Ghost for Sale. Sandra Cox

the hallway and waited for Clayton. When the buzzer sounded, I opened the door and threw myself into his arms.

      His eyebrows rose, his body went rigid, and his face registered stunned surprise…for about five seconds. “This is more like it.” He kissed me enthusiastically, his hands busy as little bees.

      I drew back. “I’m sorry, Clayton. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.” Clayton and I went out occasionally, but we weren’t an item.

      He took a deep inhale and got his breathing under control. His arms dropped from my shoulders. “For a moment there, I thought absence may have made your heart grow fonder, since we haven’t seen each other in a few weeks.”

      Heat crept into my cheeks. “I’m aware our relationship has never progressed to its natural conclusion. You’ve pointed it out repeatedly.”

      “Then what’s the problem? You’re uh not…” He shifted on his feet.

      “No, Clayton, I’m not gay. I’m convinced half my appeal for you—besides being your boss’s niece—is the challenge.”

      He stuck his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts and rocked back on his heels. “You know that’s not true. Never mind, baby. I know that kind of talk makes you nervous. I just thought for a moment there…”

      “When I threw myself into your arms?” I added helpfully.

      “Yeah, pretty much.” He grinned. At least the boy had a sense of humor...sort of.

      “I am glad to see you.” I’d be glad to see anybody right now. I tugged his hand out of his pocket and tried to lead him into the living room. “Tell me about your trip.”

      “Cut the crap, Cat. Why did you throw yourself at me?” Face set in stubborn lines, he pulled his hand back.

      “Well, I was glad to see you.” I nodded my head for emphasis.

      “And?” He arched an eyebrow.

      “It’s impossible to wear down a banker-in-training,” I groused. “Once focused, you’re sharp as steel and about as malleable.”

      “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now what’s going on?”

      “I thought there was an intruder when I was at the pool.”

      He straightened, all signs of the lazy playboy gone in an instant. “Why didn’t you say so? Did you call the police?”

      “And tell them what? A shadow fell across the pool, but no one was there?”

      He gave me a strange look. “Is the alarm system on?”

      “Yes.”

      “You stay here. I’m going to take a look outside.”

      “Thanks, Clayton.” Relief swamped me.

      “Stay here.” He snapped the words out again.

      “I’m coming with you.” But I was already talking to his back.

      I ran to the bedroom. He might have been conservative—okay he was conservative; he was going into the banking business. And he might not have attracted me at the basic level. But he was a good guy to have in my corner when the chips were down. He was no coward.

      I rummaged in my dresser drawer for the Taser dad had given me when I moved out, grabbed it, and then ran through the house and out the back door in hot pursuit. When Clayton stopped abruptly, I ran full tilt into his warm solid back and nearly tased my foot. “Ouch.” I rubbed my nose.

      “Don’t you ever do what you’re told?” He eased me to his side, then cautiously walked the enclosure. The gray clouds had lifted. The sun dropped in the sky in a bright red orb that threw garnet sparkles on the water. A few early stars began to make their appearance. The scent of chlorine mixed with Clayton’s expensive aftershave. I relaxed. No limes and cinnamon. The presence was gone.

      We circled the pool and then the house. “I don’t see anyone.” Clayton took one last look around.

      “Maybe it was my imagination.” Not.

      “In this case, I hope so.” He glanced at his watch.

      I could take a hint. “Why don’t you go back to the party?”

      “I’ll stay for a little while.”

      “Really, I’m okay.” Pricks of discomfort tightened my chest. I was so not okay.

      “Tell you what. I’ll take one more look around, then check the house before I go.”

      “Deal.” My taut muscles loosened. While he checked the property, I grabbed a soda. He walked in as I popped the top. “Want one?” I asked.

      He shook his head. “I’ll just do a quick check of the rooms.”

      I swallowed a giggle. Clayton might not be getting lucky with me, but I had a feeling the evening wasn’t going to be a wash for him. He went through the bungalow in record time.

      He came into the kitchen and pecked me on the cheek. “I’ll call you soon.” He stopped me before I could trail after him. “I can see myself out.”

      “Sure.” He didn’t sprint for the door, but he disappeared through it pretty fast. I’d bruised his ego. Again. “I’m going to stop dating altogether.” I’d never met a guy who melted me like molten lava, and I didn’t intend to settle for less. “I’m a freak.”

      “That’s the damn silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

      Chapter 2

      The scent of tart limes and cinnamon assailed me. I opened my mouth to scream so loud Clayton would hear me a mile away, which he probably was by now. Nothing came out but a dry croak.

      The apparition stood in my kitchen as if he belonged there, tall, his coal black hair with a tint of blue sheen to it. He looked at me from stormy gray eyes that had a trace of devilment in them, partly hidden by bewilderment. The black suit jacket he wore came nearly to his knees. Beneath it, a beautiful silk, cream-colored vest covered a white shirt with a stiff standup collar.

      “You can see me?” His storm-flecked eyes widened.

      “Wh...” The spit dried in my mouth. I swallowed and tried again. “Who are you?” It came out a croak, but it came out.

      “Your roommate’s ghost.” He grinned.

      My knees buckled. Rear hit wood with a thump as I sat down on a kitchen chair. “Umm.” I rubbed my posterior.

      “I can’t believe you can see me,” he marveled.

      “Yeah, me either.” My heart banged in my ears. My clammy hands trembled. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?”

      “Liam O’Reilly. And you are Caitlin?”

      “Yes.” I tried to get my breath under control before I hyperventilated. “What are you doing here?” I gripped the table and scooted my chair under it, so that the table rested between us. The muscles in my neck rigid, I concentrated on the pristine white ruffled curtains that framed the window and counted to ten before I glanced back. He was still there.

      The ghost looked around the room and appeared as bemused as I. He glanced at my top, then quickly averted his gaze. I’d thrown on a black, cross-front bra tank-top over tan shorts. I watched in fascination as red stained his throat. It flooded his face and replaced the translucent honey-colored tan. His old-fashioned attire made my outfit look skimpy. I cleared my throat. “Um, what year are you from?”

      “I died in October of 1866 in Ruby Falls, Virginia.”

      That accounted for the clothes.

      “Now if I might ask you, what year is it?” He took a restless turn around the room.

      “2015.”