for not wanting to become involved with him? "Wait, what are you folks talking about? I don’t remember hearing of anyone in our family being a witch."
"That’s because it was back in Ireland before we came to America, at least three or four generations ago." His dad waved him to the table. "Help the lady to her seat before the soup gets cold."
Ruth smiled up at him and moved to the chair, which sat closest to the wall. "I agree, after smelling all the food you’ve brought along, my stomach is beginning to rumble."
"Here, son, I’ll dish up the stew, and you can pass them out." His mother lifted a bowl and ladled the thick soup into it before she held it out to him.
"I have to say, Mr. McKee. I’m fascinated by your claim that there were witches in your family." Ruth’s comment had Konnor turning to the table. Was she concerned by this new development? Which was worse, sorcerers or ghosts?
Seeing her beautiful face alight with interest, he wondered if this would put them on equal footing and alleviate the problem between them.
"Not everyone found it fascinating. My mother believed they were the reason behind her being able to predict future events." His dad shifted to allow room for Konnor to set down a bowl.
"She was a seer?" Ruth leaned back in her chair. Her surprise showed in her wide-eyed gaze, and her mouth formed a small round opening. "I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting one."
Pleased by her answer, he returned to his mom and continued handing out the stew. He half-listened to their conversation while his father relayed tales of his mother’s skills. How she’d predicted the first encounter with his wife and the birth of his son, Barton.
Once everyone had a bowl, Konnor dropped into his seat and lifted his spoon. "Thanks, Mom, for digging out the guest silver."
"I thought I’d make the meal more memorable, seeing as you have a special visitor." She paused next to her chair and smiled at Ruth and his father. "But I couldn’t find several pieces. Are you storing them somewhere else?"
Surprised by the comment, he tried to remember the last time he’d handled any of the ornate items. "I used a few when Wilhelmina was here. She may have stored them in the wrong place."
"Or she might not have put them back at all." His father’s observation struck Konnor as odd.
"Why not? Her family has more money than they need. Why would she take them?"
"Just because they’re wealthy, doesn’t mean she is," his dad grumbled and lifted a knowing brow.
"Ray," his mother admonished and scolded him with a light tap on his arm. "You have no proof the girl took them."
"Yes, well, it wouldn’t surprise me if she did." His father turned to Ruth. "I knew the moment I set eyes on her, she was nothing but trouble."
"Ray, stop. You’ll make Ruth think you’re a judgmental, old fool." His mother sent her husband a telling glance, and he grinned.
"Oh, my love, this girl here is smarter than that. Hell, she is a ghost hunter. She knows what’s what and undoubtedly has seen more than we can even imagine." His dad laid a hand on Ruth’s arm. "You’ve traveled through most of this country, right?"
Aw, shit. Konnor suddenly realized the bigger issue standing between them, her job. How could he ask her to give it up? She appeared to enjoy it.
"Yes, I’ve been to both coasts from the Atlantic to the Pacific." She smiled and shared with her father the specific attractions of both.
Konnor’s heart fell to his feet. What should he do now?
* * *
Hours later, Konnor continued to debate with himself the likelihood of convincing her to leave her job and settle down with him here in the middle of nowhere, with no beaches, and only him for company most of the time.
His parents had left after lunch, and he’d gone back to work. Having sent Henry home when he saw their wagon coming down the lane, he now had all the daily chores to finish by himself.
Stepping out of Buttercup’s stall, he latched the door and lifted his hand to stroke the horse’s thick neck. "I think, sweetheart, you have everything you need for the night."
"How can you be so sure?" Ruth’s voice traveled along the length of the barn’s main aisle.
He turned. Dressed in the same fancy dark-green dress she had on earlier, she glided toward him. His thoughts immediately jumped to their encounter in his bedroom. "What are you doing out here? You’ll ruin that pretty dress walking around on this dirt floor. Where’s your coat?"
She smiled, paused next to Buttercup, and offered her hand for the horse to sniff. "I don’t plan to be out here long, and my clothes have to go where I go. Otherwise, I’d never get anything done."
"And searching for ghosts sends you through hills and dales?" He noted the hem didn’t touch the ground, but the dust must stick to the material.
Stroking his horse’s neck, she smiled. "You might be surprised at the places I’ve been."
Jumping at the opportunity she’d given him, he suggested, "You could always give it up and stay here with me."
A light chuckle b
roke from her. She shook her head and replied with a slight Irish accent, "Mr. McKee, you are a persistent man."
He smiled and moved beside her, drawing her away from the distraction of his horse. "You don’t know the half of it. With a sweet gal like you at my side, I might find myself married with a few young laddies playing at my feet."
She giggled.
The musical sound had his heart singing with a hope that she might take him up on his offer. He pulled her into his arms and held her close. "I’m sure we can find plenty of things to keep you busy."
"I’m sure you can. My family had a farm when I was young. There were always chores to do." Sorrow flashed over her face but disappeared just as quickly. "I remember having so much fun until...."
He leaned in closer and captured her gaze. The anguish in the depths of her eyes pulled at his heartstrings. What happened to cause her such grief? "Until?"
She blinked and a forced smile that bent her mouth slightly upwards. "I grew up."
She wrapped her hands around his face and dropped a quick kiss on his lips. "Now, we need to talk."
Somehow, one small taste of her wasn’t enough. "Later," he whispered and dove for another. The sweet nectar of her mouth tempted him. He pressed for more and drew her deeper into his arms.
With a soft sigh, she permitted him into the warm haven. He sampled her unique flavor. Honey with a spicy kick he couldn’t identify, raced across his taste buds. He drank her in, feeding on her mouth until a long forgotten place inside him stirred to life. Memories flashed through his head of loving a woman. How she set his heart racing with her smile, the passion they shared, the life—
Wait, no, that they would share.
He broke their kiss and gasped for air. What had just happened? Yes, he was attracted to Ruth and believed she’d make him a good wife, but this felt like so much more. "Ruth, honey, we need to—"
"Talk," she supplied.
"No," he argued and stared into her face. He spotted the uncertainty in her gaze, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t let her deny what lay between them. "Look, I’m willing to talk. But at the end of the day, we both know we belong together. So just get used to the idea, it’ll make life easier for both of us."