Authors: Wendi Zwaduk
Careless Whisper (2 page)
“Why don’t you just make
Ghost Explorers
a fictional show?
People’d
buy into it that way.”
“And discourage my loyal following?”
“I’m leaving now.” The curt tone of her voice cut deep into his marrow.
“What do you think of me?” he asked quickly.
“Ryan, they either follow you to see what oddball thing you’ll do next, like trip over your own feet, or they just watch because you’re eye candy. What I think is a moot point.”
“Then let me walk you to your cubicle and I’ll redeem myself.”
“No way, lover boy.
You got yourself lost in the Hillman House last season, and that was after you proclaimed you knew the house like the back of your hand. No, I’ll go my own way and leave you to your following.”
“Oh, honey, don’t leave me this way.” He sounded corny, even to his own ears, but the idea of her walking away rubbed him wrong. Letting go of her could be his biggest mistake. A feeling he couldn’t describe coiled tight in his belly while moments of what could be with her flipped through his mind.
As if she was his Spirit Mate.
Was it possible?
She crooked one honey-coloured brow. “Let me guess: you’re sad, lonely, and need a warm body amongst the cold spirits? No thank you.”
As she strolled away, Ryan followed the sway of her ass. No one had ever told him the obvious—his show was a joke. Why? Because long ago, too many women convinced him he was sexy, too many times they claimed he found the spirits and ghosts in their houses or whatnot and proved the afterlife existed. Not Samara. She told the truth. Well, the half-truth.
Ghosts, including Felicity, existed, but it was up to them to let their presence known and they weren’t misty or shadowy as many people expected. Ghosts walked among the living and, through energy usage, managed to appear as real, live people.
Ryan folded his arms, watching until Samara rounded the corner. He might just have to have her as his sidekick on his next adventure. From what he remembered of the shop talk, she wanted to get out of transcription and back out as a video tech. Why not have
her
as his camera woman? Then he’d get to know her better. If he wasn’t sure of it before, he knew now. He’d met his match in her and he liked the odds.
Bring it on.
Chapter Two
Darkness fell, enveloping the room in shadows. Death and anger lived in the shadows, waiting to attack the unsuspecting, the weak. Ryan stared at the ceiling and stroked his cock.
Samara had talked to him. Sure, she’d chastised him and rolled her eyes, but she’d noticed him. He worked his hand over the blunt head of his erection. A long groan slipped past his lips. If it were her hands, her mouth on him, he’d be in heaven.
As he masturbated, memories bombarded him. He wanted to focus on Samara, but something wasn’t letting him alone. His dead wife came to mind.
Dammit
. The more he mentally reached for Samara’s image, the more it faded, only to be replaced with Felicity’s tight smile. He growled low in his throat.
“Felicity, why?”
The warmth of a hand spread across his chest. The scent of cherries filled the air. The taste of her kiss lingered on his tongue. Blinking his eyes open, he glanced to what would’ve been her side of the bed. “
Lis
, honey, are you there?” He propped himself up on his elbow.
“You never wanted to see me again.”
Her form shimmered next to him. “I’m here, like I am every night.” Mesmerising grey eyes stared at him. A smile curled the corner of her lush mouth and a rogue ebony curl slid over her shoulder. “Remember lying in bed all day in college? That was your life.
Me.
You’d hold me and I’d keep you from class. We were a fucking team.”
He reached out and stroked her shoulder, imagining the silk of her skin under his fingertips. “You didn’t want what we had.”
Felicity stood, or rather floated to a standing position at the foot of the queen sized bed. The delicate material of her nightgown dipped low between her breasts and hugged the sharp curves of her body, like a second skin. Lace covered her nipples, leaving little to his imagination. Had she been alive, he’d have taken her in his arms in an instant to explore until the sun rose. “So I made a mistake. Do you like this gown?”
He rolled his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth. “Yeah,” was the only word that
developed.
The silk would look better on Samara, but he wasn’t about to let that little gem slip.
“I thought you would. The softness begs to be touched.” She swished the skirt, smoothing the invisible wrinkles down her hips. “I saw you today.
Didn’t look like she was too into you.”
She crawled up the length of the bed, failing to dent the sheets as she straddled him. “Want to tell me about her?”
He sat up and bit down hard on his tongue, not wanting to discuss Samara. Felicity had come to him for two weeks straight, but damn, the woman had a fickle streak a mile wide. When she evaded him, she had a tendency to dance around something bigger. Like a new woman in his life.
“Oh, silent treatment.
Fine.”
She snorted and sat back on her heels. “Does she know you’ve never got over me?” Her nails glistened as she toyed with the hem of the sleepwear.
“I loved what we had.” The thought struck. Why did his grand confession sound so
…
hollow? Love meant forever, right?
She cocked her head and her brows furrowed. “Ryan Black, you deserved way better than marrying me and ending up in the middle of butt-fuck
The past once again washed over him. The moment she came to him crying, saying she wanted out. She loved another man and yearned to carry the child of his former friend.
A chill rambled up his spine. “What the hell, Felicity? Why this? Why now?”
“I wish I could cry so you’d know I’m serious.” Twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger, she looked away. Her shoulders sagged and wrinkles crinkled at the corners of her eyes. “Being dead means I can’t shed tears, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be blunt.”
“Then by all means be as blunt as your heart desires. You seem to like coming back to me to tear my life to shreds.”
“Move on. I want you to.”
“Why now?” Either being dead meant she had found a conscience or a higher power forced her to be civil.
“Look, Samara is perfect for you. It’s killing me to say this, but she’s the kind of woman who wants devotion and never-ending love. Forget about me and go after her.”
Her image flickered and dimmed a bit, sending a panic through his veins. She couldn’t leave him just yet. Not until she explained everything. “There was a time when no one could replace you.”
“She will replace me and you will move on. You’ll fall in love the way love’s supposed to be—pretty and tied in a bow.
Because if you move on, I can move on.”
Felicity’s ghost faded enough so he could see the photos of her on the wall.
“
Lis
?”
She glanced at her hands and chuckled. “I can’t stand to see you mope any longer.” Her lower half faded into oblivion. She groaned. “It’s quick, too. Shit. Look, I’m pleading for you to move on. Find her and when you do, I’ll get to go to the Great Beyond.”
As she spoke the last words, the room grew dark once more. Ryan reached out for her, only to swipe his hand through empty air. If she wanted him to move on, then fine. He had his orders and ten days to convince Samara Jacobs they belonged together. Talk about mission impossible.
Chapter Three
A week and a half of boring desk work later, Samara shifted her tank top to smooth out the wrinkles and plopped down in front of her laptop. The encounter with Ryan sat fresh in her mind—like a bruise, even nine days after the fact. The nerve of him to interrupt her lunch every afternoon! Of course, she’d struck the first blow by sticking her two cents in when he wasn’t even talking to her. Go figure. She never did know when to keep her mouth shut. Still, he acted like his television show and semi-celebrity status helped people, like it changed lives.
The moment he found a real ghost or encountered an honest-to-God spirit, then she’d agree such things existed. Until then, Ryan Black—sexy as hell or not—could rot.
She cringed and tried to focus on her computer screen. She wasn’t going to fall for him. If he hadn’t been so forward, she might have even considered dating him. Too bad he had a nice body.
Oh well. Her luck with men tended to run out after one date, most preferring a woman who entered wet T-shirt contests, not one who knew the difference between an asphalt track and a clay oval.
Samara tucked a loose hank of hair behind her ear and adjusted her ear phones. Once settled, she resumed her typing. The transcript from the last episode of
Ghost Explorers
sat idle on the screen. Listening to Ryan Black talk about the scratchy voice he claimed to hear, or the shadowy figure lurking in front of him bored her to tears. But the public loved him.
Especially Matilda Snodgrass, the WPFG version of gossip online.
According to the shop talk and Matilda’s blog—since no one actually saw Matilda—he’d rebuked her hundreds of times, but who believed the gossip? At least once a week, Matilda commented on his ‘nice
glutes
.’ He did have a sexy ass—tight, but not too full, just enough to grab and fill out his jeans while leaving nothing to the imagination. She licked her lips.
Boxers?
Or briefs?
The image of Ryan Black in nothing but black silk boxers came to mind. All muscle and smooth skin…
And so off limits!
She shook her head to clear out the thoughts of Ryan Black’s buns and hot body and resumed typing. Even the soothing sound of Billy Joel wasn’t enough to buoy her mood. In the middle of the current song, her email pinged. She clicked on the message.
Another transcript, courtesy of her boss, Tony Cox.
At least she’d have something to do besides fantasise about Ryan Black. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she went back to her transcription.
A tap on the shoulder pulled her from her focus on the screen. When she turned, she clamped her mouth shut.
Ryan Black.
In the flesh—
again
.
A grin curled the corner of his mouth and mischief danced in his eyes. “I hear you want to work the cameras.”
Yanking the earphones from her ears, she nodded. “How’d you know? You don’t have a clue
who
I am, other than the meeting in the cafeteria and a couple of nods in the stairwells.”
He folded his arms and leant against the wall of her cubicle, like he owned the place.
The bulge in his jeans caught her attention.
Gravy.
He wanted to talk to her after getting a hard-on from someone else?
“If you’d look at my face, not my crotch, we’d get somewhere.”
Her cheeks burned as she forced her gaze to his eyes, a mix of amber and sea green. No wonder women fell for him. He did have mesmerising eyes.
Dammit
.
“I have you tongue-tied.” He waggled his toffee coloured brows. “Nice, but not what I came here for.” He inched forwards, his lips a mere whisper from her ear. “You have something I need. And yes, I’ve talked to you before. Besides the other morning, the Christmas party comes to mind.”
“Yeah, I guess you did.” At least she’d found her voice. Still, he could get closer—no, no, back away… Double
dammit
. If he got any closer, she’d be snagged in his web like the rest of the female population of
“I’d say you, but all the girls talk.” He backed up a bit to look her in the eye and licked his lips. “I’m tired of fuelling the rumour mill with lunchtime meetings. I want something more concrete.”
She swallowed a sigh, following the damp trail of his tongue. He had kissable lips.
Firm, with a sprinkling of five o’clock shadow decorating his square jaw below.
Enough to abrade her inner thighs when he lapped at her pussy.
When? Oh good grief, she needed to get her mind out of the sewer.
“You want to work the cameras and I need someone I trust to go with me to the abandoned
“Me?”
“Sure, I need the extra set of hands, and you need to learn there are such things as ghosts. I know
it’s
short notice, but if I can’t have you I’m screwed.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Samara Jacobs, I know lots more about you than you could possibly imagine. Matilda is a whiz with gossip and loves to talk. Plus, I orchestrated some of those random meetings in the stairwell to get you to notice me.”
