Incorporeal Page 2

  Sara hadn’t approached an agent or a publisher in months. After two years of failed queries, she’d pretty much given up hope that someone would bother to read a single sentence of her work, let alone take her seriously as a writer.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Now’s your chance, don’t blow it.

  Chapter Two

  Sara pulled her car into the garage. As she climbed out of the driver’s seat, her eyes were drawn to the last rays of the setting sun. Scattered clouds reflected gold and peach in a sky the color of a rich Maxfield Parrish blue. Entranced, she stood still and watched.

  Sara sighed. Sometimes a sunset is perfection.

  When the last lingering glow faded from the sky, she turned to shut the garage door. As she approached the front porch, a light blinked on in the house. Damn ghost. She noticed he’d been experimenting with his weird powers lately, trying to see how much his incorporeal self could get away with. He had Sara a little worried. It was one thing to hang out with a talking ghost, but a ghost who could actually do stuff? That was a horse of a different color. He did enough stuff to her in her dreams, knee-weakening stuff, tingly all over stuff.

  Sara braced herself for the coming encounter. She wanted to enjoy a nice long bath, have a quick bite to eat, edit a few chapters in her new work and get to bed early. Weekends would be as perfect as that sunset if it wasn’t for the Mondays that followed them.

  Sara unlocked the front door and turned the knob. Before she could take a step, it swung wide open and she nearly fell flat on her face.

  “Hey, ghost, knock it off,” Sara grumbled. Regaining her balance, she shut the door behind her. “Turning on a light is bad enough, but now you can open doors? Keep this up and I’m banishing you to the tool shed.”

  “A gentleman always opens a door for a lady.”

  “Oh yeah? Wherever did you get the idea you’re a gentleman?” Sara looked around, trying to locate him.

  Apparently he decided to ignore her insult. “I’m right beside you.”

  “Do you mean that literally?”

  “Yes.”

  Sara glanced to the right. He was nothing more than a faint glow. She walked past him, avoiding any hint of contact or interest. As if we can actually make contact.

  Tossing her purse onto the coffee table, she turned to face him, or the middle of the room, or whichever came first. “Listen, Mr. No-Name Ghost, this situation is becoming untenable. You really need to move on.”

  “I’ve already told you, I can’t.”

  “Why? Why can’t you move on? I don’t understand.” There was no reply. “Look, I know your situation is different. You haven’t made a request of me, you haven’t rambled on about unfinished business. You haven’t asked me for a single thing.”

  “Except that you go to sleep at night. That’s all I ask.”

  “Yeah.” Sara was angry now. “So you can invade my dreams and take…”

  “Take what, Sara?”

  She blushed. Goddamn it, she blushed. “Take what you want. I’m asleep, for Christ’s sake. I can’t give consent.”

  “Yes you can.”

  “No I can’t.” She stomped her foot. “I can’t give consent when I’m unconscious. I oughta have you arrested.”

  “By whom? The ghost police?” He laughed at her. “You’re not fooling anyone, woman; you not only give me consent, you welcome me with open arms. You love what I do to you in your dreams. You come alive in my arms.”

  “Hah.” Sara snorted. “In your dead dream ghost arms? Not much in the way of substance.”

  He growled low in his throat, and Sara’s legs trembled, but not with fear. She was filled with a sudden desire to actually feel what the man was made of, the real man. Next thing she knew, the air whooshed out of her lungs and down she went, onto her backside on the couch.

  Sara lifted her head and sucked in a breath. “How did you, how did you do that? You can’t. It’s not possible. That’s the second time you’ve shoved me today.”

  “Practice.”

  “P-p-practice? You’ve practiced throwing me around?”

  “Not you. Now go, get out of my sight. I know you want a bath and I’m too angry to even peek.”

  “Peek?” Sara squeaked out the word. “You’ve been peeking?”

  Nothing.

  “Hey, you ghost, don’t you dare disappear on me!”

  Still nothing. Sara closed her eyes and reached out with every sense she possessed. She knew he’d vanished again. With groan of exasperation, Sara rose from the couch, wondering how he’d knocked her backwards and why he needed to practice.

  Well, at least I’ll get to take my bath without prying eyes. All of a sudden, Sara wasn’t so sure she didn’t want his prying eyes. She had to admit she found it arousing, the thought that he might watch her bathe.

  Since he’d appeared in her home, her dreams had become increasingly sexual; hot, sensuous, and truth be told, loving. Somehow he managed to touch her in ways she’d never been touched before. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside her chest and heal her heart. She felt like he saw the real her.

  How weird.

  The very first time she’d heard his voice, she’d stopped feeling so alone.

  I don’t even know what he looks like. I mean, not really. I’ve seen parts of him. Sara couldn’t hold back a grin at the memory of the parts she’d seen.

  I’ve seen his eyes, his lips, his body, but never all at once. He’s kind of fragmented in my dreams. Whatever it is he’s doing, whatever I’m doing to him, that’s what I see. Sometimes I’m aware of his eyes gazing into mine. His are blue, I think. Yes, blue, I’m sure of it, because I do dream in color.

  If he’s kissing me, I see his mouth. His lips are full and soft and warm. Sara sighed. His body is hard and demanding. God, he’s so ripped. And the rest of him…yum. Sara shivered. Go, Sara, take your bath while your legs will still carry you up the stairs. Hmm, maybe I should take an ice bath instead of a hot bath.

  Sara trotted up the stairs and started the water running. She could always… No, she couldn’t. Could she? Despite his claim to the contrary, he might be nearby. Getting naked was enough of a risk, although Sara had to admit, there was a certain appealing kinkiness about the knowledge that her ghost might watch. The very idea was as delicious as it was naughty.

  I’m not an exhibitionist. At least I wasn’t an exhibitionist two months ago.

  ***

  Nathan paced outside the closed bathroom door. He heard Sara splashing in the tub. Damn, he wanted to be in there with her, but he’d promised her some privacy. What he wouldn’t give to possess a body so he could touch her anytime he wanted to, not just when he entered her dreams.

  He’d been working hard, focusing all his energies on the few powers remaining to him. Nathan knew this was his penance, his one chance for redemption, this guardianship of the woman. He had to be ready to protect her, although he had no idea yet what he’d be protecting her from, or even how much time he had to prepare. He only knew there would come a moment when he’d have to appear in the flesh, but so far, he’d been unable to manage anything more than opening a door and flipping a light switch, until today. He’d shoved her backwards twice, once to avoid the scalding water from her tea kettle, and once onto the couch. It wasn’t something he’d planned in advance. Certainly manhandling the woman was the last thing Nathan intended.

  So now he paced, trying to understand exactly how he’d moved her. He’d acted without a second thought. Perhaps that was the answer, not thinking rather than thinking.

  Or maybe the answer lay with Sara. It seemed the more she riled him up, the more she aroused him, the stronger he grew and the more corporeal he became.

  To Nathan’s surprise, from the moment he arrived, she’d tempted him. Many generations had passed since he’d been in the flesh, but he still remembered how it felt to be a man. The act of joining with a woman wasn’t something easily forgotten.

  Even a dead
man remembers the scent of a woman.

  Twenty years before, Nathan had sulked, alone in his self-imposed purgatory, when a Guardian had approached him. A spirit lingered in an in-between state, refusing to move on, begging for an escort back to the world of the living. He’d left behind a young daughter and he feared for her well-being.

  It didn’t take the Guardian much time to convince Nathan to offer his services. Over the passing centuries, he’d grown weary of limbo. The thought of doing something, anything, appealed to him. Over the next two decades, he guided Sara’s father back to the land of the living a number of times.

  Nathan had kept his distance, playing the role of escort only. He’d encountered Sara’s mother and witnessed her interact with her daughter on several occasions. Once would have been more than enough. Sara’s mother, Edith Wise, was not a pleasant woman.

  This time Nathan’s journey wasn’t at the behest of Sara’s father. Nathan had come for reasons of his own. He’d had enough of exile. It was time to rejoin either the living or the dead. Everything depended upon the outcome of this assignment. Protecting the woman was his penance. If he succeeded, he would have paid his debt, and he could finally rest in peace.

  Centuries before, the youngest son of a prosperous family, Nathan had lived a full and pleasurable life, but he’d failed in his duty to those depending upon him. He’d been drunk on fine wine, a guest of one of the royal princes in Castile, while his people died at the hands of the Inquisitors.

  Exiled shortly afterward from the land of his birth, guilt and shame had eaten him alive. He’d died in a filthy alley in London, unrecognized, unremarked, mourned by no one. At least he assumed he’d died. His memories of London were vague and blurred by a haze of cheap wine.

  After he’d crossed over, he kept himself apart from the others, isolated, in the dark, unwilling to join the other souls who ascended to heaven or were reborn on Earth.

  When Nathan assumed guardianship of Sara, he had only a vague notion of her skill as a sensitive. He didn’t know the details of her gifts. Her unusual perceptive abilities made his role as guardian harder in some ways. She could actively resist his attempts to intervene in her life. In other ways, it made his guardianship much more attractive. Her sensitive nature meant he could interact with her, especially in her dreams.

  Fuck. What a solid, expressive English word, fuck. Nathan stopped pacing. Those dreams of hers would thaw a man made of ice, or raise the dead. She’d certainly gotten a rise out of him. He leaned against the bathroom door.

  It’s strange that I can lean against a wooden door and it seems solid and real, and it is, but my act of leaning against it is all in my mind, my incorporeal mind.

  A soft moan came from beyond the closed door. It was little more than a thread, but Nathan possessed excellent hearing. He rose to his full height and turned an ear toward the bathroom. One more smothered feminine whisper, and he dove through the door, materializing on the other side.

  “Waaaaaaa!” Sara shrieked and stood up in the tub, water streaming down her beautiful naked body. She stared right at him, her mouth open in surprise. “I can see you,” she yelped.

  “And I can see you.” He allowed his eyes to roam over her, up and down, lingering on each and every one of her curves. “What were you doing?”

  Breathing rapidly, she stuttered, “I was, I was… None of your damn business, you ghost! Christ!” She grabbed for a nearby towel, but dropped it into the tub. “Get out.” Sara looked into his face as she fished for the drowned towel. “Get. Out. Now.”

  Nathan shook his head. He wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. She could see him. He had to know if she could feel him as well. Nathan started toward her, fully expecting her to duck or back away despite the close quarters, but she stood as if frozen, still staring into his eyes.

  Except for her arm; Sara reached an arm in his direction. Whether she moved to fend him off or touch him, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

  Nathan grabbed for her, for her extended arm. His hand slid clean through her, as if he didn’t exist, as if he still didn’t exist. Sara jerked her arm sideways, yet she returned it to its previous position, extending her arm once more in his direction. He tried to touch her again, and again, he failed.

  At last Sara shook herself like a wet dog. She let her arm fall to her side. “I can feel you,” she whispered. “Cold, you feel cold.”

  “I can’t feel you,” Nathan growled. “Dry off. You’re shivering.”

  His god was a cruel taskmaster. He’d drifted through so many centuries, isolated, deprived of even the simplest act of kindness, the most fleeting touch. Sara was a beautiful sight, a living, breathing, feisty, fiery red-headed angel, and he couldn’t have any of her.

  Furious and frustrated, Nathan vanished from her sight with a howl that would wake the dead. He would sulk until she fell asleep. Her dreams would assuage some of his hunger, but those encounters were not the real thing. Sara’s dreams were nothing more than midnight reflections of what he really wanted from her.

  ***

  Because her legs shook, Sara took her time, careful not to slip and fall as she climbed out of the tub. With trembling hands, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a dry towel, wrapping herself in its relative warmth. She felt so cold; his touch had been so unearthly cold.

  What the hell was that? How did he do that, appear as if he’s made of flesh and blood; as if he’s a real man, and I mean a real man? Oh my god, what am I going to do? He can’t stay here. I can’t stay here. This is more than a routine haunting. One of us has to go, and this is my house.

  As Sara dried off, she wondered why he’d burst through the door, literally through the door. Cheeks flaming, she realized he must have heard her, but he didn’t seem aroused, at least not until he got a good look at her.

  He looked like a warrior, a guardian or something, threatening, dangerous, but not to me.

  It was almost as if he expected a battle, like he thought he’d have to defend her from someone, or something. The instant she’d seen him, she’d flashed on the face of an avenging angel she’d dreamed of as a child. How weird. Once he’d realized she was all right, his face changed. The fury, the taut readiness vanished, but he still looked, how? Alight with some sort of inner fire?

  If anyone asked her to describe the expression on his face, oh my god. Sara’s cheeks burned, she’d be forced to admit he looked like he wanted to eat her alive.

  Yes, that was it; he looked as if he could eat her for dinner, dessert, the cheese course, still have room for seconds and maybe even brunch tomorrow. If her body’s response was any indication, she’d dig right in with him.

  Water dripped from her long hair and ran down her back, raising goose bumps. Sara stood still, gripping the towel with clenched fists. Things were getting out of hand. For the first month or so, he’d seemed like nothing more than the typical ghost, maybe a little stickier than most, a little more vocal, but not too exceptional. Sara had appreciated the fact that when he showed up, for whatever reason, everyone else vanished.

  A couple weeks passed before she’d put two and two together and figured out that he and the man in her dreams were one and the same, but like any normal person she assumed she’d been fantasizing. And then he’d said something about it. He’d said, or rather he’d purred in that low, smoky voice of his, “I enjoyed you last night.”

  She knew exactly what he meant because, oh my god, she’d enjoyed him too. She’d enjoyed him so much that in her dreams she’d given herself to him without reservation, repeatedly.

  What kind of woman has ghost sex? You’re a freak, Sara, a total freak. Oh yeah? Well how many flesh and blood men want to hang out with a woman who talks to ghosts, or as far as they are concerned, talks to herself all the damn time? Look around, girl. Do you see any real men lining up? When was the last time you had a date?

  Maybe ghost sex is as good as it gets. As good as it gets? Be honest. You’ve got to admit it’s been pretty amazing, pretty�
�� Sara sighed… amazing. And because of your dreams, you’ve been inspired to weave quite a tale about him. He seems to be a very romantic, lonely figure, and if his clothes are any indication, he’s been dead for several centuries.

  Oh my god, I know what he looks like.

  Sara wrapped another towel around her hair and left the bathroom. She didn’t bother to listen for him. After witnessing his frustration, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d vanished, at least for the time being. She wanted to get to her computer and her latest work in progress.

  Now I can describe him, from the appealing cowlick in his thick, dark brown hair to the toes of his well-worn black leather boots. He’s stepped straight off the cover of a romance novel and into my dreams.

  She grinned. He even rushed right into my bathroom while I was in the midst of fantasizing about him.

  Sara pulled on her bathrobe and plopped down on the bed. After tucking a pillow behind her back, she flipped open her laptop and went to work. It wasn’t until a ringing phone disturbed her that she realized how long she’d been writing. A glance at the clock told her it was after midnight.

  Who the hell is calling me this time of night?

  She set everything aside and got out of bed. Her phone was across the room.

  “Geri, why are you calling so late?

  “Yeah, but…

  “Geri, take a deep breath and slow down. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.

  “But…

  “But…

  “What do you mean she wants three dozen roses sent to her hotel room?

  “And I’m supposed to pay…?

  “Wait, what did you say?

  “Oysters? Raw oysters and Tattinger? What the…?

  “No, Geri, I can’t, that’s expensive.

  “But that’s impossible. I can’t make it from the airport to Saratoga and then up to San Rafael and then back to San Francisco in the space of three hours, that’s just not…