I’m sorry. I’m in. Here we go. I’m visualizing . . .”
Once more, the image of Marcella in an innocent, yet hotly seductive baby-doll nightie he’d seen in some store window popped into his head. Her hair, black and thick, fell over her shoulders and streamed down her back in loose curls. It framed her face, wisping across her high cheekbones while her eyes glowed green and smoldering. Her lips were full and glistening with that pink lip gloss she was so fond of. Olive skin shimmered smooth and clear beneath the frilly, pastel pink of the material, tucking around the smooth skin where her hip met her thigh.
This was exactly how he’d conjured her up earlier today, by smelling her perfume on that scarf she’d left behind. Kellen shifted uncomfortably in his chair when his jeans grew tight, guiltily waiting for Delaney to tell him to knock it off and get serious.
When she didn’t, he relaxed a bit. No one had to know what the image of Marcella he’d called up was.
A low thrum of vibration began at his feet, traveling along his calves and upward until his ears hummed with a buzzing that grew almost uncomfortable. The air around them became its own living entity, thick and oppressive. The candles fluttered and the chimes sang . . .
“I would never wear a cheap nightgown like that, Kellen Markham. How dare you create a visual image of me in cotton? I’m a silk girl, through and through.”
Marcella’s laughter tinkled in her ears when Kellen jumped, knocking the table with a jolt of shaking teacups. She was only guessing at the visual he’d used to summon her. Clearly he was as much a man as he’d ever been, with the lingerie creativity of a kindergartner. Though, the very idea that he’d fantasized about her in anything but a headlock was titillating—and best left alone.
Unfortunately this meant the cat was out of the bag. There was no way to hide the fact that she was now spectral versus demonic. That Kellen had called her up with such ease didn’t just disturb her because it would upset Delaney, but because she’d been ensconced in trying to figure out how to pick up objects, and he’d interrupted. She knew some ghosts could do it. She just wasn’t one of them. Again, another class she might have spent more time listening in instead of sulking while she slumped down in her chair like a two-year-old in a time-out.
“She’s here?” Delaney leaned in Kellen’s direction with a hopeful look.
God, she looked fantastic. Marcella grinned a watery smile, letting her hand hover over her friend’s hair, remembering the feel of it so soft and unmanageable. Marriage had been just what the heavens had ordered, apparently. At least from the looks of the cozy house she and Clyde had chosen. Braided area rugs in deep greens and burgundies scattered the floors. Seven cushy dog beds lay by an old woodstove in the living room. Scarred paneling, worn and well loved in a deep brown, traveled from floor to ceiling. Little pieces of Delaney’s old life, like her prism meant for demon catching, sat on chunky wooden end tables with multicolored tiled surfaces.
The kitchen, where everyone was seated, was almost exactly as Delaney had once described the one she wanted if she ever married and could afford a bigger place. Rustic white cabinets, distressed to match the rest of her furniture, lined nearly every wall, and drying herbs hung from their tops in tied bundles of sage and mossy green. An antique stove Marcella was sure she used to whip up herbal remedies rather than cook with took up a good portion of the back wall. Paned windows hung over the steel basin sink, allowing a view of a big backyard with pine and maple trees. Whimsical bells and chimes hung from hooks next to lush green spider plants. Every corner of each room screamed Delaney’s dream come true.
Marcella scrunched her eyes shut before looking to Kellen, leaning in to let her lips press against his hair. “You can tell her I’m
Once more, the image of Marcella in an innocent, yet hotly seductive baby-doll nightie he’d seen in some store window popped into his head. Her hair, black and thick, fell over her shoulders and streamed down her back in loose curls. It framed her face, wisping across her high cheekbones while her eyes glowed green and smoldering. Her lips were full and glistening with that pink lip gloss she was so fond of. Olive skin shimmered smooth and clear beneath the frilly, pastel pink of the material, tucking around the smooth skin where her hip met her thigh.
This was exactly how he’d conjured her up earlier today, by smelling her perfume on that scarf she’d left behind. Kellen shifted uncomfortably in his chair when his jeans grew tight, guiltily waiting for Delaney to tell him to knock it off and get serious.
When she didn’t, he relaxed a bit. No one had to know what the image of Marcella he’d called up was.
A low thrum of vibration began at his feet, traveling along his calves and upward until his ears hummed with a buzzing that grew almost uncomfortable. The air around them became its own living entity, thick and oppressive. The candles fluttered and the chimes sang . . .
“I would never wear a cheap nightgown like that, Kellen Markham. How dare you create a visual image of me in cotton? I’m a silk girl, through and through.”
Marcella’s laughter tinkled in her ears when Kellen jumped, knocking the table with a jolt of shaking teacups. She was only guessing at the visual he’d used to summon her. Clearly he was as much a man as he’d ever been, with the lingerie creativity of a kindergartner. Though, the very idea that he’d fantasized about her in anything but a headlock was titillating—and best left alone.
Unfortunately this meant the cat was out of the bag. There was no way to hide the fact that she was now spectral versus demonic. That Kellen had called her up with such ease didn’t just disturb her because it would upset Delaney, but because she’d been ensconced in trying to figure out how to pick up objects, and he’d interrupted. She knew some ghosts could do it. She just wasn’t one of them. Again, another class she might have spent more time listening in instead of sulking while she slumped down in her chair like a two-year-old in a time-out.
“She’s here?” Delaney leaned in Kellen’s direction with a hopeful look.
God, she looked fantastic. Marcella grinned a watery smile, letting her hand hover over her friend’s hair, remembering the feel of it so soft and unmanageable. Marriage had been just what the heavens had ordered, apparently. At least from the looks of the cozy house she and Clyde had chosen. Braided area rugs in deep greens and burgundies scattered the floors. Seven cushy dog beds lay by an old woodstove in the living room. Scarred paneling, worn and well loved in a deep brown, traveled from floor to ceiling. Little pieces of Delaney’s old life, like her prism meant for demon catching, sat on chunky wooden end tables with multicolored tiled surfaces.
The kitchen, where everyone was seated, was almost exactly as Delaney had once described the one she wanted if she ever married and could afford a bigger place. Rustic white cabinets, distressed to match the rest of her furniture, lined nearly every wall, and drying herbs hung from their tops in tied bundles of sage and mossy green. An antique stove Marcella was sure she used to whip up herbal remedies rather than cook with took up a good portion of the back wall. Paned windows hung over the steel basin sink, allowing a view of a big backyard with pine and maple trees. Whimsical bells and chimes hung from hooks next to lush green spider plants. Every corner of each room screamed Delaney’s dream come true.
Marcella scrunched her eyes shut before looking to Kellen, leaning in to let her lips press against his hair. “You can tell her I’m
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