Page 15 of Ghost Walk
Dying played hell with a man’s sex life.
Not being able to touch women was so fucking unsatisfying that he’d given up voyeurism back in the 19thcentury. It was too depressing to watch what he couldn’t have. Grace Rivera was making him reconsider that stance.
The pirate in him wanted to seize every piece of her that he could get. Jamie had always been a possessive man. What he’d stolen, he didn’t give back. Grace washisnow. Every instinct in his ghostly body wanted to claim her before some other Robert showed up and tried to steal her away. Hiseyes slipped down to the collar of her robe, already picturing what was underneath.
“Right. Um. So,” she cleared her throat, not even noticing that he was mentally undressing her, “why are you still here? Likeon Earth,I mean. You’re not --like-- a vengeful spirit or something, right? Out to destroy the living, like inPoltergeist?”
“Of course not. I couldn’t hurt anyone, even if I wanted to. I’m not corporeal.” He waved a hand through the arm of the hideous chair to prove his point.
Grace appeared relieved. “Did you not walk into the light or something? Like inGhost?” She paused. “That’s a movie. You know that, right?”
“I know. I’ve seen it.” For a man born before electricity was harnessed, Jamie had a fairly good knowledge of films and television. Over the years, the flickering images had kept him sane. “And I also saw plenty of lights when I died. ...But, only because the mob that killed me carried torches. Otherwise things stayed dim and quiet that night.”
And had remained that way ever since.
If there was a Heaven, Jamie clearly hadn’t been invited to the party. No angelic guides setting him on his new path. No glowing beams drawing him upward. Nothing but Jamie, all alone in an endless pit of time. He’d been a selfish, irresponsible bastard in life, so, for several decades, he’d been sure that he was in purgatory. That this was all a test or a penance. As the years passed, he began to see that it was so much more horrible than that, though. He wasn’t being punished.
He’d simply been forgotten.
Jamie was forsaken in a misty realm between one plane of existence and the next. No one could see him or feel him or hear him. He didn’t exist.
…Except hedid.
He wasthere, goddamn it. Trapped and invisible, butthere. No matter how loud he yelled or how hard he tried, he couldn’t get anyone to notice that he was still a part of thisworld. The solitude had been never ending. Suffocating. A thousand times worse than dying. He’d given up hope of ever escaping his endless loop of days.
But now he had Grace. God had finally remembered Jamie Riordan and sent him someone who couldlisten. Sure, she lacked spirit and seemed irrational as hell, but that was a small matter considering she was also his savior.
Grace’s dark brows tugged together. “It must’ve been terrible for you. Dying, I mean.”
“Nah, t’was over in a flash. One minute, I was hanging by my neck and wishing I could breathe. The next, I was standing outside of my own body. I never felt a thing.”
That was a lie. Ghosts didn’t sleep, but sometimes Jamie still dreamed of murderous faces and twisting flames. In life, Jamie drank a bit, and stole a bit, and tupped more than a few willing women, but he’d never been atrulybad sort. At least he didn’t think so, no matter what his father had claimed. Not even spending his childhood under that asshole’s thumb had prepared him to witness the mindless savagery of Harrisonburg’s lynch mob, though. The hatred and evil and fear. Even in death, he couldn’t escape the nightmarish memories.
Grace stared at him, as if she understood the shadows passing over his face. As if she’d seen the darkness, too.
Jamie cleared his throat and glanced away from her. It was a crying shame that he couldn’t have some of that merlot. …Even if it was a shockingly inferior vintage. “The hardest part of being a ghost is not being able to touch anything.” He said abruptly. “You’re powerless to change or interact with a single bloody thing around you.”
“Well, you’re sitting on that sofa.”
Jamie looked down at the floral cushion. It appeared to be one of the few items in her home that hadn’t been rescued from a dumpster or purchased at a yard sale. The woman was clearly on a mission to save everyone else’s broken-down, forgotten, and/or homely castoffs.
The soft, flowery upholstery suited her, though. Grace Rivera struck him as a very feminine creature. The kind of ladywho would’ve never consorted with Jamie, back when he was alive. In his day, she would’ve carried a dainty lace parasol, and poured tea for well-bred gentlemen callers and worn cream-colored pearls.
…And crossed the street to avoid pirates.
In this age, she was stuck in a cramped apartment with no one to challenge that wanker Robert for treating her badly. Sometimes he wondered how people like Grace endured the modern world. The meek were undefended here. Left to flounder alone, as others sped past at impossible speeds. The strong and selfish survived, while weak-spirted girls collected chipped pottery and remained nearly as forsaken as Jamie.
“I’m not sitting on this sofa.” He assured her. “I’m just… hovering. Like a mist. I can’t actually touch things or interact with anyone.”
Although, when Grace had walked through him at Robert’s house, Jamie had experiencedsomething. Some electrical jolt that zinged through him like nothing else ever had.
He’dfelther.
Grace arched a brow, like she was reading his mind. “Then how do you explain what’s happening between us?”
“I can’t explain it and donea even want to.” Jamie wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had somebody, now. Another person in this world was talking to him. Seeing him. Calling them an “us.” That was enough. “For whatever reason, you’re the one, Grace Rivera.”
“The one for what? I’mneverthe one. Why is this happening to me?”
