Giving Up the Ghost Read online

  “But that doesn’t mean it’s yours,” John put in, his voice hard, his eyes on Alicia. “My father died a couple of years back and it was…we weren’t expecting it. He hadn’t made a will, but it didn’t matter. It went to my mother, and if she’d have passed on before him, it’d have come to my sisters and me. I don’t know how you do things over here, but I’m thinking it’s similar, and that money’s half Nick’s and the other half belongs to this brother of his. If Nick wants you to have his share, then fine, but it’s not all yours, lady, no matter how much you want it to be.”

  “I never knew you British people were so cruel!” Alicia wailed, burying her face in her handful of Kleenex. “I’m not as young as I used to be, you know. Brian and I…we had a connection. I was very special to him ‑‑ he told me so all the time.” She lifted her head. “It’s not as if I’ll find someone else to take care of me when I’m old. That money…it’s all I have.”

  Nick had finally caught on to what John was thinking. “It might be all my father’s kid has, too. He could use it for school or something. Hell, maybe he needs it to buy sneakers. Or food. Are you really that cruel, to take money away from a little boy?”

  The Kleenex dropped away. “Him? Josh? He’s doing just fine,” Alicia snapped. “And so is his slut of a mother. She hooked up with a guy after Brian saw through her and he adopted Josh when they got married.” A brooding look passed over her face. “She has a hot tub. And a pool.”

  “How in God’s name do you know that?” John demanded. “Atlanta, you said she lived in…that’s a fair way from here, isn’t it?”

  Nick shrugged, as lost as John was. “I guess.”

  Alicia’s lips thinned. “So I kept tabs on her. So what? I needed to know if she was going to come sniffing around my Brian again, didn’t I?”

  Fed up, Nick sighed. “Look, just take the money, okay? I’m not going to stop you.”

  “I can’t.” Alicia sounded genuinely distressed now. “I don’t know where it is. Brian said…he put it somewhere, somewhere safe, and he was going to come and see me, and then we were going to…I know about you. Brian told me. I thought, maybe…”

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” John muttered, echoing Nick’s thoughts.

  “What?” Alicia rounded on John, her eyes flashing. “He does it all the time for strangers! Why not for his own father?”

  “Who’s also pretty much a stranger,” John pointed out wearily. “And why the hell should he put himself through that for you?”

  “It’s just one question!” Alicia tucked her hair back behind her ears, but there was enough hair spray in it that it sprung forward again immediately. “How long could it take?”

  “You have no idea,” Nick said. He was suddenly tired, and his balls ached, but there was a part of him that would always wonder if he didn’t make an effort to talk to his father’s spirit, and having Alicia there wouldn’t make it much worse than he was already expecting it to be. “Okay, fine.”

  “So?” Alicia glanced around the room and tapped her foot impatiently.

  “It doesn’t work like that.” Nick sat down on the end of the bed. “Tonight. At the crash site.”

  Looking doubtful, Alicia asked, “What, do you need a bunch of candles or something? A…a pentagram?”

  “No, but we need to be there, and doing it in the middle of the day will attract too much attention.”

  It was disconcerting how easily and completely she accepted what he could do. Greed, not trust, motivated it, he supposed, but it was still a small relief after Greg’s doubts. He really didn’t think he could have coped with defending himself to Alicia.

  Something that looked like apprehension flashed across her face. “These ghosts ‑‑ Brian would never hurt me, I know that, but the others who died ‑‑ it’s safe, isn’t it? It’ll just be him you…summon up, or whatever?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Nick said. “And no, it’s not always safe, either. Unless you want to trust me to talk to him without you there and pass the information on?” He didn’t think she’d go for that, but it was worth a try.

  Alicia snorted. “I’m not telling you when I was born, but ‑‑”

  “It wasn’t yesterday,” John finished for her. “Fine. You don’t trust him. So be there. But for the love of God, don’t go wearing those heels. You’ll break your neck, and then you can ask Brian yourself, for all the good it’ll do you.”

  He got a glare and then Alicia very deliberately turned her shoulder on him, giving Nick what he supposed was meant to be an appealing look. She didn’t seem to be able to turn off the charm, even though she must have figured out by now that neither of them were buying it. “I’ll go. It…it’s the least I can do. Saying goodbye, I mean.”

  “After you’ve finished asking, ‘Where’s the money?’ of course.” John put in.

  “You’ve got a big mouth, mister,” Alicia tossed over her shoulder. She focused her attention on Nick again. “What time? And should I bring anything? I have photos…some of his things…”

  She was trying to help, Nick realized, and maybe she did want to say goodbye. She’d definitely been crying outside the morgue.

  “We’ll be there around ten,” he told her. “But if it gets out of control ‑‑ and it might ‑‑ don’t ‑‑ just don’t stay, okay? Get out as fast as you can.”

  “Before the goblins get you,” John murmured. He really wasn’t behaving well, but because it got Alicia sweeping out of the door a minute later, her face tight with annoyance and determination, Nick found it easy to forgive.

  He stepped over and locked the door behind her, leaning his head against the smooth surface long enough to listen to her bustling her way down the hallway, then turned to John. “I think I might actually hate her.” The fact that his father must have at least liked her only verified that they hadn’t had much in common besides DNA.

  “Aye,” John agreed as Nick moved over to him and pulled him close. “She’s not an easy one to like, is she?”

  “God, no. I always thought people like her didn’t really exist. You know, that they were just characters on TV shows and stuff.” Nick slid his mouth wetly along John’s throat and his hand down to squeeze John’s ass.

  “Can we not talk about her when you’re doing that?” John asked plaintively, his hands working at Nick’s clothes even as he arched his neck back to let Nick do what he wanted. Which was another slow slide of his lips against John’s skin, and a little, just a little bite to finish, because it made John shudder when he did that. “She’s one hell of a mood-killer.”

  “I don’t think anything can totally kill my mood when you’re around.” Nick licked John’s jaw, then the edge of his ear. John had unfastened the front of Nick’s pants and slipped a hand inside, rubbing him through the thinner fabric of his underwear. His erection sprang back to life, eager after being so neglected earlier. “I want to be inside you. I want…God, John.” He found John’s mouth with his and kissed him, tongue thrusting in to taste John’s.

  John felt as eager as he was, despite the fact that it wasn’t long since he’d come, not really, returning Nick’s kiss with a hunger and heat that sent Nick’s head spinning.

  They made it to the bed in a stagger, still kissing, discarding clothes as quickly as possible, pants kicked off, shirts unbuttoned one handed and tugged free in rough, impatient jerks that left their skin reddened in places. It wasn’t easy to strip off when neither of them wanted to break the contact between them, but the lure of skin on skin was too strong.

  Nick wanted John naked. Wanted to see the flush rise under his skin as Nick palmed it, stroked it, wanted to be able to kiss and lick any of it without waiting for more than the time it took to lean down and press his mouth to John’s body.

  Pulling John with him, he got onto the bed, sprawling across it and grabbing the bottle of oil.

  “Don’t stop this time,” John said, his hands passing over Nick’s body in long, sweeping caresses as if he couldn’t g
et his fill of touching, his voice close to pleading. “Don’t stop until you’ve come in me, you hear?”

  “I won’t.” It was a promise Nick intended to keep. He fastened his mouth over John’s nipple and sucked hard, feeling the skin tighten and the twitch of John’s cock against his stomach. He flipped the top of the oil bottle open and tipped some out onto John’s skin, running his hand wetly through it and down to John’s erection. His palm tingled with something more than arousal, and John gasped.

  “What the bloody hell is that?”

  “It warms up when it touches skin,” Nick said, stroking John’s cock to demonstrate and feeling the heat of the oil spread. He knelt back and used both hands, one working John’s erection and the other fondling his balls before slipping down to tease at his entrance.

  “God.” Nick pushed two fingers in slowly. John was so hot inside; his hips jerked upward, one arm thrown over his eyes as the oil’s warmth soaked into him, and Nick loved every second of it. John’s cock was reddened, swollen, the flared head of it as familiar as Nick’s own. Nick twisted his wrist slightly, finding the small spot that made John curse and sob, arching up off the bed.

  “Oh, you…” John murmured shakily. “Nick…” His hand reached down, his fingers dragging restlessly through the last of the oil puddle on his stomach, leaving swirls of translucence on the taut skin, gleaming richly in the light. Nick imagined John coated in the oil, chin to toes, slippery and hot, and moaned, just as John begged, “More…harder, Nick. Please…” the words broken and stumbling because it took a lot to get John to ask for what he wanted sometimes.

  And when he did, Nick always gave it to him. He eased a third finger inside John’s body, feeling the tension build and ease as John adjusted to the stretch.

  “God, yes,” John whispered, parting his legs wider, pushing down, fucking himself slowly on Nick’s fingers, his face twisting with pleasure.

  Nick didn’t want to wait, but he did; he stroked John’s cock wetly, then groaned when John’s hand fumbled its way to his own erection and slicked it with the oil. His cock throbbed and burned ‑‑ he’d been waiting too long already ‑‑ and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to find control.

  “Love?” John said, and Nick opened his eyes and looked at him. “Now. No stopping, remember?”

  “I remember,” Nick said shakily. Unable to even think anymore, he braced himself over John, lined up, and slid into him, the slick heat of the oil making them both moan. “Oh, God. Oh.”

  John’s fingers, slippery and smooth, closed around his arms, digging in hard enough that Nick knew he’d be left marked. They clung to him for support before John eased his grip and lifted his hand, tracing Nick’s jawline and leaving a tingle of heat behind on his skin and the scent of the oil heavy in every breath he took.

  Nick held still for as long as he could bear it, buried deep inside John, feeling the pulse of his body, the tight, welcoming pressure around his cock. John was breathing in short, anguished gasps, clearly doing his best to wait for Nick to start fucking him, failing with every breath, because with every breath his body moved and Nick could feel it, every quiver, every tensed muscle.

  It was like being on fire, the heat creeping below Nick’s shaft to his balls where they rubbed against John’s skin, and he just…broke. Started moving, thrusting into John with abandon, chasing the release he’d been denied before, reckless and desperate. He bent and kissed John once, almost as a sort of apology, before losing himself completely.

  There was the sound of two bodies coming together, fast and rough, and the scent of the oil hung heavy in the air. This wasn’t going to last long, Nick could tell, and yet he was so caught up in what was happening, in how it felt, that it seemed to go on forever. It was like time had stretched out, each tiny movement seeming to go on for minutes when in reality it couldn’t have been more than seconds. “Oh,” Nick gasped. “Oh, John, God, I don’t think I can ‑‑”

  The sound he got back was incoherent; the hand raked down his back to his ass, pulling him deeper, less so. John’s eyes were fixed on him, giving him something to focus on, something to distract himself from the way his body was clamoring for an end to what was the flipside of torture, because it felt so good, so very good, and it couldn’t last, it never could.

  John’s mouth shaped a word Nick recognized as his name just before he came, his body locked into immobility, then straining with all its strength to ride out the waves that flooded it. Nick saw it all on John’s face; the struggle, the surrender, the peace; felt the warm, wet, splatter of release on his belly, the convulsive clutch of John’s hands.

  Nick continued to thrust, poised on the edge of release but still fighting it. The hot clench of John’s body was incredible, and each gasping breath rasped in Nick’s throat. John relaxed underneath him; spread his thighs wider, slid a hand up along Nick’s side to his chest and pinched a nipple just hard enough to send a little jolt of pleasure through Nick’s groin to his cock.

  “Aye, love,” John murmured, watching him, and those two words were the end of Nick. He came undone with a triumphant cry, buried deep inside John, cock pulsing his pleasure into his lover until he was spent, sated.

  They lay together for a long time, kissing, lips clinging without urgency, Nick’s body relaxed and peaceful. There didn’t seem to be anything to say that they didn’t both know, weren’t both sure about.

  Finally, John stirred, grimacing as he glanced down their bodies. “We’re messy.”

  The sheets were damp with sweat, oil, and come, and so were they. Messy didn’t quite cover it, but all Nick could come up with was a lazy, “Mmm,” of agreement.

  John grinned and cuddled in closer again. “Well, if it doesn’t bother you ‑‑”

  Running a hand down John’s back, Nick sighed with a combination of pleasure and regret. “I didn’t say that. At least we can sleep in the other bed tonight. Assuming we don’t get that one messy, too.” He rubbed his lips against John’s ear. “Okay, come on. Shower.”

  They were both satisfied enough that they didn’t do more than caress each other lingeringly in the shower, and by the time they were dressed again Nick felt better than he had in days. He pulled John down into his lap on one of the chairs and kissed him.

  “Let’s just stay here,” he murmured, hugging him tightly. “No going out, no going…God. I wish we could.”

  “Can’t we?” John asked, leaning in to press a line of kisses from Nick’s ear to his mouth, light dots of kisses that made Nick smile. “There’s nothing to be done until tonight, is there? Although we’re not going home until I’ve gone swimming at least once. I’ve never been in a warm sea before; doesn’t seem natural, somehow, but I’d like to try it.”

  The thought of it was painfully appealing; Nick pressed his face to John’s chest and moaned softly. “Could we? Really?” he begged.

  “Who’s going to stop us?” John smiled. “In fact, if we don’t start doing some tourist-type things, we’ll probably get deported or something. Not that I packed my swimming trunks, mind you ‑‑”

  “You don’t have any.” Nick had seen John swim, and he did it naked if they were somewhere quiet, or wearing a disreputable pair of shorts with a tendency to fill with water and balloon out. “But there’s bound to be a store selling them in the mall behind the hotel.”

  “I’m not wearing those skimpy little bits of nothing,” John warned him. “Those Speedo thingummies. Not if you’re around me half-naked wanting suntan lotion rubbing on your back.”

  “Sunblock,” Nick corrected. “And you’re supposed to put it on half an hour before you go out in the sun anyway, so that won’t be a problem.” He tightened his arm around John’s waist. “But no, I wouldn’t want you wearing one of those either, not when there’d be all those women ‑‑ and some of the men ‑‑ watching you.”

  “Is this the part where I’m modest and say that’s not likely, not when you’re around?” John asked with a chuckle. “Because ta
ke it as said. Have you seen yourself, love? You turn heads even here, where every other person looks like a model or a bloody film star. And back home, well…” His hand cupped Nick’s face, his thumb stroking across Nick’s mouth, leaving the taste of him on Nick’s lips, familiar and sweet. “You stand out. I’m just…well, I don’t frighten children, but no one’s going to be looking at me. And I don’t want them to. Just you.”

  “I’ll never get tired of looking at you,” Nick said. “But you’re nuts if you think other people don’t.” They did, and often. Maybe John’s looks weren’t startling enough that people mistook him for someone famous, but there was something honest and almost striking about him ‑‑ the shape of his jaw, the sensitivity in his eyes.

  “Aye?” John said doubtfully. “Well, I won’t be looking back.” He glanced away for a moment, his lips tightening, and then met Nick’s eyes. “You know that, right? I don’t want to keep going on about it, but God, Nick, I’ve not wanted anyone else since I first saw you getting off the ferry. Never will.”

  “I know.” Nick wrapped a hand around the back of John’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss that turned out to be a little fiercer than he’d planned. “I’ll never want anyone but you, either.” Unable to resist the lure of John’s lips, he kissed him again, more slowly.

  “Are you sure you want to swim?” John murmured, rolling his head against the loose clasp of Nick’s hand, and giving a little sigh of pleasure when Nick obligingly flexed his fingers, digging them gently into the muscles there. “Because staying in is starting to look good, even if you’ve worn me out.”

  “We can rent an umbrella and sleep on the beach,” Nick suggested. He’d seen a page in the hotel’s information book about it. “But I’m just as happy to stay in. We can swim tomorrow instead.”

  John wriggled off his lap. “We’re swimming today,” he said firmly. “So stop trying to seduce me. I want an umbrella to sit under, and, aye, one in my beer. There’s a bar on the beach. I saw it.” He grinned, holding out a hand to haul Nick to his feet. “And I want to send Michael a postcard of this place. Chances are it’ll arrive after we’ve got back, so I’ll get to see how green he turns.”