Page 6 of All Mixed Up

And what the lyrics didn’t convey, the chanteuse herself did…in the aching desire of her strained, lusting voice…

The crowd ensured my reverie didn’t last any longer than those ten seconds. Their cheers and whistles, openly approving my mix choice, got louder as the song progressed into more wanton stanzas. Though torn about leaving my ghost lover behind, their little surprise made the chore more tolerable.

Perhaps even enjoyable.

I felt a smile spreading my lips. Back at home, this tempo switch might’ve been tolerated for a few minutes at least. But apparently, that stuff about the French and their libidos was true—at least in this crowd. They didn’t just appreciate the shift; they reveled in it. Again moving as one whole creature, they welcomed the sultry beat with rolling hips and sensual writhes, seizing the chance to get as into each other as the music itself. Some couples simply twined together, rocking and kissing. Others made me contemplate digging out the Dirty Dancing classics, blatantly grinding and thrusting. Then there were the ones who chose to turn the song into reality, note for erotic note. With tongues tangling and bodies smashed, they glided hands beneath clothes, above and below the waist. They were sweaty and slick, restless and raunchy…

And beautiful.

And yearning…

And searing…

And sweating…

So exquisitely, excruciatingly beautiful…

I reminded myself to breathe again. Like that was happening now, with those gleaming bodies like so hot fantasies come to life. Fantasies I’d fought so hard against calling my own…

Unavoidable now. Inescapable.

Especially as I gazed at all those lust-filled faces, and saw only two visages on them all. My ghost and me…

Kissing.

Stroking.

Exploring.

Claiming.

Damn. I either had one hell of a great imagination, or should consider skipping dinner more often.

Because my musical summoning spell had actually worked.

Holy. Shit.

It was him.

Him.

He was here again. Striding powerfully between hard bodies and soft fog, perhaps even between dream and reality. He was practically in the same place where I’d first seen him, with one major exception. This time, my ghost didn’t disappear. And he moved. Holy damn, how he moved.

Glided?

No. He had too much swagger for that. Like a blend of Bond and Baryshnikov, he was bold but beautiful, rugged yet refined. There were so many perfect things going on with him this time. Too many. He wasn’t even a proper apparition anymore.

He was a damn fantasy.

That had to be the explanation. He even knew how to dress the part, trading in his trendy business suit for an outfit right from my hottest imaginings. His cutaway tuxedo was like something Astaire or Gable would’ve worn, only he rocked the look better than either of them could have. His sizable shoulders pushed at the jacket’s confines, and his tapered torso led my stunned stare down to legs that seemed to go on forever. When I jerked my gawk back up, it was treated to the sight of his chiseled face, an unspeakably exquisite mix of rugged strength and high-end model beauty. His jaw was defined by a perfect dusting of stubble. And his eyes…

Dear God, his eyes.

Once more, they didn’t blink. Didn’t falter. Didn’t hesitate to let me know that for every wild, wicked desire my mind had just spun about him, his had generated three. Four? More?

Did I really want to know?

Yes.