Читать книгу Ghost for Sale - Sandra Cox - Страница 8

The scent of tart limes and cinnamon assailed me. I opened my mouth to scream so loud Clayton would hear me a mile away, which he probably was by now. Nothing came out but a dry croak.

The apparition stood in my kitchen as if he belonged there, tall, his coal black hair with a tint of blue sheen to it. He looked at me from stormy gray eyes that had a trace of devilment in them, partly hidden by bewilderment. The black suit jacket he wore came nearly to his knees. Beneath it, a beautiful silk, cream-colored vest covered a white shirt with a stiff standup collar.

“You can see me?” His storm-flecked eyes widened.

“Wh...” The spit dried in my mouth. I swallowed and tried again. “Who are you?” It came out a croak, but it came out.

“Your roommate’s ghost.” He grinned.

My knees buckled. Rear hit wood with a thump as I sat down on a kitchen chair. “Umm.” I rubbed my posterior.

“I can’t believe you can see me,” he marveled.

“Yeah, me either.” My heart banged in my ears. My clammy hands trembled. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

“Liam O’Reilly. And you are Caitlin?”

“Yes.” I tried to get my breath under control before I hyperventilated. “What are you doing here?” I gripped the table and scooted my chair under it, so that the table rested between us. The muscles in my neck rigid, I concentrated on the pristine white ruffled curtains that framed the window and counted to ten before I glanced back. He was still there.

The ghost looked around the room and appeared as bemused as I. He glanced at my top, then quickly averted his gaze. I’d thrown on a black, cross-front bra tank-top over tan shorts. I watched in fascination as red stained his throat. It flooded his face and replaced the translucent honey-colored tan. His old-fashioned attire made my outfit look skimpy. I cleared my throat. “Um, what year are you from?”

“I died in October of 1866 in Ruby Falls, Virginia.”

That accounted for the clothes.

“Now if I might ask you, what year is it?” He took a restless turn around the room.

“2015.”

“Sweet Jesus,” he breathed. “I beg your pardon.”

“For what?” My brain, like my legs, had gone weak.

“For blaspheming.” He rocked on his heels and added under his breath, “Just my luck I’d end up in a high-toned brothel after my death.” He shook his head, his glance regretful.

Brothel? “Excuse me?”

“Isn’t this a brothel?” He waved his hand around to encompass the room. “Of course, I’ve never been in the kitchen of a bordello, but I imagine they have them. This is the kitchen, isn’t it?” He looked at the shiny stove, the spotless counters, and the black and white ceramic floor.

“Yes, it is. Why would you call this a brothel?” My knees unlocked, and I sagged deeper into my chair, more fascinated than frightened, everything surreal. I couldn’t possibly be carrying on a conversation with a ghost. No doubt, I was in the middle of a dream, but I’d hate to see it end. Marcy’s ghost intrigued me. For a man well over a hundred years old, he was a major hottie. The HDM paled in comparison.

“Well, you don’t object to my language, you wear next to nothing, and you were in a very torrid embrace with that man who visited you a little while ago. Though to be fair, you did turn him down, and no coin changed hands.”

No coin changed hands. Good one. “Times have changed.” If this was a dream, it was the best one I’d had in ages, if I didn’t count the sex dreams.

“Then I shouldn’t be addressing you so informally, Miss…?” He arched an eyebrow, waiting.

“King. But Caitlin is just fine.”

“Miss King.” He gave an abbreviated bow. “I must say, your outfits are scantier than any bordello I’ve been to.”

“And have you been to many bordellos, Liam? Or should I say, Mr. O’Reilly?” My insides warmed. I shifted toward the ghost, gave him a long look and my best sultry smile. Good Lord. Was I flirting with Marcy’s ghost? Yes, it appeared I was.

“I’m nineteen, a man full grown. Of course I’ve been to brothels. But whatever era I’m in, this isn’t a fit topic to discuss with a lady.” Once again, his gaze drifted over my attire, or at least what he could see of it from across the table, his expression dubious.

“You’re having a problem with my outfit, aren’t you?”

“No problem at all. I like it very much.” His lips tipped upward. His gray eyes sparkled like the sun on the ocean.

“You just don’t think a lady would wear it.” My throat tickled, and the muscles in my mouth twitched.

“Not in my time.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Though now I think of it, a grown man wouldn’t go outdoors in short pants either.”

That one took me a moment. I remembered the khaki short’s Clayton was wearing and burst out laughing. “What a dream.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until he nodded.

“I feel the same way. Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Be my guest.” I motioned to the chair across the table. It glided smoothly out from the table, and Liam drifted into it.

“Caitlin, who are you talking to?”

I jumped. Liam hopped out of the chair and stared at me wildly. Then he turned and bowed to Marcy. “Good evening.”

“You must not have heard me come in.” She walked to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of water, and looked around. “You’re talking to yourself again, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you…” My brain turned to mush. I flapped my arm wildly in Liam’s direction.

Marcy stared at my flailing arm in bewilderment. Liam looked back and forth between us, lifted his palms, and raised his eyebrows.

I regained my voice and my cognitive powers. I was having a breakdown. “What are you doing home so early?”

“Clayton claimed you thought you saw an intruder. I came home to check on you.” She pulled out the chair Liam had vacated and plopped down.

“That was sweet of you.”

“He shouldn’t have left you alone. You need to find someone else. He slipped out the door with that Hathaway slut.” She screwed up her nose as if she’d smelled something distasteful.

“We aren’t an item.”

Liam stood with his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

What was he thinking?

“Why do you keep staring over my shoulder?” Marcy twisted to look behind her before she shifted back toward me.

“Sorry.”

“So why did you think someone was in the house?” She set down the bottle and leaned toward me.

“Must have been all that talk of ghosts.” I bit my lips together to hold back the hysterical giggle lodged in my throat.

Marcy looked around, then whispered. “Do you think it was the ghost?”

My nerves jumped. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say or why I was so hesitant to tell her the truth. She would have believed me. “Who knows,” was all I could manage.

Liam looked relieved. Then his eyes crossed as Marcy’s breasts lifted when she stretched her arms over her head. She glanced at her watch. “It’s barely nine o’clock. Let’s go to Jimmy’s.”

I looked at my ghost…er, Marcy’s ghost. Would Liam O’Reilly be able to go? I couldn’t wait to see his reaction to Jimmy’s. “Sure, why not.”

Marcy did a quick glance at my shorts and tank top. “Better throw on some jeans. The temp has dropped.”

“Good idea. I’m going to do that now.”

When I reached the bedroom, I unsnapped my shorts, thought better of it, and spun around. Sure enough, Liam leaned against the wall, his ankles and arms crossed. “Get out! I’m getting ready to change clothes. And don’t go in Marcy’s room either.”

He grinned and gave me an appreciative once-over before he disappeared through the wall. Not so much as a ripple marred the smooth surface where he’d just vanished.

This couldn’t be real. I’d just ordered a ghost out of my bedroom. I pulled my hair. Ouch. I was awake. And even though I had vivid dreams, I doubted if they included the scent of cinnamon and limes that lingered in the room.

I shook off my unease and threw on jeans and a pink tee, then shrugged into a pink and black plaid jacket and headed out to wait for Marcy. Wonder of wonders, she was ready.

We walked out, Liam at our side. When we got in the car, he balked. Unobtrusively as possible, I motioned for him to get in. He shook his head. As Marcy started the engine, I opened the door. “Just a minute. I forgot my debit card.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward and fiddled with the radio.

I jumped out of the car and jerked my head in the direction of the sidewalk. Liam followed me as I trotted back into the house.

“Where’s the buggy?” he demanded, his arms crossed, chin jutted.

I desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, to confirm I wasn’t hallucinating. Instead, I said as calmly as I could, “We don’t ride in buggies. We drive automobiles. Come on. It’ll be fun. You’re a guy. You’ll like it once you get used to it.”

I was trying to talk a ghost into a car. What was wrong with this picture? I gave myself a mental head slap. On the other hand, on the off chance I was hallucinating, I might as well go ahead and enjoy myself.

“All right, all right,” he grumbled as we walked to the convertible. I got in the passenger side and slid into soft leather. Feet planted on the driveway, Liam glared at me. I made a motioning gesture with my hand.

“What are you doing?” Marcy twisted toward me, a puzzled frown on her face.

“Fanning myself. It’s not nearly as cool as you said it was.” I flapped my hand back and forth in front of my face.

“You’re acting strange tonight,” Marcy remarked as she fastened her seat belt.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“For one thing, the way you’ve been flapping your arms around like a deranged chicken. Never mind. Clayton has that effect.”

Liam hadn’t moved. I twitched my head to the left. Finally, he shrugged, put his hand on the side of the car, and leaped into the back seat of the convertible.

Marcy barreled out of the drive and tore down the lane.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.” The words were a whisper on the wind.

I squelched a giggle, and Marcy threw me a perplexed look.

When her attention turned back to the road, I threw a quick glance at Liam. His jaw was clenched, and his fingers dug into the leather upholstery. He looked white as a ghost. The mental analogy hit me and I laughed.

“Did you break into Daddy’s liquor cabinet?” Marcy demanded. She cut me a look before she turned her attention back to traffic. A jeep drew alongside. The good-looking guy in the passenger seat winked at Marcy before the sport utility vehicle zipped around and cut in front of her. For a moment, she lost her train of thought, but not for long. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you bribe Lulu to bring you a bottle of Daddy’s finest?”

“No! I haven’t touched a drop. I haven’t broken into Uncle Leon’s liquor cabinet. And I haven’t coerced Lulu to do so either.” I huffed and flopped back against the seat.

Lulu was my aunt and uncle’s long suffering, but well-paid, housekeeper who now had the extra duty of cleaning up after us. Marcy’s parents had allowed us to move into their guesthouse until college started in the fall. No way would I screw up that arrangement by taking further advantage of their generosity.

“Hope you haven’t been smoking anything. Mommy and Daddy would have a cow.” Marcy pulled up to the stoplight and waited for the light to turn green.

“You know I never use drugs You’ve said yourself I’m so straight arrow I’m boring.”

“No, what I said was it wouldn’t hurt you to loosen up occasionally.”

Heat burned my cheeks. No way was I discussing this in front of a ghostly stranger. I lapsed into silence before pulling my compact out of my purse and angling it where I could see Liam. Our eyes met. A sizzle of attraction jolted me right down to my sandal-shod toes.

I leaned my head against the headrest and closed my eyes, breaking contact. The whole situation was bizarre. My cousin had bought a ghost off eBay, and I was attracted to him. Whether he was real or a figment of my imagination, I was drawn to him.

Then again, what red-blooded girl wouldn’t be? Even one who up to this point hadn’t been tempted to do the mattress-mambo with any guy.

His thick hair hung nearly to his shoulders. His cheeks were high-boned and his nose hawk-like. Perfectly kissable lips. Not too thick. Not too thin. Yummy.

Before I could continue my inventory, Marcy broke in on my thoughts. “We’re here.”

I opened my eyes. With typical VanLier luck, Marcy had found a parking spot right in front of Jimmy’s.

“I’d give my black and tan stilettos, and throw in my orange polka dot sandals if I could parallel park half as well as you do.” The nose of the Corvette was a mere six inches from the bumper of the car in front of us.

“It’s a gift.” She waved her hand in an airy gesture and opened the door. The rose-peach polish glistened in the lamplight.

“Don’t I know it.”

Liam leaped out of the car and opened my door. I hurriedly put my hand on the handle to make it look like I’d pushed it open. I might as well not have bothered. Marcy was already heading for the entrance. In the blink of an eye, Liam was in front of her and threw open the heavy wooden door.

I swallowed a groan.

She turned to me. “They must have installed automatic door openers since the last time I was here.”

“Must have,” I said to her. “Don’t,” I mouthed to Liam.

He shrugged. “I’m a gentleman.” As he held the door, someone came down the stairs from the tap room. He sniffed the air, and a look of rapture crossed his face. “Ale.”

I sidled up to him and whispered out of the corner of my mouth. “Jimmy’s is an Irish pub. Downstairs is for the under twenty-one crowd. Second floor, Jimmy serves ale and stronger beverages. Did you notice the separate entrances for the downstairs and upstairs?”

Liam nodded.

“Jimmy can sniff out a fake I.D. a mile away. By the way, can you drink or eat?”

“I don’t know. This is my first time around. But I don’t think so.” For a moment, his sensual lips drooped before he shook off the disappointment and smiled. My knees went weak. “You’ll just have to have a libation for both of us.”

“Not at Jimmy’s I won’t,” I mumbled in a low undertone.

He gave me a confused look. “Why not? And what is a fake I.D.?”

I slapped my forehead. “That’s right. There were no laws against drinking if you were underage in your time, were there?”

“Underage?”

“No one under twenty-one can legally drink, so most kids under twenty-one try to find a way around the law, hence the fake I.D.’s. Marcy and I tried to sneak into Jimmy’s once. Not only did we get busted, Jimmy called our parents. Just let me say, it isn’t one of my better memories. There’s nothing like disappointed parents to make you feel like pond scum. But even without alcohol, Jimmy’s is always hopping,” I said behind my hand.

“Did you say something, Cat?” Marcy called over her shoulder.

“I think there’s an open table up and over to our right,” I yelled back.

“Oh, yeah, I see it.”

We pushed our way through the crowd to the open table. Marcy sat across from me, and her ghost slid into the chair beside me. When three men and a woman walked on stage, the crowd broke into applause and whistled.

“GRIT’s playing,” I yelled to Marcy.

“Cool,” she hollered back.

The guitarist, wearing jeans that rode loose on his hips and a vest with no shirt under it, picked up his guitar, turned on the amp, and tuned up. Liam clapped his hands over his ears, a look of horrified fascination on his face. His gaze traveled from the band to the young women who stood in front of the stage. His eyes crossed when a buxom blonde in a tight, low tee with hip-hugging designer jeans turned in our direction.

“There’s Kendra.” Marcy pointed at the blonde. She waved and motioned her over.

Kendra pulled out the chair that Liam was sitting in. Uh-oh. She’d barely settled in when she shrieked and jumped up, rubbing her rear. “Someone pinched me!”

Marcy rolled her eyes. “Is there a full moon tonight? Caitlin’s been acting odd all evening and now you. The place is packed, but there’s no one within pinching distance.”

“I’m telling you someone pinched me.” Kendra rubbed her right cheek.

“She sat on me. What do you expect?” Liam shouted above the music.

Gentleman, huh?

“I’ll take a virgin wine fizz,” I told the waitress who’d stopped to take our order. Kendra and Marcy ordered the same.

As they chatted, I put on my rapt-attention face and let my thoughts wander. What was the matter with me? I’d been carrying on a conversation with a ghost as if it were an everyday occurrence. Why wasn’t I locked in my room, shaking like a leaf? Or having hysterics?

Maybe Liam was the imaginary friend I’d never had.

The waitress returned and handed us our drinks, effectively breaking my brooding. She gave the table a cursory swipe with a damp towel, then left. I took a sip.

“What are you drinking?” Liam looked at my glass wistfully.

Marcy and Kendra were still chatting. I put my hand over my face and mumbled in a low voice, “Basically, a non-alcoholic fruit fizzy.”

He looked down his nose. “A girl’s drink.”

“Guys like it too.” Just then, the band stopped playing and the noise went down a few decibels.

“What did you say?” Marcy asked.

“I said the coolers hit the spot.” I raised my glass. She raised hers and went back to chatting with Kendra.

“What do you think of Jimmy’s?” I asked after making sure my cousin and her friend were still occupied.

He tipped his chair back, cupped his hands behind his head, and studied his surroundings. “Fascinating. Times have certainly changed.”

I waited till the band started back up before I spoke behind my hand. “Thank goodness.”

“Amen.” He leered at a blonde in a low-cut plum top and tight Capris.

Men.

Liam winced as the guitar shrieked. “The music’s not exactly gentle or melodious. But it has heart,” he added fairly. GRIT segued into a slow number while the soloist, Belamy Joyce, a young woman with blue-spiked hair, crooned about her brokenhearted lover. Liam nodded. “Now that’s more like it.”

A young red-headed guy with a stocky body tapped me on the shoulder. He leaned forward, cupped his hands together, and shouted over the noise, “Care to dance?”

Liam didn’t wait for me to make up my mind. “Don’t feel you need to babysit me. I’m going to mingle.” Poof, he was gone.

Wow. My breath stalled.

“Would you like to dance?” the guy repeated, throwing his voice to make it heard.

“I’d love to dance.” I preferred fast music, but if the band stayed true to form the slow song would be short. He waved a hand at his ear, signaling he couldn’t hear me.

“Never mind.” My chair scraped across the floor as I shoved it back.

We got to the floor just as the slow song ended. The drummer beat out a rhythm, and Belamy Joyce belted out a tune in a high shrill voice. The redhead shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I’m Daniel,” he said as he began to dance.

“Caitlin.”

“Pleased to meet you, Caitlin,” he bellowed as he waved his arms around and stomped to the beat.

I did the same, occasionally bumping into one of the other dancers on the crowded floor. After six sweaty minutes, the music shifted to another slow song, and Daniel eased me into his arms where we swayed back and forth in silence, my hands on his shoulders, his wrapped around my waist.

His hands dipped till they rested on my butt, and his lips found my neck. Crap! My muscles grew taut. I put my hands on his chest to shove him away when his head popped backward and his hands flew up, then flopped to his side. Wild eyed, he looked all around.

Liam stood with his hands fisted on his hips, expression thunderous.

“Someone jerked my arms right off you.” Daniel’s hand shook as he ran his fingers through his hair. The red strands stood on end in crazy disarray.

“Really?” I pushed skepticism into my voice and left him. I wound my way through the sea of couples to the table. Daniel stood in the middle of the floor, his head swiveling back and forth as he stared around him. With a perplexed look, he shook his head and headed for the bar.

I plopped down in my seat and looked around. Marcy was dancing with a handsome black-haired boy, and Kendra snaked her way toward Daniel. “Good luck and good riddance.”

“Why did you let him touch you like that?” Liam glared as he towered over me.

My nerves were shot. No matter how natural it seemed talking to Liam, it wasn’t. He wasn’t human, in the flesh and blood sense of the word. I’d been conversing all evening with ectoplasm. And for him to question my morals? Me. Of all people. The only eighteen-year-old virgin left in Virginia.

“I don’t need any lectures from a ghost on moral behavior, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” I shot back, before I noticed the girl at the next table staring at me. My teeth clicked together as I turned my back on Liam.

“Would you care to dance?”

My glance slid up worn, fitted jeans to a short-sleeved white shirt and a tan throat. It halted at an average-looking face with light blue eyes and thick chestnut hair that stood out in mild disarray.

He held out his hand, confident, his eyes filled with kindness. I slipped my hand in his, and he led me to the dance floor, drew me into his arms, and held me close, but not too close, actually moving in time to the music, not just swaying on his feet. “I’m Patrick.”

“Caitlin.” My throat was tight, my voice strained. Having a fight with a ghost will do that to you.

“I’ve seen you here before.”

My head jerked up, and I narrowed my eyes.

He laughed, a low easy sound. “I’m not a stalker. You’re just a very attractive woman. I’d have to be blind not to notice.” He smiled when he said it and gained points by not tightening his grip.

“Everyone comes to Jimmy’s.”

He nodded in agreement. We chatted easily and continued to dance when the band switched to a fast number. Patrick was a good dancer and had a strong sense of rhythm.

There was no sign of Liam. Fine, maybe he’d gone to haunt someone else. Nonetheless, his absence made my stomach quiver and my nerves jump.

As the evening wore on and I didn’t spot him, my unease grew. I tried to forget about it and enjoy Patrick. He was easy to be with, maybe because he was comfortable with himself. He seemed caring and confident with no pretensions, an unusual combination in a boy my age.

But no matter how much I enjoyed Patrick’s company, I couldn’t relax. I was waiting for a ghost.

About midnight, Marcy approached us on the dance floor. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

She turned to Patrick and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Marcy.”

He shook it. “Patrick.”

“Nice meeting you, Patrick. Let’s go, Cuz.”

“Okay.” The room was packed, but no Liam. Nerves skittered just under my skin. The ghost was not my responsibility…regardless of how much it seemed like he was. I held out my hand to Patrick. “It’s been a fun evening.”

He took it and held it, his clasp warm. “I want to see you again.”

“I’d like that.” I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on and leaned in. Amusement danced in his brown eyes. “Would you give me your number?”

“Oh, sure.” I rattled it off, heat climbing my face.

“Got it.”

“Even without writing it down?” My neck cricked as I tilted my head up. He was several inches taller than me.

“Photographic memory.”

“I’m jealous.”

“I hate to break this up, but can we go?” Marcy asked, and shifted on her feet. She wrinkled her brow and scrubbed her forehead.

“Headache?”

“Big time.”

“We’ve got to go.” I eased away from Patrick till I was at arm’s length.

“You’re not in a relationship, are you?” He let go of my fingers.

“That’s a very loose term for it.” I continued to back up.

Marcy snorted, then winced and grabbed her head.

“You’re involved with somebody?” He gave me a rueful smile, a look of comical dismay on his features.

“We’re not an item.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll call.”

“Okay.” Before I could say more, Marcy tugged me away. As we hit the door, I stopped and gave one last sweep of the room. Where is he? My pulse increased, and I started to panic.

“Come on.” Marcy pulled me through the door. “Would you mind driving?” she asked, taking her keys out of her tiny black purse to toss them at me.

“Sure.”

As we reached the car, my breath went out in a whoosh. Arms and legs crossed, Liam leaned against the shiny Corvette. The street lamp limned his high sharp cheekbones and sparked the blue highlights in his hair. Plain black cotton trousers framed long legs. My heart tightened and my bones loosened. He was just so darn pretty, in a manly-man sort of way.

His stormy eyes shifted to me. He stared, unsmiling.

The ghost was still in a snit. Well fine, I was in a bit of a snit myself.

We drove home in silence. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Liam stared straight ahead, his arms crossed, pensive. At least he wasn’t white knuckling the side of the car. How strange this must seem to him.

I surfed the satellite radio till I found a channel that played old Irish ballads.

A beatific expression came over his face, making my breath catch. How could a man be so good-looking? Maybe it was a ghost thing. His expression changed to one of abject terror. “Watch out,” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

I turned the wheel sharply to the right, just missing a little old lady driving a bright red sports car. She laid on her horn and stuck her third digit out the window.

Liam stared, his gorgeous mouth open. I think a senior citizen giving me the finger shocked him worse than my driving. After that, my attention stayed on the road, and I drove as sedately as a Sunday driver out to enjoy the countryside. Marcy snored softly beside me.

I hit the remote and pulled into the garage. Liam’s eyes widened as the garage door rolled up. “Isn’t that something?” He shook his head.

“Yeah,” I whispered, then gently nudged Marcy. “We’re home.”

“Um-hm. Goodnight. I’m going to bed.” She stumbled out of the car and into the house.

I collected my purse and followed.

Suddenly, he appeared in front of me, filling the entryway, his shadow dark and menacing on the wall. My heart gave a little thud. Should I be afraid?