The Last Kiss Goodbye (37 page)

“Something the matter?” Michael was with them. Smirking.

Of course the minute the elevator doors closed Tony pulled her into his arms and kissed her. A deep kiss. Hungry. Promising.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Charlie shot a one-fingered salute at the devil watching her and kissed Tony back.

The shrilling of the emergency alarm made Tony jump like he’d been goosed.

Having been expecting—not precisely that, but
something
—Charlie didn’t jump. Finding herself dropped, she took advantage of her sudden freedom to turn her back to Tony and shoot her nemesis a look that would have killed him if he hadn’t already been dead.

“What the hell?” Tony said over the shrilling of the alarm, turning to examine the control panel in obvious hopes of shutting the damned thing off.

Leaning back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest, Michael gave Charlie a malicious grin. “I got to say, this is the most fun I’ve had since I died.”

Charlie was still working on rearranging her features into a reasonably pleasant expression for Tony’s benefit when the elevator, alarm still trilling wildly, reached their floor and stopped. She walked out first. Catching up with her, Tony slid a hand around her arm.

It took an effort, but she smiled at him.

Michael said, “Watch out, babe, you’re shooting poison darts out of those big blue eyes.”

She kept the smile, and tried not to clench her teeth.

The guard Tony had scared up to stand sentinel in the hall was nowhere in sight. Had Tony arranged for him to be elsewhere until he was summoned? Because he was astute enough to realize that she would find it embarrassing to invite him into her room under the eyes of an audience?

Charlie didn’t know. She didn’t really care. Glancing down, thrusting a hand into her purse, she pulled out her room key.

Tony saw it, and his hand tightened possessively on her arm.

“Think I could get the sprinkler above your bed to go off?” Michael asked in a tone that, if Charlie hadn’t known better, would have indicated he was just idly wondering. “Well, guess we won’t know till I try.”

Charlie shot him an evil look. The three of them had reached the door to her room by that time. Turning her back on Satan’s spawn, she paused with her key card in her hand to look up into Tony’s now subtly gleaming brown eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“So, am I coming in?” Tony asked her with the smallest of crooked smiles.

Charlie’s hand tightened on the key card. She looked up into the lean, dark face of the absolutely-perfect-for-the-life-she-wanted man standing so close to her. She did not so much as glance in the direction of the tawny-haired curse with which she was afflicted.

The sad, infuriating truth was, she had no choice.

“We’re taking it slow, remember?” Smiling apologetically at Tony—the apology at least was genuine—she slid her key into the lock. And tried to keep a lid on the fury she felt welling up inside her as Michael—not that she was looking at him—responded to that with a wide grin.

Only for a second did Tony’s face reveal his disappointment.

“Slow,” he said. Then he smiled a little wryly at her. “I got it. Slow.”

Then he cupped her face with both hands and gave her a long, lingering kiss good-night.

Gripping his wrists, Charlie responded. Lots of tongue. But, damn it, thanks to the looming presence of the ghost from hell, not so much heat.

When at last Tony let her go, she smiled at him, sweetly apologetic still, then walked into her room and shut the door in Michael’s face. She took three strides, turned, and waited.

He strolled through the door just as she’d known he would and grinned mockingly at her.

“Dudley get you turned on yet?”

Charlie felt her whole body quiver with anger. She felt the burning heat of it rising through her veins like red-hot lava. She could feel her face flush with it. She could feel her eyes blaze with it.

“You do not get to ruin my life,” she said through her teeth, advancing on him with a pointed finger aimed at the center of his wide chest. She stopped short before she reached him, but once again she made the mistake of coming too close: she had to tilt her head back to glare into his face. His eyes still mocked her. The slight curve of his mouth was—sexy as hell. “I want normal. I want easy. I want happy. I want to do my work in peace, and find a man I can fall in love with, and maybe even get married to and have kids with. If you interfere with that one more time, I’ll find a way to send you back on your way to hell, I swear.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “You know what I want? I want to be able to eat a nice steak dinner like you had tonight. I want to drink a couple of cold beers. I want to feel the sun on my face when I’m outside. I want to sleep. I want my damned life back. And I want to fuck the hell out of you.”

By the time he finished, his eyes were a hard, glittering blue. Charlie glared into them with true fury, but even as she did she could feel the electricity arcing between them, feel the air around them turning to steam. Her heartbeat sped up. Her pulse started to pound. Deep inside, her body quickened. Her nipples suddenly felt all hot and prickly as they pushed against her dress’ built-in bra, which inexplicably seemed to have gotten a couple of sizes too tight. Inside the silken scrap of her panties, she felt dampness, and heat.

As he watched her face, his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost black.

“Pay attention, babe: that’s what being turned on feels like,” he said softly.

Charlie looked into those hot-for-her eyes. She took in the hard, impossibly handsome face—the strong jaw, the sensuous curve of his mouth, the Sun God hair; and then, lower, the veritable mountain of sleek, powerful muscle that was pure sex-on-a-stick. And she felt a fresh burst of anger at him, at herself, at the damned universe, along with another wave of infuriating, overpowering, all-but-irresistible desire.

He hadn’t even touched her, and she was melting inside. She wanted to start ripping off her clothes.

And he could tell. She saw it in his eyes.

“I didn’t ask to get saddled with you,” she threw at him, clenching her fists as she turned sharply away. “I want you out of my life.”

“I didn’t ask to get saddled with you, either,” he growled. “But you’re mine now, Doc.”

To Charlie’s astonishment, before she could take more than a single step, hard hands gripped her waist, and she was spun around and lifted off her feet like she weighed nothing at all until he—Michael!—set her down with her back against the door.

She gaped at him. Eyes flaming, he loomed over her, his hands so solid on her waist that she felt the size and strength of them clear through her dress.

“You’re—” Anger forgotten, she started to tell him that he was solid, that he’d somehow crossed the barrier and was in her world now, but she never got the chance.

He pushed up against her, letting her feel every powerful inch of him as he crowded her back against the door. His big hand curved around the vulnerable nape of her neck. His fingers burrowed into her hair. Then he dropped his head and took her mouth.

This was no gentle kiss.

His lips were hard and hot and hungry. And angry. And incredibly, mind-blowingly arousing. As his tongue took bold possession of her mouth, Charlie made a helpless little mewling sound deep in her throat and slid her arms around his waist and her hands up under his shirt and kissed him back with a burning intensity that, until she had met him, she would have said was utterly foreign to her nature. His skin felt warm and satiny to the touch. The flexing muscles beneath were firm and smooth. He was far bigger than she was, far stronger than she was, and he was letting her know it. She couldn’t have gotten away from him if she’d tried, which she didn’t. Instead she plastered herself against him, arching her body to fit the powerful length of his. Pathetically primitive creature that she apparently was, she felt a rush of mindless pleasure, a blast of torrid heat. Her heart seemed to go haywire. Her blood sizzled. Kissing him with reckless abandon, she slid her palms up over his shoulder blades, reveling in their breadth and strength. She could feel every inch of him: the muscular wall of his chest, the bump of his belt buckle, the unmistakable hardness below. She could feel the brush of his jeans against her bare calves. Her toes touched the tip of his boots. If this was a war, he had already won hands down. The warm, wet invasion of her mouth made her shiver. It made her quake and melt inside. He was kissing her so hot and deep that she was dizzy.

I want you.

If he hadn’t been kissing her like he was, she would have said it aloud. But she couldn’t talk, could barely think or breathe.

His hand was on her breast, flattened on top of it, rubbing her, caressing her through the thin fabric of her dress. Her body’s searing response caught her by surprise. Her nipples tightened. Her breast surged into his palm. If her dress had had buttons, she would have been ripping them open for him. If it had had a zipper, she would have been yanking it down. But it didn’t. The only way out of the thing was to pull it over her head, which she couldn’t do because he was leaning against her, pressing her back into the door with enough force to keep her pinned there, holding her in place with his body.

He weighed a ton; he radiated heat.

Then he solved her dilemma for her by sliding a hand inside the neckline of her dress.

It was big and hot and masculine, and it covered her breast completely. Her nipple instantly puckered into a small hard nub that quivered against his fingers, then jutted into his palm. She made a little sound of abject surrender into his mouth as his thumb brushed back and forth over the sensitive point, and when he did it again her insides turned to jelly and her knees went weak.

He lifted his head, and she opened her eyes to find that he was looking down at her. His eyes were heavy-lidded and burning hot. His lips were parted, and damp from her kisses.

“Charlie,” he said, his voice rough with passion. Then his eyes flickered. Then they widened, and his mouth twisted into a pained grimace, and the big, solid body that was holding her in place shivered. He groaned, a harsh, grating sound that seemed to be dragged out of somewhere deep inside him. The next instant he was gone. Vanished.

She was left clutching air.

“Michael,” Charlie said blankly, still stupid with desire, still aching and burning and not quite grasping what had happened. Then in a burst of terrible clarity she knew: for a few moments he had managed to materialize, managed to become as real and solid as he had been when he was alive, and now he was paying the price.

The horrible, painful price.

Pushing away from the door, she glanced a little wildly around the room. There was no mistake. He wasn’t there.

Her heart pounded like a kettledrum. But this time it was from fear.

“Michael!”
Even as she called his name, she knew it was useless.

He wasn’t anywhere where he could hear.

Calm down. Try to think.

The last time he had materialized so fully it had been to take a knife in the back for her. After that, he had been gone for four days.

There was no reason why this time should be any different.

All I have to do is wait.

She still felt shaky with the aftermath of passion, and faintly disoriented, and afraid. Her legs were unsteady. Taking the few steps necessary to reach the nearest bed, Charlie sank down on the foot of the mattress.

Michael.
There was no point in calling out to him again, though, so she took a deep breath instead, and fought to clear her head. The last lingering effects of passion dissipated. At the thought of where Michael almost certainly was at that moment, she felt cold all over.

From everything he’d told her, and her own brief personal knowledge of it, Spookville was a terrifying place.

What if he can’t get back?

That was the thought that made her insides clench.

He was way past the after-death date when most spirits permanently left this plane. The universe already had been on the verge of taking him away to meet whatever eternity awaited him when she’d intervened with her candle and glass. It had him now.

This time the question came as almost a shriek inside her head:
What if he can’t get back?

Assessing the likelihood of that, Charlie felt stark fear. She’d known it all along: ghosts can’t stay.

She felt as if a giant hand had grabbed her heart and was squeezing it.

The universe knows what it’s doing. He won’t get worse than he deserves. He’s tough. He’ll endure.

Charlie realized she was shivering, and wrapped her arms around herself.

You’ll get your life back. You’ll get your chance with Tony, if that’s what you want. You won’t have a ghost that you never asked for chained to you forever.

Even as she reminded herself of those things, Charlie found herself battling the urge to scream. To the universe, to send him back. To God, to have mercy.

He had gone so fast.