Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) (54 page)

Jack tried to nudge her toward the boxes on the desk. He peered into the closest carton. A brown folder, tattered and faded, lay on top. His name had been scribbled at the top right corner. Was that his handwriting or someone else’s? Ideas swarmed his mind and he contemplated what could be inside that folder.

What he wouldn’t give to take a look-see. He’d come to accept that he was dead long ago. He just couldn’t recall how it happened.

“Go ahead, darlin’,” he encouraged her in a soft persuasive voice, anticipating reading over her shoulder.

She sighed, reaching for a faded manila folder. Jack floated into a standing position. If he could find one piece of information in those files, one small detail to remind him about his life, he was sure it would re-establish his memories. Hope distorted his common sense and he forgot his boundaries. He breezed through the girl, the box, the desk—and tumbled across the floor, landing by the door.

The girl paused, her fingertips barely touching the file. As if some invisible cosmic cord linked the two of them, she scanned the room again, slower this time. She wheeled the chair around facing the wall, and after a brief interlude, peered over her shoulder. Her ocean-blue eyes seized Jack and held him captive.

Breaking free took most of his energy and all his concentration. He soared to the chair by the door, sat and crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. He needed to keep his distance, far enough away to be safe. To stay in control. To keep from invading her realm.

She knew he was there. He was sure of it.

Was it possible? Could he actually communicate with her? The prospect stimulated his perception and sped through him like a P-51 Mustang chasing the sound barrier. His heart felt like it was pounding in his chest again.

Who was this girl? Some kind of demon?

There had been others. Self-proclaimed
psychics
and
spiritual therapists
, as she so gallantly called herself. The Air Corps ushered them in like soldiers being inducted into the Army. Their goal—to
remove
him. None ever could. And neither would she. He was going to have a good time watching her try. This one was a real looker. They didn’t make them like her in his day.

Her chestnut-brown hair had blonde streaks. It was the damnedest thing he’d ever seen. Yet it suited her, bringing out her vivid blue eyes. Jack marveled at how easy he could get lost in their endlessness, reminiscent of the deepest part of the Pacific on a clear day. Her full lips, the color of pomegranate seed, were ripe for kissing. If only…

The intoxicating scent of flowers—what was it? Jasmine, maybe—filled the air. Jack smiled. Either she was invading his world or he was breaking through to hers. Now he smelled her perfume.

This was going to be fun. His resounding laughter echoed through the room and he leaned back in the chair.

Her head jerked sideways, her eyes darting toward him.

Anticipation leaned him forward in the chair. “Can you see me?” He waited, hoping for a positive response.

Nothing.

“Can you hear me?” Jack wouldn’t give up easily. She may not see him or even hear him, but his exorciser sensed his presence. That could prove disastrous for Jack. If she truly knew he was there, then he had to accept the probability that she could also send him to his maker. Not what Jack had in mind.

“I know you’re here,” she muttered. She searched the space around her like she thought he’d appear at any moment. “You might as well show yourself.” He wasn’t surprised when she stopped and her stare holed through him.

Pink fingernails marched a replicated sequence along the desk top and drummed out a song of exasperation. She was as determined to drive him out as he was to stay put. Fascinating.

“In due time, darlin’. In due time.” He chuckled, amused by her resolve.

She tilted her head toward the nearest box and grabbed the top file. “It’s going to be a long night.” She propped her feet on the desk and leaned back in the chair, looked at the front of the folder and yawned. Instead of opening it, she laid it against her chest and folded her arms over it. Her eyes fluttered shut. No doubt, some trick to lure him into a false sense of security.

“Okay, so you can’t hear me, and you don’t see me, but you know I’m here.”
Or she knows somebody’s here
, crossed Jack’s mind as an afterthought.

He flew across the room and landed on the desk. Looking at her, he cocked his head. Communicating with an exorcist was dangerous and he’d never had the desire. Until now. Making an appearance might be risky, but Jack loved a challenge.

Her head dropped, leaning to one side. He liked the way her curiously-colored hair draped itself alongside her face. She had flawless features, except for a small scar next to her eye. Chicken pox?

Jack’s failing memories, or the fact that he was dead, didn’t stop him from wanting to make physical contact. He longed to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin. Battling reluctance, he reached up to brush the tresses from her cheek. His fingers slipped through her hair and skimmed the side of her head.

Her eyes shot open. The once clear ocean grew turbulent as her baby-blues intensified.

She released a jagged breath and jumped back. The manila folder fell to the floor and her chair slammed into the wall. “Shit!”

Her brow wrinkled with shock, surprise, then belief. The expression on her face changed, turning pale and patient and somehow pensive, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

Contact.

***

To purchase
Incredible Dreams

or learn more about it,

just visit your favorite online retailer…

or see Sandra Edwards’s website:

http://SandraWrites.com

***