Chapter Two

G hosts can pace. They pace a lot. Mortimer was an expert pacer, especially when things were weighing heavily on his mind.

She said, “A hundred years too late, my love.”

She said my love because you wrote the words “my loves” in your little maudlin deathbed poetry, you twit.

But she also said she’d date me.

She wondered if I were haunting the place.

And heavens, yes, I’m getting one hell of a show.

Mortimer’s pacing took him in front of the sleeping woman, and he quickly yelped and covered his eyes with one hand. Louisa’s limbs had relaxed and come uncurled as she sank deeper into sleep. One leg dangled over the edge of the cushiony chair that served as her bed, slender brown calf leading to an expanse of soft thigh that took on a silk-like sheen in the lamp’s faded glow. He daren’t look any higher.

But yet he looked.

Panties pulled askew by her stretched position revealed a hint of dark curls and deep mauve paradise.

If his heart were still beating, it would be racing.

“My love, indeed. If only you knew, my dear Louisa, how much I love you. How I’ve fallen in love watching you day after day. How many times you’ve been here alone, but not truly alone. I let myself believe that you get some sort of comfort from my presence, that you sense me,” he murmured, returning to the spot behind her, bending low to whisper above her hair.

He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, warm tingles radiating through his not-quite-solid form.

Louisa moaned in her sleep. “Hm?”

Maybe it is time for a Christmas Eve miracle, Mortimer thought to himself. When the brain is relaxed, slumbering, it often perceives the truth, too at ease to force out a logical explanation.

“Hello, my love. My Louisa,” he murmured, swallowing hard as he knelt behind her.

In her sleep, she smiled and twitched a cheek, a sweet dimple forming.

“It’s Mortimer, my dearest.” His hand crept out and dared to caress her soft dark hair, moving it back from her beautiful face. “How like an angel,” he began but left the rest of Hamlet’s speech unsaid.

A sleepy chuckle huffed from between parted, pouty lips.

“Ah, I know. I know that there are times you are a naughty angel.” His voice changed, warring with himself to keep things sweet and affectionate instead of giving in to the lustful urges that instantly doubled when he touched her. “If only you knew that I existed. That I would cherish you. Spend my days with you. I would make you happy, I think.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s not impossible for me to be the companion you wish for—mentally or physically.” A warm, not-quite solid finger trailed down her arm.

“Ohhh, yes.”

He rose, a sharp, unneeded intake of air in his spectral lungs. Louisa writhed and her eyebrows lowered when he pulled away.

Intelligent minds are most receptive to the unknown, to the truth of things. They want to learn.

He could talk to Louisa like this, convince her he was real, that he wasn’t just a happy dream, perhaps.

Or he could make sure she had a very, very happy dream, indeed... Or both.

“Why don’t you let me read to you, my Louisa?” he whispered, taking a book from her pile to his lap as he settled behind her once again. With deft motions, the pages flipped without him touching them, simply moving the air around them. He found a steamy section in one of the dark, hedonistic novellas among her unread books, pages fanning as he gently traced the sleepy curve of her shoulder.

Over the years, the aging academic had learned to put thoughts of propriety aside when needed—and convincing Louisa that he was real and could please her was of the utmost necessity.

Mortimer’s voice was a dark whisper, throbbing as his own manhood began to pulse with the energy that flowed through him.

“‘ There’s a quiet cacophony. Leo and Robbie make their own sort of primal, pleasurable noises, Tessa and I gasp from the spectator seats, which become instantly less spectator-y.

Robbie has a death grip on Leo’s arm with one hand, and his other reaches back to snag me in a grip that screams “Mine,” possessiveness and sex and heat, all in five fingertips.

Leo’s hand digs into the patterned pink fabric between Tessa’s thighs, dragging it up as he pulls her closer, bruising grip turning into kneading. Any second, I imagine his growl will turn into a contented purr as his jaw goes slack and his eyes turn into black pools of pleasure.

“Fuck...” Leo breathes out.

“That’s next,” I say, not thinking clearly. Leo’s reclining. His dark cotton pajama pants are pulled taut in the front. Tessa licks her lips, gasp turning into a moan.

“Is it that good?” she asks, rubbing Leo’s shoulders. ’”

“Ohhh, God, yes. So good.” Louisa squirmed in her sleep, her hand traveling to her panties and sliding in between her legs.

“May I keep going?” Mortimer whispered.

“Mm. Never stop.”

Mortimer put down the book, staying behind her with an effort. “You have no idea how badly I want to touch you. I would bring you so much pleasure.” His hands came to rest on her shoulders, sending warmth into her sleepy muscles, making her mewl and sigh in contentment as her hand began lazily circling beneath her panties. “I’d be the most attentive scholar of your body. Read your curves and edges like a book. Memorize you like a poem, my Louisa. All you have to do is say yes, my love, and I’ll be yours to command, devoted to worshiping your body and cherishing your conversation.”

He massaged her shoulders, pleasure spiking through him and muting the shouts of his conscious that he was behaving badly, that he shouldn’t touch, should leave, that she would never—

“Yes. Yes, my love, mi amor .”

Mortimer swallowed hard, hands freezing.

You can’t actually make love to her, Mortimer. Sleeping consent is hardly a right to consummate a relationship she thinks is a dream.

But there’s no harm in telling her how I wish it would go—and rubbing her shoulders...kissing her neck...

“It’s late on Christmas Eve. You’re all alone in the snug little attic love nest for two, wearing something silky that hugs your curves, my dear.” His thumbs kneaded along her shoulder blades. “Are you ready to meet your secret admirer and let him have his way with you?”

“Mmm!”

Louisa’s exclamation was a sleepy giggle that stretched her smile and made his heart leap.

“Well, he’ll start with a kiss of those ruby lips and work his way down to the jewels of your breasts...” Mortimer dared to brush a hand across the peaks where her nipples rose under her shirt, hard, hidden gems. Louisa gasped, and her hand jiggled more urgently at her crotch, sending a wave of wet, sexual heat into the air around them.

“But the kisses trail lower until he arrives at the goblet between your thighs, a sweet river he’s been longing to drink from.” Mortimer closed his eyes, imagining losing himself between thick, soft brown thighs, face buried in her most private places, tongue and fingers invading where he would eventually interlock with her, making them one. “I want to hear you scream your pleasure when I learn your secrets, when I master the art of making love to you there. Even just thinking of seeing you bare, every petal and fold on display...” he had to stop and lock his jaws together, resisting the urge to take his manhood out and stroke himself while touching her.

This is her gift. Perhaps mine will come later.

With a supreme effort, he kept his hands on Louisa’s shoulders and kept whispering about their first night together.

LOUISA AWOKE AS AN orgasm crested over her, making her eyes fly open as her pussy throbbed and her hands flew to her sides to brace her spasming body.

She’d had vivid dreams before, sure, but nothing like this!

She could still hear his voice, soft and seductive in her ear. Her secret admirer, her dream lover had called himself, but she had an uncanny feeling that she knew who it was.

Only it couldn’t be.

But the unusual patterns of speech, some of the flowery, poetic words... Her lover was a scholar from the past.

The dead and buried past.

Mortimer Ashfield.

“It’s just because I was looking at his picture. Found that newspaper,” she panted, rising on wobbling legs.

But the dream was real enough to make her wonder if she should actually return to the library tonight, on Christmas Eve, and call for her lover.

Wait, had he even told her his name?

As she was peaking and her dream lover’s masterful erotic storytelling was ending, she was sure he’d mentioned his name.

I’ll see you tonight my love. The ghost of Christmas Present will give you every gift of love if you only accept it. Please come to me, Louisa. Come home to me.”

No. Not his name, but...

Well, there was one perk of being alone in the library and feeling strangely energetic.

Louisa scrambled back into her skirt and made a beeline for the small “Staff Only” bathroom on the second floor of the old Victorian building. Once she freshened up (and cooled down) she would turn her sudden wave of enthusiasm into one skill every librarian longed to use.

“Research time.”