A Ghost of an Affair Read online

  A Ghost of an Affair

  by

  Ellen March

  Fanny Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.fannypress.com

  ellenmarch.jimdo.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  A Ghost of an Affair

  Copyright © 2014 by Ellen March

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-566-6 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-567-3 (eBook)

  Produced in the United States of America

  * * * * *

  My thanks to whoever is reading this. I hope you enjoy Ghost of an Affair as much as I loved writing it.

  Words aren't enough to express my appreciation for the incredible drive and effort from team Fanny Press. They really make me work and I know I'm blessed to have Catherine and Jennifer as editors. I love you ladies. And not forgetting Leanne Holt, my dear if not bossy rock. Love you too, babes!

  Diolch Ichi (thank you in Welsh)

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Grace glanced up from behind the reception desk, her attention riveted by the dark haired man striding towards her.

  She and every other hot blooded female.

  A buzz of excited giggles broke through the air. She rolled her eyes, debating whether to make a quick flit to the loo to throw up. Sage had everything. He was blessed with looks to die for, along with an awesome reputation as the best orthopaedic surgeon around.

  Along with the personality of a tuna, she thought with an irritating rush of guilt. Because to be the trophy on his arm was what every hot blooded woman wanted. And he’d selected her; it was that honour which made her bow down to his arrogance. Grace enjoyed the attention, the piques of jealousy that scoured her way, although she still battled feelings of worthlessness.

  She likened herself to a dog at a pound, starved of love, so that one touch, or word, made her feel special. Grace even questioned her morals. Was wanting sex on a regular basis wrong? Maybe she wasn’t a good judge of personality. He was perfection and she was flawed, she decided.

  When he reached her desk, he leaned over, giving an affectionate kiss to her cheek, skilfully managing to avoid her lips. “Hi, honey, sorry I couldn’t meet up for lunch. It’s been a bitch of a day.”

  Grace nodded, and cast her gaze around the reception area, where a host of randy women with tongues hanging out grazed over him.

  She tried not to smile.

  If only they knew.

  He looked lush. He looked sexy as hell. He looked as if he could keep going till he fucked her dry.

  The truth was he did none of this.

  He was boring, old fashioned, and set in his ways. Nothing was ever left to chance; every tiny part of his life was scheduled down to the finest detail. Even down to scratching his ass, she thought sullenly. Sexual frustration had her churning with untapped juices. For him, her well was dry.

  None of these thoughts were reflected in the smile that scuttled across her unsatisfied lips. Only eight months ago she had been a member of that gaggle of sex starved bitches.

  He was the very picture of sex on legs, a walking advert for the hospital romances that littered the library shelves. Sage Gerret epitomized masculinity; he was the type of man who made you want to rip your clothes off and jump his bones.

  His splintering green eyes could smudge over a woman and pin her breathless. He oozed primal hormones. And she was the one he’d decided to drip them onto.

  Unfortunately, drip was the word. She wanted hot, gushing sex, and when she mentioned it—as you do in passing conversation—Sage had stared at her. Long and hard. He’d studied her features, and she’d been tempted to check and see if she were developing horns. Then he’d shaken his head and sighed. “Grace, life isn’t just about sex. You really need to contain your urges.”

  She’d tried. God how she’d tried. Grace had attempted to be the woman he wanted her to be, pushing her sexual needs aside.

  When he’d first taken her out, she had thought herself the luckiest bitch on the planet. It wasn’t long before she realized she wasn’t. That he was a controlling, obsessive, boring bastard with an almost clinical need to order his life and hers as he saw fit.

  And the worse thing was she allowed him to lead her, to dampen her spirit. Grace wished she could tell him to go to hell. But the words seized in her throat, and she convinced herself he would change. Or she’d have to, because either way she’d never have the chance to be that special person to another man.

  Grace so wanted to be part of a family, to have someone to call her own, even if the arrangement did come with restrictions. She’d either try to lift them or else learn to live with them.

  Sage hooked her chin in the palm of his hand, and his thumb slipped across her cheek, giving it a soft stroke. To the outsider it looked a tender gesture. In a way it was, tender with no sex in it.

  It wasn’t Saturday; it wasn’t ten o’clock.

  “Catch you later.” A squiggle of a grin contorted his perfect lips. “I’m looking forward to tonight.” He gave her a saucy wink with a sexy flash of promise.

  “Me too,” she said, belatedly realizing it was Friday.

  She happened to glance around, heard the wistful sighs and almost didn’t stop herself from shaking her head.

  He wasn’t the reason she took this job.

  She’d been drawn to hospital work after her Granny died. The one person in her life who had genuinely loved her, told her she was beautiful, told her she could do anything, be anything she wanted to be. Granny was her father’s mother—her father, who had died when she was just a kid. Her mother was nothing like Granny. The messages she got from her mother told her just the opposite. She was a fat, lazy, selfish, slob. No man would ever love her. Her mother, who had since run off, had gotten her message through. After Granny had died when Grace was twenty, she’d sought out other old people, thinking she could give back, thank Granny for what she had tried to give her. And now Grace visited the old people in the hospital whenever she could. She loved that they said what they thought, that they didn’t have anything to prove to anyone, and they all treated her with respect and were happy to see her.

  In particular she’d created a bond with sweet Edith McBride, who reminded her so much of her Granny. She was a tiny, silver haired woman with lively blue eyes and a love of life that was infectious. Grace blinked back her tears. She would miss Edith’s wicked sense of humour. Her lovely friend didn’t have long to live, for her body was ravaged with cancer. The death sentence didn’t seem to faze Edie—as she liked to be called—and Grace’s treasured lunch breaks were often spent at her side in the oncology ward. This was the one matter where Grace refused to back down, for Sage often chided her for wasting her time with an old, dying woman. Grace didn’t bother to defend or explain what she felt for Edie; she simply ignored his jibes.

  She’d sit in silence, listening to Edie’s life story and her invaluable advice, sad that the woman had no family of her own. But Edie never complained and seemed to prefer to hear about Grace’s life. Gradually she’d told Edie about Sage, about her dreams and aspirations. And the older woman always gave her encouragement.

  They talked about anything and everything, yet the one stumbling block was Edie’s approaching death. Grace refused to discuss de
ath in general; she found it too upsetting. She thought about her friend Amy’s beliefs. She’d have to speak to her about life after death. Did it exist? Although sceptical, Grace didn’t dismiss the possibility outright. If Amy believed, then something had to be there, didn’t it? One of the things she most admired in her friend was her intelligence, and she often turned to her in times of need. She was her rock. Between Sage and the hospital, she had lost touch with most of her other friends, but she could always rely on Amy.

  Amy gave Grace a kick and choked back a giggle. She knew a little about Grace’s relationship, and gathered the guy was boring. There was more life and excitement in the geriatric ward than with the handsome Sage, according to Grace.

  “So, what’s Mr. Hot Pants got planned for tonight?” She rested her chubby chin on her hand and watched him walk away. Like every other female, young or old, she fancied him.

  The white coat didn’t disguise Sage’s sexy ass. Absorbed in reading the notes in the file, he appeared oblivious to the lusty glances thrown his way.

  “The usual. Item number sixty-two on the menu followed by number seven delivered from our local Chinese and a bottle of red that we pick up from the supermarket on the way home.” Grace nibbled on her pen, rattling off the usual selections while showing off her pearly white teeth. “For eight months I’ve had the same thing every bloody Friday!”

  “Why don’t you call it a day? I mean, if you’re not happy with him, what’s the point in staying?”

  “Shut up, Amy, I haven’t got an answer.” She dropped her pen and watched it roll off the edge of the desk. “Maybe I have. I’m hoping he’ll have some sort of personality crisis. You know, join the land of the living.”

  “Is he really so bad?” Amy unravelled the foil off her favourite bar of chocolate. She offered it over. A frazzle of disappointment grazed her features when Grace snapped it in half.

  “I’m hormonal, plus I need a sugar boost.” Grace sucked, chewed, and gnawed on the segments until nothing remained. Only a darkened smear lingered at the corner of her lips.

  “Well?” nudged Amy, taking another piece, but this time not offering to share. She secreted the segment to her side like a squirrel hiding its nuts. “After the meal?”

  “Tonight we’ll go home, but first he’ll check my shoes for muck, so as not to dirty his precious car.”

  Amy rolled her eyes.

  “The take-away will be delivered at exactly seven, not one minute later. And God help us if it’s not ready. We eat it along with a bottle of wine, the highlight of the evening.”

  Amy waited to hear the graphic details of their love-making. “I’m toying with the idea of signing up with a dating agency, but it’s a rub I’m after, not a relationship.”

  “I wouldn’t bother,” said Grace.

  “Hmm … guess you’re right. Think I’ll save my money and join a singles’ club instead.” She looked expectantly at her friend. “Well, come on, what happens next?”

  Grace continued, “He flicks the TV on and watches the programmes he’s taped. At nine-thirty we go to bed.”

  “Ah, now comes the interesting bit.” Amy leaned forward.

  Grace tried not to throttle her. “I get into bed, and wait, and then Sage joins me.”

  “Is that all?” Amy had stopped chomping on her chocolate and was holding it in her hand. As she waited, her breath hitched. “Come on, what does he look like, his body, his cock …. Tell me everything, all the lurid details.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Her arm flicked out, and she snatched the half-eaten bar of chocolate in one rapacious lunge, devouring it in one bite.

  “What do you mean? Haven’t you two shagged?”

  “Will you keep your voice down?” Grace noticed several sets of ears pricking up, heads turning towards them.

  “Well, have you?” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell me he’s gay and you’re a front?”

  “Sod off, Amy. You’ve been reading too many true-life magazines.” Grace paused and picked up the ringing telephone, putting her best voice on. “Yes, that’s correct, Dr. Connell. No, of course I will. My pleasure.” She slammed the phone down, and her heated gaze blistered over it. “Prick!”

  “What does our lord and master need?”

  “Castrating,” smiled Grace. “Nah, just wants to know when Mrs. Farrell arrives. She’s rich, and I’d guess he wants in her knickers. You’d think as a senior consultant he’d have enough cash.”

  “Good. Let’s get back to your knickers. Is he in them?” pressed Amy. She glanced up and took the small appointment card off the patient, who hesitantly stumbled up to the desk. “Two weeks time, eleven-thirty okay with you?” She keyed the information into the computer, smiled, and gave the card back, dismissing him with her ‘get lost, I’m busy’ smile.

  Grace sighed, a defeated rattling gust of breath, and cocked her head. “I’ve never seen him naked. He comes to bed in pyjamas and makes me wear a shroud of a bloody nightdress.”

  “You are kidding me!” Amy smacked her hand over her forehead, her lips curved into a smile at the image.

  Grace shook her head. “Nope, and it gets worse. Sex is strictly missionary, no foreplay … well, if you don’t count the initial kiss. On, in and off, not sure how many thrusts, but trust me, he knows. I think it’s ten, though.”

  “Come on, Grace, stop fucking about and tell me the truth.”

  A hand slammed down on her desk and she jumped. The fingers were thin, the nails perfectly manicured.

  “Miss Thomas, I suggest you refrain from such language. Unless, of course, you would prefer a job elsewhere? Maybe a dockyard or a building site would be more suitable?” A tall, angular, fair-haired man stood to the side. A stethoscope hung across his chest, and the long, tapered fingers of his hands continuously rolled over it.

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Grace tilted her head and let her gaze rake him over. She hated him, had done so ever since he’d first made a pass and she’d told him where to go. Okay, she amended, not so much a pass as a grope.

  “Her language! The same goes for you if I catch you speaking like that.” His pale blue eyes sizzled over her, and his lips curled into a smirk. “Don’t think your relationship with Sage will stop me.”

  “Dr. Connell, I’m sure you misheard.” Grace attempted to swallow down what she really wanted to say. “ ‘Mucking’ and ‘fucking’ are two distinctly different words.” She shivered her silver glare over him, thinking, You randy groping git, you make me sick! God, she so wanted to tell him that, but strived for civility. She needed this job.

  “Miss McGillis, I don’t play games.”

  “Neither do I. Now get lost. And trust me, I know what I’m saying.” Her temper exploded, and her silver eyes flashed. She glanced around, correctly reading his thoughts. “Got a witness? No?”

  Amy groaned. Why did it have to be Dr. Connell to come by at that moment? She knew he would set Grace off.

  “You’re one step away from being sacked, you hear me?” His eyes blazed with fury. He slammed his specs up his nose and loosened his tie with sharp jerky actions.

  “Try it, and I’ll haul you through the coals,” Grace spit back. “You should remember, nurses talk.” She leaned forward, glaring. “Any time you want to take me on, let me know. And trust me, I don’t need Sage to help me.”

  He paused for a second, twisting his stethoscope. Then, unexpectedly, his features relaxed, and a smile broke over his face. “Grace, we really should learn to get along, don’t you agree?”

  Grace stared at him in shock. She hadn’t expected that.

  She glanced up as an overweight woman bustled in, her throat and wrists dripping and rolling with skeins of gold chains. Too much, Grace thought. The sheer quantities of jewellery looked absurd; the woman wasn’t shy about showing off her wealth.

  “Mrs. Farrell, I was just waiting for you.” The consultant’s words fawned over the woman, though his heated gaze still blistered Grace’s body
.

  Grace held her chin up, pleased that she’d slammed him in the balls when she’d had the chance—after he’d cornered her in the stationery cupboard and groped her tit. Even now she could feel the burn of his fingers pinching down on her nipple.

  Amy watched Dr. Connell and Mrs. Farrell proceed out of hearing distance and almost laughed aloud at how he hovered over the woman, taking her by the elbow. Head bent in earnest conversation, he twisted about and flashed Grace a wicked wink.

  “Shit, Grace, why didn’t you shut the hell up?”

  “Because I can’t stand the randy sod. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone else, that we’re nothing but sycophants.” Taking in deep sucks of air, she gradually calmed her breathing, forcing her temper to take a rain check.

  “Okay, let’s get back to your lover boy.”

  Grace shook her head; Amy wasn’t going to leave go till she had all the gory details. “Do you know we still use condoms? Now don’t get me wrong; I’m all for safe sex. But for pity’s sake, after eight months?”

  “What, every time?”

  “Think you’re missing the point. Tonight when Sage comes to bed he will read. Catch up on the next chapter of his medical dictionary or whatever boring shit he’s into and then its lights out and sleep.”

  “You mean you don’t—”

  “Nope, not even a snog or grope. He hits the pillow for an early night to recharge his batteries. Sex is on the agenda for Saturday. That’s after he cleans and valets his car, cooks us a meal … and all by ten. By ten fifteen it’s over.”

  “You have got to be teasing me. So, Sunday?”

  “Laundry day, at my place using my electric but his washing powder. He leaves it in the cupboard and marks it.” She glanced over at Amy, whose jaw had dropped open. “I’m not allowed to use it.”