Read Online Ghost Layer (The Ghost Seer Series Book 2) by Robin D. Owens - Free Book Online
Authors: Robin D. Owens
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figured she wasn’t thinking of her tidy nature. Was that an innate characteristic or something she’d learned in order to cope with the chaos of her family life during childhood? Something he’d have to hang around to find out.
“Let’s hit the shower,” he said. The master bathroom had one of those major deals with multiple showerheads that laid down crisscrossing streams of water.
Taking her hand, he led her to the tiny elevator. He wanted to get to the second floor faster and have sex with his woman instead of slowly mounting the stairs. He tensed a moment, not sure where his cane had gone to, then shrugged and decided to leave it. She had a selection of canes in a fancy Chinese umbrella stand next to “his” dresser.
Yeah, they’d moved fast. So fast, so intimate. So intense that he couldn’t turn away from this generous, caring woman.
Sexy as hell woman. Too bad her skirt covered her lower body as they walked.
A few minutes later, all soft and slippery, they’d shouted their satisfaction together once more and were sliding down the corner of the shower, hot water still pumping, nearly too much for his senses to stand. Fantastic.
Clare recovered first and let some steam out as she left the enclosure. The only regret he had right now was that he was damn sure he wouldn’t be making love to her in her new bed. Exhaustion hovered like a thunderstorm ready to hit.
Until he heard her scream.
Fear pumped through him. He slammed from the shower, ran with his lurching gait.
When he got to the bedroom, Clare appeared more angry than frightened and gestured with a quivering hand at the bed, covers turned down. Zach blinked. “What?” Then he got closer and saw.
“It’s a finger. A whole skeletal finger. All the bones. That
ghost,
that
J. Dawson Hidgepath
, left them. Here. For me.” She crossed her arms in a defensive pose, pulling the plush robe around her.
Zach’s breathing slowed. Man, he was out of shape, out of practice at handling emergencies. Or maybe it was that his lover had been threatened . . . anyway, he was dealing with a massive surge of adrenaline. He stared down at the four bones, not seeing anything threading them together as if they’d been a model.
The scare and his humor got the best of him. “I’ve seen enough bones to tell you that it’s his index finger and not the middle one he left you.”
She glared at him and he coughed to cover his laugh. When she gave him a dirty look, he grabbed her discarded towel and wrapped it around him, then slipped an arm around her waist.
“J. Dawson Hidgepath!” she yelled, with enough volume and a high pitch that made Zach’s ears ring. “You get here
now!
”
What is it? What is it?
Enzo materialized at the end of the California king bed and sniffed at the bones.
Ooooh. Ooooh. Nice, smelly, BONES FROM A GHOSTMAN!
Zach heard barking, but since he was touching Clare, he got the full visual and telepathic audio. Clare’s arm had gone around Zach’s waist, too. She smelled fabulous, fancy peach soap, a hint of roses from the shampoo, and Clare.
The ghost of a man walked through the bedroom French doors to the balcony. The second-story French doors. As always, it was difficult to judge the height of a floating man with . . . no feet . . . more than a regular human.
Zach judged this guy to be five foot eight and with a light frame, on the scrawny side, 138 pounds or so.
The apparition stopped at the end of the bed and doffed his bowler hat, then put it over his heart.
I see you’ve found the token of my affection.
He gestured and light seemed to sparkle on a rose and a piece of paper under the finger.
“I don’t like it,” Clare said.
You haven’t even LOOKED at my poem!
The ghost sounded hurt.
Enzo yipped and began licking the bones.
The ghost yelped,
Stop that!
Sluurrp.
The spook dog ignored the man haunt.
“Enzo!” exclaimed Clare.
“Enzo,” said Zach.
Awww, so tasty.
“With what? Ectoplasmic goo?” Zach
“Let’s hit the shower,” he said. The master bathroom had one of those major deals with multiple showerheads that laid down crisscrossing streams of water.
Taking her hand, he led her to the tiny elevator. He wanted to get to the second floor faster and have sex with his woman instead of slowly mounting the stairs. He tensed a moment, not sure where his cane had gone to, then shrugged and decided to leave it. She had a selection of canes in a fancy Chinese umbrella stand next to “his” dresser.
Yeah, they’d moved fast. So fast, so intimate. So intense that he couldn’t turn away from this generous, caring woman.
Sexy as hell woman. Too bad her skirt covered her lower body as they walked.
A few minutes later, all soft and slippery, they’d shouted their satisfaction together once more and were sliding down the corner of the shower, hot water still pumping, nearly too much for his senses to stand. Fantastic.
Clare recovered first and let some steam out as she left the enclosure. The only regret he had right now was that he was damn sure he wouldn’t be making love to her in her new bed. Exhaustion hovered like a thunderstorm ready to hit.
Until he heard her scream.
Fear pumped through him. He slammed from the shower, ran with his lurching gait.
When he got to the bedroom, Clare appeared more angry than frightened and gestured with a quivering hand at the bed, covers turned down. Zach blinked. “What?” Then he got closer and saw.
“It’s a finger. A whole skeletal finger. All the bones. That
ghost,
that
J. Dawson Hidgepath
, left them. Here. For me.” She crossed her arms in a defensive pose, pulling the plush robe around her.
Zach’s breathing slowed. Man, he was out of shape, out of practice at handling emergencies. Or maybe it was that his lover had been threatened . . . anyway, he was dealing with a massive surge of adrenaline. He stared down at the four bones, not seeing anything threading them together as if they’d been a model.
The scare and his humor got the best of him. “I’ve seen enough bones to tell you that it’s his index finger and not the middle one he left you.”
She glared at him and he coughed to cover his laugh. When she gave him a dirty look, he grabbed her discarded towel and wrapped it around him, then slipped an arm around her waist.
“J. Dawson Hidgepath!” she yelled, with enough volume and a high pitch that made Zach’s ears ring. “You get here
now!
”
What is it? What is it?
Enzo materialized at the end of the California king bed and sniffed at the bones.
Ooooh. Ooooh. Nice, smelly, BONES FROM A GHOSTMAN!
Zach heard barking, but since he was touching Clare, he got the full visual and telepathic audio. Clare’s arm had gone around Zach’s waist, too. She smelled fabulous, fancy peach soap, a hint of roses from the shampoo, and Clare.
The ghost of a man walked through the bedroom French doors to the balcony. The second-story French doors. As always, it was difficult to judge the height of a floating man with . . . no feet . . . more than a regular human.
Zach judged this guy to be five foot eight and with a light frame, on the scrawny side, 138 pounds or so.
The apparition stopped at the end of the bed and doffed his bowler hat, then put it over his heart.
I see you’ve found the token of my affection.
He gestured and light seemed to sparkle on a rose and a piece of paper under the finger.
“I don’t like it,” Clare said.
You haven’t even LOOKED at my poem!
The ghost sounded hurt.
Enzo yipped and began licking the bones.
The ghost yelped,
Stop that!
Sluurrp.
The spook dog ignored the man haunt.
“Enzo!” exclaimed Clare.
“Enzo,” said Zach.
Awww, so tasty.
“With what? Ectoplasmic goo?” Zach
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