Page 12 of Moonstone Landing
“You kissed me.”
He nodded. “I appreciated your words. Do you mind? I know you could not feel my lips on yours, but the gesture was important to me.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. You kissed me…and I felt it.”
Was she jesting?
She did not appear to be.
Her eyes were wide as full moons, and her fingers were lightly pressed to her soft lips. “Hen, it cannot be.”
“Try it again.”
“With pleasure,” he murmured and bent his head to hers as she tipped hers up to him. He pressed his mouth over hers. A flood of warmth tore through him, but he did not feel her mouth against his, could only imagine the soft give of her lips.
He drew away and began to trail kisses down her neck, inhaling the scent of lavender on her skin. “Can you feel this, Hen?”
“Oh…my…yes.”
He drew back, feeling bloody-well confused.
Her cheeks were a bright pink, and her eyes held a look quite familiar to him, that of a woman aroused. But it was completely unfamiliar to Hen. She did not understand what her body needed, wanted, or that it was missing something only he could provide. “Now we have another puzzle to solve,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Why can I feel your kisses?”
He had no answer for her.
Nor did he know why he was still bound to the cottage.
Or why Hen was here on her own, forsaking her obviously loving family.
Perhaps tomorrow would bring answers.
In any event, the hour was growing late, and Hen looked tired. “Come to bed,” he said, holding out his hand.
She regarded him quizzically, then nodded and reached for it.
To both their disappointment, her hand simply slid through his outstretched fingers. “Did you feel anything, Hen?”
“No. I’m so sorry. I wanted to.”
“It’s all right.”
She crossed to the bed and removed her robe, then scampered under the covers. She lay back contentedly and turned on her side to watch him. “Where do you sleep, Brioc? Or do ghosts never sleep?”
He had jested earlier about sleeping by her side, but he could not remember where he slept or if he ever did.
All he recalled was swimming along the beach each morning at dawn and then climbing the stairs to his cottage. It had been his routine when he was alive and residing in Moonstone Landing between hauling merchandise to different parts of the world and back.
He made up a story for Hen, knowing it would upset her to know the hollowness of his existence. “I stretch out on the chair beside the hearth, my legs across the ottoman. On warm nights, I’ll sleep on the balcony under a blanket of stars.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Have you ever tried it, Hen? Sleeping outdoors, the gentle breeze to cool you, and a thousand stars to light up the night sky.”
“No, never. It sounds wonderful. May we try it one night?” She yawned. “But not tonight. I am suddenly so tired. Do you mind if we put it off for another time?”
“I don’t mind, Hen.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead as she closed her eyes. She did not respond to his touch this time, so he expected she had not felt it.
He swallowed his disappointment.
