Ghostly Intentions

Ghostly Intentions

(Ghost Releasers, Inc., Book 1)

Jill James

Other Books in Series

Ghostly Deceptions

Ghostly Perceptions

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Jill James Writes

Published by Gray Sweater Press

Copyright © March 2018 by Jill James

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

Cover Art designed by Elaina Lee of For The Muse Design

This book is dedicated to the ghost hunters and ghost believers of the world. Hopefully, Jack O’Malley and Ghost Releasers are a nice addition to the paranormal research team.

Blurb:

Megan Trent misses her deceased husband every day, until he returns as a sexy, ghostly visitor every night. When the visitations turn twisted and dark, she knows she’s in too deep to stop the madness on her own. Jack O’Malley, founder of Ghost Releasers, Inc. is her only hope. Sparks fly from the moment the two meet, but Jack isn’t willing to compete with a ghost. Even with her dead husband’s final release, a dark danger remains to torment her. Jack and Megan must fight evil intentions in this world and ghostly intentions in the next to save their lives and their love.

Contents

Title Table of Contents Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 Dear Reader Letter Other books by Jill James Author links

Chapter One

Megan Trent jerked out of a deep sleep to the cacophony of sound as her clock radio turned on and off in a rapid beat of white noise and eerie silence. She stared in terror, her heartbeat pounding in her throat, as the red display numbers flickered in and out with a frantic Morse code lightshow.

Gasping in an ice-cold breath, goose bumps pimpled her flesh, and her breath plumed in the frigid air. Air at odds with the heatwave when she’d gone to bed. She knew he had come again in the deep, predawn hours of the night. That time when the veil between reality and imagination is whisper thin.

Her lover.

Her dead husband’s ghost.

Like fingers on the Ouija board’s planchette, her thoughts stood uncertain and shaking between yes, I will and no, I won’t. A swift, eager decision brought peace to her heart and her mind. Happy tears poured down her wintery-cold cheeks as she fell back against her pillow and gave in to the temptation yet again.

Her eyes closed, tears frozen on her icy skin, Aaron’s memorable scent of spicy musk aftershave filled the air, enveloping her and the sheets, as if he were truly there with her. Megan sighed and arched her back as his familiar weight pressed her deep into the mattress, his effervescent flesh surrounding her. His soldier-hardened hands caressed her face and wiped the dampness from her cheeks, the calluses rasping against her tender skin. Her face warmed with passion as his cool lips slid along her jaw. Cold, sweet breath tickled the hairs by her ear as Aaron found the familiar, sweet spot between her neck and shoulder. The one that set her nerves to zinging. A tingle shot straight to between her thighs, wetting her panties as her breath caught on a sigh.

Heat bubbled beneath her skin, competing with the chill of the room as Aaron’s mouth kissed her neck, his tongue teasing on her skin. Pleasure spiked through her body as his teeth nipped her ear. Goose bumps that had nothing to do with cold, and everything to do with passion, ran down her arms and legs. The pleasure built as the familiar, comforting feelings they’d always shared filled her body and soul. The familiar moves and rhythms comforted her.

Her breasts ached as Aaron’s firm chest slid against her. Her nipples tightened with need. Megan’s arms reached for him and encountered cold, empty air. A cry escaped her lips just before Aaron’s mouth claimed her in a hot, passionate kiss. He tasted of want and need, a need as strong as her own.

She lost all coherent thought as his hands were everywhere, as impossible as that was, as if he had more than two. A warmth flooded between her thighs as his hands brushed lightly across her breasts, the nipples hard and tight, pebbled beneath the thin fabric of her sleep shirt.

She grasped handfuls of silk sheets as his mouth suckled her breasts through the sheer fabric. Wetness chaffed her tender flesh as he slid down her body. Her back rose off the bed as his cool mouth and tongue reached the juncture between her thighs. A husky moan escaped her as his tongue slipped inside her and played with her tender flesh. In her imagination, her hands grasped his soft, thick hair and pulled him closer. Her husky whisper rang in the empty room as she begged for more.

Her inner vision and memories replaced empty air with strands of surfer, sun-kissed hair. In her treasured fantasies, she could look deep into his blue eyes and lose herself, make time stand still, make the past the present. Like a dream, she could caress his face, touch his skin, and revel in erotic love play.

A whimper of protest slipped between her lips as she held on to the sheets, knowing if she touched him, opened her eyes to see him—the illusion would be gone. If she risked trying to view him, she would see nothing but a few twinkling lights and misty shadows above her bed. Her eyelids tightened as she fought to hold onto the deception for a little longer. A deception made easier as he found her night after night, bringing a remembered pleasure. One she’d been missing for too long.

She sighed as more weight settled on her and pressed her into the bed, the sheets piling around her like clouds. Aaron’s spicy scent enveloped her, his mouth found hers and she tasted herself on his tongue. A sweet scent flooded her mouth as her tongue glided across his. Her breath came in short pants and he slid into her. His flesh filled her full and beyond. Every nerve ending screamed for more. Slowly, he slid in and out of her wet center. Her inner muscles tightened to feel every stroke of his heated flesh. Longer. It had to last longer. Let it last until she reached orgasm.

Blood and heat rushed to her sex. Her heart pounded double-time to every thrust. Colors swirled behind her eyelids and the tempo raced faster and faster and harder and harder. Her hands reached behind her head and grasped the ironwork of the headboard. Perspiration coated her body in the frozen room as the climax approached. Pleasure on the thin edge of pain radiated through her body as fingers tangled in her hair and lips and tongue pressed against her neck. Everything in the universe centered between her thighs where her husband drove her to completion. Nothing else in the world mattered except he was where he was supposed to be.

Yes, Aaron, she whimpered, as she moved faster to the edge. Fireworks exploded in her head as her flesh grasped him in her hot pleasure. Her muscles tightened around him until he found his release as well.

I love you, Aaron.

Dawn etched the window with golden light around the closed blinds. She opened her eyes as the light shone through her eyelids. Aaron's ghost shimmered for a second in a familiar shape before dissolving into dust motes and sprinkles of light fooling the eye into believing he’d been there. Megan raised her arms and cried out at his leaving. She was losing her mind. All this just a delusion in her sick, lonely mind. She’d been fucking a phantom.

She kicked the covers to the floor. Rolling over, she sniffed the musky scent of the sheets. The smell of sex surrounded her. Her face burrowed into the material. This was real. The smell of their lovemaking saturated the sheets. Her body loose, relaxed, and sated with intense lovemaking.

Her fingers grasped the bunched, rumpled material, holding on to the sensations of pleasure from moments before. Her body still twitched with sexual satisfaction. Her inner muscles still clenched in ecstasy, her orgasm still roiled through her body. She opened her fists as her body cooled, perspiration evaporated, and the tingling feeling left her body. She curled into a fetal position, refusing to accept the truth—she had no one. Just a figment of her imagination to pleasure her.

I hate you, Aaron, she cried as the room warmed and brightened with sunlight for another scorching California day.

* * *

Megan stared in disbelief at the steam-coated mirror in the bathroom. After this morning’s love-making she’d fallen back to sleep amid her crumpled sheets and had mere minutes to get ready for lunch with her sister, and now—this.

She swiped at the mirror, blinked her eyes, and stared at the ring of love-bites on her neck. With her finger, she pressed the skin of one and winced with pain. They hurt. The flesh violated and sore with abuse. Red bumps of burst blood vessels encircled each purple bruise.

Her face heated with anger. She remembered back in high school, Aaron joking about the girls running around with hickeys on their necks like it was a badge of honor, saying a gentleman didn’t need to mark his girl, they should just know they belonged together, to each other.

Her hand shook, her fingertips touched her neck again. Why would Aaron do that? Why would he mark her this way? His lovemaking this morning had been so aggressive and rough toward the end, not like Aaron at all. She shivered as a spike of fear rammed down her spine and chilled her wet body. She’d been having sex with her husband, right? How twisted was that thought? He was dead. He was gone.

She jumped when the Grandfather clock in the entry hall chimed the hour. Shit, she moaned, running the towel over her body too fast to dry her skin, tossing it over the shower curtain rod instead of folding it, and running to her bedroom to dress. She still had to get ready and now she needed to find a scarf as well. Did she have one long enough to hide her entire neck?

Megan opened the spare room’s door and sighed. The sound of rubber wheels dragging on the floor greeted her as she pushed the old, broken tricycle away from the doorway. It rolled several inches and butted up against the teetering tower of bins.

She closed her eyes and mentally cataloged the filled-to-the-brim room. Scarves were with accessories in the Northeast corner, two bins down. Walking along the stacked bins, her fingers trailed across the lids and a flash picture formed in her mind of each bin’s contents.

Pulling the top bin off the pile, she opened the second one down. Neat rolls of scarves greeted her, each in its own plastic cubby. She plucked a pale pink, silk one and wound it around her neck, tying a few knots to keep it in place. She replaced the lid and lifted the other bin to place on top. Her fingers lingered. The bin held Aaron’s dress uniform and Purple Heart medal. A gust of wind breezed through the room, heavy with a musky scent.

She rushed from the room, tripping on her childhood tricycle as she slammed the door and darted out of the house.

* * *

I think I’m losing my mind. Megan’s whispered words barely loud enough to reach her sister across the luncheon table. For a second, she wanted them to fail or to pull them back. Andrea Martin-Stovall stretched her arm across the damask tablecloth and grasped Megan’s hand. Megan’s fingers twitched as Andrea’s warm flesh grasped her ice-cold hand.

Her sister smiled, squeezing Megan’s hand, rubbing fingers along it, as if trying to warm her up. Andrea’s gaze swept over her face. Megan grimaced. She knew her sister was seeing her paler than normal skin, and the bags under her eyes that no makeup seemed to cover. Her shiny blonde hair pulled back into a simple ponytail instead of her favorite, elaborate French twist, and still damp to boot. She’d always felt inferior to Andrea’s effortless perfection, but never more than today.

If you think you’re losing your mind, you’re probably not, you know. Andrea said, in a lighthearted tone at odds with the worried look on her face. As mother would say, ‘No Martin-Stovall has ever had diminished mental faculties, and we are not going to begin with this generation.’

Megan smiled at Andrea’s pitch-perfect imitation of their mother’s genteel Southern accent, with a touch of condescension and upper crust superiority. An old, favorite game they played, mimicking their mother’s snootiness for laughs. Today it wasn’t enough to distract her frenzied mind for long.

Megan slid her hand from under Andrea’s and reached for her iced-tea glass. The crystal rang out as she hit the edge of the china plate before raising it in her shaking hand to her mouth. Megan drained the tea in one nervous gulp like a shot of whiskey and slammed the glass back down on the table. She shouldn’t have come to lunch. Why hadn’t she canceled? Rubbing her forehead, she realized she wasn’t ready to face her family with her situation. She would never be ready.

She tried to eat. Her fork clattered against her plate with each bite. She felt as if controlling the utensil was beyond her capabilities. Megan dropped a bite of salad into her lap and threw her fork onto the plate. She watched as Andrea jumped in her seat, looking around to see if anyone else was staring.

I can’t do this. I shouldn’t have come out today.

Andrea set her fork gently down on the edge of the plate and patted her lips with the napkin. Megan, you know you can tell me anything. I’m your big sister, I’m always here for you. If something is upsetting you, I want to help. Please let me.

Megan twisted her own napkin in her hands, half-expecting to tear the sturdy linen to rags. Her eyes welled up with her need for Andrea to understand what she was feeling. She took a shaky breath. I’m being haunted. I’m seeing Aaron. Every night.

Andrea smiled,