Bewitching You(7)

Had there been a power outage?

“No, baby, it’s not Grayson,” his voice gusted into her ear, along with a chilled wind.

“Who?” Rachel turned quickly to see a man standing right behind her. She jumped back, bumped into the side of her bed, and fell back onto the mattress.

Oh my God. Hayes. It couldn’t be. But there he was, flesh and blood, looking exactly like Grayson’s identical twin brother, with hair to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. He wore a worn t-shirt and jeans with holes in their knees.

All appropriate attire for a man who knew no boundaries—wanted no boundaries—a man who was always carefree…confident…sexy.

A man who had been dead for over six months.

“No. It’s not you,” Rachel said, more for herself than for the man before her. Hayes’s death had been a complete surprise. A tragic halt to a vibrant, exciting life. Grayson had hated that his brother had been so frivolous, hated that he was a reckless thrill-seeker…and that he’d died in the same fashion.

A thousand miles an hour until I reach the end, baby. He’d joked about his antics, and Rachel had eaten up every ounce of his energy. He’d had more than enough to fill up any room he walked into. More than enough to share with her.

Rachel hated Hayes for the night they’d spent together the weekend before he decided to jump from an airplane with a faulty parachute. The fool had probably never even checked to see if it worked in the first place. He’d loved the adrenaline rush of danger. He’d lived for it.

She supposed that was why she hadn’t pushed him away that night he’d taken her virginity. She’d watched Hayes as he interacted with Grayson, how passionate Hayes was about life. She’d heard the stories of his adventures, and when he’d come to her that weekend while Grayson was away on business, an overwhelming desire had overcome her to feel Hayes’s carefree spirit. To absorb it.

To be his next thrill.

And she had been, if only for a short while.

A smile spread across his face, showing a familiar dimple on his left cheek. “Have you missed me?”

“We buried you.”

“I know. You cried for me.” His smile faded. “Why haven’t you told Gray about us? About our weekend?” He lifted his leg, resting it on the mattress beside her, and reached his hand out to her.

“No. No, no, no.” Rachel inched back away from him. “You cannot possibly be him.” She kept a baseball bat under the other side of the bed. If she could get to it.

“It’s me, Rache. You know it is.”

“Okay, so…” She was almost there. Just keep him busy. “You’re a ghost?”

“Sure, why not? A ghost, an apparition, a spirit, an angel, or waves of energy that so far only you can see. Really interesting, I have to say, that the only person who can see me is the one person I want to see me. I guess that’s the trick.”

Slowly, she slid off the other side of the bed and bent down. No sudden moves.

He followed, crawling onto the bed. “You have no idea how difficult this has been for me.”

“Oh, I can imagine.” Yeah, imagine him in a straightjacket. How was she going to explain to Grayson that a man broke into her apartment, claiming to be Hayes Phillips?

So what if he looked like him, sounded like him, had that same damn dimple? Rachel had seen Hayes lying in that casket. She had cried for him and for their night together. She’d known it was in all probability a one-time deal, but she hadn’t cared. He’d been the first man in her life to push her to her limits and keep on pushing. He’d dared to go there, and she’d rewarded him for it.

The man stopped in the middle of her bed and sat on his knees. “Rachel, you have to tell him about what happened between us. You can’t marry him and let him find out on his wedding night.”

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but this is sick. It’s wrong. You have to leave now.”

“I fell in love with you that night. Did you know that?” He shook his head. “No, you probably didn’t. I guess I forgot to mention that little fact.”

Rachel’s head whirled and pounded and wouldn’t stop rehashing the details of the passion they’d shared. “You’re not Hayes,” she whispered.

“Gray’s not the man for you, Rachel.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She felt the cold aluminum bat at her fingertips and grasped the handle. Keeping it clenched tight behind her back, she stood and faced the stranger.

He narrowed his black eyes at her. “What do you have back there? A gun? I’m already dead, sweetheart, remember? A big oops with the parachute and then splat?”

“That’s not even slightly funny. And you can understand that your story is a little hard to believe, right? You don’t look like a ghost. You look like a man who’s sitting on my bed, uninvited. So either I’m dreaming this, or you’re a complete stranger who has broken into my apartment, who I have to protect myself from.”

In a blink, he wasn’t there anymore. Rachel blinked again and then again.

There hadn’t been enough time for him to hide. It was as if he’d simply disappeared. The same chilled breeze swept over her, sweeping her hair back off her shoulders and bristling her skin.

She shook her dizzy head and blew out a breath.

“A baseball bat?” His voice came from behind her.

Startled, Rachel spun around and lifted the bat up to her shoulder, prepared to swing. He stood there, laughing and clapping his hands. And he appeared…well, he appeared blurry. Like a television with a bad signal.

“You’re…you’re not…” She tried to think of the words, but was stunned by what was happening before her very eyes.

“What?” His smile crumbled.

“You’re not all there.”

He looked down at himself and waved a hand through his abdomen. Through his abdomen.

“Holy shit.” She slumped to the mattress. The bat loosened from her shaky grip and landed on the bed behind her.

“This is weird,” he said with a hazy voice. “Listen carefully, okay? This is important. Don’t marry him. You don’t love him. And he sure as hell doesn’t—”

Then he was gone. Just like that.

“Hayes?” Rachel swept a quick glance around the room to see if he’d pulled the invisible act again. “Are you there?”

Nothing. She was alone—she thought so anyway.

What the heck had she seen? Hayes’s ghost? A hallucination?

Oh, God, was she going crazy? She’d managed to put that night behind her, to forget about how Hayes had made love to her, so sweetly and with such adoration. She’d tried hard to forget the week before his death, the guilt of sleeping with him, and the debate in her head of whether she should break it off with Grayson so she could spend her nights with Hayes.

His funeral had decided that for her. Hayes had made the choice to jump out of the airplane. He’d made the choice, and when Grayson asked her to marry him two months later, there was no other answer.

How dare Hayes, hallucination or otherwise, tell her not to marry Grayson? As far as she was concerned, as far as her parents were concerned, a wedding would take place in one month.





Chapter Four



A day of job-hunting was ahead of Sofia. Only problem was she couldn’t seem to force her eyes open. Heck, she didn’t feel like getting out of bed, period. In fact, if sleep could guarantee she’d dream of Gray, the nice Gray, and not about dead people she couldn’t save, then she would never open her eyes again.

“Get it together, girl,” she mumbled to herself, while slipping out of bed and into her slippers.

Life doesn’t happen with your eyes closed was one of mother’s favorite sayings. But her mother had no idea just how much happened in Sofia’s premonitions.

Love experienced for the first time, eyes closed or not, was so much better than anything she’d ever encountered. Life be damned if it couldn’t catch up…and quick.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since lunch at Nana’s house yesterday. Maybe a good breakfast would cheer her up and take her mind off of her whole good Gray/evil Gray situation.

“Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen,” she said while walking down the staircase.

“Are you talking to yourself again?” Her mother stood at the kitchen doorway with a sweet smile on her face. Her tall thin frame leaned against the doorjamb as she held a bagel in one hand—gluten-free, of course—and a glass of orange juice—undoubtedly organic—in the other hand. Her long, curly blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail.

A classic beauty, Sofia had to admit. Natural. Hardly a dab of makeup and the woman still beamed with radiance. What was worse, the morning sun shone on her from the window, making her look like an angel, which was somewhat paradoxical, considering how her mother behaved on a daily basis. Not that she was evil, just a bit ornery, that was all.