I was so blown away. Who would ever believe it when I was struggling to believe it myself?

I’d been hearing the ghost of Devon Phoenix for the past six years, a man who’d lived two hundred years earlier. Now he was with me at Ryder’s Club…in person.

It was crazy. And everything had happened so fast…

One minute I was sitting in my booth fighting with my boyfriend, Grant, and the next I was on the dance floor making out with said ghost—in front of a crowd, no less. Then, Devon was on top of me with shards of wood raining down around us from a barstool Grant broke over his back. Grant had gone ballistic.

No wonder the fight was on. My ghost kicked the crap out of my boyfriend, and from what Devon told him, Grant was no longer my boyfriend—Devon was, which suited me better than fine, because he was right, I’d chosen him. I’d loved Devon Phoenix so much for so long—six years, to be exact. Ever since he started haunting me…if you could call it haunting.

But being with Devon now, he in no way reminded me of a ghost.

At present we were headed up to Ryder’s VIP lounge. Devon was in front of me holding my hand, forging our way through the crush of people. His strong, solid fingers were so warm and real laced through mine.

And I could smell him.

How could a ghost smell at all, much less smell so damn good—like expensive cologne mixed with heated male flesh—sexy, and just…him? And what ghost could be so beautiful?

Maybe Jaymi was right—maybe he wasn’t a ghost, but an angel. On second thought…no.

Another thing. The way he tasted. My gosh, he was so yummy I could still taste his kisses. And, Lord, he was an incredible kisser—so incredible it felt like it dissolved my bones right inside my body.

“After you,” Devon said, his silky voice streaming into my thoughts. He stepped aside to allow me access to the keypad on the door. Jaymi, Jarrett, Devon, and I were up at Ryder’s VIP lounge because I needed answers. We all needed answers.

I entered the code and we filed inside. After helping ourselves to the bar, Jarrett and Jaymi walked through the five-foot opening of the round sofa and sat down. Devon clutched my hand and we followed, taking a seat across from them.

I loved that sofa. I’d picked it out—oxblood red, mega plush, and it consumed the entire center of the room. Since Ryder and I were close friends, he trusted me with that sort of thing—decorating.

The sofa couldn’t possibly escape Devon’s notice, and I felt a ping of pride as I envisioned him trusting me to decorate a house for us to share.

Maybe we’ll move in together.

Devon wanted answers concerning my relationship with Grant. Since he deserved them, I volunteered to go first. I drank from my glass of wine and set it aside, getting as comfortable as was possible considering my conscience was gnawing away at my composure.

“Devon, you asked me earlier if the only reason I’d stayed with Grant was because of his blackmail. Well, that’s not the only reason.”

My face burned hot.

Oh boy!

I reminded myself that Devon deserved to know, and I tamped down my shame.

“The other reason was because I just wanted to feel normal again. I have to tell you I was feeling a little bit crazy and a lot abnormal when I got back with Grant last year. Please understand. At that time, I’d spent five whole years hearing the voice of a man in an heirloom painting—a man born more than two hundred years ago—and I was deeply in love with him. As insane as it sounds, I’d gone mad for you in one moment on a water scooter.”

Devon looked stunned—happy, but stunned.

“You’ve loved me for as long as I’ve loved you?” he asked.

I nodded. “Evidently so. I’ve loved you from the first time I heard your voice.”

His happy expression ebbed along with the tone of his voice.

“Though this is delightful news, I can’t deny it’s also disturbing. It leaves me with more unanswered questions now than before. I mean, I can understand your reasons for getting back with Hollister, but if you’ve loved me all these years, Elz, why have you allowed him to kiss you the way he’s kissed you?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And why did you touch him, and let him touch you?”

Oh, Devon.

My heart was breaking for him. I studied his wounded expression, knowing how I’d hurt him with those affections displayed to Grant, few as they were. I wanted to hold him—console him.

My eyes welled with tears as I reached for his hand.

“If only you’d heard me speaking to you during those times, Devon. I wish you could’ve seen the inside of me as well as the outside. I know it sounds so awful, and selfish, too, but it was not only my heart that ached for you, my arms did as well…in fact, my whole body. To know you could only be something like a ghost, I feared I might never have you. Touch you. Feel my arms around you and yours around me. As beyond belief as it may sound, my greatest hope was that if I kissed Grant, imagining him to be you, somehow you might be able to find a way to enter his body and come to me. One too many movies, I guess.”

I wiped at the tears spilling down my cheeks; my whole body throbbed with remorse. I hated what I’d put Devon through, but I went on trying to explain my story.

“You always told me we would be together somehow. I could figure no other way. But to my shame, you never came into his body.”

I lifted my hand to his cheek. “I am so sorry for trying to force it, Devon. I should have waited for you. Please forgive me for putting you through that.”

He frowned and laid his hand to the back of mine. Turning his face into my palm, he closed his eyes and pressed a kiss there, lingering before he returned to my gaze. It made my heart hurt all the more.

“No, Elz. I am the one who should apologize. I should have been there for you. I should have been more diligent and found my way to you long ago. Due to my failure, we both suffered for six lengthy years. But I swear to you on my life, I believed I suffered alone. I had no idea you hurt because of me, longing for me as I longed for you. It is I who ask your forgiveness.”

“Don’t say that. I should have remained hopeful and not given in to my fear, because—look at you.” My eyes flitted down his body as I ran my hands over the tops of his shoulders and along the thin fabric against his chest, a simple gesture done with the intention of affirming he was real.

“Ah—” Devon bit off an unexpected groan.

My gaze flew to his, which was now lazy and swimming with need.

Oh.

I hadn’t considered how such a straightforward touch might affect a gentleman who’d lived during his time. I was captivated by the moment and gave in to the giddy smile drawing the corners of my mouth.

Gazing into those startling blue orbs for what seemed hours but was really only seconds, I cradled his face in my hands and leaned in, touching my lips to his.

Surely he won’t mind after that dance floor scene.

He promptly responded, kissing me back, his mouth warm and delicious.

After a very short indulgence, I pulled away, nibbling at my smile, and decided I’d better behave and finish my statement.

“As I said. Look at you. You have come to me now. Here you sit, a flesh-and-blood man.”

“Yes. Here I sit, a flesh-and-blood man.” Though he whispered, his voice was rougher than before, his gaze riveted. I couldn’t look away. He was beautiful.

Jarrett coughed.

Oh, right, Jarrett and Jaymi.

I cleared my throat and forced my hands to my lap.

“So, um…I guess I should finish my story. As I said earlier, I was on the water scooter and out of nowhere this flood of emotion washed over me like the waves of the water I was in. Yet they were far more powerful. It felt like I’d loved you my whole life. What happened to affect me in such a profound way? Was it the painting? Are you connected to it somehow? Or are you connected to me because I look so very much like your wife?”

Looking confused, Devon took my hands. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a painting. I don’t know anything about any painting. To what are you referring, darling? Is it something you’ve done?”

What?

“How can you not know anything about the painting? It’s the portrait where you’re standing at an angle, and the artist painted you not only from the front but also painted your back and side profiles where they were reflected in that huge, incredible mirror. You looked just as you do now. Actually, I didn’t realize how good the portrait is until seeing you in person. It’s believed the artist was a woman, although it isn’t signed; but she certainly captured your true image. Don’t you remember having it painted when you were alive, Devon?”

Devon chuckled. “Darling. I’m alive now. I’m not a ghost.”

Huh? Not a ghost?

His expression was pensive as he studied my face. He looked as if he was trying to put the pieces of some grand puzzle together. “How did you come upon this painting?”

His words echoed through my head. “I’m alive now. I’m not a ghost.” Yet I tried to concentrate on his question.

“Um…I believe you gave it to my distant grandmother, Edith Bainbridge, right after you commissioned it in the winter of 1829. Why you gave it to her I don’t know…” I paused at the sight of his shocked expression, but opted not to ask what was so significant about the year 1829, assuming it was something private between him and his wife. I knew 1829 was the year they married. Or—God forbid—his shocked expression wasn’t toward the year, but toward the mention of my ancestor. I had said the year and her name in the same sentence. Was there something intimate between Devon and Edith?

No. Don’t even think that.

I banished the thought and resumed my explanation.

“It’s been passed down through my family to all the firstborn daughters on their sixteenth birthdays since then, me being the latest. And…and, what do you mean, you’re not a ghost, Devon?”

Devon’s expression implied that all his puzzle pieces had slipped into place like a cog in a wheel. A grin dug into his cheeks, and he collapsed against the back of the sofa in a roll of laughter. Looking very impressed with his newfound insight, he shook his head at me, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Why, you clever little monkey. Don’t you recognize your own work, darling?”

Huh?

“If that painting was of me standing in front of a huge, incredible mirror as you say, then you are the one who painted it.”

Wait. I frowned and pressed my splayed fingers to my chest. “Me? Nooo. I didn’t paint it. You can ask my mother. It’s very old and a genuine heirloom, I assure you.”

“Oh yes, I’m quite certain it is a genuine heirloom, and as I said, my wife painted it. It was done in my own bedchamber, and she is the only woman I would have given the freedom to spend time alone with me there. So, you see, she had to have been the artist who painted it. And I must say, I admire her cunning initiative.”

“Whaaat? You did not say your wife, you said me. But regardless, is she the connection? Were you drawn to me because I look so much like her? Plus, you never did explain. If you’re not a ghost, then what are you? Did you find the fountain of youth? Or are you reincarnated? If so, that doesn’t explain my hearing your voice.”

Or maybe Jaymi really was right about the angel theory. No, impossible.

“Surely you’re not an angel.”

Devon feigned shock. “You say that as if you’re privy to some bit of knowledge that would prevent me from being an angel.” His voice dripped with innuendo.

My curiosity gave way to embarrassment at the truth of his statement. I was so thinking he did that on purpose.

“And I most certainly did say my wife was the one who painted it, for it was only she who could have. Therefore, don’t argue with me when I tell you that you are the one who painted it.”

My mouth fell open. I was lost and said the only word that came to mind. “Huh…?”

I knew this did not shine my intelligence in the brightest light, but it seemed to be the word of the day, easily said through a gaping mouth.

“And yes, I do believe the fact that you look so very much like my wife is one of the main reasons I am this drawn to you. You’re so beautiful, every inch of you as beautiful as she.”

Though one might think of those words as a compliment, I didn’t like them.

Devon slid closer, dropping his voice into a sensual purr.

“But it’s not the only reason. It may have something to do with the fact that you also smell like my wife, cara.” He leaned in and buried his face in the side of my neck, then breathed deep, like he’d just stepped outside after a cleansing rain and couldn’t draw in enough of the fresh, clean air. It made me very uncomfortable, and I wondered if his unquenchable love for his wife was driving him to use me as some sort of stand-in.

Maybe he still loves his wife. Maybe he will never love anyone but his wife.

He began feathering kisses over my shoulder.

“But mostly it’s because you taste like my wife, cara.” He spread his tongue flat against my neck, smearing a long, hot lick all the way up and onto my cheek. He pushed me back on the sofa, working his way on top of me. “Ah, my darling wife, I love you so dearly.”

Oh, no! Oh my God!

Frantic, I pushed him back and scooted around the curve of the sofa a few feet away from him. “But I’m not your wife, Devon. I’m not your wife. Evidently you will never be in love with any woman but your wife.” The fire in my voice diminished as that truth sank into my soul.

Devon’s tone and expression fell serious. “Oh, you’re right about one thing—I will never be in love with any woman but my wife, Elz.”

Ouch.

I felt a miserable frown clamp my face, then looked down at my worrying hands and wondered how I’d ever be able to cope with his words.

Devon leaned over, gently reaching for my fingers. “But you’re wrong about the other.” His voice was now warm and tender, and my gaze lifted to meet his. “That you’re not my wife, darling. You are.”

“What?” I said softly, feeling defeated. “You’re not making sense, Devon.”

“The reason you look,” he began inching closer, “and smell,” closer, “and taste just like my wife”—closer, his body nearly touching mine—“is because you are my wife, cara. At least you were. And you will be again.”

My mind went blank, and all I could do was stare at him dazedly. He slipped a hand over my hip.

“Darling, the reason I said you did the painting, and she did the painting, is because you and she are one and the same person.”

His hand slid around my waist, and he held me so close my breasts were firmly pressed against his chest. I breathed heavily, staring wide-eyed up into his serious expression hovering right above my face.

He said, “You are my one and only wife ever, Elz. And my one and only love ever and forevermore.”

I blinked, struggling to comprehend his words, but I couldn’t figure how this was possible.

“I…I don’t understand, Devon. Then are we, like, both reincarnated at the same time or something?”

Devon’s lips parted on a soft laugh, but his lighthearted expression quickly fell away. He planted a gentle kiss on my lips. “No, my darling, we’re not reincarnated.” His voice was filled with devotion, all playful tactics gone. “I’ve come for you, just as I promised I would. I’ve come through time to take you back home with me, Elz. Back to the year 1829.”

My eyes felt like they were pushing out of their sockets, and I would’ve sworn I’d been hit with a stun gun set at maximum power.

“Time…? But, how?”

He grinned. “I’ll have to show you in the painting you did of me.”

“Wait—the painting? What does the painting have to do with time travel?”

“Well, in short, I came through the mirror that is in my room, the very one in the painting you described. But more to the point, you, Elz, are the artist responsible for that painting.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked a few times, trying to file the pieces into my brain. “Do you mean I’ve been looking this whole time at an image I myself painted, and it’s of the very thing that would deliver you into my arms…the mirror?”

“As have I. Except I’ve been looking at that mirror in reality, and not in a painting. And I’ve been looking through it, at you.”

Those words sent an unannounced surge of arousal through me at the realization that he’d never been a ghost, but a flesh-and-blood man watching me all those years. I tried to ignore the heated blush laying siege to my whole body as my thoughts went straight to some of the fantasies he’d narrated while watching me. I’d known he was, um—well, anyway. I had to admit I never quite figured out how a ghost could do that particular act, but I had been certain that was what he’d been doing by the sound and rhythm of his breathing.

My mind returned to the even hum of Devon’s voice.

“But you’ve not only been looking at the mirror in that painting, darling, as I said earlier, you are the very one who painted it—the one who painted me.” He drew a sexy smile and leaned near my ear. “And why are you blushing, cara? You look like the strawberry jam I spread on my toast and ate for breakfast this morning.”

Oh Lord.

He looked at me like he wished I were that strawberry jam.

“Is the deepening color of your flesh because I admitted to watching you through the mirror?” His whisper was low—husky. “Is it because you realize I’m no ghost, but a man who can actually perform all I’ve spoken?”

I was brought back to reality by the squeak escaping my mouth.

What is he, reading my mind?

He must have felt very wicked to whisper such truths to me. I fought the urge to hide my flaming cheeks. Looking off, I kept my strawberry jam face averted from Jarrett and Jaymi and tried not to grin. I whispered, “You’re so bad, Devon.”

“Yes, I know, but I just can’t help myself—I love seeing you blush. It calls to mind some fond memories.”

Feeling my face blaze again, I was desperate to change the subject. Ignoring my embarrassment, I steered us back to our conversation.

“This is so far-fetched. I can’t even fathom that I painted the cherished portrait that’s been passed down through my mother’s family for generations.”

Devon didn’t relinquish his heavy gaze easily, but finally yielded, though I got the distinct feeling it was only a short reprieve; he wasn’t finished with the subject. Putting his naughty banter aside, he lounged back in a casual position and said, “Oh, you’ll fathom it all soon enough since you’re the clever little monkey responsible for pulling off such an arrangement. You’re the one who gave it to your ancestor, not I. You certainly made my job easier—I didn’t have to convince you of a thing.”

“Convince me?” I laughed. “Trust me, you would have done fine on your own.” I pulled a lip between my teeth, and his gaze fell to my mouth. He smiled that lopsided grin of his, and I felt my face grow warm again.

 

 

 

Jaymi and I sat across from Devon and Elz, silent, listening, though much of their conversation was whispered and private. That was all right; we were glad to give them their long-needed time together.

“And why does this not blow you away?” Jaymi whispered, leaning toward me. I assumed she was flabbergasted at the whole scenario. The motion captured Devon and Elz, and they returned their attention to us.

“Me?” I embraced everyone into the conversation. “Oh, trust me, it did, and in a far more shocking way than this, mind you. You try looking into a mirror that’s only ever shown you your reflection and then witness your ancestor appear out of it like some spook. You think I wasn’t blown away? I fell flat on my bum and could only pray I was in Neverland, still dreaming in my bed.”

The room erupted in laughter, especially Jaymi, as if she’d pictured the scene as I’d described it. She flopped back on the sofa with her hand splayed against her stomach.

My eyes were drawn to her face, and my laugh faded as I watched her, charmed by her carefree nature and drawn by her perfection. How could I not be? I’d never met anyone quite like Jaymi—so real, and not trying to impress me at all. Women went out of their way to impress me, which didn’t impress me in the least.

After a bout of laughter, I forced myself to stop staring at her. It was getting weird. Shaking my mind clear, I refocused on the matter at hand. I got up and skirted the coffee table to squat in front of Elz, then took both her hands in mine. I kissed the backs of her fingers—she looked confused and a bit uncomfortable, making me want to laugh.

I cast her a clever grin.

“Don’t worry. I’m not making a move on you, love. But I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. Allow me. I am your very own fourth great-grandson.”

Her eyes widened and she stared at me. It was obvious she hadn’t yet considered that fact. She finally turned her gaze to Devon.

“How many surprises can a girl handle in one day?” He didn’t answer, only sat grinning at her.

She looked back at me. “Yes, you would be my grandson. I’ve had in my mind these six years that Devon’s duchess was someone who only looked like me—I never dreamed she was me. Only just finding out otherwise, I hadn’t yet put it together, but it’s true; you’re as much mine as you are Devon’s, aren’t you?”

I laughed. “Yes. That I am. I’ve looked at your striking features nearly every day of my life. Your portrait hangs in our gallery at Wedlove, and there’s no mistaking it is you. I have always appreciated your unique beauty, and have been drawn to your portraits more than those of all my other ancestors.” I chuckled. “I just didn’t know, and wouldn’t have dreamed, it’s most likely because the woman in those portraits is a woman of my own time…even younger than I.”

We shared a humorous look and Elz pulled me into a lengthy hug. She smelled incredible, and being in her embrace was comforting.

Devon is a damn lucky man.

She leaned back to survey me.

“Well, you’re witty; I’ll give you that. And judging from the past few minutes, I’m sure it comes a great deal from this mischievous gentleman beside me. Plus, you definitely get the greater portion of your good looks from him as well. Although, now that you’re here in front of me, I can see you have my eye color. What else do you get from me? Surely there’s something?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to seek the answer to that together.” I stole a glance at Jaymi but flashed my attention back to Elz. “I’m sure we’ll discover we have something in common. You know, sometimes we’re surprised to discover things we never knew about ourselves until someone exposes us for who we really are—” I broke off with a wince.

What in hell? Why did I say that out loud?

I glanced at Jaymi, feeling stupid.

Elz looked toward Jaymi as well and then back at me. “This is true, Jarrett.” She fought a grin. “What matters, though, is what we do with what we realize about ourselves.”

Feeling mentally off balance, I stood and gave Elz my most respectful nod. “This, too, is true.”

Bewildered, I turned to reclaim my seat. For some odd reason I felt compelled to sit as close to Jaymi as possible without offending her. Regardless, thoughts whispered through my mind.

Why am I being reckless? I’ve never been out of sorts with any woman. I’ve got to get my act together.