They made it to her apartment, but not as far as her bedroom. She said something about having a drink, and next thing, they'd fallen on her couch, toppling stacks of folded laundry as they tore off the clothes they were wearing.
She felt warm and fit in his arms, her skin smooth and so damn tempting. Andrew knew he'd never get enough of her. Never. With mouth, tongue and teeth, he blazed a trail down her throat and stomach, lower and deeper, wanting to love every part of her, feel her shuddering with pleasure and heat.
But she had ideas of her own, as she always did. Her mouth, tongue and teeth did their own erotic torture, until restraint became impossible.
When they came together, the ferocity of his need was overwhelming. He forced himself to hold back, but she pulled him in deeper, harder, matching his rhythm. Their bodies, minds and souls seemed to melt together, separate, melt again. The release came suddenly, in a blinding, nonstop rush.
Stillness settled in slowly, tentatively. He eased between her and the back of the couch, and she slid in close to him and laid her palm on his chest. "I can feel your heartbeat." She spoke softly, as if she didn't want all of Boston to hear her. "I think it was Jedidiah who put the idea of giving me the carriage house in Ike's head, don't you? A proper ghost would know we belonged together."
"We do, do we?"
"Yes. Absolutely. You, me and Dolly. And Harl. I'm talking to him about moving his shop to the carriage house. He'd have more space. It'd be better for both of us, I think." She sighed, contented. "This will be so much fun."
Andrew smiled at her. She was a strong woman, and she never stopped. That mind was always going. "Work and living arrangements can be worked out. Let's go back to you and me belonging together."
"We do, you know. I think I've known it, on some basic instinctive level, for the past year, and that's why I was reluctant to take possession of the carriage house. I knew I'd have to go through the fires of hell before I could have a man like you. And I did. We did." She smoothed her palms over his shoulders, her eyes fixed on his. "I love you very much, if that's what you're asking."
"I wasn't asking-I was trying to tell you the same thing." He kissed her softly. "I love you. I want to be a part of your life forever, wherever it takes you."
His cell phone rang, which meant it was Dolly. He rummaged on the floor for it. "Yeah, honey, what's up?"
"Honey?" Harl grunted. "I haven't been called that since I was six months old. Hey, Dolly just threw up. No fever. She's fine. Just wanted you to know."
"Should I come get her?"
"Nah. It was a mechanical thing."
"What did you feed her?"
In the background, he could hear Rita Perez insisting Harl tell him about the sardines. Harl sighed. "She wanted to try sardines. She didn't like them, so she washed them down with some other stuff. Chips and things. You know. Kids."
"I'll be there in the morning. Give her ginger ale. If she gets worse, call me."
Harl swore under his breath. "You'd better get here. She's heaving again. Man. I told her the Chinese food would put her over the top."
The line went dead.
Andrew looked at Tess, who was grinning. It was good to see. All the tension of uncovering Ike Grantham's murder had gone out of her. "We have to run up to Gloucester. Harl doesn't do sick kids."
But she was laughing.
He feigned a glower. "And what's so funny?"
"You, me, Dolly and Harl. And Rita Perez. Pop and Davey." She sighed as she rolled off the couch and picked clean clothes out of her scattered laundry. "My life couldn't be better."
He smiled. "Neither could mine."
He crawled into his clothes, and when they walked out into the warm Boston night, he felt it, just the way Tess had described her experience at the carriage house. And he knew.
All his ghosts were at peace.
About Carla Neggers
Carla Neggers lives in rural Vermont with her husband and their two children. Since completing her first novel at the age of twenty-four, she has written over forty books and has appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists.
