Page 3 of TBR: Dead But Well Read

Deciding an opportunity like this might not come around again in my afterlife, I reluctantly closed my book and pushed myself up into a sitting position.

“But how?” I asked, drifting down to the floor. “I’m a ghost and humans can’t see me.”

“Simple.” The man shrugged, not bothering to look up from the heavy volume. “I’m not fully human.”

“Then what are you?” I stepped closer to the man, something I never would have done when I was living and timid as a mouse.

I’m dead, so I have nothing to fear. He can’t lay a finger on me. Which is unfortunate, since I want him to lay more than just a finger on me…

Huh. It seemed that in death, my inner voice had grown a spine.I’d certainly never been bold enough to approach a guy while alive, and definitely not one who looked like he could take on a grizzly without breaking a sweat.

Yep, my preferred type of men had always been book boyfriends… the type of guys who were confined to the pages of a romance.

“I’m a collector.” His piercing gray eyes locked on my face, studying me as I stepped into the light.

“Collector? Like, antiques?” Far be it from me to judge a book by its cover, but he didn’t fit the mold of an antique dealer. “Or do you collect money from terrified people for a mafia boss, and if they can’t pay, you turn them into ghosts like me?”

“Neither.” The deep timbre of his voice added to the edge of danger that rolled off him. He changed the topic. “How long have you been a ghost?”

The man was tall enough I had to tilt my head up to look at him. Letting my curiosity win, I floated up until we were at eye level.

Sugar honey iced tea!He was even more perfect up close.

Well, it was decided; I’d definitely have naughty thoughts about him later. Being dead had killed my sex life, but it didn’t stop me from imagining it in my dreams.

Realizing I hadn’t answered his question, I shrugged. “Three years, give or take a few weeks. Time begins to run together after a while.”

For the first time, the man looked taken aback, and his eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

I snorted and lowered myself back to the floor. “Uh, yes. I’m pretty sure I remember how long it’s been since I kickedthe proverbial bucket. Death is considered a fairly important milestone in most people’s lives.”

Slowly, as though afraid of spooking a wild animal, the man lifted his hand toward my face. If I’d still been a card-carrying member of the living, I would’ve darted out of the room like a bat out of Hades. But being dead had done wonders for both my dry skin and my confidence.

Holding the breath I didn’t actually need, I waited to see what he would do. After all, he couldn’t physically touch me, let alone hurt me.

Boy oh boy, was I wrong.

His fingers brushed my cheek, and I shivered at the heat of his warm skin against my ghostly face.

This was impossible.

He shouldn’t be able to touch me. Even with my dazzling ghostly party tricks, I hadn’t been able to touch a living human’s skin.

The overhead light flickered and hummed, but I barely noticed as electricity sizzled through his fingers. It surged through me, heating me from the inside out before finally returning to him.

“You can touch me?” My voice cracked. “I… I don’t understand.”

Unable to stop myself, I reached up and pressed my palm to his cheek. There was another pop of static and heat poured into my body from where our skin met.

“I live my life crossing between the planes of this world and the other. I can interact with you the same way I can interact with humans,” he answered almost absently, his fingers slowly tracing my jaw. “You are just as alive to me as the people sitting in the library.”

My eyes went to his lips, and I blamed the years spent reading romance for the direction my thoughts took. But sincehe could touch my face, I couldn’t help but wonder what other things he could do.

“How’d you die?” The guy took a step closer until our faces were only inches apart.

Ha! Like I was going to tell him the truth. Not a chance in this life—er, death. “I got run over by Santa’s sleigh.”

“What?” His brow creased, and he blinked as he tried to process my words. Then he barked out a strangled laugh. “Santa isn’t real.”

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