“Rachel…” I give her a tormented groan.
She doesn’t stop. Instead her hips start moving in intoxicating waves like the ocean tide of her song. Is she my sea breeze? Gentle and sweet with an underlying power that can rock me off-axis. Because heaven knows I’m spinning out of control right now.
We tear off my shirt first, and I fling it to the side like discarded seaweed. When she reaches for the buttons on her dress, I grab her wrist.
“May I?” I ask, searching her impatient stare.
She nods, punishing me with another hard shove against my hips where she settles deep. Her hands scale up my chest and lock around my neck until there’s almost no space between us.
Try now. She’s defiant seduction. And damn. Point made. As she explores my neck with her mouth, I work at the buttons on the back of her dress. It’s then that I realize it’s not a dress at all but a nightgown. Conservative, almost old-fashioned in the intricate detail of the lace neckline and hem. Fitting for a ghost or Grave Lady, I suppose.
“You’re the ghost, remember?” she murmurs against me.
“You should probably stay out of my thoughts for a while,” I say.
“Not a chance.”
My blood is pounding out of control now. I pull the fabric down to expose a pale shoulder. So delicate and pure it’s like porcelain reflecting the dim light of my room. I run a finger over her skin, loving the subtle goosebumps that pucker from my touch.
“This okay?” I say, tugging along the edge of the fabric to force it lower. She nods and gasps when the dress falls to her elbow, exposing her. My heart bursts at the perfection before me. She can’t be real.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper to myself and whatever higher power is testing us right now. I can’t stop my fingers from brushing gently down her collarbone and over the soft mound of her breast. It’s a work of art, the purest curve of the most exquisite instrument. My fingers become addicted to the sensation and fall into the pattern of playing a new song.
She’s nearly panting now, and we’ve barely begun. I’m reminded again of the gift she’s offering. How long has she wanted this? How long has she wanted me?
“Can I?” Her cheeks flare pink, and I follow her gaze down my abs to where her hands wait at the zipper of my jeans. I want to laugh, both amused and turned on by her innocence. I’ve run the gamut of sex and still sit here trembling like a virgin. Only a miracle can explain this moment.
I brace my hands on the floor and lift my hips to give her access. Her hands shake as she grasps the waist of my jeans. I don’t dare to speak. This is her moment to direct.
I hiss in a breath but keep my hands planted as she lowers the zipper. What’s underwear to a dead rocker? There’s nothing blocking her view when she frees the clasp. Her eyes… I clench my jaw against the rush. I’ve never seen anything as sexy as her look of wonder. Damn, I need her to touch me.
“I’ve never…” Her gaze lifts to mine, somehow shy and hungry at the same time.
“It’s okay. Whatever you want. There’s no pressure.” Except there is. So much pressure pounding through every vein and capillary within me. My body is pulsating with need. Can she see it? I think she does from the way she reddens and runs her fingers over the coarse hair around my open zipper.
I close my eyes, forcing air into my lungs. Stay still. Don’t scare her. But it’s so fucking hard. I press my knuckles into the floor, concentrating on the pain. It helps—until her fingers tighten around me. Surprised, I barely contain a groan. It leaks out as more of a gasp.
Her eyes snap to mine. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I manage through clenched teeth. “No. Just…” It’s everything I can do to breathe. “This is really hard, Rachel.”
“What? Being touched?”
“Being patient.”
The corner of her mouth lifts in a half-smile that makes it so much worse. “You do want me then?”
“Dying a second time here,” I grit out.
“As much as I want you?”
“Obviously.”
Her hand starts to move again. It must be instinctive and yet… has she really never done this before? My head falls back against the current of her touch.
I never said this was my first time.
Startled, I force my attention back to her. Is it?
Okay, yes, but not in my head. Do you know how many times I’ve done this to you?
Well, damn. Blood rushes in torrents now, directed by her demanding fingers. “Rachel, if you want… I mean… ahh.” I pull in a sharp breath and force myself back off the cloud before it’s too late. She needs to stop.
I gently grip her wrist and hold it, asking with silence what doesn’t seem appropriate with words. Her teeth sink into her lower lip and rest there as she lifts the hem of her gown. Emotion ruptures in my chest at the vision before me. This angel, fully clothed and fully exposed. Wholly mine for no reason I can comprehend. Are those tears pricking my eyes?
She reaches out a strong, perfect finger and brushes the drop of liquid from the corner of my eye. “I love you,” she whispers. “Thank you.” Her lips rest gently on mine, inviting, begging, and I’m right there to meet her—two virgins, one pristine, one salvaged, ready to find completion in each other.
Chapter Fifteen:
Cravings
You’d think ghosts would crave the dark, and maybe I did once, but lately I’ve welcomed the morning light. There’s something about the sun’s battle to push its rays through the window that brings an element of relief. Today, as I watch the effect of dawn on Rachel’s peaceful features, I never want to be without the sun again. She’s too beautiful not to touch, and I can’t stop my hand from brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. Perfection, that’s my view this morning as I prop up on an elbow.
Her eyes flutter open and her lips curve into a content smile. “Milo,” she breathes out.
“Morning, beautiful.” I love the way her face lights up at my greeting.
“I’m still here.”
“Of course you are.”
You still want me.
Always.
She’s too much, and I have to lean in for a kiss. It was supposed to be a sweet moment. I had every intention of playing the gentleman, but when her hand reaches into my hair to trap me against her, there’s nothing genteel about my reaction. Soon I’m braced over her, doing nothing to hide how much I want to repeat last night’s celestial union. A melodic gasp rushes from her lips, igniting the sparks in my body to full-on flames. They rip through me as we kiss, forcing us together and apart at a compulsive rhythm. Just the right angle, just the right speed when her hips beg mine for relief as I shift her gown up.
“You’re still naked,” she whispers.
“Yeah, sorry.” I’m not really.
Neither am I.
She proves it by running her hands down my back and gripping my ass. Her eyes start to glaze with pleasure as I move, her hold transforming into a steering maneuver.
Is this okay?
Shut up, Milo! Just…
“Ahh!” she gasps out.
I almost laugh, but get distracted by the magic her face becomes when she releases, and I let myself finish as well.
“You…” Her voice trails off. As if she could be even more perfect.
“You were saying?” I tease, balancing over her with a grin.
She scrunches her face into a glare that might just be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Never mind. I can see your ego doesn’t need any more encouragement,” she says.
This time I do laugh as I push off to fall beside her. With both of us staring at the ceiling, I take her hand and bring it to my lips. I’m not sure how long I hold it there, but it will never be long enough.
“What’s one thing you never did that you wish you’d done in life?” she asks.
Surprised, I glance over and find her expression serious.
“Wow. Right there first thing, huh?”
/> “Not first thing.”
My smile fades as I consider her question. “I guess… I don’t know. That’s a very broad question.” Mostly I wish I hadn’t done things.
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t mean that. This isn’t about regrets. It’s about reflection.”
“Okay, well, I guess I wish I had made a true friend. To experience unconditional love, you know?”
I feel her sharp look, but don’t meet it.
“You never had a friend?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Mostly I used or was used by others. I can’t think of a single person who loved or even knew, me.”
Her shudder snakes down her arm and into mine. “That’s so sad, Milo. I’m sorry.” Tears glisten in her eyes when I brave a look over.
“I didn’t deserve any different.”
She bites her lip and searches my eyes. “Of course you did. Everyone does. I think your life would have been very different if someone had loved you like we’re supposed to be loved.”
I blink and look away. “Maybe one person did.”
“Mrs. Simpson?”
A knot forms in my stomach. “Anyway, what about you? You still have time. What haven’t you done yet that you want to do?”
Her eyes don’t leave my face at first. I feel the hard stare as she considers whether or not to let me off the hook. Thank god, she finally does. She sighs and squints back up at the ceiling.
“Hmm, that’s hard. Besides play music?”
“Yes, besides that.”
“Maybe dance?”
My gaze snaps back to her. “You’ve never danced?”
She blushes and shakes her head. “Not for real. I mean, not with a boy anyway.”
“That’s just…” I grunt and push myself up. “Not right. Come on.” Grabbing my jeans, I pull them on as she watches from the blankets. When she makes no move to rise, I hold out my hand. “Are you coming or what?”
Her eyes grow bigger. “Wait, right now?”
“Yes, right now. Come on.” I reach for her hands and start to pull. She giggles as I yank her up and catch her against me.
“We can’t just dance!”
I laugh at her horrified look. “Why not?”
“Because! Um…” She scans the basement. “There’s no music for one.”
“No music, huh.” I take her hand and pull her through the door to our dirt dance floor.
“Milo! Stop.” Her laugh could be music enough, but I can do better.
“Yeah, no.” I place one of her hands on my shoulder and grasp the other in mine.
“I don’t even know how!”
“What’s there to know? You just move with me. Like this.”
I start swaying, gently at first, to the song in my head. It’s one of the few ballads I wrote on a rare night when things didn’t seem so bad. That was the night I held an ounce of hope my life could get better. After all, I was going to meet Sinclair The Gatekeeper who would change my fortunes the next day.
I start to sing.
Moonlight so bright in the halls of my head
What’s darkness to a boy of the night
Stars sing, galaxies ring their echo off the walls
Louder still until the melody of night blasts full into day
Here comes the song of angels’ wings, beckoning the silence to bend
Hope springs, when daylight brings an end to the raucous chorus.
What’s darkness to a child of light who’s never known the sun
It’s the halls of his head, where ghosts pretend
He’s asleep
Listening, waiting for the light
My shoulder is wet when I come back from the song. Rachel’s head is tucked against me, her tears slipping down my chest. I lower my cheek to the top of her hair and wrap her in my arms.
We’re barely moving anymore so maybe it’s strange when I say, “This is dancing. What do you think?”
Her arms tighten around my back, her head pressed against me until we’re a single body rocking in the early morning rays. “It’s incredible, Milo. Thank you.”
Emotion lodges in my throat as I hold her, considering what-ifs I have no right to think. “I want everything for you, Rachel. I can’t give you much, but I promise, I’ll give you everything I am.”
Rachel disappears shortly after our dance. I don’t think either of us wanted her to go, so I’m not sure I understand this dynamic. It’s quiet without her. Cold and lonely. I’m back on my blankets, sketching away the minutes that drag into hours.
I’m drawing roses now, I guess. A smirk spreads over my lips as I stare down at the simple vase overflowing with flowers. The intricate shading makes it appear that the light source is directly behind it. From a window maybe? Yes, there needs to be a window so my Rose can watch her own bouquet glisten in the sunlight. Her window won’t be like mine, though. It will be huge and clear to accept every ray. Even the moon will penetrate this one and share its light with her sleeping form.
I let myself picture it, closing my eyes so I can fully immerse myself in the image. With only a shaggy blue rug and a vase of roses to guide me, my mind is free to sculpt the rest as it sees fit. She’s sleeping in my scene, her features smooth and pale with a slight blush of serenity. Dark lashes rest against her cheeks, her lips a deep red and slightly turned up as she dreams of me. I smile at that.
The silky skin of her arms reflects the moonlight as they lie tucked against her chest in a comforting embrace. A quilt drapes over her waist and down to the end of the bed. Ivory, with an intricate gossamer overlay, the spread could easily substitute as a dress for royalty. The bed itself is a masterpiece of delicate metal-work. Almost Celtic in its design, there’s an elemental wonder to the way small arches and lines weave in and around each other. This bed belongs in a forest, resting on soft mossy earth while sheltered in Spanish moss that hangs low from the branches above. Apparently, she’s a fairy princess in my story, which makes me snicker. Hilarious since I’m the ghost.
She stirs beneath my gaze, just enough for me to hope she’ll return, but no. After a soft sigh, she’s back in slumber.
I move on from the bed to design the floor. She said her room was small, but not in this version. Here the floor is an expansive ocean of marble, worthy of any imperial foyer. Or dance floor? Yes, it’s for dancing. Right there beside the plush crystal-blue rug is the perfect opening for two souls to connect in the moonlight. I get lost there for a while, imagining our silhouettes entwined and rocking slowly to a song.
What else? An armoire, yes—in the same fairy-chic design as the bed, along with a matching vanity. I place a vase of roses on all of those surfaces as well. No wonder she smells like roses, her room is a garden. Wait…
I pull myself back to the present. Back to a dingy basement with not-enough light and too much rot, and flip the page of my notebook. She shouldn’t be sleeping. No, she needs to be dancing in a garden, singing that haunting melody she doesn’t remember but I can’t get out of my head. My hand starts moving again, framing the page with trellises and waterfalls of roses. I’m so engrossed in the new image, I don’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late.
“Flower art? This what you do all day down here, golden boy?”
I look up, stiffening at the intruder. “What do you want, Roy?” Snapping my notebook shut, I straighten to a more defendable position.
“Some information.”
“About?” I add when he seems in no hurry to leave me the hell alone.
“I would think that’s obvious.”
“Clearly not.” He steps into the doorway, and I’m on my feet. “Stay out of my room.”
“Oh sorry,” he mocks, holding up his hands. “Didn’t realize the artist’s shrine was so holy.”
“I’m serious, Roy. What the fuck do you want?”
His gaze slices through the small space between us. “What I want—no, scratch that. What we all want is to know why the hell two members of this house a
re gone after being down in this shithole with you.”
Blood pounds in my ears as I soak in the accusation. Contorted in provocation, his face is the picture of what I want smashed on the end of my fist right now. Only the painful memories of the last time I lost control keeps it clenched at my side. “I don’t know much more than you,” I lie. “They moved on.” Adding a shrug, I make it clear he’s not getting more than that.
He must be stupid or suicidal when he takes yet another step into my domain. “You’re going to have to do better than that, pretty boy.” His thick arms cross over his chest as if I’d be intimidated by that. If anything, the glare on my face slides into a smirk.
“Well, you’re going to have to accept it because that’s all I’ve got.”
These fists of mine. I swear they have a spirit of their own as they tighten and prepare for action. Roy’s gaze flickers to them as well, and did he just lick his lips? Shit, he didn’t even come down here for answers, did he? I guess this is happening whether I want it or not, so I’m sure as hell going to want it.
I brace to my full height, a good two inches taller than Roy, and wait for the signal.
Milo, don’t! He’s not worth it.
My chest deflates, my gaze focusing past the enemy for a glimpse of her. She’s positioned by the boiler, eyes pleading. Somehow my fists seem intent on resisting.
“If you’re finished, the stairs are over there. I’m busy right now,” I add, just to be a dick. He deserves far worse and is lucky Rachel showed up when she did.
It’s not luck.
Maybe my lips curve up at that.
“Something funny, pretty boy?” Roy barks, again moving in the wrong direction.
“You know, I’m starting to think you have a crush on me. Calling me ‘pretty boy,’ all these unexpected visits and flirting…”
Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story Page 10