Dear Readers,

Over the next couple of months, I’ve decided to give you a special treat to help celebrate the launch of Where Dreams are Made. Every week I will post a chapter of my humorous paranormal novella, The Seduction of Evelyn Hyde, which you can enjoy for free! The Seduction of Evelyn Hyde is not as dark or emotionally charged as Where Dreams are Made, but I’m hoping it will bring a smile to your lips and lighten your spirit (pardon the pun).

THE SEDUCTION OF EVELYN HYDE

Matt Alexander was Hollywood’s most notorious playboy, and he enjoyed every minute of it. Until his sins caught up with him and he died in a freak accident. Now, to avoid the fiery depths of Hell, he must face his most difficult challenge yet. He has ten days to win the love of introverted librarian Evelyn Hyde. Problem is, the blasted woman is more interested in taking Charles Dickens to bed than him.

Evelyn has lived a sheltered existence, finding contentment in the classic tales she enjoys night after night. Love is the last thing on her mind. She is more than happy to live vicariously through the characters found in her collection of timeless books.

Then, Matt Alexander’s ghost drops into her world, upsetting her perfectly ordinary life. Despite her best efforts to ignore him, Evelyn slowly discovers the thrill of falling in love. Unfortunately, it’s with a man no more tangible than the fictional heroes she reads about...until desire teaches them both how truly magical the soul can be.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 |
CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 1

On March twelfth, Matt Alexander died in a freak accident, when his girlfriend Sheila—or was it Susan?—found a red G-string in his car, which unfortunately didn’t belong to her. After a breathless tirade where she called him every foul name known to man—or more precisely woman—she angrily flung the panties in his face. For a split second the flimsy garment obstructed his vision, and Matt unwittingly slammed his car into an eighteen-wheeler.

Needless to say, he was pretty pissed when he arrived at the Pearly gates. The gall of that woman, totaling his sleek, shiny new Porsche that way. And over a silly pair of panties no less. The fact that he was dead didn’t quite register yet. He was too busy mourning the loss of his wheels to pay any heed to the fact that he was as intangible as mist.

Only when he was greeted by a short, goofy-looking man wearing a white dress did he realize the bind he was in.

“Mr. Alexander, welcome to triage,” the man said, smiling like some cartoon character with more teeth than common sense.

“Triage? Is that slang for purgatory?”

The man quirked two bushy, white brows. “No, triage is the stage before purgatory. It’s where we decide where you belong—” he gestured behind him and three golden doors appeared “—door number one, door number two or door number three.”

Matt’s head began to throb, or it would have if he still had a head. This little man was as confusing as hell. “Listen, Dopey, you may have eternity here, but I don’t. At least I think I don’t. Could you please cut to the chase?”

The man consulted a scroll, which he plucked out of thin air, and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “It says here patience was never one of your virtues. Apparently, neither was respect of oneself and others, compassion, and chastity.”

Matt snorted. “How about the thousand bucks I gave to Sun Youth last month?”

Dopey skewered him with a blistering glare. “That would be charity.”

Matt got his drift and chuckled proudly. If the truth be told, he was about as chaste as a nymphomaniac whore with too much time on her hands. Which was what had landed him in this whole sordid mess to begin with.

“So what do these doors stand for? Is Vanna waiting for me on the other side?”

Dopey flashed a mischievous grin. “Perhaps not Vanna, but a woman. Yes, most definitely a woman.”

Things were looking up. This whole death deal might not be so bad after all. “Is she hot?”

“That would be door number two. It’s very, very hot in there.”

The situation suddenly lost all comic appeal. That kind of heat he could do without. “So how is this game supposed to play out? Do I spin a wheel? Pick a door? Stand on my head and hum ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’?”

“Nothing that simple. In fact, it will probably be the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do.”

Matt scoffed. “There’s nothing I can’t accomplish if I set my mind to it. Anything to avoid door number two. Just name it.”

Dopey’s face gleamed until it became resplendent. With a swirl of his hand, he showed Matt what awaited him behind door number one. It was a woman, no doubt about that. A thin, mousy woman with horn-rimmed glasses, sitting in front of a roaring fire with her small, perky nose buried in a book.

Matt’s face fell. “She’s not my type.”

Dopey displayed a perfect row of pearl-white teeth. “She better be, Mr. Alexander, because you have exactly ten days to make her fall in love with you.”

***

Evelyn Hyde loved old books. She loved the smell of timeworn leather, the feel of crinkled yellowing paper beneath her fingertips, the crackling sound they made each time she turned a page. Everything about those timeless classics—penned in times of war, famine, oppression or plainly simpler eras when basic values actually mattered—fascinated her and left her breathless. She could lose herself in a book for days, thinking of nothing else but flipping to the next scene or chapter. These enduring tales inspired her, made her believe some things truly were meant to last forever.

She settled in her favorite recliner before the fireplace in the modest New England cottage she’d inherited from her parents, preparing to be swept away by her latest find—a wonderful first edition of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. Being a librarian definitely had its perks. Over the years she’d developed some pretty impressive contacts as far as used books were concerned, and this baby had all but fallen into her lap.

She’d barely read three pages when the strangest feeling came upon her. The feeling that she was no longer alone. Her gaze quickly scanned the room and, as crazy as it sounded, she half expected to find someone sitting on the couch across from her. Of course, there was no one there and she shook her head in self-reproach, returning her attention to her book.

The bizarre sensation, however, did not abate. She felt...watched.

Evelyn laughed at her silliness. She was just shy of her thirtieth birthday—far too young to be going senile. She’d read stories about women who lived alone. Women who grew eccentric as the years passed and eventually acquired a dozen or so cats to soothe their solitude. Ms. Delaney, who lived down the street from her, was a prime example. The sweet, plump spinster had the most unsettling habit of talking to people who weren’t there.

Well, she was nothing like her neighbor or any of the women she’d read about. Yes, she lived alone, but she did not own a cat and she most definitely was not lonely. Not with all these fascinating characters to keep her entertained night after night.

She managed to read a few more pages of Jane’s riveting plight when she experienced an inexplicable tingle at the nape of her neck, like the cool kiss of a ghost. She shuddered, flinging a furtive glance over her shoulder.

Get a grip. You’re far too pragmatic to start believing in ghosts.

The fire flickered, causing eerie shadows to skip across the walls. The shadows suddenly merged, swaying to some inaudible tune, as if performing a sensual dance. Then, for a moment ever so brief, she could’ve sworn they formed the shape of a man.

And that’s when Evelyn decided the time had probably come for her to adopt some cats.

***

Matt felt he was in hell already. For the past three days he’d struggled to get Evelyn to see him, but she refused to acknowledge his presence. That trick with the fire had been pretty neat. Still, the blasted woman continued to ignore him.

He was starting to believe Dopey had purposely set him up to fail. How could he possibly get Evelyn’s attention when she had her face constantly buried in a book? She probably wouldn’t have noticed him if he was a flesh-and-bone man standing stark naked two feet away from that pretty-as-a-button nose of hers.

For days he’d followed her around like some pathetic puppy, practically doing somersaults to get her to glance his way. He’d trudged through snow and slush here in Nowheretown Maine, painfully missing the bright L.A. sun he’d enjoyed most of his adult life. The New England sky was gray, like an old washed-out blanket, but for some reason it refused to rain or snow. And Evelyn’s routine was as boring as hell. She went from her house to the library, then back to her house again. Yesterday, she’d actually gone wild and dropped by the grocery store on her way home. Matt had nearly died from the excitement. Or he would’ve, if he wasn’t already dead.

No wonder the woman reads so much. Evelyn Hyde, he concluded, must be bored to tears.

“Dopey, I could really use your help here.” Matt’s voice echoed listlessly in the empty house. Evelyn was still at the library. Unable to spend another second in that drab place, he’d called it quits and returned to the cottage on his own.

Instantly, the white-gowned man materialized before him.

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Alexander?”

“The problem,” he grunted, “is that I can’t get her to see me.”

Dopey watched him with an infuriatingly calm look, scratching one of his oversized ears. “She’ll see you when she’s ready.”

Matt tamped down an oath. “And when exactly will that be?”

“Patience, Mr. Alexander. Good things come to those who wait.”

Great, his future hung in the balance and all Dopey could do was spit proverbs at him. “How the blazes am I supposed to get that woman to fall in love with me when she can’t see or hear or touch me? Worse yet, she’s as about as horny as a nun. The only man she takes to bed at night is Charles Dickens, and he’s as dead as a doornail!”

A cocky grin curled Dopey’s mouth. “Then it appears you’re in luck, Mr. Alexander. You’re precisely her type. And by the way, my name is Eberhart.”

Matt failed to stifle the chuckle that rose to his throat. “Bet you gave your parents door number two for that one.”

The humor was lost on Eberhart, who quickly vanished in a flurry of white robes.

Matt sighed. What in God’s name was he supposed to do now?

***       

Evelyn had a splendid day at the library. She managed to retrieve several late books and had even acquired a couple of new classics—Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho and Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield—from her contact at Classic Treasures. This was turning out to be a very exciting week.

Home, sweet home, she thought as she turned the key and entered the Victorian clapboard house she’d grown up in.

Her soles ached from all the hours she’d spent on her feet and she had a crick in her neck, a result of all the books she’d sorted. All she wanted to do tonight was take a nice hot bubble bath and curl up with Jane Eyre. Sadly, she was almost finished reading the enthralling tale. Jane had just discovered that Mr. Rochester was married and had fled from Thornfield Manor. Although Evelyn had read the story countless times before, she was anxious to experience the thrill of the climax all over again.

The moment she stepped foot in her home, however, the peculiar feeling returned. The one that made her skin prickle and her heart race. The one that had her seeing shapes in the shadows and hearing whispers in the whistle of the breeze.

Stubbornly brushing the sensation away, she dropped her purse in the hall and hastened to the kitchen to make herself a nice cup of herbal tea. She’d eaten a sandwich at the library before she’d left for the day, so she didn’t have to bother with supper tonight.

After drinking her tea, she made her way to the bathroom, where she proceeded to fill the tub with fragrant suds. The small bathroom slowly filled with lavender-scented steam, as she gently slipped out of her clothes. Humming a chirpy tune, she removed the rubber band from her hair, releasing a cascade of unruly curls. Completing the ritual, she took off her glasses and placed them by the sink. She was about to lower herself into the tub when—for no reason she could explain—she felt compelled to wipe the steam from the mirror.

Instantly, her heart slammed into her throat, drowning the scream that threatened to spill from her parted lips. In the mirror, mere feet behind her, stood the most gloriously handsome man she’d ever seen. He had hair the color of burnt honey, aquamarine eyes that sparkled like the Caribbean Sea at dawn, and he watched her with a glimmering intensity that stole the moisture from her mouth and made panic coil in her belly.

And in the midst of this delusional fantasy, all Evelyn could think about was that she was as naked as the day she was born.

CHAPTER 2

Matt was perfectly content to watch Evelyn strip, for once happy she couldn’t see him. It turned out this whole ghost thing had some benefits after all. Unfortunately, viewing was the only pleasure he could engage in. He was definitely going to miss making love to a woman. There was something very delectable about the creamy texture of a woman’s skin, and Evelyn’s was no exception.

He took in the sight of her naked figure—her shapely legs, her heart-shaped butt, those firm, perfectly symmetrical breasts that would fit in his palms just right if he cupped them...

Matt decided he liked Evelyn Hyde a heck of a lot better without her clothes.

And that hair!

He never would’ve guessed that silly bun concealed such a wild mass of russet-brown curls. It had to be a sin against nature to pin up a mane like that. He shook his head in baffled disbelief. What was the senseless woman thinking? Did she purposely work at making herself as unattractive as possible? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Evelyn Hyde went to great pains to repel men.

Then it struck him. The reason she loved books so much. Evelyn’s reading obsession stemmed from a desperate desire to avoid living her own life. Why have sex when you can read about it, right?

At that moment, Matt wanted nothing more than to show her exactly what she was missing. If only he’d met her when he was still alive, he would have taught her a thing or two about letting loose and having fun. Now, he couldn’t as much as wrap one of those wicked curls around his finger, couldn’t sprinkle feathery kisses down the long curve of her neck, couldn’t touch or taste or smell her. The realization rankled him, and for the first time since his death he was assailed by a crippling feeling of loss.

No longer in any mood to behold everything he’d never have the opportunity to embrace again, he was about to vanish from the bathroom and leave her to her privacy, when she suddenly wiped the steam from the mirror and stared straight at him.

For a few seconds their gazes locked, and Matt knew deep down within him—in that place where consciousness dimmed and instinct took over—that she saw him. He caught a flicker of surprise and disbelief in her eyes, peppered with a dash of something else. Something thick and sultry and laced with a special kind of awareness only a man and woman can share.

Then she blinked and the moment was lost. She spun around in search of him, but she glanced right through him. The awareness was gone, replaced by a ripple of confusion that pinched her brows and crinkled her forehead.

Matt felt a stab of disappointment. Nevertheless, for the first time since he’d gotten this impossible assignment hope ballooned inside him. Sooner or later, Evelyn Hyde would have no choice but to acknowledge his existence, and when she did, he’d make damn sure he found a way to show her that life was a hell of a lot more interesting when you actually experienced it.

***

The next morning was Saturday, and Evelyn looked forward to spending a quiet day at home. The vision in the mirror last night had been quite troubling.

I must be under more strain than I thought, she reasoned. Why else would I be seeing things?

Nothing a peaceful day with a good book couldn’t cure.

After having a light breakfast of buttered toast and tea, she took a couple of hours to tidy up her home. Saturday mornings were reserved for cleaning, and she always proceeded the same way: she started in the kitchen, slowly made her way to the living room, then finished with the bathrooms and bedrooms.

In no time at all, she was done. There were definite benefits to living by yourself; you had no one else to clean up after. Evelyn was just about to sink into her favorite recliner with a new book—she’d regretfully finished Jane Eyre last night—when the doorbell rang.

A little put off by the interruption, she went to answer it and found her neighbor Agnes Delaney standing on her doorstep.

“Evie, dear,” the elderly woman said, displaying a neighborly smile, “would it be too much of an inconvenience for me to borrow some milk? I ran out, and my poor kitties can’t go without their morning snack.”

“No problem, Ms. Delaney. Please come in.”

Agnes followed Evelyn inside. “The vet says I shouldn’t give them too much milk,” she explained, “but they just love it, and I can’t bring myself to refuse them.” She tossed a surprised glance over Evelyn’s shoulder. “Is this a bad time, dear? I didn’t realize you were entertaining a young man. And such a handsome lad he is, too.”

“Ms. Delaney, there’s no one—”

“Of course, I can see you. I may be getting on in years, but I’m not blind,” she said to the phantom only she could see.

Evelyn heaved in exasperation. “Ms. Delaney?”

“Yes, dear?”

“There’s no one here but me.”

Ms. Delaney reflected for a moment, then shot another glance over Evelyn’s shoulder.

“She can’t? You poor dear. How frustrating it must be to be invisible.”

Evelyn gave up. “I’ll go get that milk.”

When she returned a few minutes later, Ms. Delaney was still talking to herself. The poor woman really was off her rocker. If that was what prolonged solitude did to you, perhaps she would be best to reconsider some of the choices she’d made for her life.

“I wish I could help, young man,” Ms. Delaney was saying, “but she won’t be able to see you unless she wants to.” Agnes paused for a moment, a befuddled frown creasing her forehead. “Who’s Eberhart?”

“Here’s your milk, Ms. Delaney,” Evelyn said in her most upbeat voice, attempting to mask the disturbing effect her eccentric neighbor’s visit was having on her.

“Thank you, dear.” Ms. Delaney took the mug Evelyn offered, staring at her with a contemplative look on her grandmotherly face. “There’s a lot of negative energy around you, Evie. It hems you in, and keeps everything and everyone out. Let go of your fears. Only then will you see what I see.”

Evelyn thanked the woman for the strange advice, tactfully escorting her to the door. The moment Ms. Delaney stepped out of the cottage, Evelyn’s shoulders sagged with relief. What a bizarre week this had turned out to be.

Exhaling a lungful of air, she hastened to the living room, where her book—Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol—patiently awaited her return. She barely had a chance to sit down when a strange sound broke the blessed stillness surrounding her. Oddly enough, it sounded like meow.

“What now?” Both curious and annoyed, she stood to investigate.

Meow. The sound led her to the back door. She quickly swung it open, and a blast of cold air instantly invaded her home.
 
Her gaze drifted downward, and the sight she beheld made her blood run colder than the crisp March breeze gushing in. There, on her back porch sat a miserable-looking kitten. Its gray fur was wet and matted, its white paws stained like a dirty pair of slippers.

“Oh, no. Shoo!” she cried.

The cat refused to take the hint. It shivered and mewled, looking at her as if she was the answer to all its prayers.

“Please, shoo!” Her voice rang with desperation. “If I feed you, you’ll keep coming back.” She placed her hands on her hips, struggling to crush the compassion fisting in her chest. “I’m willing to bet this is precisely how poor Ms. Delaney got her first cat.”

The kitten continued to stare at her, its eyes two round, beseeching pools of despair.

Evelyn groaned. Despite her better judgment, she went to the kitchen and returned with a saucer of milk. The grateful cat bulleted into the house, hungrily drowning its whiskers in the bowl.

Evelyn crouched next to her new companion, scratching it behind the ears. A dejected sigh escaped her lips. Her descent into madness had officially begun.

***
         
Matt slouched on the couch across the room from the aggravating woman he’d been ordered to seduce, contemplating new ways to die. He’d spent the last three hours watching Evelyn read, and if he still had an ounce of flesh on him he’d be slitting his wrists right about now.

This day was turning out to be as thrilling as an evening at the bingo hall. And it was barely two in the afternoon. He thought back to how he usually spent his Saturdays. Chances were he’d still be in bed—a woman’s bed—doing things that would’ve made prissy little Evelyn blush just reading about. Instead, he was stuck here in Deadsville, counting off each minute that crawled by, listening to nothing but the frustrating echo of his own thoughts.

The only sound that pierced the monotonous silence was that damn cat hissing each time she crossed his path. Matt had decided about an hour ago that the mangy beast was a female. Probably the reincarnation of one of his exes, if any of them had had the misfortune of suffering the same fate as he.

She sat on the rug across from him now, curled at Evelyn’s feet, glaring at him with blatant mistrust. The blasted creature refused to take her eyes off of him, so Matt decided to alleviate his boredom by engaging in a staring competition.

The cat won.

Feeling more than a little antsy, he stood and stalked the room. Once again, the cat hissed at him.

“What’s wrong, Slippers?” Evelyn asked, finally allowing her gaze to stray from the lousy book she clasped. “Does the fire frighten you?”

“This is great, just great,” Matt growled. “She’ll talk to the cat, but she won’t as much as spare me a glance.”

To Matt’s surprise, the book plunked to the floor as Evelyn vaulted to her feet. “Who said that? How did you get in my house?” She scanned the room with wild-eyed alarm.

Matt approached her, finally experiencing that adrenaline rush he so missed. “You can hear me?”

Evelyn squealed with fear. “Where are you hiding?”

“Nowhere. I’m right in front of you.”

“Why can’t I see you then?”

“Because, apparently, you don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to. Why on earth wouldn’t I want to see someone standing in my own living room? Who—what are you? A figment of my imagination?” She wagged her head in dismay. “I’ve taken leave of my senses, haven’t I?”

“Lady, you’re asking the wrong guy. I’m not exactly what you’d call the poster boy for sanity. Or common sense, for that matter. But I can promise you one thing; I can take you on one hell of a ride.”

She squealed again, this time in revulsion. “Get out of my house!”

Guess he’d said the wrong thing. Funny, that pick-up line had always worked in the past. “Sorry, can’t do that. For the next week we’re stuck with each other, whether we like it or not.”

“No, no, no,” she whined. “You’re not really here.” She sank to the floor and retrieved the book she’d dropped. “It’s this book,” she attempted to convince herself. “I’m reading about ghosts, so I’m imagining one in my house. Yes, that makes perfect sense.”

“If you say so.”

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Talking.”

“Why would I stop talking now that you can finally hear me?”

“Because I’m teetering on the edge of a complete meltdown.”

Matt chuckled. “This I gotta see.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“So I’ve been told.”

Evelyn sighed. “Of all the ghosts I could’ve imagined, I pick one who fancies himself a comedian.”

“Maybe you could use a couple of laughs, among other things.”

An appealing flush crept up her throat to stain her cheeks. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Sure you do,” he taunted. “That’s why you’re standing around talking to yourself.”

Distress tugged at her brows. “You’re right.” She let her body plop into the recliner. “It’s finally happened. I’ve lost my mind. I knew I never should’ve let that cat in.”

***

Evelyn had never before experienced such abject misery. She’d finally gone and done it. She’d fallen off the turnip truck. And to think just a few hours ago she was lamenting poor Ms. Delaney’s state of mind. How the tables had turned.

“My name’s Matt, by the way,” said the gruff, surprisingly silky voice. A voice that caressed and teased in the same breath.

“Pleased to meet—” She bit her tongue. “No, I’m not doing this. You’re not real. I refuse to engage in this delusion any longer.”

“Suit yourself. But just so you know, I’m not going anywhere.”

She opened her book decisively and continued to read where she’d left off. Scrooge had just awakened in search of the second ghost and was overcome by a trembling fit. She suddenly found herself empathizing with the old miser.

Just then, a tickling sensation skittered across her left cheek. “How do you read this stuff?” The voice asked, only inches from her ear. “It’s archaic.”

“It’s a classic,” she replied emphatically.

“Sure, a classic bore.”

Evelyn bristled. “Have you ever read it?”

“Saw the movie once.”

She felt him beside her, a tangible energy that pulsed with each word he intoned. She nearly reached out and touched him, but—realizing how silly the impulse was—she kept her fingers in her lap, where they lay curled around her book.

“If you ask me, these ghosts had it easy. Scaring the bejesus out of an old man is a heck of a lot easier than—” A long, pregnant pause followed.

“Than what?”

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

She huffed, annoyed. “Well, don’t.”

She’d barely read a paragraph when the voice interrupted her yet again. “Tell me, Evie, what do you do for fun? Besides read, that is.”

Evelyn was stumped. What else was there? “I went to the movies last month.”

“How exciting.”

She struggled not to take offense at the caustic remark. “In the summer I love to garden.”

An unmistakable snort punctuated the air. “Just how old are you, thirty going on eighty?”

Defeated, she closed the book, placing it on the end table beside her. “Twenty-nine.”

The ghost clicked his tongue. “Shame.”

“Will you please go haunt someone else?” she moaned.

“Wish I could oblige, but you’re the one I’ve been ordered to haunt.”

“Why?”

“Because for some reason, the powers that be believe you need me.”

Struck by a bolt of indignation, she stood and began to pace, nearly tripping over Slippers. “I most certainly do not.”

“Tell that to Eberhart.”

“Eber what?”

“Eberhart. The spirit who sent me here.”

A punishing headache threatened to assail her. She stopped in front of the hearth, placing her palms on the limestone mantelpiece for support. Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her anxiety, as the very foundation of her reality slowly collapsed around her.

That’s when she felt the subtle pressure of a comforting hand upon her back. The touch thrummed with heat, like the prickle of an electrical current needling her skin. The sensation was disconcerting, but not entirely unappealing.

Swallowing past the knot in her throat, she pivoted on her heels to face her phantom... and saw him standing before her as clear as day. He looked like an angel with his golden hair and pale blue eyes, a pearlescent glow pulsating around him like a halo.

For a moment she was blinded by the sheer beauty of him. Then darkness fell to enshroud her.

CHAPTER 3

Something soft, like fur, brushed her face. Warmth blanketed her chest. A strange, earthy scent teased her nostrils. Evelyn swam toward awareness, forcing her lids open, and the room slowly spun into focus. She awoke to find the cat sitting on her chest with its rear end only inches from her chin, its bushy tail fanning her face. Gently, she placed Slippers on the floor beside her and eased herself to a sitting position. The fire crackled, licking the logs with long, orange tongues, filling the room with the soothing yet pungent scent of burning wood.

As the fog swirling in her head cleared, she remembered what had happened moments before blackness claimed her. Had it all been a vivid dream?

“Welcome back to the land of the conscious, Sleeping Beauty.”

Evelyn closed her eyes and released a mewling whimper, not unlike the sound Slippers had made when she’d found him on the porch earlier today. “You’re still here.”

“Told you I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m a man of my word. Well, not really. But now that I’m a ghost, I’ve got to be on my best behavior to avoid the fiery depths of hell.”

She followed the sound of his voice, angling a tentative glance in his direction. He stood by the fireplace, one elbow propped against the mantelpiece. The sight of him made her heart stampede against her ribcage with steel hooves. He was tall and lean, angular and sinewy. Wide shoulders tapered down to a flat abdomen and narrow hips, leading to a pair of well-defined, muscular legs. There was a quiet, if not arrogant, confidence about him—the way he held himself with both strength and elegance, one knee slightly bent, a cocky grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. Evelyn could tell that this man was acutely aware of his seductive charm and abrasive personality, and that he prided himself on both.

His gaze simmered with a scrutinizing kind of heat, lazily drifting toward her breasts. Too late she realized Slippers had somehow undone several buttons on her blouse, exposing her black cotton bra. Blood whooshed up to suffuse her cheeks, and she wasted no time buttoning up. “I can see you, you know.”

Pleasure flitted across his face, that wry grin spreading into a full-fledged smile. “Well, Hallelujah! It’s about time.”

“What happened? Did I pass out?”

“You took one look at me and went out like a light.” With three fluid steps, he closed the distance between them, squatting beside her. “I know I have a powerful impact on women, but I’ve never had one faint at the sight of me before.”

He exuded a tiger-like grace, crouching next to her with his heels barely touching the floor. There was something predatory and dangerous in the way he leaned forward, invading her personal space as if they were intimately acquainted.

“I’m honored to be the first.” Evelyn made no attempt to mask the sarcasm in her voice.

She let her gaze wander to his face, and something thick and wet clamped over her heart. He looked like a painting, with his straight patrician nose, his full lips, and those liquid blue eyes, which at the moment twinkled with an unspoken taunt. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I’m Matt Alexander.”

The name rang a bell, but she didn’t place it right away. Then it struck her. No wonder he was so beautiful; he was some famous actor. She’d seen one of his movies once, ages ago. “You were in a car crash.” She remembered reading something about it on the cover of People magazine the other day at the grocery store.

“That’s right.”

Something she’d read about his accident nagged at her, skirting the perimeter of her consciousness, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. “How awful for you.”

He flashed one of those boyish grins that simply oozed charm. “Not really. I didn’t feel a thing. But being dead does kind of suck.”

Despite the compassion lumping in her throat, she couldn’t suppress a ripple of laughter. “I’m sure it does.” She rose and walked toward the window to stare at the meager sprinkle of snowflakes the overcast sky had finally decided to release. “Tell me, Mr. Alexander—”

“Matt.”

“Matt,” she conceded, “with all the gorgeous starlets you’ve known, what could you possibly want with me?”

“I want to take you out of here,” he said with unfaltering conviction. “For once in your life, Evie, you’re going to kick up your heels and have some fun.”

Evelyn turned two stunned, disbelieving eyes his way. “You’re insane.”

“Then, sweetheart, you and I are a match made in heaven.”

***

Evelyn couldn’t believe she’d let Matt talk her into this. But he’d kept nagging and nagging, refusing to grant her a single moment of peace, until she’d finally agreed to dig out her old skates and allow him to escort her to the skating rink.

“You cross this place every day on your way to work and you’ve never once thought to go ice skating?” he asked.

She reluctantly laced her skates, anxiety snowballing inside her. She hadn’t skated since she was fifteen. “I’m really not very good at this,” she muttered to the specter beside her, hoping no one noticed her talking to herself. “I’ll just make a complete fool of myself.”

“And what if you do? Take it from someone who knows, foolishness can be very enjoyable.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re invisible.”

He fixed her with a challenging stare. “And you might as well be.”

“Ouch. That wasn’t very nice.” She swung her leg to the ground, burying her blade in the wet snow.

He shrugged. “I’m not a very nice guy.”

Evelyn watched him with a knowing smile. “The gentleman doth insist too much, methinks.”

Matt cocked a brow. “Run that by me again? In English this time.”

She stood on wobbly legs, trying to get accustomed to her skates, wondering who ever had the bright idea to strap knives on a pair of boots. “You’ve never performed a Shakespeare play?”

“Sorry. Hollywood potboilers were always more my thing.”

A couple passed by, giving Evelyn a puzzled stare. She cleared her throat self-consciously. “Just practicing some lines for a play,” she told them.

They forced a smile, but the look they gave her right before they walked away convinced her they thought she was nuttier than a peanut-butter sandwich. Now she understood how poor Ms. Delaney must have felt earlier today. Evelyn swore never to pass judgment on anyone again.

“Stop stalling and get out on that ice,” he commanded.

She sighed. “If I do, will you stop talking?”

“You wish.”

A brisk wind stroked her face. Snowflakes danced around her as she slid onto the frozen pond. Matt followed her, gliding a few inches off the ice as if on invisible blades. He skated in wide circles around her, pretending to be a figure skater. Laughter tickled her throat at the sight of him spinning like some clumsy ballerina.

The wind touched her cheeks with ice-tipped fingers, slithering under her scarf to burrow beneath her wool jacket. Despite how well she’d bundled up, she felt the chill. And yet Matt wore only a light pair of jeans and a pale gray T-shirt. Snowflakes swirled in a wild flurry around him, like the fluttering wings of moths, but they failed to rest upon his nose or shoulders. They passed right through him, as did the other skaters, as if he were as insubstantial as a cloud.

Still, to Evelyn he was as real as anyone, and she wondered yet again why he’d been sent to her. Surely not for the sole purpose of taking her ice skating.

She took a few reluctant steps forward, struggling to maintain her balance as people whizzed by on either side of her. Her feet quivered threateningly, and she prayed she wouldn’t sprain an ankle. Holding her breath, she inched ahead as Matt watched her, thoroughly amused.

What in heaven’s name had possessed her to do this? She’d never been the physical type, even as a kid. While her peers had been dancing or figure-skating or playing ball, she’d been at the library reading the next Nancy Drew Mystery. Gym class had been her most dreaded subject, and she felt as awkward now, on this skating rink, as she had back then.

“Come on,” Matt called to her, “my grandma skates faster than that!”

Evelyn bit back a retort, mindful of all the faces surrounding her. Instead, she focused her energy on remaining on her feet.

It took a few turns around the rink before she began to feel a little steadier on her skates. Slowly, her speed increased and she actually started to enjoy herself. The crisp wind whipping her hair and cheeks felt surprisingly invigorating. Adrenaline shot through her bloodstream, electrifying her. Soon, she forgot to feel self-conscious, aware only of the sheer joy of being out here among the glistening trees, surrounded by a shimmering swirl of falling snowflakes. She captured a few of them on her tongue, savoring the cool taste of snow, wondering how long it had been since she’d last taken the time to truly appreciate the pleasures of a winter’s day.

Matt gave her a thumbs-up from the far end of the rink, his expression brimming with delight and unmistakable smugness. Despite the I-told-you-so look on his face, Evelyn graced him with a grateful smile. She really was having fun.

Then everything spun out of control. A teenage boy came barreling toward her, jostling her. Evelyn lost her balance and plunged backwards, landing on the ice with an ungraceful thud.

Within seconds Matt was beside her. “Are you all right?”

“My ego is a little bruised, but apart from that I’m fine.” She tried to stand, but lost her footing and slid right back down again.

Matt swallowed a chuckle. With a withering glare in his direction, she tried to get up again, this time by lifting her butt first and trying to thrust herself up with her hands from a push-up position. Again, her feet slipped out from under her and she landed flat on her face.

Laughter exploded from Matt. She spent the next minute or so unsuccessfully fighting to get back on her feet, and all the insensitive jerk could do was stand there laughing at her. Embarrassment lumped in her belly, tears of frustration stinging her eyes.

“Wish I could give you a hand,” he said, “but unfortunately, I don’t have one.”

Anger crowded out reason. “This is all your fault!” she yelled, oblivious to all those around her. “I told you I couldn’t skate, but you kept insisting. Serves me right for listening to some stupid ghost.”

All of a sudden, she glanced up to find herself the center of some freak show. Everyone had stopped skating and was looking at her as if she’d fallen on her hands and knees in search of her marbles. A flood of mortification drowned her voice, swelling in her windpipe until she could hardly breathe. With as much dignity as she could muster, she crawled off the ice.

She sensed Matt floating toward her. “Is the tantrum over?”

She ignored him, stripping the skates from her feet and quickly sliding on her boots. Then, without a backwards glance, she plowed home, hoping the brisk wind blew Matt Alexander right back to L.A. and out of her perfectly ordinary world.

***

The insufferable woman had gone right back to ignoring him. She sat in that ugly puke-green velvet recliner, a white blanket wrapped around her shoulders, reading one of her brainy books. Not the Charles Dickens’ one; she’d apparently had her fill of ghosts for the day.

For the past hour, Matt had been pacing in front of her, trying his damnedest to distract her. He’d tried talking, singing, even dancing a jig to no avail. Evelyn Hyde was as stubborn as the New England winter. He might as well have been invisible again, and there was nothing he hated more. He’d spent most of his childhood feeling invisible. He’d be damned if he ever felt that way again.

At least Slippers acknowledged his presence. The scruffy beast prowled around him, hissing with unmistakable dislike.

“Don’t you have a mouse to go catch?” he grunted.

Evelyn’s gaze remained riveted on her book.

Irritation crested inside him. So she’d taken a tumble and bruised that astonishingly well-shaped butt of hers. What was the big deal? As to the embarrassment she’d supposedly suffered, what difference did it make if a dozen or so people thought she was a little batty? Bats could be cool. Take Batman for instance.

Matt was way out of his league here. What kind of sick joke was the universe playing on him? Why would the powers that be send a depraved playboy to win the love of an introverted librarian, who quoted Shakespeare for God’s sake?

That’s when an idea struck him. Maybe if he started reading some of her books, he could figure out the sort of man she liked. He perked up at the thought. The plan had definite merit. He was an actor after all. His job was to bring to life the very fantasies she so eagerly devoured. He could be any man Evelyn Hyde wanted him to be.

He eagerly scanned some of the titles on her bookcase, which spanned the entire wall on his right. Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice caught his eye. He remembered the movie with Keira Knightly. She’d forced him to watch it back when they’d dated for a spell. He’d start with that one, he decided.

A few shelves down he saw the book Evelyn had been reading when he first appeared to her, Jane Eyre.

BBC serial with Toby Stephens, he thought. Movie with William Hurt.

Perhaps he’d skim a few chapters of that one as well. Assuming he could figure out a way to get the thick volume off the shelf and flip the pages.

Hey, if Patrick Swazye could do it, so could he. All he had to do was concentrate. Right?

***

This concentrating concept was a load of bull. What did he know about channeling his emotions? All his life he’d taken what he wanted when he wanted it, and now he couldn’t as much as pull a damn book off a shelf. Matt sighed in frustration. This whole Casper deal wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Evelyn was fast asleep, so  he figured—since he was a ghost and no longer needed eight hours of shut eye—he’d use this time to do some research. Unfortunately, things weren’t going his way.

Once again, he attempted to take hold of Pride and Prejudice, and failed.

“Ebe, I could really use your illustrious guidance again.”

The darkness shivered, slowly filling with light. Within seconds, Eberhart stood before him, as scintillant as if he’d swallowed a piece of the sun.

Matt puckered his mouth appreciatively. “Neat trick.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Alexander?”

“Thought I’d kill some time by doing a little late night reading. Any way you could give me the use of my hands?”

The old saint watched him with a wizened gaze. “You don’t need my help for that.”

Matt snorted. “Really? Take a look at this.” He tried to pull out a book. As he expected, his fingers slid right through it.

Eberhart shook his head. “You’re energy, my dear boy. Energy is as tangible as matter, and it can be molded into anything a person—or spirit—wants, if he or she desires it strongly enough. Desire can be a very powerful thing.”

Matt snickered. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“You’ve never experienced true desire, Mr. Alexander, only the desire of the flesh. True desire stems from the soul.”

“Flesh, soul, it’s all part of the same package,” he replied with a dismissive shrug.

Eberhart eyed him disapprovingly, like a parent scolding a child. “And you’ve just proven my point. The day you experience true desire is the day you gaze into the heart of existence itself. Only then will you understand how magical the soul really is.”

And with that vague, totally useless remark, he melted back into the darkness.

With an exasperated huff, Matt focused all his energy on taking hold of the book again. “I really want this book,” he chanted over and over again. “I deeply desire it.”

When nothing happed, he muttered an oath. “I’m a flaming idiot.”

This blasted situation was hopeless. Evelyn Hyde would never fall in love with the likes of him, which meant he’d spend eternity in purgatory, atoning for his sins. For a moment earlier today, out on the skating rink, he’d actually thought he had a chance of winning her over. She’d gazed at him and given him a smile so radiant, he’d felt it deep down in the pit of his soul. She really was quite lovely when she smiled, in an earthy, wholesome sort of way.

Suddenly, he was assailed by the shimmering desire to see that smile again, to be the one who placed it on her face, and the most incredible thing happened. His fingers closed around the book.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” With a triumphant chuckle, Matt pulled the volume from the shelf. “Ebe ole’ buddy, guess you’re not a total kook after all.”

CHAPTER 4

Matt spent the entire night reading. All those years of whizzing through scripts at lightning speed had finally paid off. He’d finished Pride and Prejudice and an impressive chunk of Jane Eyre, when he heard the telltale shuffle of Evelyn’s feet the next morning.

Time to put the books away.

He placed the volumes back where he’d gotten them, then stretched out on the couch and assumed his most innocent expression, as he waited for her to come padding into the living room.

The evening had proven more than a little enlightening. In fact, he’d made a shocking and unexpected discovery; he was exactly the sort of cad Evelyn loved to read about. The heroes in her favorite books were real arrogant, self-serving bastards. Take Mr. Darcy, for instance. He hardly gave Elizabeth the time of day, and when he finally did it was to tell her that she was beneath him, but he’d do her the honor of having her anyway.

Edward Rochester was no better. He attempted to trick Jane into marrying him, all the while hiding his deranged wife in the attic.

Women. They just loved to hate the men they loved, if that made a lick of sense.

All the better for him. This was one role he knew how to play exceptionally well.

A good half hour passed before Evelyn strolled into the living room, dressed in a plain pair of loose-fitting beige slacks and a black cardigan, a cup of tea in hand. Her hair was pinned up in that despicable bun again, but her skin glowed rosy with health and her face held a warm, peaceful expression.

Until she caught sight of him and it contorted into a dark scowl.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “Miss me?”

She visibly stiffened. “Like a toothache.”

He cleared his throat, pretended to scratch his temple in reflection. “Listen, Evie, I know you said some pretty nasty things to me yesterday, but I’ve decided to be big about it and forgive you.”

Evelyn gasped, nearly spilling her tea. “You swaggering, pompous, self-absorbed—”

“Sexy, irresistible rake?” he finished for her.

Rolling her eyes, she exhaled a long, suffering breath. “Leave me alone.” She spun on her heels and headed to the bookcase.

Matt smiled. In the stories he’d read, the more the heroine wanted the hero, the more she struggled to avoid him. If her dogged insistence to ignore him was any indication, Evelyn was probably half in love with him already.

A frown carved a deep groove between her brows. “Have you been reading my books?”

“What makes you say that?”

“I have them sorted in alphabetical order by author. Pride and Prejudice comes after Persuasion, not before.”

He’d forgotten the dratted woman was a librarian. “You must have put it in the wrong place.”

He could almost see her hackles rise. “I never misplace a book.”

“Then it must have walked over there on its own, because I’m a little low on substance right now.”

Evelyn harrumphed, but she must have bought his explanation because she dropped the subject. She stood before the bookcase for an exceptionally long time, staring pensively, then put her tea aside and selected a few volumes from the overstuffed shelves.

“Don’t tell me you plan to stay in all day reading again?”

She carefully placed the books in a tan-colored canvas bag she pulled out from a nearby drawer. “No, every Sunday I go to Cedarhill Orphanage and read to the children.”

Matt felt as if he’d been sucker punched.

A librarian who reads to orphans. This just keeps getting better and better.

“You’re a regular Mother Teresa, aren’t you? I don’t think there’s any doubt which door you’re getting.”

Evelyn flung him an annoyed, befuddled look right before she strapped the bag onto her shoulder and pranced out of the living room.

“Yup, she’s got it real bad for me,” he muttered, floating off the couch and quickly following her out the front door.

***

Arrows of gray light poured into the small room, streaking the faded linoleum floor. Fifteen children sat upon an oval, Oriental rug with gold and burgundy prints, watching Evelyn, their young faces alight with eagerness. She occupied a wooden chair before them, one of the volumes she’d selected earlier perched in her lap.

Matt had chosen to sink into a tattered yellow couch he’d found in a quiet sitting area a few feet away, from which he could observe without distracting her. For the past few minutes he’d been listening to her read, lulled by the melodic rhythm of her voice as she brought the story to life. He’d expected to be bored but was surprised to realize he was enjoying himself. She had a way of infusing passion in each word she uttered, a way of adding the proper intonations to heighten the effect or pausing at just the right moment to build anticipation. There were some actors he knew who would benefit from a few lessons with her.

The children were mesmerized. All except for one.

He sat in the armchair across from Matt, doing his best to look bored. The boy, who was about eight or nine, was pretending not to listen. But every now and then when no one was looking, he’d slant a sideways glance at the storybook to catch sight of a picture Evelyn was showing.

Matt recognized the slumped body, the cocky hitch of his shoulder, the I-don’t-give-a-damn look on his face and felt a clutch of compassion.

Invisible, he thought. Alone and trying real hard not to let anyone know how crappy it makes him feel.

But Matt knew. Even though both his parents were still alive, he understood what it felt like to be an orphan. Nothing was more important to his parents than their careers, and growing up he’d always felt like an afterthought. Sure they’d sent him to the best schools, had thrown money at him every chance they got, but never once had they read to him or taken him ice skating or tossed a ball his way. So he’d learned to experience life on his own and not give a shit about anyone but himself.

Self-preservation 101, he reasoned.

Evelyn paused, jarring Matt out of his morbid thoughts. She was gazing at the boy, and the sadness on her face was palpable.

“Children, the sun seems to be in my eyes,” she said. “Would you mind if we moved?”

Standing, she dragged her chair across the room to the sitting area. All the children rose and followed, crowding in around the lone boy until he melted into the heart of the group. “Much better,” she exclaimed, continuing where she’d left off.

Matt stared at her, amazed by her perceptiveness and empathy. For a moment she looked his way, and he glanced into the crystal depths of her eyes—eyes that were neither blue nor gray, but an enthralling combination of the two. In that fleeting second when their gazes locked, he saw beyond the horn-rimmed glasses, beyond the plain clothing and tight-woven bun to the woman who lay beneath. And her beauty damn near took his breath away.

***

“That was quite something,” Matt said when they returned to the cottage. “What you did for that boy back there.”

Evelyn busied herself placing the children’s books back on the shelves in just the right order. “He wants to join us,” she replied, “but he’s too proud. For weeks now he’s been sitting on his own. I figured it was time I put an end to it. Maybe next week he won’t feel so awkward sitting with the group.”

Silence swelled between them, and she felt compelled to glance over her shoulder to see if he was still in the room with her. He stood in front of the fireplace, studying the pictures on the mantelpiece.

“Are these your parents?” He pointed to her favorite family photograph, which she’d lovingly placed in an antique pewter frame.

“Yes.” Emotion made her voice sound gravelly, and she swallowed to wash away the tightness in her throat.

“Are they still around?”

“No. They died five years ago.”

“Both of them?”

She nodded heavily. “My father passed away first, and my mother followed a short month later.” She paused, allowing that old, familiar ache to blossom inside her. “The doctors said she had an aneurysm, but I’ve always believed she died of a broken heart.”

Matt fixed her with a startled stare. “Why, Evie, I’m shocked.”

Done with the books, she turned from the bookcase and walked his way. “Why is that?”

“It appears you’re a romantic.” A lopsided grin tugged at his mouth, only this time it wasn’t laced with arrogance but with an odd blend of affection. His statement, along with that handsome, crooked smile caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in her ribcage. “Tell me, Evie, have you ever been in love?”

The butterflies grew fangs. “No, and I never plan to be,” she answered curtly.

“That makes no sense. Why would a romantic not want to fall in love?”

She stared deeply into the hearth, watching the flames mate and blend into one until she could no longer tell them apart. “Because I have no desire to die of a broken heart,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

“Ah, I see.” He moved closer, forcing her to look at him. “Then I’m the perfect man for you.”

“How do you figure that?”

He flashed another one of those devastating grins. “I’ll never die on you, seeing as I’m already dead.”

The laughter started deep in the pit of her stomach, rumbling like an earthquake until she had no choice but to release it. “You have a very unique way of seeing things.”

“What can I say? I like to think outside the box.”

She swept her gaze over his perfectly chiseled face, wondering what kind of life he’d led, whom he’d loved and left behind. “What’s your story, Matt?”

Instantly, the humor seeped from his expression. The mocking glint in his eyes dulled. “I don’t really have one.”

“Everyone has a story.”

He gave her one of his trademark shrugs. “My mother was an actress, my father a screenwriter. They were married long enough to have me and my brother. Then they divorced. My mother decided to stay in New York, while my father high-tailed it to L.A.”

He crouched before the fireplace, gazing into the heart of the flames. “My brother and I spent most of our childhood commuting between the two cities—winters with our mother, summers with our father. Eventually, I got into the film business, too, and decided to call L.A. home.”

“That mustn’t have been easy for you, going back and forth that way.”

“I got used to it. I can tell you one thing; life never got boring.” Despite his attempt to infuse levity into his voice, Evelyn caught a dark flicker in his eyes that told her his road to adulthood hadn’t been nearly as smooth as he wanted the world to believe.

That’s when she understood something fundamental about Matt Alexander; he was just like that boy at the orphanage. The more he wanted to be a part of something, the more he pulled away. The more he hurt, the more he pretended not to care, and humor and sarcasm were the tools he used to forge the impenetrable barrier of his isolation.

Just then, Slippers crept up to Matt, circling him, warily sniffing the air.

“I think he’s starting to like you.”

“She.”

“Sorry?”

“The cat’s a she.”

Evelyn hadn’t bothered to inspect the animal. “How do you know?”

“Only a female would have such morbid fascination for me.”

***

Later that evening, as Evelyn finished washing the dishes, she felt the heat of Matt’s gaze upon her, and a tingling sensation spread across her abdomen. Nothing unsettled her more than being observed, especially by someone like Matt. He oozed cockiness and confidence—the two things she sorely lacked. She wondered what he was thinking as he watched her, with one eyebrow raised ever so slightly and his arms braided across his magnificent body.

She couldn’t help it. She had to ask. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m trying to picture you in a slinky dress.”

She nearly dropped the plate she was drying. “Excuse me?”

He stood. She felt the air stir as he approached. “When’s the last time you painted the town red?”

The soft hum of his presence enveloped her. “I don’t remember.” She set the plate aside and turned to face him, shocked to find him standing mere inches away from her. What would happen if she reached out and touched him? Would her fingers slide through him? Or would they become entangled in a whirlwind of energy?

“Now that’s real sad. I bet Ms. Delaney remembers.” There was unspoken challenge in his taunt. She told herself not to fall for it, but a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was right.

He leaned closer, and her flesh prickled in response. “Come out with me, Evie.”

Her heart gave an involuntary kick. She wasn’t sure if it was out of fear or anticipation. “Are you out of your mind? It’s Sunday night. I’ve got to be at the library bright and early tomorrow—”

He feigned an exaggerated yawn. “Yup, twenty-nine going on eighty. I might as well mosey on down the street and ask Ms. Delaney to join me.”

Indignation knifed through her. “Very well. I’ll go.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. Not only had she lost her mind but her better judgment. Matt had an uncanny way of getting under her skin and making her do things she normally wouldn’t even consider.

His face literally shone with pleasure.

“But if I end up making a fool of myself again,” she warned, skewering him with a finger aimed at the chest, “being dead will be the least of your problems.”

The sound of his heartfelt chuckle rent the air. “I love it when you’re feisty.”

She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. The man—uh, spirit—was incorrigible. With a defeated sigh, she strolled out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her room.

“Hey, Evie,” he called after her. She stopped mid-way, turning around to face him, her hand braced on the balustrade. “Leave your hair down tonight.”

She frowned. “It’s so wild. I just can’t seem to do anything with it.”

“Nothing wrong with wild.  It goes well with feisty. And throw on something sexy while you’re at it.”

Sexy? She wasn’t sure she owned anything that qualified as sexy.

Dread swamped her. What had ever possessed her to agree to this? She’d never been much of a party girl. She hadn’t even gone to her own prom. The only date she’d had in years was with shy, sweet Earl from the library, and they’d spent the evening at a used bookstore.

And here she was, going out with a ghost! A ghost who’d been named sexiest man alive by People magazine, no less. She really had taken a dive off the deep end.

The moment she turned her back to Matt, the smile she’d been fighting wriggled free, spreading across her face. Eagerness tap-danced along her nerve endings, infusing her with a stimulating blend of excitement and schoolgirl jitteriness. The feeling was new, as irrational as it was perilous, and completely intoxicating. A silly giggle bubbled in her throat. It felt surprisingly liberating to be nuts.

When she got to her room, she spent an exceptionally long time examining her closet, and was quite disappointed at what she discovered. She did not own a single item that wasn’t practical. Was she truly that boring? Perhaps Matt was right. Ms. Delaney probably had a sexier wardrobe, and the woman was in her seventies!

With a discouraged moan, she carefully assessed each outfit—too drab, too old, too matronly...

And then she saw it—buried so deep within her closet she’d forgotten it was there—a dress she hadn’t worn in nearly seven years.

Perfect, she thought and briskly yanked it off the hanger.

***
         
Matt paced at the foot of the stairs, struggling to crush the seeds of exasperation taking root inside him and failing. What was taking so damn long? Open heart surgery probably took less time than a woman getting ready for a night out. He was tempted to innocently drift upstairs and peek into her room, but he curbed the urge.

Patience is a virtue. Wasn’t that what Eberhart had said? Matt needed to rack up as many virtues as he could right about now.

He would’ve liked to pass the time surfing the net or channel flipping, see what some of his old buddies were up to. Maybe even read up on his death and check out what kind of media coverage it had gotten. But unfortunately, Evelyn didn’t seem to own a computer and the only television set was upstairs in her bedroom. He’d never been this cut off from the world, and it left him feeling antsy, completely at loose ends.

Better get used to it, he told himself. I highly doubt hell has cable or high speed internet.

A patter at the top of the stairs interrupted his musings. “It’s about—” He flung a glance over his shoulder and paused mid-sentence, dumbfounded. His entire being thrummed with a strange kind of heat at the sight of Evelyn wobbling down the steps in a pair of high-heeled black pumps.

For the first time, Matt was speechless. As an actor, he’d seen costume designers and make-up artists perform some pretty remarkable transformations, but nothing had prepared him for this.

She wore a beaded, black cocktail dress with a flirty mesh hem that stopped just above the knee, displaying a shockingly hot pair of legs. The bodice hugged her figure, perfectly cupping her breasts, the straps wrapping seductively around her neck. A thin mesh shawl that matched the skirt hung around her shoulders, beneath a shower of untamed copper-kissed curls. She’d removed those ghastly glasses and had even gone as far as to brush some color onto her cheeks and coat her lips with a sparkling pink lip gloss.

Now we’re talking.

Evelyn Hyde was absolutely stunning. Too bad she went to such great lengths to conceal it. If that wasn’t one of the seven deadly sins, than it sure as hell should’ve been.

Uncertainty sparked in her eyes the moment she stood before him. “It’s too much, isn’t?” A nervous, mewling sound escaped her lips that would have made Slippers proud. “I’m going to go change.”

“Don’t you dare! You look”—Thick, syrupy emotion coiled deep within him—“incredible.”

A deep flush stained her cheeks, and long, black lashes fell to shadow her cheeks. “It’s the only fancy dress I have.” She sounded apologetic.

“It’s perfect.”

“I bought it ages ago for my Aunt Lydia’s and my Uncle Bob’s silver wedding anniversary. I’m surprised it still fits.”

“Like a glove,” he reassured. “You’re going to turn some heads tonight.”

“Oh, no.” Dismay darkened her features. “I don’t want to turn any heads. I’d rather be—”

“Invisible?”

“I was going to say inconspicuous,” she replied pointedly.

“Same difference.” He arched a quizzical brow. “I’m curious, Evie, why do you try so hard to be a wallflower, when you’ve got more spirit than any woman I’ve ever known? And believe me, I’ve known quite a few.”

“I don’t try to be a wallflower,” she said in her own defense, but the statement lacked conviction.

“Then prove it. Come out with me tonight and let the world see you—really see you—for once. How long do you plan to hide behind the shabby clothes and that godawful bun? Life’s short,” he added for good measure. “It can end in the blink of an eye. Take it from someone who knows.”

Her shoulders sagged as the fight went out of her, and he knew he’d won. With one last glance down the length of her body to assess her appearance, she walked past him and grabbed her coat from the closet. “Fine, have it your way.”

Matt glided to the front door, quirking his lips. “Finally, a woman after my own heart.”

***

The Spirit Lounge—a tasteful nightclub located a short twenty-minute drive away in Portland’s Old Port district—buzzed with live music and conversation. Evelyn was surprised at how crowded the place was for a Sunday night. The glistening hardwood dance floor overflowed with gyrating bodies, swinging and hopping to some upbeat tune. A bustling swarm of people, clad mostly in black, surrounded a circular bar, which squatted at the center of the club. Tables and white leather couches were scattered throughout the establishment, where patrons sat nursing their drinks.

Evelyn stood frozen at the entrance, anxiety ballooning inside her. This world was as alien to her as Mars...or L.A. for that matter. The lights, the music, the animated crowd made her mouth go dry and her palms grow clammy.

“Now, this is more like it.” Matt beamed, his voice tinkling with approval.

“Maybe we should go somewhere a little less busy,” she proposed.

“Why the blazes would we do that? This place is happening. And the name’s got a certain ring to it,” he quipped.

Reluctantly, she followed him through the lively throng to the only empty table available. She rigidly slipped into the puffy white chair across from Matt, her pulse drumming in perfect beat with the song. The excited glimmer in his eyes told her he felt right at home here in the heart of the city, where people lived fast and partied hard.

“It ain’t L.A.,” he told her, “but Portland’s got a certain charm. I could almost get used to this.”

Evelyn thought of Harborside—the small town within which she’d lived most of her life, located just outside of Freeport—with a hitch of longing. She just couldn’t picture herself as a city girl. She loved the slow-paced lifestyle, the mint-peppered scent of nature in the breeze, the safe, close-knit community of Harborside. Everything was bigger and brighter in Portland. So bright, her eyes burned from it.

Within minutes of their arrival a waitress, wearing a skin-tight black dress, shimmied up to their table. “Can I get you something?” she asked her.

Evelyn felt a stab of panic. “I don’t know what to have.” She didn’t have much experience with drinks. They all had fancy names she could never remember.

“A cosmopolitan,” Matt suggested. “Girls always order cosmopolitans, thanks to Sex and the City.”

“A cosmopolitan,” she parroted, without having the slightest idea what she’d ordered.

A few minutes trickled by with Evelyn sitting ramrod straight, clicking her fingernails on the polished wooden surface of the table.

“You really don’t go out much, do you?” he observed.

“I don’t have much of a social circle,” she said self-consciously. “It’s not usually customary for a woman to go dancing by herself.”

“Why not? I go out on my own all the time. Or I used to,” he corrected, a hint of nostalgia peppered with regret lacing his words.

“It’s different for guys.”

“Guess you’re right. For some reason, you women always feel compelled to go around in groups. You can’t even go pee without your girlfriends there to cheer you on.”

The waitress returned with her drink and Evelyn busied herself paying for it, then curiously grabbed hold of her straw and drew an experimental sip. The beverage had a bit of a kick, but it was actually quite tasty—sweet but not too fruity, with a hint of lime and just the right tanginess. She gulped down a couple of mouthfuls, quite pleased to notice it took the edge off her nerves.

“Like it?”

She nodded. “Now I know why all the girls order it.” She took another swallow.

“I wouldn’t drink it too fast if I were you,” he warned. “It might not taste like it, but that little concoction delivers quite a punch.”

The deafening strains the band hammered out of their instruments suddenly died down, replaced by a ballad, and she actually started to relax. The melody gently rocked her as the singer crooned in a warm, raspy voice and shadowy figures swayed in the dark.

She ventured a glance in Matt’s direction and found him watching her with a sizzling keenness that sent a tickling sensation skittering from her throat all the way to the pit of her stomach.

“I wish I could ask you to dance.” His voice was gruff, simmering with an undercurrent of longing.

Her next breath rattled in her chest. “I’d look silly dancing on my own.”

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it? What people think.”

“I just don’t want to be—”

“Conspicuous,” he finished for her.

Dipping her head, she took a nice, long swig of her drink. “What the heck.” She stood decisively and made a beeline for the dance floor. Matt happily followed.

She squeezed through the crowd, finding a nice little corner where she could stand and let the music transport her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the pleasure of sinking into the melody without the distraction of the hundred or so strangers surrounding her.

And then she felt it. A feathering sensation gliding across her waist, an electrical prickle tenderly guiding her forward until her entire body thrummed with energy.

With a gasp, she parted her lids and realized in her dazed stupor that Matt was holding her. She could actually feel his hands on her, a tingling heat that burned a trail straight to her soul. Warmth flooded her system, squeezed the air from her lungs until her chest ached.

She closed her eyes again and leaned into him, drowning in the strange, unfamiliar sensation of being embraced by sheer electricity. Matt’s touch was like no other. She felt the heat of his hands, but not the weight of them. She knew his fingers stroked her, but couldn’t make out their shape or texture. Still, in that brief wedge of time when he held her, he was more real to her than anyone she’d ever known before. He filled every corner of her mind and heart, made her senses swim and her pulse race. But worst of all, he made deep, sultry emotion bloom inside her.

And that’s when dread dribbled in to pierce the smoky bubble engulfing her…because as darkly seductive as this dance was, the last thing Evelyn wanted was to fall for a ghost.

CHAPTER 5

Matt edged in closer, losing himself to the totally addictive feel of her. He’d never thought he’d be privileged enough to hold a woman again, and here he was dancing with Evelyn, drawing her tightly against him, feeling her heat sink into him and slowly bring his body to life. He savored the wispy caress of her hair against his chin, the warmth of her breath fluttering across his cheek, the softness of her breasts grazing his chest. Each sweet sensation was like a piece of heaven, fueling his desire. And as his desire for her grew, so did his ability to feel her.

For a moment, he forgot he was no longer made of flesh, that he was only mist and shadows. He ached for her like any other man, wanted to lose himself in this shy, strangely alluring woman in his arms until night trickled seamlessly into dawn.

The music changed, the tempo picking up a notch. Still he refused to release her. Touching her made him feel alive again, and he wasn’t ready to lose that yet.

Unfortunately, the choice wasn’t his. Evelyn suddenly stiffened and jolted her body away. At the loss of the connection, the wonderful medley of sensations he was experiencing instantly ceased, like a light going out inside him. From one moment to the next, he felt empty.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “I feel...dizzy.”

Their table was no longer free, so Evelyn sank into a couch someone had just vacated. She dropped her head against the backrest, gazing at the winking lights overhead, inhaling short, shallow breaths.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” a man sitting nearby asked.

“She’s fine,” Matt absently replied, forgetting that no one but Evelyn could hear him.

“I’m fine,” she repeated with an admonishing glance in Matt’s direction. “I guess all that dancing made me a little lightheaded.”

“And your boyfriend let you walk off the dance floor all by yourself?”

Evelyn blushed. “I’m not here with anyone,” she muttered, avoiding Matt’s drilling stare.

The pompous bastard actually had the gall to come sit beside her. “Guess it’s my lucky day then.”

He was one slick son of a bitch. Matt recognized the type—the smart black suit worn over a white T-shirt, the glossed-back hair, the flashy Rolex knock-off on his wrist, not to mention that smug, I’m-too-sexy smile. Everything about this guy screamed: I’m getting laid tonight.

“Get up and walk away,” Matt advised.

Evelyn ignored him. “I’m Evelyn,” she introduced herself.

Matt swore.

“It’s a pleasure, Evelyn. I’m Todd.”

“Nice to meet you, Todd.” If Matt didn’t know any better, he’d say she was doing it on purpose to spite him.

“Would the lovely Evelyn be so kind as to let me buy her a drink?”

Pretentious prick. “He’s trying to get you drunk so he can get into your pants,” Matt translated.

Evelyn shot him a withering glare, then graced her new companion with a flirtatious smile that looked completely foreign on her face. “A cosmopolitan would be wonderful.”

Todd flagged down the waitress, making sure to flash his fake Rolex. “A cosmopolitan and a whiskey, straight up, please.”

“How ‘bout I give you something straight up?” Matt growled, pretending not to see the fierce glower Evelyn directed his way.

“Tell me, pretty lady, what are you doing at the Spirit Lounge all by yourself on a Sunday night?”

Matt snorted. “She’s certainly not here to hook up with a jackass like you, that’s for sure.”

“Will you just stop?” she said through clenched teeth.

Todd’s face contorted into a confused grimace that would have easily earned him the starring role in Dumb and Dumber. “Stop what?”

Evelyn blinked. “Paying me so many compliments,” she improvised. “You’re embarrassing me.”

 Shifty-eyed Todd displayed a donkey-like grin. “Come now, I’m sure a girl like you is used to being showered with compliments.”

“I feel like tossing you into a shower,” Matt pitched in. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Not at all,” she replied sharply, aiming the comment more at Matt than at Todd.

The waitress returned with their drinks. “That’ll be twenty-four dollars please.”

Todd pulled out a thick wad of cash and handed her a couple of bills. “Keep the change,” he said with a wink. The waitress beamed.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother.”

“For the lovely lady.” Todd made a show of handing her the drink, his flashy watch winking with silver sparks. As Evelyn reached out to take hold of it, the presumptuous jerk purposely brushed his fingers against hers.

An emotion Matt had never before experienced speared through him. It felt oddly like jealousy. Acting on impulse, he gave the guy a nice, hard shove. Todd hurtled back, a shocked look on his face, splashing the drink all over Evelyn’s only fancy dress.

Evelyn shrieked and rocketed to her feet.

“I’m so sorry,” Todd blubbered. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“That’s quite all right,” she said. “It was an accident.” She turned towards Matt, her eyes narrowing into slits. “I’ll just go to the ladies’ room and get myself cleaned up.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Todd called after her. “With a new drink.”

Matt followed her to the ladies’ room, softly chuckling to himself. The look on Todd’s face when he’d socked him one had been priceless.

The moment Evelyn got him alone, however, his laughter quickly ceased. She was livid. A gentle flush dusted her cheeks and her mouth was set in a hard, grim line. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed a handful of paper towels, angrily patting down her dress.

“Saving your pretty little butt, that’s what. That guy’s bad news.”

“Why? Because he was generous enough to buy me a drink?”

He cocked a brow, his annoyance reaching a dangerous peak. “Are you really that clueless? Your friend Todd is about as subtle as a Quentin Tarantino flick.”

“I disagree. He’s polite and charming—”

A woman came out of a stall, flinging furtive, uneasy glances in Evelyn’s direction. Barely taking a couple of seconds to wash her hands, she scurried out of the bathroom.

“Give me a break,” he scoffed, picking up where they’d left off. “He just wants to score. Why are you so bent set on letting him make a fool of you?”

He’d hit a nerve. Pain flickered across her face, deepening her flush. “Is it so hard for you to believe a man might actually like me?”

Matt felt like a moron. The last thing he’d wanted was to insult her. “No, just not that guy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know the type.”

“You mean you are the type.”

She had him there. “Hey, it takes one to know one,” he said in answer to her biting remark. “If that’s the kind of guy you go for, you might as well stick with me.”

Evelyn pitched the towels in the wastebasket. “Except for one major difference.” Her slate colored eyes glittered meaningfully. "He’s alive.”

And with that bitter observation hovering like a black cloud between them, she spun on her heels and stomped out of the restroom.

***

The next day, Evelyn felt like a wreck. She’d left the Spirit Lounge at midnight the previous evening with two things—a massive headache and Todd’s phone number tucked safely in her purse. Oh, and Matt of course. She couldn’t ditch him if she tried. He was like a bad cold that refused to go away.

He’d followed her to the library this morning and now stood propped against the shelves across the aisle from her, his arms and ankles crossed, watching her work. Evelyn sorted her books, trying her best to ignore him. Unfortunately, her glance kept straying his way, so she failed to miss the exaggerated yawn he feigned for her benefit.

“This is what you do all day?”

“Someone has to keep this place in order,” she replied with a proud tilt of her chin.

He harrumphed, then sank back into blessed silence...for a second or two. “So, have you decided yet?” He absently scanned some of the titles beside him.

She climbed a ladder and began organizing a stack of returns on one of the higher shelves. “Decided what?”

“If you’ll be calling Todd.” His expression portrayed bored indifference, but she caught a strained note in his voice that belied his laidback demeanor.

“I might. Then again I might not. Either way, I’m not telling you.”

He shrugged impassively, taking hold of a book and lazily leafing through it. “Suit yourself.”

Evelyn sucked in an indignant breath. “You lied to me!”

“Huh?”

“You have been reading my books.”

He stared down at the volume he clasped, looking as guilty as sin. “Maybe I have,” he said in clear imitation of her. “Then again maybe I haven’t. Either way, I’m not telling you.”

With an annoyed hmm, she clamped her mouth shut and turned her back to him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slide the book back on the shelf...in the wrong spot! “Put it back where you got it please.”

“I did.”

Evelyn sighed, plodding down the ladder and placing the volume in its rightful place. “Don’t make a mess,” she admonished.

Pivoting on her heels, she intended to return to her previous position on the ladder, but Matt closed his fingers around her wrist. A current of pure electricity buzzed through her, wrenching a surprised gasp from her.

“And if I do, what are you going to do about it? Spank me?” Something dark and dangerous smoldered in his eyes, and she was struck by the sheer sensuality he exuded. Suddenly, she understood what had earned him all that popularity on the silver screen. A woman could easily drown in the churning depths of those ocean blue eyes.

The memory of his hands on her the previous night when they’d danced flared to life, sending a bolt of molten heat lapping through her. “How are you doing it?” her voice dropped to a baffled whisper. “Holding books, pushing people, touching me?”

He rubbed his thumb against the underside of her wrist, and her flesh prickled in response. She trembled, wanting nothing more than to sever the electrifying contact but unable to pull her hand away. “All I have to do is think of you,” he said in a warm, husky tone that resonated with as much energy as the rest of him.

Heat, she thought. Energy and pure heat.

Tamping down the emotion swelling inside her, she found the willpower to break free of his grasp. “I have work to do,” she murmured, quickly placing a safe distance between them.

He watched her walk away with a knowing smile curling those incredibly well-shaped lips of his. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Evelyn saw the silent, unmistakable challenge twinkling in his gaze and swallowed past the thick knot in her throat. This was going to be a very long day.

***

For the next couple of days, Matt followed Evelyn to work, doing his darnedest to distract her. He entertained her with his biting sense of humor, annoyed her with his caustic, often smug remarks, and completely unhinged her with those smoldering, not-so-inadvertent touches. He made a complete fool of her more than once, when co-workers and customers alike caught her talking to—or worse yet, arguing with—herself.

By Wednesday evening, she felt physically, mentally and emotionally drained. All she could do was flop onto her favorite armchair with Slippers curled in her lap. She didn’t even have the energy to read. And still, after all this time, she had yet to figure out why he’d been sent to her. She knew only that by Friday he’d be gone.

The thought should have thrilled her. He’d been nothing but a nuisance since he’d appeared—arrogant, sarcastic, pushy. He’d afforded her not one moment of peace in nearly a week.

Still, she’d grown accustomed to his presence. Strangely enough, on those rare occasions when he wasn’t around, she felt lonely. For a person who valued her solitude as much as she did, this was quite discomfiting.

She hated to admit it, but a part of her wished he could stay—which was totally insane because she couldn’t very well have a ghost stalking her for the rest of her life. Nevertheless, she’d begun to think of him as a friend. His presence was oddly comforting, even now as he hovered quietly by the hearth, staring pensively into the dancing flames.

The winking reflection of the fire made his face glow gold and silver, like a tangible mist embedded with microscopic jewels. Evelyn let her gaze trail over his profile, committing his features to memory. Something dark and heavy squeezed her heart at the realization that in two days he would evaporate like a spring rain.

“What happens when you leave here?” she asked.

The only indication that he heard her was the slight angling of his head in her direction. After a short pause, he said, “Wish I knew.”

Sadness gripped her. “You’ll go to a better place, I’m sure.” Once again, something she’d read about his accident poked at her consciousness, but it kept slipping from her grasp like the wispy strings of a cloud.

“Hey, I grew up in the film industry,” he added with a hitch of his shoulder. “How much worse can fire and brimstone be?”

“You’re not going to hell.”

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, void of humor. “I didn’t make the best choices in my life, Evie. I was always out for number one. Didn’t give a damn how many people I hurt along the way.” The flames roared ominously, streaking his cheeks with ruddy fingers. Evelyn felt a shiver snake through her.

“My funeral must’ve been a pretty lonely affair,” he continued reflectively. “If any of my exes showed up, it was probably for the simple pleasure of dancing on my grave.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I met a girl in a bar once,” he confessed. “I turned on the charm, she fell for it, and we ended up going back to my place. Couple of days later I ran into her again. She said, ‘Hi’ and I said, ‘Sorry, have we met before?’”

Evelyn flinched. “Ouch.”

“It gets worse. I dated another girl for a couple of months, and things inevitably started getting old. I tried to break up with her, but she just wouldn’t take the hint. So, I arranged to have her catch me in bed with her cousin. She got the message loud and clear.”

She gazed at him, owl-eyed. “Guess you’re right. You really are going to hell.”

“Told you.”

Slippers meowed and stretched in her lap, demanding attention. She gently ran her palm down the cat’s soft, furry back. “Why did you do it?” The kitten purred contentedly, snuggling closer. “Treat the women in your life so badly?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Because I could. Because they let me. Or maybe it was simply because most of them were no better than my mother—inattentive, self-absorbed, and about as deep, not to mention palatable, as a spoonful of Buckley’s.”

Evelyn chortled, scratching Slippers behind the ears. “You make relationships sound like a disease.”

“Believe me, they are. They’ll suck you dry if you’re not careful.”

“So you don’t regret it, then?”

He slanted a glance her way. “What?”

“Never falling in love.”

His eyes locked with hers, sparkling like sunshine on dew. Something bright and ravenous burned in their depths, as palpable as a caress. “Who said I never fell in love?”

For one crazy moment, she could’ve sworn he was speaking about her. Her heart bucked in her chest as a new wave of heat gushed through her, and she thanked her lucky stars she was sitting down because her legs all but melted in a puddle of Jell-O at the foot of her chair.

That’s when Evelyn made a decision. The decision to end all this nonsense and call Todd.

***

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Matt inwardly cursed as he stood in Evelyn’s bedroom the next evening, watching her select her outfit for her so-called date. “You can’t possibly go out with that dickhead.”

How had things gone so wrong? Yesterday, he was sure he had her—hook, line and sinker. That falling in love comment had all but cinched the deal. But today, she was bent set on going out with that loser, Todd. It made absolutely no sense.

“I can and I will.” She rifled through her drab wardrobe with steel determination. “Oh, and I would really appreciate it if you stopped insulting the man.”

Matt felt the red hot singe of jealousy upon hearing her defend the jerk.

Damn. Had he been stupid enough to get caught in his own trap? When had pretense ended and reality squeezed in? What did he care who Evelyn dated apart from the fact that if he failed to win her love, eternal damnation most likely awaited him?

He thought back to last night. When he’d alluded to having fallen in love, the words hadn’t felt like a lie. Why was that?

With a shake of his head, he pushed his disturbing musings aside, refocusing his attention on something safer and far more entertaining—the appraisal of her wardrobe.

With a thoughtful hmm, Evelyn was currently evaluating a dress his grandmother wouldn’t be caught dead in. It was gray and shapeless, with as much sex appeal as control-top underwear. He cocked a brow and grinned wryly. “Perfect,” he said. “Todd will love it.”

She wrinkled her nose and promptly placed it back in the closet. Biting her lower lip, she pulled out a pair of black slacks and a lime-green polo.

“Didn’t realize he was taking you golfing in the dead of winter. The good news is you can always club the horny bastard if he gets out of hand.”

She pierced him with an icy, not-the-least-bit-amused stare. “Do you mind?”

A wayward curl fell to brush her cheek, and she flicked it away with a frustrated wave of her hand. She’d been wearing her hair down since he’d told her he liked it better that way. That had to mean something.

The russet-streaked strands caught the light, cascading down her back in a thick, sinful web. Matt edged in closer, his fingers itching to clasp one of those wicked locks. Her hair would be soft, like silk. He could tell just by looking at it. The mere sight of those untamed curls made his body prickle uncomfortably, until he could feel his essence changing, feel mist thickening into mass and energy converting to flesh. He lifted his hand, stunned to realize he couldn’t see through it. The woman did strange things to him. Things he’d never before experienced or could ever begin to comprehend.

And that both enticed and frightened the crap out of him.

Decisively, she yanked a black skirt and a pink blouse from their hangers and swiveled on her heels. Unaware that Matt stood directly behind her, she plowed into him. The sudden contact struck him like a blast to the midsection, making his entire being chime