Page 12 of An Enchanted Knight

Her plan was to stay up most of the night to keep an eye out for Tristan’s ghost. Hopefully the Laird would appear, and she’d be able to get more information from him. The more she thought about it, he had to be some sort of poltergeist. Although a bit trickier, they could still be guided to move on.

Despite how real he’d seemed and the fact she could physically touch him, she had to remain strong against the strange pull she felt toward him. It was utterly ridiculous to be attracted to a ghost. For someone like her, a professional medium, it was also embarrassing.

In the bathroom, Gwen studied her reflection and wondered if Tristan McRainey would try to touch her again? She ran a comb through her wet hair, thinking of his kiss. It had been so real. What was stranger was the fact that she’d smelled him. A very rare occurrence indeed. His lips had been warm, not the usual cold touch of the deceased, and the heady scent of him, a mixture of pine and outdoors, was something she’d never experienced.

A shiver went up her spine. This was ridiculous. She was a professional, not some Twilight teen fan who hoped to be romanced by a cute dead guy. Her job was to help Tristan McRainey move on, to rid this home of the ghost, and then return home and start a new job. No matter how strong his ties to this world, he was only an apparition.

With a firm nod, she felt more assured, she’d set her mind straight. Now, time to find those pajamas and await the appearance of a dead man.

Every bit of the pep talk she’d just given herself flew out the window when she turned out of the bathroom and looked to the bed. Gwen stopped short.

The ghost... apparition was on his side, atop the coverlet, looking very much at home.

Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. What could she say? How was it possible for this... whatever he was… to be so real that his body made indentations on the mattress. Tunic gaped open at the neck, she spied a light sprinkling of hair. Everything about him was temptation.

“Hallo, Gwyneth.” His smooth voice melted over her like a warm blanket. “I have been waiting for you.”

The towel she’d wrapped around herself suddenly seemed to shrink under his scrutiny. Gwen fidgeted and eyed her pajamas on the bed next to him.

“Err, give me a minute.” She went as close to him as she dared and reached for the clothes.

Before she could grasp the clothes, he picked up her garments and held them up.

Holding her pajamas just out of her reach, his fingers rubbed the soft flannel. “Things have changed so much.” His eyes lowered as he studied the clothing briefly.

“I bet,” Gwen said, not daring to move any closer. He had the longest lashes, she couldn’t help but notice.

When he looked back up at her, she couldn’t stop the intake of breath, her stomach doing the stupid teen-girl flip-flop. Did he know what an enticing picture he made, lying back on her pillows, his clothing straining over the muscular perfection of his body?

As if reading her thoughts, his lips curved.

“It is tempting to forget I am a man of honor. I almost went in there.” He motioned to the bathroom with his head. “I ’ave never used an indoor waterfall to bathe under.”

“It’s called a shower,” she said, her voice barely audible, her heartbeat quickening, as she couldn’t help but picture him wet and naked. Don’t go there. She shook her head to clear her muddled mind.

Gwen cleared her throat. “I’ll just take my pajamas and then we can talk. We have much to discuss.” She inched just a bit closer to the bed reaching for her nightclothes. That was when she noticed the red stain on his shirt. He was bleeding.

“Oh my god!”

Gwen tucked the corner of the towel securing it in place and pulled his shirt open and to the wound on his shoulder. Though the injury seemed to be healing, the flesh around it healthy and pink, a trickle of blood seeped through the jagged cut, down to his chest.

“What happened?”

“Nothing of importance.” His warm breath on side of her neck made her realize she was much too close to him. The heat of his skin under her fingertips stalled her momentarily, before she snatched her hand back.

It took tremendous control to meet his gaze. “It’s not nothing. You’re injured and bleeding. It looks like a serious injury.” She couldn’t help but let her eyes wander across his chest. A feathering of light brown hair covered his pecs, beckoning her to run her fingers over them. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer the question, seeming to be distracted by his curiosity. “What is this cloth called?” He held the bottom of her towel, rubbing it between his fingers. It came dangerously close to revealing her butt to the man. She gently pulled the towel out of his grasp.

“It’s called terry cloth.” Snatching her pajamas out of his other hand, she hurried into the bathroom to change. “Don’t go anywhere,” she called over her shoulder.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” Tristan muttered under his breath. He was burning up, a combination of fever and seeing a beautiful woman so scantily covered.

Gwyneth stood taller than the women he was accustomed to, almost reaching his shoulders in height, her body, tantalizing and slender. Fortunately he’d had the opportunity to study her shapely legs, as they were left exposed by the ‘terry cloth.’

From the lack of coverage, he could also tell her breasts were plump and full. He couldn’t wait to touch them, to cradle them in his palms and suckle their peaks. He adjusted his breeches to allow for the hardness of his want.

“Patience, McRainey,” he murmured, looking down at his hardening member. It twitched, getting harder when she came back out, and he almost groaned. Definitely not a good combination, being in pain and aroused.