“She’s visiting him before she crosses?”
Dax nodded, eager to leave and get to Celeste, but also wanting to make sure that Prissy’s needs were taken care of. “I’m sure she’ll be fine staying with them until she has to cross over, but would you mind checking in and just making sure that everything, well, seems okay with them? They can sense her, so they should know when she crosses. And if they do need me for anything, call me and let me know.”
“Yeah, I can watch her, but why aren’t you staying with them?” Gage asked.
“It’s Celeste. She’s back. She came back with Prissy, but we don’t have long.”
“The ghost from the summer?” Gage looked confused. “I thought she crossed over.”
“I thought so too, but she’s back, for a little while. And I’ve got to go. No time to explain now.” He darted on down the hall, but heard his brother calling after him.
“Did you tell Celeste that she’s made you a royal pain in the ass to be around since she left?”
Dax didn’t bother stopping to let him know that he had, in fact, told her that, but he still had plenty more to tell her. And plenty more to do with her before she crossed, if they could.
“Those rules don’t apply to me. And I’ve been aching for this.”
She could touch him. That fact alone shocked the hell out of him, but the way her body trembled when she touched him, the way her silver-gray eyes deepened to charcoal-that evidence of how touching him affected her-that had made him harder than he’d ever been in his life.
Dax wanted in her, to be a part of her before she had to leave again.
What if she never came back?
No. He couldn’t worry about that now. He climbed into his car, cranked it and glanced at the digital clock on the dash: 9:28.
He’d be home in an hour, earlier if he sped, which he would. Seconds were priceless now, and he resented each and every one he wasn’t with Celeste. The fact that she’d already had to rest twice told him that they probably wouldn’t get anywhere near twelve hours together on this side. Midnight was probably as good as it’d get; that was only two and a half hours away, and the majority of one of those hours would be spent driving, trying to get to her.
Then again, after she rested before, she’d felt better, and was able to touch him.
But why was she so tired, anyway? Why would a ghost be tired? Something wasn’t right, something that Dax couldn’t put his finger on.
He hurriedly left the parking deck, his Beemer catching a wheel as he jerked the car onto Jefferson Highway. He punched the accelerator and the car jumped to life. Dax was extremely thankful his company hadn’t skimped on his corporate car. Right now he needed speed, and-as his speedometer neared a hundred-he had it at his fingertips.
Now, as long as he didn’t meet any cops between the hospital and the plantation, he’d be there soon. And he and Celeste could pick up where they’d left off in that hospital room…
4
THE SOUND of a slamming door roused Celeste from her sleep. She opened her eyes prepared to be surrounded by the cold darkness of the middle room. But she wasn’t in darkness, she wasn’t cold and she wasn’t in the middle room.
Instantly, she remembered where she was, and why. She was in Adeline Vicknair’s sitting room, its hues of rose and pink a welcome change from what she’d been anticipating. And she was here because she’d been given another chance to see Dax. She looked toward the tall grandfather clock centered between the room’s two heavily draped windows. Fifteen minutes past ten. Less than two hours until midnight. Would she get longer than Adeline’s estimate?
Would she get less?
Would she get a chance to be with Dax, really be with him, before she had to leave?
Pounding footsteps echoed outside the door of the sitting room, and Celeste held her breath, hoping that the person so eagerly charging up the stairs was…
“Dax.”
His brown waves were tousled, his hazel eyes were intense and eager, and his breathing was heavy, loud enough for her to hear him exhale when he saw her. “You’re here.”
“I told you I would be,” she said, though she’d also wondered whether the powers that be would allow her to stay, after she’d become so exhausted at the hospital. She watched him enter the room, muscles flexing under his shirt, legs moving purposefully toward her, sexy mouth promising to please, and she was very, very grateful to whoever had decided to let her stay on this side a little longer.
He stopped next to the settee and looked down at her, then toward the clock. “We don’t have long, Celeste.”
“I know.” She stood and took a tiny step, closing the gap between them. “And I don’t know whether I’ll have another chance to be with you, Dax. I don’t know if I’ll make it back, once I leave again.”
“I’ll find a way,” he promised.
She smiled. “I’m sure if you can, you will, but just in case this is my last time here, I want to know…” She brushed back the brown waves at his temple, then slid her fingers through his hair.
The sizzling bolt of electricity that rocketed through her was even stronger than last time, even more potent.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, those eyes gazing into hers while she attempted to control the maddening, exhilarating rush from touching him.
She examined the golden flecks in the middle of the brown and green. She wanted to remember the uniqueness of them, the uniqueness of him, beyond the middle realm.
“Tell me, Celeste. Whatever you want to know, whatever you want to do,” he urged.
Her mouth was dry and her center burned for something that she’d never had. She licked her lips, and forced her throat to work. “I’ve been with a man before-” she smiled softly “-or rather, I’ve been with a boy.”
Those gorgeous eyes widened, but he didn’t speak.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve never been with anyone who knew-really knew-how to please a woman.” Celeste moistened her lips again. “I want to experience that before I cross, Dax. And I want it to be with someone I care about, someone who makes me feel things I’ve never felt before, the way I feel when I merely touch you.”
“I wanted you this summer,” he said, his voice raspy with desire. “And I’ve wanted only you since you left.”
She pushed her fingers through his hair, relishing the feel of the coarse strands tickling her palm. Then she moved her hands to the top of his shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons. Then, too eager to wait until the rest were undone, she slid them inside, running her palms across the broadness of his chest, then finding his flat nipples and circling them with her fingertips.
“I want to touch you,” he said. “So bad it hurts.”
With her lips a mere fraction from his, she smiled, and continued circling his nipples with her fingers. Odd, how exciting it was to feel them harden beneath her command. “I know you do, and I know that this would be easier if you could, since you obviously know more about where to touch, and where to be touched, than I do.” She gently pushed against his chest, guiding him back until he sat down on the settee. “So I suppose you’ll have to tell me what to do.” She did her best to sound confident, assured and ready to do…anything he instructed.
“Tell you what to do,” he repeated, and she noticed that he shoved his hands between the cushions on the settee, apparently not trusting himself to control them.
“Yes,” she said, and her voice was deeper, richer with her desire. But she was also feeling something equally as potent; her body growing weak. Consumed with passion, but weak with exhaustion. She prayed that passion would win out this time, at least long enough to…
She lowered herself in front of him, moving her body between his legs. The hard bulge that distended his jeans was undeniable, and she wanted to feel that part of him, with her hands, then with her mouth, and then inside of her. “Tell me what to do,” she said again, then she looked at him, and lost all fear. “Tell me,” she repeated.