Ghost Shadow

7

Stella Martin woke in the late afternoon. It was late, and she was startled to have slept so long. She bolted up, looked around and smiled.

The night hadn’t started out well. She’d not been able to resist the temptation to pick a jerk’s pocket up on Duval. She’d seen the commotion that had followed. She’d felt bad for the kid who was accused-so she’d followed him.

She’d seen his brother leave him, taking off with a pathetically sluttish rich girl who’d sauntered out of the Irish bar. So much for heading back to their rooms as they’d been told!

She’d managed to snare the kid-who knew that she’d ripped off the other guy. It was a great joke between them. She laughed with him, got to know him and arranged to meet him back at his hotel room after her shift. The kid had been to the ATM machine and was rich. If not rich, Mommy and Daddy were very well off. The two brothers weren’t even sharing a room.

They’d had a number of drinks. Now he was still sleeping. Snoring. Usually, she hated men who snored. But this kid probably was barely twenty-one. He had long dark hair that fell over his forehead and eyes now as he slept, and he was kind of cute. He’d actually been fun, too. No finesse, but he could fuck like the proverbial bunny. She hadn’t even been tempted to charge him more for going at it again and again. It had been fantastic. Most of the time she was exhausted in an hour, trying to coax a middle-aged drunk asshole into getting it up.

Ah, the kid was cute. Thanks to him and his room, she’d eluded all the cops.

A smile curved into her features. A few of them, she was certain, would always let her go on purpose. They really wouldn’t want to have her talking to them down at the station.

She slipped out of bed and gathered her clothing quickly-she was just as good at dressing quickly as she was at undressing slowly. His wallet was sitting on the dresser, and she had to pause. She wouldn’t take all his money. Just fifty-the kid would still have over a hundred bucks on him. He probably had no idea of how much money he had left anyway. She also took his credit card. She saw his ID. She smiled. Touching. He was an art major at U of M. Silly kids. They came from other states, and they couldn’t wait to get down to the decadence of Duval Street. It was such a bizarre place. She worked one of the strip clubs. Eighteen-year-olds could walk into any strip club. They couldn’t drink, which meant they couldn’t go into a few of the bars that offered karaoke. Stella found that ironic. Kids could watch strippers, but they couldn’t sing. Well, it worked for her.

She counted the money she’d stuffed into her pocket from the night before. It had been so easy to lift the wallet off that big bruiser-and funny, too, to see the idiot attack the guys walking behind him. What an oaf.

But, thanks to the oaf and the kid, she’d had one hell of a good night. She counted her hundreds, smiled and slipped out the door.

Luckily, he’d been staying at one of the inns right off Duval that had a back entrance. There was a stone wall, but it was low, and she scrambled over it quickly. Coming along the sidewalk, she turned onto Duval Street.

There were a couple of mounted cops down the street, so she slid into a bar. She ordered a beer quickly, and turned her back to the street.

The mounted cops went by.

Stella finished her beer, paid and tipped-she always tipped well-and started out on Duval again.

She swore when she walked right into him.

“Stella,” he said.

He was one of her few johns who wasn’t married. He was a creep. She knew it. Maybe other people didn’t.

“Hey.”

“You smell like stale sex, Stella. Bad booze, bad money and stinky, old sex.”

“Fuck you,” she said, and pushed by him.

Her heart thundered for a minute. He could do bad things if he wanted. But it was broad daylight. Hell, it didn’t matter what the light was.

She quickened her pace, but when she turned around, he wasn’t there. She kept on moving, and passed the church.

She heard the sound of a siren. Damn, the cops!

The ice-cream parlor was right ahead.

She ran inside it, her back to the street.

She winced. Danny, yeah, Danny was supposed to be here!

It didn’t matter; she just needed to stand here for a minute. She set her hands on the counter. It was sticky. She shoved her hands into her pockets, making a face.

The cop car was passing.

Then Danny was back. With that way that he looked at her.

“Ice cream? Really, Stella?”

The way that he looked at her…

He was sad, he was angry.

“Danny-”

The cop car was gone.

“Danny-oh, whatever!” she said.

She turned away, and decided that she really had to get off the main streets. She hurried outside and around the church. She could hear a car, and she started running, paranoid now.

She cut through one of the yards. Damn it-she knew too many men in this town. Knew them too intimately.

Maybe he was in a car. He might have gotten his car, and he could be following her in it now.

No. Why on earth would he do that?

To harass her.

He was a creep.

She cut into a yard and crawled through palms and crotons that grew heavily there. She looked at the street. No car.

She started to turn around, aware of a sound behind her.

She wasn’t able to turn. Something came over her head. A plastic bag. She grabbed at it, incredulous. Hands wound around her neck. The world began to grow black.

It couldn’t be happening…

She was vaguely aware of sirens. She tried to fight; to live. Help was coming. The sirens came closer, closer…

And the sound moved away. Help might be coming for someone, but not for her.

And the blackness swamped over her.

“You’re falling apart-you are simply falling apart,” Bartholomew said. “I’d slap you across the cheek to wake you up and make you see clearly-if I could,” he added sternly.

They were just inside the house, and he was clearly agitated.

“All this time, I keep asking you about the lady in white. She ignores you, you ignore her. Now you have this new ghost appearing and disappearing, and you’ve gone straight to pieces.”

“She’s not just any ghost,” Katie said. “And you saw her last night.”

“I didn’t see her today.”

“You weren’t with me down there when I was diving with David. You’re afraid of the water!” Katie accused him.

“I’m not afraid of it. I can swim,” he argued indignantly. “I can’t see why I should go down getting soaked and wet when there’s no reason for it.”

“Would you really get wet?” she asked. “I mean, do ghosts get wet?”

“It’s the thought and the memory,” he said, and shuddered. “You swim when your boat sinks, when you’re under attack, when it’s your only recourse. Not for the pleasure of it!”

“Wow. How dirty and icky were you?” Katie asked.

“I bathed!” he protested. “When possible. I wasn’t repulsive in the least. I had amazing hygiene habits for my day and you are getting completely off the subject here. Katie, you must stop being so hypnotized by this ghost!”

“You don’t understand. It’s a true pity that you don’t go into water for the pleasure of it, and you didn’t follow David and me down on that dive. Then you’d understand. The ghost is Tanya. She’s trying to communicate with me-she just doesn’t know how. It’s very bizarre, really. She’s trying so hard to reach out. But…I understand her a bit because…there’s something in her eyes. She can materialize, but she fades so quickly. I can see her try to whisper, but she’s so hard to hear. Maybe she hasn’t been a ghost long enough-”

“Ten years,” Bartholomew noted.

“And the lady in white, the one who fascinates you? She doesn’t know how to communicate and she’s been a ghost for nearly two hundred years, I’d reckon.”

Bartholomew plopped down on the sofa in the parlor. “You be careful, or they will lock you up. I don’t enjoy jails-modern or otherwise-and I know that I wouldn’t at all enjoy a mental hospital.”

“Oh, that’s just great-coming from you. Bartholomew, Tanya was in my bed this morning.”

“Very rude,” he said. “I would never dream of disturbing the sanctity of your private quarters!”

Katie ignored his words. She hurried on. “And then in the water. Bartholomew, I told you, you had to have been there. She appeared slowly in the sea dust, as if she gained her image from the particles of plankton and microscopic debris… She formed right behind him, and she looked so, so sad, and she touched his shoulder and his cheek. I could have sworn that there were tears in her eyes.”

“In the water?” Bartholomew mocked.

“She looked sad, as if she was crying-yes, in the water! She wants me to know, even if she can’t tell me who did do it, that he didn’t.”

“That’s ridiculous. She was murdered. If she knows who did do it, she needs to tell you.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know. Her attacker might have struck from the back.”

“Then if she doesn’t know who did do it, how does she know that it wasn’t David Beckett?” Bartholomew demanded.

“She might have known where he was at the time of her death-and if he was nowhere near her, it couldn’t have been him.”

“Well, you do need to stop running about in a trance. He will think that you’re as daft as a loon!”

“I will. I have it under control. Now.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said. He looked at his pocket watch. “Time’s a-wasting, my dear.”

She spun on him and started up the stairs.

David washed down his equipment, rinsed himself off and headed back to the house for a real shower. After that, he went out to find Danny Zigler.

He was serving ice cream. He grinned at David. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Ice cream?”

“You know what, I’ll take a shake. Vanilla.”

“Cool.”

David paid him, adding a handsome tip.

“Hey, thanks, David, you don’t have to go overboard. I’m not a charity case, you know. I keep working.”

“Yeah, I see that. I was so surprised to see you at O’Hara’s last night. I thought you were doing the ghost tours. And, hell, the crowds on weekends are huge. Didn’t think you could take time off like that.”

“Yeah, I miss doing the weekend tours. Thing is, all the companies out there have hired on too many people. Most can work weekends, around their other jobs, you know? I can work weeknights, and to be honest, I don’t like an overcrowded tour. I like to be able to tell the stories good, you know? And when there are too many people, half of ’em don’t hear you, and when you repeat all kinds of stuff, you lose the whole effect,” Danny said.

“I know what you mean. Too many in a group, and you just don’t get the effect,” David agreed. “Well, thanks. See ya, Danny. Oh-you working at O’Hara’s tonight?”

“I start at ten there. I am taking out an eight-o’clock tour tonight.”

“Cool.”

David waved, and headed down the street. He walked toward La Concha Hotel, and around to the stand where ghost-tour tickets were sold. A young girl was selling tickets. He asked her about Danny Zigler. “Oh, yeah, he’s working tonight. Eight o’clock. He’s a good guide.”

“Yeah. It surprises me that you all don’t use him all the time,” David said.

She shrugged. “Hey, I’m not management. But I think that Danny likes his other jobs, too. Strange fellow, but a good storyteller!”

David bought a ticket and moved out of the way for the couple who waited behind him. He glanced at his watch, and headed back home. He had left the police files on his grandfather’s desk. He set an alarm to warn him when it would be nearing eight.

A long, hot shower and shampoo felt wonderful, rinsing away the cakey salt and effects of the sun and the sea. Katie lingered under the flow of water, then emerged regretfully at last, aware that she should be conserving water-and that she was pruning.

She slipped into a terry robe and towel-dried her hair, then studied her reflection in the mirror. Wet, she decided, was really not her look. But too bad-she loved the water too much.

She looked over at the bathroom cabinet, choosing a moisturizer.

When she looked back at the mirror, there was someone behind her.

It wasn’t Tanya. It was a different entity. She had dark hair, too much makeup and her eyes were red and slightly bulging.

A tear slipped down her astral cheek.

“No!” Katie whispered. “Please!”

The girl remained, that tear sliding down her face.

“Please!” Katie whispered again. “I’m not nine-one-one for ghosts. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know who you are!” she whispered vehemently.

She closed her eyes, praying for the image to go away. She opened her eyes. It did.

Her hands were shaking when she reached for her cosmetic base and looked back to the mirror.

The image was back.

The girl was no longer crying. She was just standing there, staring at Katie, as if she were in shock. Her face was starkly white. Her features seemed to have shriveled. Her eyes were clouded with red dots.

“I wish I could help you!” Katie whispered. “Please…”

The image faded.

Katie collected her makeup and went running down the stairs.

Bartholomew was perched at the kitchen counter. He stared at her, frowning. “What now?”

“Another ghost,” she said.

He looked annoyed. “What is this-spirit central?” he demanded. “This is my house.”

“It’s my house,” she corrected.

He sighed. “Actually, Katie, once upon a time, I lived in the upstairs bedroom. Well, I didn’t live there, I spent a great deal of time there. Eighteen twenty-six, to be exact.”

“But this house-”

“Oh, the house has been rebuilt. It was just a tiny wooden structure at the time. The place was a shantytown, really, except for some of the places built by big money. Simontons and Whiteheads… Anyway, I had a girl for a while. She wasn’t the kind you brought home to mother. But she was one hell of a woman. Never mind, that’s not the point. This is my haunt. You’re my mortal.”

“You’re being selfish,” Katie said, feeling a new strength. “They need help.”

“Everyone needs help.”

“She was murdered,” Katie said suddenly.

“Most ghosts were murdered.”

“No, Hemingway killed himself, and he’s haunting this country, Spain and Cuba, so I understand,” Katie argued.

Bartholomew sighed. “Katie, don’t let them in. I’m afraid for you.”

“Bartholomew, I’m not saying she was murdered this minute. It might have been years ago. Like…Tanya. Maybe it was the same person.”

He swung off the bar stool and came before her, planting his hands on his hips. “Katie, I am very afraid for you.”

“Sean will be here in another day or two and then I won’t be living alone. I’ll be fine. And I know the cops- I know everyone on the street. I’m from here, Bartholomew. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure that’s what Tanya Barnard thought!” he said dourly. “Well, I won’t be leaving you alone for a moment,” he assured her. He looked her up and down in her terry robe, her makeup clustered in her hands. “And you are afraid.”

“I was startled, that’s all.”

“Well, that robe is going to make a lovely outfit when you go to work.”

“I was startled. I’m not afraid.”

“I’ll follow you and guard the hallway, if you’d like to return to your bathroom and further prepare for the evening,” he told her.

She lowered her head, smiling. He could trip people; he could now press the on button to start the coffee brewing. She still wasn’t sure he could actually guard her. But he was quite the gentleman ghost.

“Thanks,” she told him.

But when she returned upstairs, no matter how many times she looked into the mirror and then away from it, no ghosts appeared.

The first ghost, she knew, was Tanya.

But who the hell was the dark-haired woman with the tear glistening on her cheek?

As David had expected, evenly dividing the crowd that night left about forty people in each tour group. He was tall, and he stayed toward the back.

Key West was full of ghosts. Naturally. Since it was a walking ghost-tour, it didn’t take in the cemetery, the Hemingway House, or many other spots reputed to be harboring ghosts. That was all right. There were many haunted places to still go to on the tour. Captain Tony’s was haunted by those who had died at the hanging tree-and those sixteen souls whose remains were found when work was done on the place.

Another favorite stop was an abandoned theater near Duval that was supposedly haunted by the souls of sixteen children who had burned to death there in the midst of a marital scandal-a spurned husband had meant to kill his wife, so people suspected. Instead, he had killed the children. Some of their little bones remained in St. Paul’s Church yard, where the children were still heard to sigh with the breeze on a quiet night. Visitors standing beneath the theater overhang heard the soft cries as well-and the scent of smoke was still on the air, all these long years later.

Artist House was on every tour. The Victorian mansion was stunning, of course, but the real draw was what happened in that house years ago. The story went that a servant of the owners of the house, the Otto family, had given their young son, Robert, a doll. The servant had come from the islands and practiced some kind of magic or voodoo.

Of course, since it was a hideous doll, many people had been convinced that the servant really hated the family. Robert stood about three feet tall, stuffed with straw, and wore a white sailor suit and hat. He had beady little eyes, and the kind of fabric face that was just creepy from the get-go. Having grown up with the story, David was truly amazed that someone in young Robert Eugene Otto’s life hadn’t gotten rid of the damned thing. Instead, the doll had stayed, Robert and his wife had been given the house and they had moved in. The doll spent years playing evil pranks.

But Robert loved the doll throughout his life. When his wife thought that he was preparing a nursery, it was really just a special room for Robert. Robert the Doll tormented Robert’s wife-slowly driving her crazy. Although many believed that it was Robert who abused her and blamed the attacks on Robert the Doll. She outlived her husband and left Artist House, but allowed it to be rented-with the stipulation that Robert the Doll’s room be kept and that he remain closed away in his special place.

Robert the Doll supposedly moved. He looked down at people on the sidewalk. He went from window to window.

Eventually, new owners took over-the doll was given to the East Martello Museum, and was still known, according to popular legend, to escape from his chamber. He was supposed to wreck film, or replace rolls of family film with pictures of himself.

Danny Zigler was an excellent guide and told all of these stories well. David could see the fear and awe he evoked in his listeners.

They walked toward the Beckett museum.

David thought that Danny told this particular story with relish, describing the dead Tanya with amazing detail. And though Danny never used his name, he suggested that someone prestigious had gotten away with murder, and that it had been a case of unrequited love.

Tanya, of course, according to Danny, roamed the now-defunct museum, crying out night after night, shrieking for justice.

David slipped away from the tour. He realized that his hands were clenched into fists at his side.

He’d be damned sure to stay away from Danny until he’d cooled down.

O’Hara’s was quieter than usual that night. Katie did a duet with Marty Jenkins to get it all started-a song from South Pacific, as Marty didn’t seem to care much for any song that didn’t have something to do with ships or the water-and then a soprano down from her job as a character in an Orlando theme-park musical came on and awed them all with a number from Chicago.

There weren’t nearly as many inebriated people as on a Saturday night, but there was a group of ten students with the soprano who didn’t have classes again until Tuesday, so Katie was kept busy. At eleven she decided that she needed a break, and she set the students up to do a six-minute version of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

David seemed to have chosen his table at O’Hara’s; he was there with Liam, Sam Barnard and Pete Dryer.

“Katie, girl, lovely night, you keep it moving,” Pete applauded.

“It’s a nice crowd,” she said. “So how about you, Pete? Sunday a better day?”

“Sunday is usually a better day-except folks are moving in big-time now. Fantasy Fest is in the works,” he reminded her. “It officially starts next Friday.”

“Oh, right. It will be super-busy,” she said. She noted that David was barely listening to her; he was watching Danny Zigler.

He didn’t look happy.

“Anyway, I’m going to have a busy week no matter what,” Pete said. “I think I have a runaway stripper, and I’m pretty sure she’s the one who took off with that man’s wallet last night.”

Liam laughed. “A runaway stripper? Is there such a thing? I mean, a stripper is free to come and go as she chooses, right?”

“Unless she’s wanted by the law for being a pickpocket,” Pete said grimly.

“But did you see her?” Liam asked, frowning.

“No, I didn’t see her. But lately, we’ve only had one girl in trouble for helping herself to gents’ wallets, instead of waiting for the bills in the garter-or whatever,” Pete said.

“How do you know she’s missing?” David asked, suddenly turning his attention to Pete.

“She works at the Top-O-The-Top, and when I went to try to talk to her-warn her that I’m on to her at the least-she hadn’t shown up for work. One of the other girls told me that it was unusual. She likes money,” Pete said.

“Well, it is a Sunday night,” Sam commented. “Who knows? Maybe she heard about some better pickings up the islands.”

“If I don’t find her by tomorrow, I’ll put out an APB,” Pete said.

“Pete, can we prove anything?” Liam asked.

“I’ve got the kid’s report-hell, yes, I can put out an APB. Anyway, good night, all. I’m heading out,” Pete told them.

The college kids were having a good time, and they did so without being smashed or obnoxious. Katie kept the music going longer than she had intended.

Even so, David waited for her.

“You know,” she told him, “I’ve been walking myself home for a very long time.”

“Alone?” Bartholomew said.

She didn’t look his way, but she added, “Physically walking my mortal self.”

David seemed bemused by the comment. “But it is late and I am here. Do you mind?” he asked her.

“No. I’m glad.” She waved good-night to Clarinda.

“Zigler is gone,” David noted.

“I guess he took off early.”

“Started late, and took off early. Interesting,” David said.

“You’ve been looking at him with daggers in your eyes all night,” Katie commented.

“I followed his tour around tonight,” David said grimly.

“Oh.”

“After what I heard on his tour, I’d be scared of me,” he said.

“Danny is a good guy, though,” she said. “And I guess there’s no way to keep the tour guides from telling a story, especially if they can conjure a good ghost.”

“I wonder what he does with all his money,” David said.

“Well, he isn’t working jobs that set you in the upper stratosphere of income,” Katie pointed out.

“Still, he eats where he works, lives frugally… He must have some kind of a pastime.”

“Maybe he hides all his money in his mattress. Wasn’t there a crazy person who did that once?” Katie asked.

“Crazy. Umm. There have been a lot of crazies down here. It must be the sun,” David said.

They reached her house. He stood on the porch while she found her keys and fit one into the lock. The key turned and she looked at him. It seemed that she had no voice. She wanted to speak; she wanted to sound casual.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked. Oh, God, she sounded as if she was applying for a job as phone-sex girl.

He smiled and leaned against the door frame, not touching her, and yet looking at her in a way that made her feel as if he could send out rays of static heat.

“If I come in…well, it might be dangerous, you know.”

“I don’t think you’re dangerous,” she said.

“No, I meant it really might be dangerous. I’m torn- I want to be with you, but I’m not so sure you should be seen with me.”

“Oh. Oh,” she murmured and blushed, feeling incredibly awkward. She started to step past him but he blocked the way and she met his eyes again. They were deep royal-blue, a navy color that could be so dark it appeared black in the shadows. “I would love to come in, if the offer still stands.”

She paused, feeling as if the night could change everything, and then feeling foolish, as well. Sex. So many people fell into it so easily. She’d never been able to play that game, she’d never wanted something that didn’t mean something. This felt like more. It was sex…it was intimate. Natural. Biology, something that happened between people. But she meant something to him; she knew it. She cared about him, equally.

“I…I want you to come in.” Ah, there she was, sounding like the phone-sex applicant again.

But he reached out, stroking a finger along her cheek and smoothing her hair back. “I didn’t want to want you, but I do,” he told her.

“I think…well, they do say there’s just something that attracts certain people.”

“Think we should make love and experiment?” he asked.

She shook her head slowly. “No.”

“Well, we are still on the porch.”

She smiled, suddenly feeling sure of herself, and at ease. “I like the idea best of us both knowing that we wanted…one another from the start.”

“Actually, I really disliked you.”

“Come to think of it, I loathed you.”

“Let’s get in,” he said huskily.

They stepped inside. Katie closed and locked the door and wound up pinned against it. David leaned into her, and their lips met in their first kiss, something that seemed to ignite into an instant passion. It was a kiss, just a kiss, but hungry, wet, all over, openmouthed and so sensual that Katie heard a sound and realized that it was herself, it was a moan, but it was aggressive, and her hands were cradling his jaw, feeling the structure, holding him to her.

They broke breathlessly, staring at one another.

He kissed her again with a whisper, a brush of restraint and tenderness, and his eyes met hers and his lips formed hard and seeking over hers once again and their tongues filled one another’s mouths.

She heard a groan. It wasn’t him and it wasn’t her.

“Oh, good God, woman, you’ve got a room, go to it!” Bartholomew said.

She started and jerked back. Bartholomew was leaning against the counter, appearing irritated and disturbed by the entire scene.

“Room!” he said, waving a hand at her. “Go, go!”

“What?” David said. “You can pull back at any time, Katie. I swear, I’ll leave at any time. Now, if that’s what you want. You’ve got to be sure.”

She glared around his head at Bartholomew and pulled David back to her. But she practiced restraint. She kissed him, running her fingers over his shoulders up to his nape, and into his hair. It was so thick and rich. Touching his hair was arousing. She was in sad shape.

“Katie, go!” Bartholomew said.

“You go!” she whispered over his shoulder.

David backed away. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, no!” She caught his hand and headed up the stairs. She ran, pulling him behind her, then stopped suddenly.

Ghosts. Ghosts kept interrupting her life. Victims who wanted to speak to her…

Ghosts who needed her.

But not tonight!

“Katie,” David began.

She stopped him. “I’m sorry. I’m scared. But don’t leave. I want you, I want this. It’s just…the last time was Carl Waverly and I dated him all through college but then he wanted to get married and move to Seattle and I knew that I had to come home and that was…that was it and a long time ago, but don’t worry, I won’t make more out of it than it is…oh, God, way more detail than you needed, right?”

He smiled and laughed with a husky sound, and his eyes were dark and yet alive with a brilliance that seemed to be warmth or tenderness. “It was great detail,” he assured her, and he pulled her against him and lifted her from her feet, sweeping her off them. Soft light came in gentle streaks where the drapes weren’t completely closed and dust motes seemed to dance in a fantasy world. He laid her on the bed, and he came down beside her, kissing her as he began with the buttons of her blouse. For a second she was still, then it seemed the whole of her was on fire, and his movements weren’t nearly fast enough. She writhed against him, finding buttons herself. She pressed her lips against his throat and his collarbone, working at his tailored shirt. Hers was slipping away at last, her breasts were free and her flesh was against his. Shadows made it easy, the glow of light made it beautiful. She felt his lips against her breast while his fingers found the belt buckle of her jeans, snap and zipper, and his fingers played erotically over the silk of her underwear while she shimmied from her jeans, tugging at his while she did so. She felt his muscles tense and ripple where she touched him, felt the crush of his mouth against hers, again the thrust and plunge of his tongue, deep and evocative. Somehow their clothing was gone, shed, a part of the tangle of coverlet and sheets on the bed and their hands and lips were everywhere. His mouth slid down the length of her, teased and tasted, while his fingers stroked up her inner thighs. There was a wonderful sense of power and strength about him, he was gentle and vital and vibrant. He seemed to know exactly where to touch and then kiss and caress, a slow burn started that seemed to flare out of control.

She felt herself explode within, and the feeling was growing again. He was over her, his eyes touching hers, and he moved into her, thrusting in a way that seemed to fill her completely and then stroked, moving with greater power and speed, reaching higher and higher, slowly, beginning again, leading her once again to a point where she exploded cataclysmically, shuddering and shaking in his arms, so sated that she felt she could die. She seemed to fall down in a field of clouds, except the clouds were sweaty and sleek, and it was amazing to be held against him with such a contrast of sensations filling her flesh and mind.

Sex. Just sex. First sex. Awkward when the clothing was strewn and the pinnacle reached…

But it wasn’t. He came up on an elbow, and his smile was deep. His features were really masculine and beautiful, rugged, never pretty, and yet…beautiful.

“Umm. You were well worth waiting for,” she whispered.

“We didn’t wait that long,” he said, smiling at her.

“Seems like forever,” she said softly.

“Thank you. And…obviously, the point now is not to instantly jump your bones, so I suppose it will be all right if I tell you you are really amazingly beautiful and certainly, anyone could wait a lifetime for you.”

She laughed. It was easy being with him. Naked and panting, it was still easy. “Did you get to Ireland in your travels?” She teased. “Kiss the Blarney stone?”

He stroked her hair, looked into her eyes. “Never,” he assured her. He held her against him, still studying her face. “Sean’s little sister. You did grow up well.”

“You’ve really got to quit referring to me as Sean’s little sister.”

“I do, absolutely. I don’t intend to feel guilty a moment when I see Sean. You are, beyond a doubt, very grownup. And out. In all the right places.”

“Thank you, again.” She laughed, and then her breath caught, and suddenly they were clinging to one another again, and rolling on the bed, passionately touching and teasing, and once again, making love wildly, desperately reaching at moments, smiling at others, laughing…and then climaxing again. The world seemed to have no end. They talked about music and coming home from school and finding a way to make it all work. He talked about lighting and photography, getting into underwater film, loving the world beneath the sea, and she reminded him that Key West had some of the most fantastic sunsets in the world.

When she slept that night, it was deeply.

When she woke, the woman was back.

Not Tanya, the other woman. The dark-haired woman. She was seated across the room in the dressing-room chair, and she was looking at Katie forlornly.

Katie bit her lip and turned her head slightly, glad to see that she and David were both decently covered beneath the coolness of the air-conditioning.

She stared at the girl in her room, and she moved her lips without a whisper. “Not here! Never in my room.”

The ghost frowned, blinked and then nodded. She stood, and glided sadly toward the door, and disappeared through it.