Chapter Two
The scent of him, a blend of leather, soap and something she identified as simply him, filled her apartment. Sucking in a lungful of the tantalizing blend, Carson closed her eyes on the tears threatening to break past her determination not to cry again.
Madness? Maybe. But if going mad meant that even for one more moment she’d sense him, hear him, almost taste him—was it a bad thing?
“Randall?”
She didn’t expect an answer. In the weeks since his bike flipped, the smell had grown stronger and the sense of him richer, but no answer ever came. Although it reaffirmed her going-wackadoodle diagnosis, she shrugged it off and reveled in the scent.
“If you were here, I would tell you all the things I was afraid to say when you were alive. I loved you, do you know that? I always loved you—you dumb, arrogant ass.”
The hot tears spilled out to splash on her cheeks. Annoyed, she dashed them away with the back of her hand. She spent her days crying. A lifetime of tears loomed in front of her, empty and aching in pain. Yanking off her robe, she turned the faucet on for the shower. Talking to myself…probably there’s a pill for that.
“I wanted you.” Whispering it felt safer than saying it aloud, even in the privacy of her own apartment. Sick. Only a sick, sick woman desired a man dead and gone.
She’d wanted Randall Parks from the moment her hormones kicked in. Her best friend, her guardian when things got rough, her knight in somewhat-rusted and dinged up armor—he wore many hats in her life and none more important than that of best friend. They grew up together, neighbors in the same cul-de-sac and, as adults, lived in the same building. The knowledge that his apartment, right across the hall, stood empty, carved a hollow spot in her chest that didn’t help the ache of grief any.
Stepping into the shower, she heard his voice. Breathed on the air around her, familiar words he’d said a hundred times over their years together, even if she hadn’t heard his voice in waking moments for weeks. “You worry too much, blondie.”
Sobs choked her, but the water rinsed the salty moisture of her tears away as fast as they poured from her. “I still need you.”
Leaning her head against the wall, she struggled with the pain. Time, supposedly the cure for all wounds, didn’t help. Every morning became a battle to get up and to pretend to function when her whole world had flipped on that bike with him.
A hand slid down her spine and she shivered. Her eyes popped open, but she didn’t dare glance behind her.
No one is there. But the feel of the calloused hand, sliding down her skin, seemed more real than anything else in her grief-shrouded world.
This time she didn’t look to see if he was there.
If it’s madness, so be it.
“Randall, I know you’re here.”
“Then why are you crying?”
She shoved her fist in her mouth and bit her fingers. Pinching her eyes closed, she sucked in a ragged breath, her heart thudding in her chest. Could a dream sound that real? Can I want something badly enough that my mind actually supplies it?
Perception. Probably, an insane woman could hallucinate.
Did she care if she was insane? Really? If it meant even one more moment with him?
No.
“Because I miss you.”
“I never left you.”
Again, the stab of pain at the sound of his voice, but she breathed through it, concentrated, counted each exhale. Push the pain out like they told you to do when you meditate. Using the water from the shower, she washed away the rest of the sting of sadness almost as if she could rinse it down the drain. Clear your mind. Crying solved nothing. Time to embrace the crazy.
“I wanted you. I don’t know why I didn’t just go for it, tell you. Maybe I was afraid? But I did. I loved you, and wanted you….” She braced one hand on the shower wall, head bowed, and rubbed the other across her face. Randall would laugh—he always laughed if she got too serious, ending any conversational depth and bringing things back to playful banter.
He didn’t laugh. “I wanted you. I still do, even though that doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. Shouldn’t I stop feeling lust since I don’t have a dick to feel it with?”
The comment sounded so Randall. She spun on the wet tile.
An empty shower, only steam filled the space.
“I’m pretty sure you can’t see me, blondie. I mean, I’m dead.”
His voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. No way could she imagine him so clearly. She wasn’t that creative.
Goose bumps rose on her skin. One hand shielded her breasts and another covered her pussy, hiding it from phantom eyes. I’m naked…he can’t—
I don’t believe in ghosts. But it sounds like him….
I want it to be him.
“Are you here?”
Stupid question. He can’t be.
“I’ve been here. I just figured out the talking part. Harder than you might think but now that I’ve got it down….”
Shoving the shower curtain aside, she grabbed a towel.
“Don’t cover up,” he ordered. Her hand stilled, a frisson of heat licking up her spine and raising the fine hairs on her arms.
An answering throb beat an urgent tempo between her legs.
His tone, the demanding voice she fantasized about. He’d marched a parade of bimbos through their lives, and she’d noticed the way he looked at them and the crack of dominance in his voice when he spoke to them which tripped her trigger every damned time….
The dominance he refused to wield in her direction.
Her fingers closed on the towel, a dare of sorts.
“Don’t make me punish you, Carson.”
Her legs shook at the snapped command. She fought dueling emotions—one part of her trembling in desire, the other mad…because, now? When he was dead and gone?
“What are you going to do? You’re a ghost. I knew what you were when you were alive, Randall. Yet not once—never—did you ever make one sexual move toward me. Always the white knight. Always the friend. Why would that change now that you’re pushing up daisies?”
A blast of warm wind picked her up, almost slamming her into the wall. The spectral gust pinned her hands above her head as if held by invisible cuffs and spread her legs open to the humid air. She fought down a wave of unbridled lust.
“When I was alive, I worried my desires would scare you. I worried that what I wanted would disgust you, ruin our friendship.”
She panted, breasts rising and falling with each inhalation. A cool feeling, like ice being rubbed against her nipple, zinged awareness and pleasure through her, but she bit her lip to stay silent, waiting for his next move.
“I know what you want. You want me to take the control away from you, spank that round, white ass of yours until it’s red and tender. Now—”
Held on the wall by invisible handcuffs, she didn’t care whether her imagination provided this fantasy or if a ghost toyed with her body. Wet, throbbing need between her legs demanded she hang on his every word.
The voice came from the air next to her ear. “Now I have nothing to lose.”
A firm twist of her nipple accompanied the comment and she writhed in her restraints. Her cry increased the pressure.
“Silence, Carson. You will be utterly silent unless I give you permission to speak or we won’t play. Do you understand?”
She whispered the words she’d wanted to say for so long, “Yes, Sir.”