Guilty Needs (8 page)

Sighing, she pushed to her feet. Pausing by his side, she stroked a hand down his hair. Before she could walk away, though, he reached out, caught her wrist.

“Where are you going?” he asked, without looking at her.

With a shrug, she replied, “Back to work. Have a few more clients to hit before I can call it a day. Besides, you need some time to yourself, don’t you?”

He lifted his head slowly, their gazes connecting. Something in her heart stuttered to a halt at the heat she saw in his eyes. Then he blinked and it was gone, as though it had never existed. “Yeah. Not a bad idea.” His thumb stroked along the inner skin of her wrist. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but what, she had no clue.

“Colby?”

He squeezed her wrist gently, then let go. “You mind if I call you in a few days? Maybe we could get a bite to eat or something.”

“Sure.”

When he let go, Bree felt the loss of contact clear down to her feet.

Get over it already. Get over him
.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

If she hadn’t been able to make herself get over him as he married her best friend, she wasn’t going to force herself to get over him now that Alyssa was gone.

Chapter Four

A week passed.

Two.

Three.

She didn’t hear from Colby, didn’t see him when she went to take care of Alyssa’s flowers. By the third week, she knew he wasn’t going to call and she told herself she wasn’t disappointed.

She wasn’t, either. Not really. As much as she might have enjoyed eating a meal with him, she didn’t need to expose any more of herself to him.

So when it was time to head back out to his place, she did it during the week, figured it would be quicker, easier, if her crew went with her—the less time spent at his place the better. While her crew cut the grass and tended to the front yard, she was in the back, yanking up more of the stubborn weeds, thinning out the pansies and lilies, pruning the rose bushes.

“Bree.”

Her damp hair was plastered to her forehead and she just barely managed to suppress a groan as Colby squatted down in front of her. Flicking the sweaty strands back, she glanced up at him. Her heart skipped a beat and then started doing a happy little slam-dance in her chest. He looked too damn good, too damn tempting. Guilt gnawed at her. Desire swam through her. Need, lust and love flooded her.

After fifteen years of loving him, it was second-nature to battle all of that down and give him a friendly smile. Second nature. But today, she couldn’t manage it and her smile fell flat. “Hey.” She focused her attention back on the rose bush, snipping away until she was satisfied.

“I’m going to get something to eat in a little while. Tired of TV dinners or soup. You want to come?”

Bree blinked. Looked down at her clothes. The gray T-shirt had been clean that morning, but after a hot day in the sun—weeding, planting, watering and everything else that went with her job—it was now far from clean. Even a kind person would have to admit that she looked grubby. Stripping off her gloves, she stood up.

Colby echoed her movement and studied her, his head cocked to the side, brow lifted in question.

“I’m not exactly dressed to get much more than a burrito from Taco Bueno.” She skimmed her gaze over him, jeans and a clean black polo shirt.

His shoulders stretched against the seams of the shirt. Aside from those wide shoulders though, he looked leaner, pared down to muscle and bone. She could tell he’d lost some weight over the past year, but to her, he looked perfect. Gorgeous.

Mouth-watering.

She swallowed and hunched her shoulders, hoped the sport bra she wore would be thick enough to disguise how her nipples had gone hard the minute he said her name. Worried, she hoped she didn’t start drooling—wouldn’t that go well with the sweat and grime on her face?

“You look like you have something besides fast food in mind,” she finished lamely, turning to collect her tools.

“I don’t have much of anything in mind except a decent hot meal.” He glanced at the truck in the driveway and said, “Your guys rode over with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let them take the truck back. I’ll drive you home and you can shower. Then we can get something.” He gave her the smile that had been melting her heart since her freshman year of high school. “You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?”

If she had a lick of sense, yes, she would have, Bree decided an hour and half later as she locked herself inside her bathroom. The cool air conditioning was a kiss on her sweaty, overheated face and she stripped out of her clothes and just let it wash over her for a few minutes.

Colby was out in her living room. She tried to ignore her body’s instinctive response, the way her heartbeat skipped, the way her belly heated, the way her nipples went tight and hard and her sex wet and achy.

He was out there waiting.

Waiting for her.

A nice, friendly meal, she reminded herself, trying to cool the need raging inside her. She could handle a nice friendly meal. Sure.

She could do—

“Why does it have to be friendly?”

Alyssa’s voice startled her. Out of the blue and responding to something that Bree hadn’t said out loud. Narrowing her eyes, she
searched the bathroom and saw nothing. A second sweep of the room ended up revealing Alyssa’s transparent form perched atop the bathroom counter, swinging her feet and watching Bree with a sly smile. “Do you have to do that?” she demanded, keeping her voice down.

Alyssa’s smile widened. “Do what?”

“Pop in and out like that.”

Alyssa shrugged. “Sorry. Can’t get used to this whole ghost deal. I thought you knew I was here.”

“You need a cow bell.” Turning her heel, she moved to the shower and leaned it to adjust the spray.

“And you didn’t answer me. Why does it have to be friendly?”

“Why can’t you just let this go?”

“Because I’m stubborn?”

Bree snorted. Stubborn. Okay. Pit bulls were stubborn, latching onto something and never, ever letting go. Alyssa was worse than that. “Not you,” she said, her voice mocking. “Stubborn?”

Alyssa lifted a brow. “No more stubborn than you. You’ve loved him half your life and don’t try to make me think otherwise. You never lied to me, don’t start now,” she warned, wagging her finger in Bree’s direction.

Blood rushed to her cheeks and she clamped her lips shut against the automatic denial that tried to come out. No point in lying about it, right?

But judging by the look on Alyssa’s face, she heard Bree’s thoughts as clearly as if she’d said them. Her best friend’s eyes narrowed and Bree glared right back. “Don’t go snarling at me, damn it. It ain’t my fault you
went and got frickin’ telepathic on me. I’m allowed to think whatever I want to think.”

Alyssa’s irritated gaze faded away, replaced by one that wasn’t any easier to face. Sympathy. Hell, Bree hated anybody feeling sorry for her. “Of course you’re allowed to think what you want…and I’m sorry. If I could figure out a way to turn this off, I would. But it’s like…I dunno, some weird radio that tunes itself in and out and I don’t have much control over it.” She glanced toward the floor, as though she could see right through and see Colby down there.

He’d be pacing, Bree knew. Or getting a drink from her fridge, then pacing. The two of them together—Alyssa and Colby—had been like being around a live wire at times. Colby moved at a slower pace than Alyssa ever had but there was still a vague restlessness to it, as if he was thinking of other things nonstop and movement helped him deal with all those other things.

“He thinks of you. No matter what you think, that means something,” Alyssa said quietly.

“I doubt it. I don’t think it means much of anything,” Bree said. But there was a knot in her chest.

“And if you’re wrong? What if it means everything?”

Alyssa sighed and turned away. Her transparent body wavered in and out of focus and Bree knew from experience that she was fading and when she disappeared it would be a few days before she saw her friend again.

What if it means everything?

“I don’t believe in what-ifs, Alyssa.”

But Alyssa was already gone, leaving Bree alone in the room with Alyssa’s words rising to haunt her.

What if it means everything?

So what?

Alyssa said he thought about her. That could mean anything. Could be nothing. Before the ghost of Alyssa’s voice started to whisper any louder, Bree climbed into the shower, letting the pouring water drive away all conscious thought.

When the shower kicked on upstairs, Colby headed down to the basement on the pretense of going through Bree’s wine. It was as far as he could get from the bathroom without leaving the house.

He didn’t have to hear the water to get caught thinking about it, though. Just knowing she was taking a shower brought to mind images of her standing under the spray, that long, golden body naked and slick, water sluicing down over her shoulders, between her breasts, along the flat plane of her belly, beads of water catching in the curls that covered her pussy.

And immediately, his body reacted, his blood kicking up to a low boil and his cock swelling until he had to adjust himself. Fuck, he hurt. Just the touch of his own hand was pure agony. His balls ached something vicious.

You need to get laid
.

Last week, he’d left the house with just that intention in mind. It had ended up a waste of time. He’d gone down to the strip, settled at the bar with a Jack and Coke. Within five minutes, a pretty blue-eyed redhead had settled down next to him, but for all her flirting, Colby had absolutely no interest in her.

They danced, they shared a meal, they walked along the strip, but when she invited him back to her place, Colby had no desire to go. He could have done it. After more than a year without a woman, he knew he could have gone back to her place and spent the next four hours fucking her, but it wouldn’t mean anything.

Colby needed it to mean something. He didn’t know what that made him. Plenty of guys he knew, both from before Alyssa’s illness and after her death, were just fine with quick, anonymous sex. But Colby wasn’t into it and he wasn’t going to get laid just so he could spend the next few weeks feeling guilty.

He had enough to feel guilty about already.

His skin tightened. Goose bumps broke out. Hissing out from between his teeth, he turned around just as the voice started to whisper. Alyssa’s voice.

Squeezing his eyes closed, he tried to pull up a mental image of her. He could still remember the sound of her voice, but unless he looked at a picture, his memory of her seemed to grow fuzzier every day.

“There’s nothing for you to feel guilty about, baby.”

Baby?

Cracking one eye open, he glanced around the room. He wouldn’t call himself baby, not even if he was creating the voice out of deep guilt, need and loneliness. Was he really—

No. No, he wasn’t really hearing her voice.

“How come you’re so certain of that?”

Usually, he managed to not answer these kinds of questions. But this time, the answer leaped out before he could stop it. “I’m not really hearing you because you’re dead.”

The words sounded so damn harsh, he flinched when he heard them.

But she laughed.

It wrapped around him, warm and soothing. “Yeah, I’m dead. But since when did you stop believing in ghosts, Colby?”

“Ghosts.” He shook his head, turning in a slow circle around the room, eyeing the dark corners for wispy, insubstantial figures, balls of light, something. “Why should I believe that my dead wife is a ghost?”

“Same reason any dead person becomes a ghost. Unfinished business. Do you see me, Colby? Can you? Do you want to?”

“I can’t see you.” He slapped a hand against his temple, muttered, “You need to snap out of it.”

“Why can’t you see me? Don’t you want to?”

“Yes.” Simply, flatly stated. Yes. He wanted to see Alyssa.

And then he did. At first, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing as she shimmered into view, looking as she had before she’d gotten sick, the picture of vitality and life, except he could see right through her. “Lyssie?”

She smiled at him. “Hi, baby.”

Colby could explain away voices. He had an active imagination, he’d lost his wife, he had wet dreams about her best friend—all sorts of stuff that would make a shrink very happy indeed. But he was also pretty damn logical and always had been. Explaining away voices was a lot easier than explaining away the fact that his wife was standing in front of him, wearing her favorite sundress, her hair falling in wild corkscrews all over the place and she was transparent.

Not so easy to explain away.

Voice gritty, he asked, “Are you real?”

Alyssa shrugged. “What is real? Am I here talking to you? Yeah. Am I really a ghost? Yeah.” Then she reached out and laid a hand on his chest.

He could feel it—a cold spot, just above his heart.

“But you can’t touch me. I can’t really touch you,” she finished, her voice sad and quiet.

“You really have been talking to me.”

“Yes.” She grinned and her voice was exasperated as she said, “Baby, you ignored me for months, ya know. Or just rationalized it away. I’m starting to think you should have gone into politics, the way you explain things away.”