Her closet door was open, flush against the wall. The hook for the gown was stripped of its finery. The cheval mirror across the room looked almost mockingly at the bare place on the door where the antique dress once hung in splendor.
She put the finishing touches on her make up. Her hair was in a simple coil on top of her head, held in place with a few large bobby pins. A tendril or two coiled down from the artfully tumbled mass, to curl against her cheek. Shorter wisps curled against her nape. Her eyes were smoky and mysterious, her lips a killer ruby.
Gently touching her lips to smooth the gloss, she turned her head coyly. Mmmm, she did look good enough to eat. With an exaggerated sway to her hips, she stepped out of the bathroom to twirl into view of her mirror.
She almost didn’t believe she was looking at herself. She looked stunning. Anthony had been right to sell her this dress. She hadn’t gotten her tattoo, but she had come away with a prize. She spent another minute primping in front of the mirror, before turning away to her closet. She needed shoes. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she saw that she was well ahead of schedule.
She found the perfect pair of shoes, needle-heeled stilettos with a delicate twining of black suede straps. Straightening, shoes in hand she smiled.
And found herself spun about until her back pressed against the open closet door. Stunned, she shook her head.
close your eyes, mon cher, and remember
Her eyes closed, even as she felt the tracing of her collarbone with a finger. Far from being the cold specter’s touch that she’d often heard about, there was heat here. A warm, sliding caress that moved from the base of her throat, down her chest to caress the swell of her breast.
Her eyes opened as she felt, (surely she felt it –she couldn’t be imagining this, could she?), his finger slide below that border, and tingle across her nipple. Glancing across the room into the mirror, she saw herself, pressed against the door, palms against the wood, shoes hanging from her left hand, seeing the fabric of her dress slip down to reveal that swollen bud. Her nipple was so hard, it ached. Eyes wide with shock, her lips parted. There was no one there, but her. Yet she felt.
She felt …him…pressing against her, the hard, warm, thickness of his erection meeting the vee between her thighs. Her pussy leapt to life under that invitation.
She felt ghostly fingers in her hair, across her breast. Hot, so hot.
She watched the onslaught of sex-need race across her face, the shocked expression, as if she stood outside herself. She felt disbelief, as the pins she’d placed in her hair moments before went sailing across the room to land on her bed. Her hair tumbled, a wild, silken mess, in a pool where her shoulders met the door, and into her face. She watched in fascination as it was pushed away by the hand that wasn’t there. And she felt, as his hand grabbed those tangled tresses, a raw and visceral hunger in her belly. She wanted him. Even more, she craved him.
She felt, as his lips assailed the exposed column of her throat, felt the hot wet heat of a tongue teasing her flesh, the sensation of teeth nipping none-to-gently along that same path, the blinding heat of those lips taking hers. She fell into that kiss, eyes lidded, hands clenched into fists, unable to move.
And then, without warning, it was over.
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw her dishabille in the mirror. Her shoulders were bare, her breasts free, nipples swollen. Along the line of her throat, small bruises were forming. Her lips, puffy with the force of his.
The hem of her dress fluttered, though she did not move. She heard him speak into her ear once more, before she was released from the spell that had fallen over her. She staggered to the bed, gasping. What the fuck had happened to her?
Why was that voice so familiar?
For a moment she considered not going to the Valentine Day Dance at the Club. But the compulsion to go was stronger than her nerves. She slid the shoes onto her feet, buckling the straps, and almost woodenly adjusted her dress. Grabbing a shawl from her closet, she flung it around herself as she made her way downstairs to wait for Geena to arrive. As she stood there, his words floated through her mind.
watch for me tonight, mon cherie
She wondered how the fuck one looked for a ghost in a room full of perverts.