Gatekeeper (10 page)

There was no mistaking the heat in his smoldering gaze. Instinctively, she drew the towel higher. Liquid warmth coiled downward inside her.

She wet her lips. This was awkward. Fucking him in a dream was one thing but considering having sex with a…a
ghost
, was unthinkable. She had to put some distance between them. Trembling and acutely aware she was wearing nothing but a towel, she moved around the side of the bed and sat gingerly on the edge. “Would you like to sit down?” Why was her mouth suddenly so dry?

He looked at the spot beside her and lifted a dark brow. The bed sank as he sat and she felt the pressure of a steel thigh against hers. An instant wave of heat climbed up her spine. This was a mistake. Now she was wedged between the ghost and the headboard. There was nowhere else to go and he was close—so close.

She caught the familiar masculine scent of wood fires and leather. His smoldering gaze never wavered from hers as he ever-so slightly leaned toward her. “Do you think this proper, madam?” Something in his mocking tone and wicked, dimpled smile told her he didn’t care if it was proper. And then the dimples deepened with a smile that stole her breath. Jillian’s heart ricocheted in her chest.

Her gaze dropped to his beautiful mouth and then shot back to his eyes. A hot blush blazed up the front of her throat and infused her cheeks. What was she thinking? What was she doing? She was a licensed, practicing psychologist. How could she be sitting here entertaining the idea of making out with a ghost? She nearly gasped out loud. She
was
considering it. She
had been
considering it.

She wriggled away from him, painfully aware of the absence of his hard thigh against hers.

Jillian was thoroughly disconcerted but in the darkness, he appeared almost solid—almost real. He certainly
felt
real. She wet her lips. “Why didn’t you let Amy send you into the Light?”

“She didn’t exactly give me a choice.” He looked down to where his long fingers sprawled across his thighs and Jillian noticed the ugly scratches on his hands where those creatures had clawed him.

Realization flooded her. Amy had sent the button back with her because this wasn’t over yet.

But what was he doing here? Now? She had the distinct feeling she was in danger—danger of a different kind.

“Is…is Amy in trouble?” She was afraid to ask.

He shook his head. “Not now.”

“Then why…I mean…you’re here.”

He was silent.

Jillian’s pulse was racing. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the towel tighter. “I… Thank you for helping me. I could never have found her without you.”

“It was an honor to be of service,” he said. His sexy drawl and old-world wording mesmerized her. “The
pleasure
was all mine.”

The way he lingered on the word pleasure sent a wave of heat rushing up Jillian’s back that settled uncomfortably in her neck.

She drew a knee up under her, inadvertently letting the towel slip a little. Benton’s gaze warmed, sliding down, making Jillian intensely aware of the soft cotton against the sensitive skin of her distended nipples. She jerked the towel back into place, conscious of her pounding heart beneath her fingers. “I thought men from your time were supposed to be…gentlemen.” Her tone was surprisingly not as critical as she had intended. It was teasing, flirtatious. Although she’d been with men before, she’d never made the first move. She had certainly never been accused of engaging in anything licentious. For once, she was shocked at herself.

He laughed outright. It was a warm and rich laugh—and very, very seductive. “Madam, I have been a soldier since I was sixteen years old. I am aware of the proper decorum a gentleman should demonstrate in the presence of…a lady.” His judicious gaze raked her again.

“I thought you said you’d given up on ladies.” Her eyes narrowed coquettishly. “And I will remind you, General Smith, that you were the one who intruded on my bath.” A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Despite the chill in the air, she felt warm all over—and unreservedly exposed.

His smile broadened. One of his dimples was slightly deeper than the other. “I might remind
you
that you were well aware of my…presence…before you disrobed.”

She had suspected
something
was there. But not something so utterly…
male
.

His dove gray gaze moved to her forehead, where he raised his hand and brushed his thumb across the scratches, his palm lingering to gently cup her face. Jillian’s heart skipped a beat. But it was not because she knew he was a ghost. It was because his touch was so tender, so compassionate—and so completely real.

And so easy.

“What you did today was incredibly gallant.”

Jillian smiled at his choice of words.
Gallant.
He was a nineteenth-century man after all. “Anyone would have done the same given the circumstances.”

He shook his head. “No, my dear. You are wrong. I’ve seen grown men turn tail and run when faced with battle. I’ve seen cowards turn into conquerors. But someone with your determination is rare.” His eyes shone with austere sincerity.

Jillian swallowed. “I did what I had to do. That’s all.” But she knew he was right. She had overcome deepseated terror to find Amy. And she couldn’t have done it without Benton’s help.

All at once she realized how much she had always wanted a safe haven, how much she had always longed for someone, needed someone strong and unselfish—someone like Benton. Her lashes fluttered shut. She turned her cheek more fully into his calloused palm and relished his caress, suddenly feeling vibrant and alive. She wanted to remain here like this with him forever.

But then a dark thought intruded. Soon he would be leaving her
forever
. Amy would send him into the Light after this was over and Jillian would once more be left alone. Her mind warred with her heart. She couldn’t let this continue. She’d already let him cross any and all of her boundaries. Her mind grappled for anything, some word, something to divert this. She opened her eyes and drew away from his touch. “How did you…die?”

The dimples disappeared. His eyes turned to steel. His hand and his gaze dropped to his knee where he brushed away some imagined lint. “I was killed with my own sword by the Federal colonel to whom I surrendered.”

He seemed resigned enough to that fact. So why had he not gone on to the Other Side?

Jillian proceeded with caution, trying very hard to concentrate on anything but the warm throbbing high between her legs. “I…talked to a historian today. He told me what happened. He…he told me about Hattie.”

Benton’s gaze found hers once more. His eyes narrowed. Instantly, she regretted her words. It was obviously a sore subject. She shouldn’t have brought it up but perhaps her statement had served its purpose.

Their gazes locked for another heartbeat and then he looked away. “So that’s how I’ve been remembered.”

“No, no.” She tried to touch his sleeve but her hand moved through him. How could he be corporeal at times and so transparent at others? “No, I mean he told me that you were killed saving the life of the man who married Hattie.”

“I was his superior officer.” His stare returned to hers. It was severe.

“Of course, but…well I thought it was… I thought it was a noble thing to do.”

“Honor had nothing to do with it.” His words were sharp, clipped.

This tactic had been a mistake. She had to change the subject. Her mind searched frantically for something to say. “But when it happened, you…you couldn’t see any Light?”

Some dark, haunting memory flickered in his eyes. “I saw it…the Light. Just before your sister was attacked. I could have gone…”

“But you didn’t.”

His gaze penetrated hers and she saw the seriousness in the deep gray pools despite the watercolor darkness of the room. “No. When I heard someone coming, I warned her and she threw the button.”

Jillian’s heart turned over. Hard. He could have gone into the light but he’d stayed to help Amy. She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry Amy put that button back in my pocket.” Her voice was soft, sincere.

“I’m not,” he drawled, thick and sweet.

Once more, her gaze slid to his. A dark lock of hair threatened to fall across his forehead. The thin moustache and little spade beard were incongruently sinister in comparison with the soft gray of his eyes. She wanted to touch him, to feel him. And above all, she wanted to know what it would be like to kiss a ghost—to kiss him.

Her gaze lingered on his beautiful parted lips. So sensuous. So seductive. Just one kiss. Did she dare ask?

She didn’t have to.

Lithe and soundless, as if he’d read her thoughts, his head slanted toward hers. There was no mistaking the fire in his eyes. Deftly, he pulled the Scrunchie from her hair, letting the loose black waves fall in a tumult around her face. “So beautiful, so natural.” His voice was whisper soft as he admired his handiwork for a moment, entwining a lock around his index finger before returning his searing gaze to hers.

Jillian’s heart went wild. He moved dangerously close. She burned with anticipation. He was going to kiss her and waiting for it was the most intense mixture of heaven and hell she had ever known in her life. Her eyelids drifted shut. Her pussy tightened with expectation.

His mouth brushed hers once, twice, softly, maddeningly. Her clit swelled. “I want to kiss you, Jillian.” His voice was low and raw. “Let me taste your lips.”

It wasn’t a request. But it was all the impetus she needed. “Yes,” she said, her voice but a husky murmur. “Yes, Benton.”

And then his mouth was on hers, hard and hot. His long, lean body pressed hers down to the bed into the multitude of pillows. The towel between them was a frustrating barrier but there was no mistaking the hardness that urged against her, pressing through the fabric at the apex of her thighs. All coherent thought fled as she opened her mouth to his, reveling in the feeling of his body tensing and shuddering above hers.

Wantonly, she opened her legs wider, giving him access to her weeping pussy. He groaned into her mouth. His arms tightened around her, one around her shoulders, his hand buried in the hair at the nape of her neck, the other sliding under her hips, lifting her upward against him. Another hoarse groan emanated from his mouth and his kiss deepened. His lips bruised hers with his need. Jillian could not get enough. His tongue delved into her mouth and then retreated only to push between her lips once more while his hips mimicked the motion.

Her pulse accelerated when his hand crept between them and he ripped the towel from between their bodies. Now, all that stopped him from taking her was the coarse fabric of his trousers. Jillian lifted her hips as he ground into her. She ached to have him naked and arching above her. A little cry emanated from her throat. “Please, Benton…”

She tried to catch her breath but he continued his ruthless assault on her mouth and all the while, the rough wool of his uniform grazed her breasts, enticing her nipples to swell and tighten. She wanted him naked. She longed to feel his skin beneath her palms, to look her fill at his gloriously muscled chest, slender hips and steel thighs.

One of his hands slipped between their bodies and he began furiously unfastening the row of buttons on his fly. His knuckles brushed the hardened bud of her clitoris and she arched toward him, letting her hips voice her desire.

Crazy hunger swept through her body. He was going to make love to her. This wasn’t a dream. It was going to happen. She had never wanted anything more in her life.

She tried to put her arms around his shoulders but he wasn’t solid. Her hands passed through him. It didn’t make sense! How could she feel his body so hard and solid on hers and not be able to touch him? She groaned her frustration.
Dammit. Dammit!
“I want to touch you. I want to feel you,” she whimpered between kisses.

He drew away from her, confusion and passion mingling in his pained gaze, leaving her cold from the absence of his body. Jillian was beyond reason. He was no longer just an earthbound spirit. He was a man and she wanted him inside her more than she had ever wanted any man. She reached for him but again, her hand moved through him. “I want to touch you.”

His eyes clouded and for a moment she thought—no, hoped—he would take her on the spot but instead he pushed himself up and off the bed, turning away. “I can’t do this.”

Jillian stared at his back as he did up his trousers. She was breathless and aching and exasperated and so maddeningly, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean you can’t?” She propped herself up on her elbows.

“I mean, I can’t.”

The heat still flamed in her cheeks. “Why not? Are you still in love with Hattie?”

“No,” he said quickly. He raked a hand through those dark waves Jillian longed to touch and then he turned to her.

“Then what? Are you…incapable?”

“No.” His voice was softer, less certain.

She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. She had been practically begging him to fuck her and he was refusing. She could scarcely believe it. “Do…do you… Are you not attracted to me?”

He looked away from her eyes. Rejected and embarrassed, she snatched the towel and concealed her body. Anger quickly replaced her heady desire. After all she had risked, after all she had accomplished… She’d made the mistake of thinking he cared for her. What a total and utter fool she was! She stared, trembling.