A Christmas Cara Page 2

  Nope. It was still December 25th. Cara set the device aside. She’d check the batter-ies in the morning. Maybe she was having a bad electronics day.

  Cara pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to relax, but Marley’s ghastly image kept shimmering before her eyes. Every time she started to drift off, she heard that god-awful shriek. Marley’s words about the first spirit showing up at one o’clock wouldn’t go away, and Cara’s gaze kept drifting to her alarm clock.

  When 12:15 glowed on the clock, Cara was still lying on her back, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. At 12:30, Cara pulled the pillow over head and grunted in frustration. She considered pulling out her Butterfly for a little late night tension-breaker, but just couldn’t summon enough enthusiasm. She wondered if she was in the early stages of a nervous breakdown.

  By 12:45, Cara was pretty sure she was having that breakdown. She gave up all attempts at sleep and simply lay on her right side, eyes wide open staring at the glowing red numerals of the clock on the nightstand.

  Was she actually waiting for the hour to pass? What did she think was going to happen when the clock struck one? Was she actually waiting for a ghost to appear?

  By five till, Cara was counting the blink, blink, blink of the colon separating the hours from the minutes, ticking the seconds away.

  A single beep sounded, signaling the hour.

  Cara waited, eyes wide, heart pounding. She strained to hear something. Any-

  thing.

  Silence. Nothing but sweet silence and her own racing pulse. Cara let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

  There. Just as she thought. The whole Marley episode was nothing but bad chicken. Or maybe a radon leak. She really should get one of those detectors. But one thing was certain. There was still no such thing as ghosts.

  “Ghosts,” she whispered. “Yeah, right.”

  She punched her pillow into shape, determined to finally get some sleep after all the ghost nonsense. She rolled onto her left side.

  And came face to face with a man.

  He lay on the opposite pillow not six inches in front of her nose. Cara tried to scream, but only a pitiful little mouse squeak came out.

  “Hello, Cara.”

  She tried to move, but was completely paralyzed, staring into his perfectly se-rene, glowing face.

  “Relax. I’m here to help, not harm.” His voice was soft and smooth and strange-ly calming.

  “Who the hell are you?” she asked, able to speak at last. “How did you get in here?”

  She should be putting her home-invader plan into action. But somehow she didn’t think getting the baseball bat from under her bed and whacking the glowing man was going to get rid of him.

  The intruder smiled benevolently and stroked a tendril of hair back from her face. Heat emanated from his fingertips, warming her skin in a pleasant way wher-ever he touched. The fear and stress of finding a strange man in her bed seemed to melt away and a delicious glow spread low in her belly. A foreign sensation of well-being washed over her. She tried to frown.

  The man said nothing, just lay on Cara’s spare pillow stroking her hair, looking into her eyes and glowing. Finally, in that warm-silk voice, he said, “I’m the ghost of passions past.”

  “Passions?”

  “Your passions.”

  Cara squeezed her eyes closed. “Wake up, Cara. Wake up, wake up, wake up…”

  The ghost chuckled. “Come on. We have some things to do.” He took her hand.

  Warmth spread through her hand and up her arm. “It’ll be fun. I promise.” He winked at her.

  Great. Not only was Cara seeing ghosts, but they were flirty ghosts. Her shrink

  would have something to say about that, if she ever had time to see her shrink again.

  Cara had no choice but to rise with the ghost from her nice, safe bed. Once he was standing, she could finally get a good look at him. He was just under six feet tall, and dressed in a flowing white toga. His classic profile featured a strong jaw and a straight nose, and eyes as bright and sparkling blue as the sun-splashed Ae-gean. His hair was pale blond and wildly curly, like a cherub—a really hot cherub.

  The toga left his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps bare. A thin golden cord cinched the toga at his waist, then let it hang free to just above his knees, exposing tightly muscled thighs and calves. On his feet were thin golden sandals.

  Cara didn’t see any scars or birthmarks or body hair. Each masculine curve from biceps to big toe looked like it had been sculpted out of gleaming alabaster. He was like a Greek statue of the ideal man come to life.

  Maybe being haunted wasn’t so bad after all, especially since she was most likely still asleep and dreaming the whole thing. She’d had worse dreams… Marley’s visit, for example.

  He looked down at her and squeezed her hand. “Ready?”

  “I… guess— ”

  He strode toward the window, pulling her behind him, and before Cara could even eke out another scream, they were floating right through the drywall and brick.

  An instant later, Cara sensed warmth and light and opened her eyes.

  “Familiar?” the ghost asked.

  Cara looked around in wonder. It was in her old college dorm room. The dingy white cinder block walls were as ugly as ever, the room cramped and small, but the air swam with energy and optimism. Alanis Morrisette blared from the stereo in the corner and a lavender-scented candle sputtered in a shot glass on the desk.

  Cara heard a groan and glanced at the couch along the far wall. Two naked bodies were entwined there. Cara recognized one of those bodies as her own—a younger, firmer version, sure, but hers, nonetheless.

  “Your first lover,” the ghost said, gesturing towards the male body.

  “Yes.” Cara swallowed. “Dylan.”

  “Close your eyes,” the ghost whispered, taking both of her hands.

  Cara’s eyes fluttered closed. Then warmth blazed through her hands, up her arms and expanded to fill her whole body. Suddenly she wasn’t standing there watching the action. She was once again one of the main players.

  She was on her back deep in the couch cushions that smelled faintly of beer and

  latex. Strangely, this wasn’t a turn-off. It reminded her of youth and energy and sex. Definitely of sex.

  Dylan lay half on top of her, his knee between her thighs, putting pressure just where she needed it. His cock pressed against her naked belly and he was kissing her in that slow, languid way she’d always loved.

  He got to his knees, skimming her breasts and teasing her nipples as he went. He covered her belly with soft wet kisses then moved lower.

  He hooked her knees over his shoulders and settled his mouth over the sensitive nub at the juncture of her thighs. Cara groaned when his tongue flicked her in just the right spot.

  Her first thought was that Dylan had always been good with his mouth. When his finger pushed inside her, adding to the riot of sensation, there was no second thought—just reaction.

  Dylan laved her clit, sucking gently, all the while moving that finger in and out of her slickness with maddeningly slow strokes.

  This young Cara experienced no hesitation, no hang-ups. She grasped his hair and rode his mouth until she was weak with longing. Then she shoved him away and he grinned up at her with that boyishly crooked grin that had melted her young heart way back when.

  He sat back on the couch, and she straddled him, taking control, taking what she wanted.

  “I love it when you get raw on me, babe,” he said, grasping her hips and guiding her down.

  Now she remembered what raw was. She lowered herself onto his cock with a deep groan. His mouth went to her breast, sucking gently. She leaned down and took his mouth herself, tasting her own muskiness on his lips. It just excited her more and she ground into him harder, faster. Kissed him deeper. Wound her tongue around his until they were both gasping for air. She nipped his lip.

  He pulled away and smiled. “Oh, you wa
nt it rough, tonight, huh?”

  Cara bit his shoulder in response. She felt wild and free again, as if there were no limits, no rules in her now. They were young and vital and couldn’t get enough of each other.

  He lifted her off of his lap and flipped her over so that she knelt on the floor, but with the rest of her body bent over the couch.

  He grasped her hips and entered her from behind. The new angle sent a whole new set of pleasure chills radiating through her body. He pounded into her hard, jarring her with every heavy thrust. She dug her nails into the couch cushions and

  sobbed with the pleasure of it. It was exactly what she wanted, what she needed.

  “More,” she begged. They were primal forces of nature, and nothing and no one could come between them.

  Dylan thrust faster, jerking her hips to him with every stroke. His thighs and pel-vis smacked against her ass and soon the pleasure spiraled up until it spilled over in one spectacular explosion. She pounded the couch with her hand, almost unable to bear the intense pleasure.

  Behind her, Dylan stiffened and let out his own deep groan.

  Cara lay still for moment, face down in the couch breathing heavily. Dylan pulled out carefully and helped her to her feet.

  He gathered her against his damp chest. “Are you okay, babe? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  The look of concern on his young face was enough to melt her heart all over again.

  “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

  He hugged her tighter. “I’ve been thinking, Cara.”

  She lay her cheek against his chest and listened to his heartbeat. “Umm?”

  “I think we should get engaged.”

  “What?” she jerked back to look at him.

  “I love you, Cara. You’re everything to me.”

  Irrational joy swelled inside Cara. She knew it was a dream, a memory, not real.

  But it sure felt real, and all the emotions, the love she felt for Dylan back then, came back in a flood.

  “I love you, too,” she said, and at that moment it was true. This younger self was so full of optimism, of love and intimacy. She’d forgotten what that was like. “Let’s do it. Get engaged.”

  He smiled wide. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  He kissed her then, and Cara knew everything she felt was reflected in that one perfectly honest kiss.

  But then she was standing beside the ghost again, watching the young lovers embrace as if in a movie. The sense of loss was nearly crushing.

  “Come. There is one more thing you have to see,” the ghost said and in a flash they were gone from the warm, musky dorm room.

  This time when Cara opened her eyes, she was in a small apartment and saw her 20-something self hunched over her desk, typing away on her computer. She said slowly, “This is later. I’d just landed my job with the firm.”

  A slightly older Dylan walked over to her and rubbed the young woman’s shoulders. Now she was inside the scene, feeling his hands kneading the tension out…

  and feeling herself shrugging him off. “I’m working.”

  “Come on, babe. I have something to show you.”

  “Look, I’m trying to finish this, okay? You know I’m trying for that promotion.”

  “Five minutes.”

  Cara couldn’t help herself. Trapped in the memory, she became that annoyed young woman. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then will you leave me alone?”

  “Absolutely.” He smiled, and Cara thought if he had a puppy dog tail, it would be wagging madly by now.

  Dylan pulled out a real estate magazine and opened it. He pointed to the page, positively beaming. “I found the perfect house for us.”

  “All right. Let me see.” Cara barely glanced at the listing before shoving it back at him. She turned back to her computer. “Why the hell would I want to live in the suburbs? I would have to drive all the way in to the city to work. Besides, the house is way too big for just the two of us.”

  “Well, after the wedding, it wouldn’t be just us for very long… I hope.”

  That was enough to get Cara’s attention. She turned around and pinned poor Dylan with a cold stare. “I sure hope you’re talking about a live-in maid, because I know you can’t mean children.”

  “Honey. Just think about it, Ok?”

  “Kids would just take time away from work. If I want to make partner, I can’t have that burden. It’s that simple. I’ve always been honest with you about that.”

  Dylan shoved a hand through his hair. The magazine dropped to the floor.

  “What happened to us, Cara? We used to be so happy.”

  “And poor,” Cara snapped.

  “We were happy,” he insisted. He looked down at her, hurt and disappointment etched clearly on his face. “Now all you do is work. We never spend any time together. I don’t think that this means very much to you at all. I don’t think I mean very much to you.”

  “Dylan. You know I’m fond of you.” She gave him a condescending smile.

  “Look, I’m busy right now. Can we talk about this later?”

  “It’s always later with you,” he said. Dylan grabbed his jacket and quietly left the apartment. The younger version of Cara shrugged and went back to work.

  Now she was out of there, above, watching, and guilt, swift and sharp, stabbed her. She’d hurt Dylan. Badly. “He came back for his stuff the next day,” Cara whis-

  pered.

  “You shut him out of your life.”

  “I was trying to move up in the company. There’s nothing wrong with having career ambitions,” Cara said defensively. She remembered the previous vision, how they had both been so hopeful, so eager to be together, no matter what obstacles lay ahead.

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with pursuing success. It’s kicking people out of the way that had landed you here, Cara. Closing your heart to anything that can love you back.”

  Cara squirmed under Toga Boy’s astute gaze. Then she straightened her spine.

  She hadn’t lost a moment’s sleep over her decisions in all these years. She wasn’t about to start regretting things now, especially because of some glowing guy dressed in a bedsheet.

  The glow intensified and hurt her eyes. “I want to go home. Now.” Cara tugged on the ghost’s hand. “Please. I’ve seen enough. I get the picture. I hurt Dylan.

  Maybe broke his heart. That was wrong.”

  A haze dropped over Cara, and she was suddenly very tired.

  “Home,” she implored again. Please.” Her eyelids dropped, and she hardly noticed being tucked back into her own bed.

  Christmas Cara: The Second of the Three Spirits Cara sat bolt upright in bed. She looked about frantically for a moment, trying to figure where she was. Back in her own bedroom. Not her old dorm room. Alone.

  Not with Dylan. In a flash, it came back to her—that feverish memory of having hot sex with Dylan. But that was impossible. Dylan was long gone. She hadn’t thought of him in years. It must have been a dream—one incredibly hot dream.

  Cara glanced at the clock. 12:45? Again?

  She frowned. Time was so out of joint, it was getting difficult to tell which parts of the evening were real and which were imagined.

  She lay back, staring at the ceiling. Dylan—that must have been imagined. But if so, it had been some hallucination. She wondered where he was now. She hadn’t spoken a single word to him since the day he left her.

  But surely she’d done the right thing. They had wanted different futures. She had wanted her career and he had wanted her. It had to end. Still, she supposed it could have ended better, because she had really loved him. She had just loved her ambition more.

  She glanced back at the clock. Would she have another visitation-slash-hallucination when the clock struck one for the second time that night? Even a few hours earlier, Cara seeing ghosts would have been about as likely as Cara signing up for speed dating. But now, well, she certainly hadn’t crawled in bed expecting to have h
ot sex, dream or not, with a man she hadn’t laid eyes on in a dozen years.

  Cara leaned against her headboard. It was no use trying to get back to sleep, not until one o’clock came and went and either something happened or it didn’t.

  She stared at the clock as disturbing thoughts swirled through her mind. Poor Dylan. He’d loved her so much. She’d never been loved that much since. She wondered if he’d ever been able to love that way again.

  She glanced over at the spare pillow. Nope, no ghostly stud there to give her an answer.

  She snuggled back beneath the covers. Just as well. No ghosts. No more dreams.

  No more sex with college sweethearts. Well, maybe that part hadn’t been so bad….

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a rosy red glow coming from beneath the door. Heart pounding, she bolted out of bed. Was her apartment on fire?

  She didn’t smell smoke. She wrenched the door open and looked about in wonder.

  It was her living room, but it wasn’t. Instead of the neutral beige carpet and walls and her familiar brown furniture, she saw red. The walls were hung with vines of red roses that appeared to be growing along the wall as if it were a trellis. She took a step forward. Thick, scarlet rugs, soft on Cara’s bare feet, blanketed the floor.

  There was a slight hint of jasmine and something else exotic in the air. Music—

  Mozart, maybe—was coming from somewhere. Since she didn’t have a stereo, that was a miracle in itself.

  The whole room was bathed in rosy candlelight. The furniture appeared to be crushed velvet, like it might belong in a bordello. A very nice, upscale bordello, but a place of sin and passion nonetheless. And if those rose vines tore up the walls, there was no way her landlord was giving back her damage deposit.

  A voice boomed from behind her. “Ah, there you are!”

  Cara jumped and spun around to see a very large man reclining on a red velvet chaise. A very large, naked man.

  It was difficult to tell exactly how tall a man he was, but his chest was massive and sprinkled lightly with dark hair. His biceps bulged with the slightest shift in position, and Cara imagined he could break her in half if he had a mind to. He had long dark hair with ringlets a woman would kill for, but that didn’t detract from his overwhelming masculinity. He wore a short dark beard and had slate grey eyes that had permanent crinkles at the corners. On his head was a laurel wreath. A cham-pion, she surmised.