Page 11 of The Ghost of Christmas Present

“Words, wisdom, knowledge, yes. This community, yes. A certain stunning brunette scholar. Yes.”

“I could listen to you talk all night,” Louisa sighed and returned to an earlier train of thought. “Did you... Did you enter my dream?”

“Ah. Perhaps. If you dreamed of me, it was a happy accident, but yes. I was... present.”

There was no doubt that the voice sounded bashful.

No one will ever believe this. I’m not even going to tell anyone about this, so why the hell not?“Were you saying dirty things to me? In real life or did I dream that?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. It was wrong of me, I know. I have always tried to give you privacy in—erhrm—delicate moments. But last night you seemed like you could use cheering up. A release. And again, I was wrong. Selfishly wrong.”

It was wrong.

Wrong in a way that unexpectedly made her toes start to curl as a pleasurable tingle raced up her calves. “Lonely?”

The word was soft, but perfectly clear. “Very much so.” Mortimer’s voice shifted, coming from beside her one moment, and now behind her, so that she tilted her head back and felt a sweep of warmth across her cheek and down her rounded chin. “I thought that you seem to love these passionate romances—so why shouldn’t I read one to you? Why shouldn’t I tell you that you inspire me?”

“Because when I read books like that, I start to think naughty things, Mortimer. Do naughty things.” Her voice grew stronger, and her smile wider. Was she baiting the ghost? Yes, and why not? Why not see if those delicious warm rushes smoothing across her skin were in his control? Why not learn how he would use them?

For science, of course.

Mortimer’s well-bred voice turned lower and thicker, a guttural edge that sounded like he was speaking while winded. “Naughty implies you shouldn’t. As far as I have seen, you haveno lover to lavish you, to make you feel the sensations you desire. Deserve. How is it you don’t have a ring on your finger, my Louisa?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to snap that it was none of his business, to snap that not all women wanted rings and babies, stuff like that.

Except she did.

He certainly couldn’t give her those things. But... No living man was giving them to her, either.

“I’m picky, and I like to spend all my time at the library. Single men don’t come here to scope out the hot chicks,” she snorted.

“Foolish men. I can’t give you everything you desire, perhaps, but I would love to try. I believe you’ll see we’re compatible, my Louisa.”

“Except for you being dead?”

Mortimer chuckled, which surprised her. She instantly liked that he hadn’t gone on the defensive but instead seemed to find her words amusing. “I still read, frequent the library, keep up on current affairs, and find you utterly ravishing. There are other paranormal creatures in this town, my dear, and they have rich, full lives, right under humanity’s nose. You may not find out everything about me in one night, but I’ll try to show you that I’m worthy of your attention.”

Worthy. A treasure. A prize that ought to be on some educated man’s arm.

Frankly, this ghost was playing straight into her fantasies, and she was too curious to care. “There’s one thing you can’t give me—as far as I know,” she hinted, hips shifting restlessly.

Warm pressure that felt like the gel masks she wore to soothe her sinuses caressed her neck, then moved down her shoulders. She moaned as it washed over her, moving lower and deeper across her back, lingering at the base of her spine before huggingher hips. She gasped and waited, mouth open, panting just a little as the pressure moved back up and two not-quite-solid objects pressed into her breasts. “Yes!” she choked out, stealing a breath as the pressure tightened. Hands. His hands cupped her breasts as he sat behind her, under her, without making her move at all.

“What is it you want me to give you, Louisa? I’m your present, after all.”

Chapter Five

“Talk to me like you did last night. Stay with me like this,” she begged shamelessly, undone by the first masculine touch she’d had in almost four years.

“For as long as you like,” he whispered.

If it was odd that she couldn’t see him, she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling of his warmth caressing her, kneading her breasts as he moaned in her ear. “I thought ghosts were cold.”

“Some are. Unhappy ones are freezing, and quite unlike humans. They’re the horror movie ghosts you hear of, dropping things, screaming, slamming. A contented, peaceful ghost who retains his soul and simply isn’t ready to leave this realm is most dissimilar. He’s warm. Somewhat solid. Pliable. Sensitive. Conversational.”

Louisa moaned and bit down a chuckle as Mortimer’s voice panted in her ear, a rich vocabulary at odds with the crudeness of the thick, long object she could feel against her backside. She wriggled as Mortimer kissed her cheek, letting herself explore.

She was no prude, and her reading gave her a creative appetite. What Mortimer had pressing into her reminded her of the large rubber dildos she liked to stuff inside her hungry tunnel while her fingers danced across her clit, letting her pretend a lover was filling her as she read steamy scenes.

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