Incorporeal (3 page)

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…

“
What time?

“
Geri, can you repeat that? Where does she want me to make dinner reservations?

“
You’re kidding, right? How am I supposed to get reservations there on such short notice, not to mention do all this driving?

“
How many people did you say? Eight? Are you insane? Eight people,
there
, at six-thirty?

“
No, Geri, that won’t work. They’ll laugh me out…

“
Whose credit card is all this going on?

“
Oh yeah? Great, just great.

“
Geri, listen to me. Geri, stop. This is way over the top. I’ll work on the dinner reservation tomorrow, but I can’t promise anything. I’ll probably have to give someone a blow job to get a six-thirty reservation.”

“
Over my dead body.” The snarl came from somewhere behind her.

Sara whirled around, but she couldn’t see him. Covering the receiver with her hand, she hissed, “You’re already dead.”

“
Sorry, Geri, okay, yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow when I get off work. Geri, you do know that they’ll insist upon a large deposit for a party of six or more. If a bunch of people don’t show I’ll get stuck paying for…

“
Fine. We’ll discuss this tomorrow. Good night.”

“
Jesus!” Sara clicked off the phone. “Who does she think I am, Miss Moneybags? Superwoman? I can’t be four places at one time. Oysters and Tattinger sparkling wine? Holy Christ!”

“
Who?”

“
This, this publisher who’s coming into town, the woman I’m supposed to pick up at the airport.” Sara stared into empty air where she sensed he stood. “And why the hell am I telling you? It’s not as if you care.”