Waiting For You (5 page)

Her steely blue gaze raked over him. “I didn’t have any
close
family.”

“Go on.”

She turned and sat on the windowsill. “My uncle had come to see me a couple days after my father died, wanting more of his inheritance. I refused him then, so he made threats.”

“What kind of threats?”

“He wanted to be my guardian, but I refused. My father hadn’t trusted him for many years and neither could I.”

“What were his reasons for wanting to be your guardian?”

“Although I was twenty-five, I hadn’t wed. He said I wasn’t mature enough and that I was a spendthrift. He said my father had spoiled me and because of that I wouldn’t know how to handle his estate. My uncle insisted he was the only person who could help me. He also stated that if I didn’t make him my guardian, he would contest the will and see that I didn’t get anything.”

Nick leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Your uncle wouldn’t have been able to do that. I know the law quite well.”

She shook her head. “Times were different back then, Mr. Marshal. If my uncle proved that I was not in the right frame of mind, he would have been able to take my inheritance from me.”

“All right, continue.”

“So I had screamed at him to leave. I promised he wouldn’t get a penny of my father’s wealth. Anyway, on the day of my death, my uncle returned and was more forceful. I could tell he’d been drinking, so I had one of my father’s employees escort my uncle out of the building and take him directly to the police. After they left, I cried until I fell asleep. None of my father’s employees tried to wake me. They left me alone to mourn and to be near my memories, I suppose. When I stirred to awareness, the room was dark. I had no idea what time of the night it was.”

She wrung her hands against her stomach. “Someone was in the room, but it was too dark to see. I asked who was there, but no one answered. I heard the clicking of a pistol. The last thing I remember was the pungent odor of the bullet’s powder as a fierce pain exploded in my head.” Her gloved fingers touched her temple. “After that, I remember standing beside my grave while people cried and threw flowers on my casket.”

Nick was mesmerized. Miss Carlisle was a great actress—and what an interesting story! If he hadn’t given up his private detective business years ago, he would love to invest his time in a case like this.

He tapped his forefinger on his chin. “Tell me, if somebody killed you, why does the newspaper say you committed suicide?”

“The murder weapon was found in my hand.”

“
That makes sense, but tell
me how am I supposed to discover who killed you if it happened all those years ago? I would think the person who killed you is more than likely dead by now.”

She lowered her gaze. “That is a good question, but finding my killer is the only way I can cross over. I suppose you would have to use your investigative skills to help me.”

Nick drummed his fingers on the desk and studied her as she once again sucked on her bottom lip, making it a raspberry color. In all his years practicing law, not one of his cases had sent excitement flowing through his veins, or made him feel so alive…until now. If he could take on this case and solve the nearly one-hundred-year-old murder, it would definitely boost his reputation.

Wait, what am I thinking?
Even if he did solve her case who would believe him? Nick knew people would simply think he’d gone crazy like his mother. After all, Miss Carlisle was a ghost…wasn’t she?

He loosened his tie. After releasing the first button at his neck, he cleared his throat. “How about I start using my investigative skills now?” He pushed away from his desk and stood.

Her body stiffened, and she held his gaze.

“Tell me one more thing, Miss Carlisle. What if I were to touch you?” He reached his hand toward her face, stopping just a few inches away. “If you are a ghost, I wouldn’t be able to feel anything. Am I correct?”

She nodded but kept her eyes on his hand as she continued to nibble away at her bottom lip—more urgently now.

He hated to admit that he wanted to touch her more than anything, and not just to find out if she were a ghost. As she’d told her story, her eyes hinted of a great sadness, and he wanted to comfort her. And since she would never be his client, he saw no reason not to flirt with her.

Frowning, Nick stopped his thoughts. What if Travis and Steve were really behind this prank? Was this a test? Were they trying to see if he could withstand such a charming woman?

“What do you think will happen if I touch you, Miss Carlisle?”

She moved away from the window and to the edge of his desk where she sat. “I—I—don’t know. So far, nobody has been able to touch me.”

“Have people walked through you?”

“Yes, but I feel nothing, not even the whisper of a breeze.”

His hand was almost there, close to her cheek. He wanted to cup her face and sweep his thumb across her skin. His hand inched closer and her jaw tightened.

Chapter 3

Abigail held her breath and closed her eyes, focusing on feeling his hand. She had to feel him! For so many years, loneliness had filled her heart because of her uncertain future.
Nicholas Marshal must be the one to save her from the unknown.

As he drew near to her, his musky, masculine cologne created a sensation inside her unlike anything she’d experienced before. Between that and his overwhelming powerful good looks, her stomach was in a constant flutter around him. Still, she’d met too many men in her lifetime that looked like perfection but were far from it. By now she knew the true beauty of a person came from within. She would watch carefully to see if Mr. Marshal was as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside.

“No…way,” he muttered. “I can’t believe this.”

Abigail’s heart sank to her stomach. It had been a long time since she’d felt the warmth of another person’s touch, and right now she wanted that more than anything. She wanted to experience the rush of heat from a mere stroke of a person’s fingers on her skin. Feeling alive was on the brink of her memory, and she craved that again even knowing it would never happen.

Tears spiked her eyelashes, so she blinked them away. “Believe it, Mr. Marshal. I’m a ghost.”

He stepped closer and swept his hands over her arms. Nothing solid touched her, not even a faint breeze. His hands kept moving as if to find a connection, but she knew he would feel nothing. “You can stop now, Mr. Marshal. You are not going to feel a thing.”

“I know, but…it’s so unbelievable.”

When his hands moved in the direction of her chest, she gasped and crossed her arms. “Mr. Marshal, I can assure you that you will
not
feel anything there, either!”

He dropped his hands as a roguish smile broke across his face, making his green eyes sparkle. “Sorry. Guess I got carried away.” He inhaled deeply and shook his head. “I still don’t believe this. I don’t believe in ghosts.”

He loosened his tie a little more and unfastened the second button on his shirt. He stretched his neck as if something tight squeezed around it.

Feeling helpless, Abigail asked, “If you don’t believe in ghosts, how do you explain your hands passing through my body?”

“Easy. I’m hallucinating. For some reason, I’ve conjured up a beautiful woman from the past. I still don’t know why the woman in question is wearing clothes from the early 1900s, though…” he mumbled.

He thinks I’m beautiful?
His statement surprised her, especially because she didn’t dress as the women of his time. She looked nothing like that lady who had her hands all over him yesterday.

Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “The stress over the past couple of years has caught up to me, and I’m going loony. That’s the only explanation for all of this.”

Abigail tapped her foot and huffed. “Mr. Marshal, you are not very humorous.”

“I happen to think differently.”

He turned and sank into his chair, threading his fingers through his thick black hair. She wished she could touch his locks—they looked so soft. She fisted her hands by her side, reminding herself she would never be able to touch anyone or anything again. Nervously, she chewed on her bottom lip, a bad habit she’d had since she was a little girl.

He lifted his gaze, and she noticed the deep lines etched around his eyes. So adorable!

“I must still be dreaming,” he said. “I woke up this morning from a weird dream, and now I don’t think I’m really awake.”

She scooted to the edge of the desk and leaned closer, reaching out to touch him. Then, realizing the gesture was futile, she stopped her hand in midair. “I wish I could convince you this is not a dream.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. There has to be some way I can persuade you.”

Mr. Marshal brought his face closer. Nervously, she sucked her bottom lip again. His emerald green eyes dropped to her mouth, making her heart beat slightly faster.

“You do that a lot.” His voice came out husky and rich.

Dumbstruck, her mouth turned dry as if she’d been chewing on cotton instead of her lip. Her pulse quickened, the beat of her heart pounded in her ears. Strange to think she could still feel her heartbeat even when she was dead.

He drew an invisible line around her lips with his finger. “You do that when you’re worried.”

“I know. I’ve done that since my mother died.”

“When you chew on your lip, it leaves a raspberry color. I’ve been studying you really hard this morning.”

She smiled.
“Just as I have been analyzing you.”

Nick arched an eyebrow. “And how long have you been doing that?”

“A few weeks—since you started setting up your new office, anyway.”

Nodding, he pulled at his collar again. Was he panicked or just nervous? She wished she could ease his mind in some way. Being afraid of her wasn’t a good thing at this point. She must earn his trust.

He returned his gaze to her mouth. “I think it’s cute the way you suck on your bottom lip. It makes me want to nibble on it, too.”

Her heart leapt to her throat. What a bold—and improper—thing to say! So why did she like it so much? And why did her head fill with images of his lips on hers… “You are talking nonsense, Mr. Marshal.” Her voice quivered. She tapped her fingernail on the desk. The longer he stared at her lips, the faster her finger tapped. She nibbled on her lips again.

“I think I know a way for you to prove you’re not a figment of my imagination,” he said.

She stilled her hand and inhaled slowly. “Indeed?
How?”

“By…um…well, you can suck on your lip to make it a raspberry color, so perhaps you could do the same to me?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks and she thought her face would ignite into flames—a feeling she hadn’t experienced since she’d died. Her heartbeat danced an unsteady rhythm, hammering like a runaway train. Yet, the idea wasn’t that far-fetched.

His eyes twinkled as if improper thoughts swam in his head, also. Indeed, he was a rogue of the first order.

“You…you want me to…suck on your lip?”

Nick pushed away from his desk and stood. She rose with him until they were face to face. He pulled the shirt collar away from his neck again, exposing more skin.
Oh heavens!

“As much as the thought of kissing you sounds enjoyable,” he said, “I was thinking about something entirely different.” He pointed to his neck and chuckled. “Go for it, honey. Give me a hickey. This ought to be interesting.”

“A
hickey
?”

“Yes. Suck on my neck until you bruise my skin.”

“Oh, that is utterly ridiculous.” She released an uneasy laugh even as his deep voice sent heated tingles up her spine. As improper as the suggestion seemed, she still wanted to do it with every fiber of her being…or in her case,
semi-being
. “Why, I cannot even touch you. How am I supposed to draw forth a bruise?”

“I just want to see if it works.” He shrugged. “What could it hurt?”

Fear and anticipation made her hands moist. She shouldn’t do it, but she wanted to prove to him she was not a figment of his imagination. Would it work? What if it didn’t? He’d think she was just a hallucination.

No matter how insane the idea sounded, she had to try. She had to prove to him she was real…well, as real as possible, anyway.

Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on her goal. While she’d been dead, she’d moved papers and objects just a little heavier, but could she do this? Would her newly-acquired ghostly skills allow her to make a mark on his neck?

She stepped closer. Once again, butterflies jumped wildly in her stomach. Swallowing hard, she leaned toward his neck. His masculine spice encircled her.

Closing her eyes, she smiled. Never in her life—or death—had she imagined doing this to a man, but if it would prove to him she needed his help, she’d try anything.

She opened her mouth slightly, putting all her concentration on bruising his neck. She sucked, just as if she was trying to draw juice from a stubborn melon. Although she couldn’t feel a thing, she prayed something good would come out of their little experiment.

A low growl shook his chest. “Hmm…I feel tingles.”

Her heart sped with excitement, and she concentrated harder, putting all of her effort into it. Her cheeks ached with the strain, but she continued.

A deep groan rattled in his chest.
“It kind of tickles, too.”

That’s a good sign!

She pulled back and looked into his face. His eyes were closed, his mouth stretched in a grin. “Well?” she whispered. “Did you feel anything?”

He opened his eyes and touched where her mouth had been. Immediately, she noticed a red mark. Happiness shot through her, but she tamed it. Although she saw it, she needed him to see it, too.

Nick moved to the adjoining bathroom and looked in the mirror hanging on the wall. She followed behind him. When he caught his reflection, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

“I’ll be damned… You gave me a hickey!”

She sighed.
I did, didn’t I?
She relaxed her stiff shoulders. “Will you believe me now?”

“I…I…” He shook his head. “I should believe you. It’s there, but…”

“But what?”

He met her gaze through the mirror. “But if you remember correctly, I think I’m loony, so maybe I’m just imagining seeing it there.”

She growled and bunched her hands into fists.

A knock came upon the door, and he moved away from her and into his office. Her heart sank, and she wished she could convince him he wasn’t losing his mind.

“My next appointment must be here.” Nick glanced at his wristwatch. “Early.”

Grudgingly, she sat back in one of his leather chairs. She wondered if she should disappear for his meeting. Although it didn’t matter since nobody but Nick could see her, she knew it might be uncomfortable for Nick to see her, knowing his associates could not.

Then again, maybe this was exactly what she needed to do to make him believe he wasn’t dreaming.

Nick opened the door and greeted the man standing in the hallway. “You’re early, Mr. Moore.”

The tall, thin, balding man nodded. “Is it an inconvenience? If so, I could return later. I just needed to see you now, since I’ve learned something about my wife that’s important for my case.”

Nick’s gaze darted back to Abigail. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

“Um, well…” He looked back at his client. “No, this isn’t an inconvenience.” He opened the door wider. “Please come in.”

The man walked in and sat down in the chair next to Abigail. As she suspected, the man didn’t even know she was there.

As Nick slowly walked to his desk, his gaze moved from his client to Abigail. Confusion creased Nick’s forehead. He sat behind his desk and linked his fingers, resting them on the desk.

“So, Mr. Moore, before we begin, could I ask you a personal question?”

The chunky man with the receding hairline nodded.
“Of course.”

Chuckling, Nick shook his head. “It’s going to sound ridiculous, but…” he pointed to his
hicky
, “do you see this mark on my neck?”

Mr. Moore’s pudgy cheeks turned red and he grinned. “It kind of looks like, um…
well,
I can see a small red mark.”

“Does it look like a hickey?”

The other man’s cheeks went from red to crimson.
“Um, yes, a little.”

“Well, I’ll be…” Nick muttered and shook his head.

Abigail’s hopes bounced once again. If she could hug the client, she would.

“All right,” Nick continued, “back to what’s going on with you.” He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “Tell me what kind of information did you discover that would help me with the case against your wife?”

As Mr. Moore explained how he’d followed his wife and caught her meeting with another man—he even had the pictures to prove it—Nick tried to focus on his client. Unfortunately, his gaze kept moving from the client to Abigail.

Mr. Moore stopped and glanced her way, then looked back to Nick. “Is everything all right? Do…do you want me to sit in that chair? You keep looking in that direction.”

Nick blinked and shook his head. Straightening his shoulders, he met his client’s eyes.
“Of course not.
Someone is already sitting there.”

Inwardly, Abigail groaned. Why had he said it like that?

Mr. Moore looked at the chair again, then back at his lawyer.
“Really?
Who?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t see her?” He lowered his voice. “Do you see anyone sitting there?”

“No, Mr. Marshal, I don’t. Am I supposed to see someone?”

Nick closed his eyes and shook his head. He chuckled, though Abigail knew it was more out of confusion than merriment.