A Ghost of an Affair Read online

  For the first time in her life Amy remained speechless. When she found her voice again, she asked, “Can I ask why the hell you stay with such a jerk?”

  Grace shook her head. “I really don’t know. Except that it’s like having a nice oil painting. You love to look at it, you are proud to be its owner, but it does nothing. And yet, do you really want to pass it on? Or do you keep it for the prestige that goes with it?” She rested her chin on her hand. “And besides, I’m scared of being alone, of being left on the shelf.”

  “Grace, I think you need to get a life,” said Amy with a short shake of her head. “And maybe take a long hard look in the mirror. Don’t worry, you won’t be left on any shelf.”

  Grace giggled and shook her head. “Thanks for that, Ames, but I know what I look like. I’m just amazed that Sage wants me.”

  Amy closed her eyes.

  “So, now that you know my plans, what are you up to tonight?” Grace rested her chin on her hand and waited.

  “Chris Davies is paying us a visit and I can’t wait. Do you know he writes for the local paranormal society?”

  Grace shook her head. “No, why would I?”

  “Aw, come on Grace, remember me telling you about him? And he’s not just hot on ghosts; he’s pretty awesome himself.” Amy gave her a wink. “If you know what I mean.”

  Grace gave a nod as recognition dawned. “Ah yes. Is that why you became a member of the spiritualist church?”

  “No, it’s because ghosts and the paranormal are a hobby of sorts.”

  “And you actually believe in life after death?” Grace attempted to understand. She wanted to believe it because she couldn’t think of Edith as dead. She needed to clutch at the comforting thought that Edie’s spirit would go on. She just couldn’t accept that her zest for living would be permanently snuffed out.

  “Of course,” Amy said. “You should come along, see for yourself.”

  “Have you seen a ghost?” Grace asked. “Do you have any proof?”

  “Not me personally, but we have a good medium at the church. When you hear the messages coming through from the dead, well … you’d be hard-pressed not to,” said Amy, her usually cheery face solemn.

  “What, they actually talk?” Grace still struggled to understand.

  Amy rummaged in the drawer and drew out a biscuit. She nibbled at the edge, deep in thought. “Yep, through the medium, and the messages, although short, could only come from the ghost on the other side.”

  “How do you know that?” Grace was still unconvinced.

  “Because the person contacted would be the only one to know the answers to some of their questions.”

  Grace raised a brow and quietly digested the information. “Are there other ways of contacting the dead?” she asked. Listening to the passion in Amy’s voice had planted seeds of doubt in her scepticism. Yet she didn’t know if it was because she believed her explanation or just couldn’t face the idea of Edie alone, buried beneath the earth.

  “Yep, a Ouija board is another. Actually I’ve got one in the house.” Amy offered her a biscuit.

  Grace automatically took one. “What the hell is a Ouija board?”

  “It’s difficult to explain. I’ll need to show you, but basically you ask questions and the answer is spelt out.”

  “Mmm, it’s certainly given me food for thought.” She hesitated. “I’d like to think you’re right, Ames, or at least I hope you are, but we’ll never really know, will we?”

  “Are you thinking of Edie?” Amy knew about her visits to the ward and her affection for the old lady.

  The sheen on Grace’s eyes was answer enough.

  Chapter Two

  Sage stood next to his car, watching Grace strolling towards him in long strides. He noticed the way her hips swayed from side to side and her skirt rode up her thighs. He’d need to have a word about that. Small pockets of dimpled cellulite were showing.

  He leaned into her, and his lips smudged across her cheek. Then he quickly glanced down at her feet, checking for dirt. He noticed a spot of muck on the one and pointed. “Take your shoes off, honey. Don’t want a mess in the car, do we?”

  “No we certainly don’t,” she agreed, already slipping them off and dropping both shoes into the carrier bag he produced. “Sure I pass inspection?” Her sarcasm rolled off him. She recalled Amy’s question. Why did she put up with his smug egotism? Because you’re a coward, girl, her inner voice answered.

  Sage stood back and gave her a quick assessment; then, nodding his head, he held open the door to the gleaming black sports car. Closing it, he spotted a dab of a finger print on the handle and rubbed at it.

  Grace closed her eyes. Amy’s question continued to haunt her. She glanced over as he slid in beside her.

  He kept one eye on the carrier bag, ensuring no dirt touched the carpeted floor. Sage checked his watch. “E.T.A. is looking good, honey. Just enough time to shower before the meal arrives.” He started the engine, and it purred into action. “Listen to that sound, don’t you just love it?” Pressing the accelerator and edging the revs up, he had the look of a man about to climax.

  Grace snuck a hand onto his leg and squeezed it. “How about I join you in the shower, wash your back?”

  Sage turned and raised a brow, his gaze dropping to her hand. Freezing her caress. “Grace, you know I need to unwind. It’s Friday. You’re being incredibly selfish.”

  She snatched her hand back from beneath his look of disdain. “Sorry, but I just thought—”

  “That’s why you’re a receptionist and I’m a surgeon. You don’t think, Grace.” The car edged forward. “How do you expect me to cope through the week? A hectic week, I’ll add.”

  Grace shrugged her shoulders, waiting for the sermon she knew would follow. “Shit, all I’m asking for is an impromptu fuck. What is his problem?” she muttered unintelligibly and under her breath. She wished she had the nerve to say the words out loud.

  “Every time I enter the operating theatre, I hold the gift of life in my hands. Do you know how that feels? The burden that is on me?” A smattering of rain dropped on the car’s bonnet, and a soft summer shower breached the clouds. He hit a switch and the roof slipped over them, covering the interior. “Every day I am faced with huge decisions. I have a responsibility to the team I work with. The nurses who work under me, my colleagues, the patients, their relatives.”

  “You’ve forgotten the family cat,” she mumbled.

  He swung the car into the drive. “Did you say something?”

  “Not a word.” Grace pushed the door open and exited the car, carrying the bag with her shoes.

  She turned and watched as he ran a hand over the roof of his car. It was almost a caress. She wished he’d spend as much time on her body as he spent on that lump of metal.

  At exactly two minutes to seven the meal arrived. Sage, freshly showered, plated up, carefully monitoring each spoonful. A frown of consternation creased his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Grace sat at the table, watching him. She’d managed to sneak another glass of wine in before he noticed. Not that he would have more than one himself. She just didn’t want another lecture about her liver.

  She hugged in a sigh at the sight of him in his striped cotton pyjamas; the bottoms didn’t even ride low on his hips. Instead they were hitched high and tied, and his top was buttoned to the throat. Almost, but not quite, she could glimpse a shadow of dark hair.

  “They’ve made a mistake; I’m a chicken ball short.” He meticulously laid out the food, aping an operational procedure.

  Holy shit! The world’s going to come to an end, thought Grace, the wine going to her head. She licked her lips, tasting the richness, and then eyed her plate. That chicken ball was going to be the only one she’d be sucking on tonight. She wished for just one chance at tea bagging—to take his balls into her mouth. That was all she wanted. Well, not quite all, she thought, squirming on the chair.

  Sage sliced it with the precision only
a surgeon could manage. Exactly three and a half balls lay ensconced on the bed of boiled white rice. A drizzle of curry, pooled just to the side, the chips lined up in a row—exactly six each. The rest were binned. “Too much saturated fat,” he’d told her the first time he’d thrown them away. She had debated rooting through the bin, but his look of disapproval had stopped that fantasy. Scouring her wide hips with his eyes, he shook his head.

  “It’s for your own good. I’m thinking of your arteries. We don’t want them clogging up, do we?”

  Sod off. “No, we don’t.”

  “A little treat once a week I’ll allow, but I hope you behave yourself when I’m not with you.” He’d given her the famous Sage smile, the devastating blast of artificially whitened teeth and the promise of sex.

  Except Grace knew it was an empty promise. She was determined to count the thrusts this time on his weekly fuck.

  Grace held back a chuckle as she recalled the lunchtime chat she’d had with Edie. And her face when she’d described Sage’s lovemaking. Edie’s eyes had crinkled and her frail laughter had tinkled around the room.

  “No wonder I never married! McBride by name but never a bride in life.”

  Grace couldn’t envisage a life alone. “You never met up with that special person?” She studied Edie’s face as her smile faded.

  “Yes, yes I did, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “I’m sorry, Edie, did you love him?”

  “Very much,” she whispered.

  “And? Didn’t he love you?” Grace was a sucker for romance; she read anything and everything, and hated sad endings.

  “With all his heart, but he was killed in a freak accident during a storm. A tree came down, crushing him.”

  Shit, can’t get any worse than that. “Oh God Edie, I’m so sorry, and you never met anyone else?”

  She shook her head. “No Grace, I believe there’s only one true love in your life, and Ron was mine.” A small smile curved her lips. “But I know that I’ll meet him again, which is why I’m not afraid of dying.”

  It was the first time the subject of her passing had come up. Grace hesitated, uncertain how to respond, but then Amy’s words came back to her. “My friend Amy believes in the afterlife.”

  “So do I, my dear. It’s what has kept me going all these lonely years, the prospect that eventually I’ll be reunited with my Ronald.” She was silent for a moment, contemplating. “You see Grace, there are a lot of strange things that happen as you go through life, and I wouldn’t rule anything out. Especially life after death.”

  Grace wondered if she could face an eternity with Sage.

  “Why do you stay with that man?” Edie interrupted her thoughts. “You don’t love him. I can tell the way you speak about him.”

  “What do you mean?” she twisted her fingers, because Edie had an uncanny ability to read her mind.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, and one who deserves more than Sage can give you.” Her pale eyes held her. “When you meet the love of your life, you’ll know it.”

  Grace drew back from her thoughts and returned to the present. They were at her house. She watched Sage begin to reconnoitre. He examined her cupboard, fridge, and freezer. But she was ten steps ahead of him. Anything that he considered bad had been safely secreted away in her knickers drawer. She knew that was a safe place because he never went in there. Hell, he didn’t get in her knickers when she wore them.

  She wondered if he jerked off. Surely one jump a week wouldn’t satisfy him. She debated asking but thought better of it.

  Grace knew it wasn’t enough for her and wondered if she were a pervert, a sexual deviant. She had a shed full of vibrators in her wardrobe along with the gel that promised her that extra mile on a climax. She hadn’t thought it could be much good.

  Until she tried it, and the ice cold tingle had her fanny gagging before she’d switched on Good Old Thumper.

  The vibrator’s little ears had trilled and twitched, and her clit had exploded. She’d arched and screamed into her orgasm until she quivered and her bones melted to mush. She’d collapsed back on the bed wearing nothing but a satisfied smile.

  Only when Sage stayed over on the weekend did she wear a nightdress. He’d bought it for her and insisted she wear it. Even now she remembered the excitement when he’d first produced a box with a large bow tie across it.

  “For me?” she’d asked. Stupid question, Grace, she’d added silently, mentally kicking herself.

  “A little something for bed.” His sexy smile had dazzled her.

  She’d swallowed, imagining red hot underwear, and tore the parcel open, unable to contain her joy. And then she saw it. She pulled it out, trying to hide her disbelief and disappointment.

  It was hideous, a monstrosity of white material. She did a double take and glanced back in the box, convinced it had to be a mistake … or a joke. That sexy underwear must be lurking there, somewhere.

  Sage had taken it and held it up against her. “I want you to wear this every time we’re in bed.”

  Grace had stared stupidly at him, then down at the nightdress, which came up to the neck and down to the floor, the sleeves long. It resembled something from the era of Charles Dickens. A thought occurred to her: maybe he got off on it, was into fetishes? Was he going to come in dressed as a buccaneer and ravish her? A sinful grin rolled over her lips.

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  That had been the start of their relationship.

  And she soon found she couldn’t have been more wrong. The only ravishing going on was in her head.

  Grace checked the time. She’d been reading a racy novel of sex and debauchery. Holding a cushion across her she snuck a hand between her thighs. Her knickers were damp. God, but she was sexually frustrated!

  As much as she loved her toys, she wanted a hard, fast fucking by a man.

  The television flicked off and Sage rose, glancing down at her. “Come on, Grace, it’s time for bed.”

  “You go up. I’ll follow in a minute. I just need to finish my chapter.” She lied with ease and without a glimmer of guilt. Her one hand held the book, while the other scrambled beneath her panties over her throbbing clit.

  “Well, don’t make it too long. Lights out in half an hour.” He paused. “You know I don’t like disruptions in my routine. “He gave her a pointed frown of disapproval before he turned and left the room.

  Grace would have jumped up and saluted him if she hadn’t had two fingers up her fanny. As soon as the door closed, she lay back, tossed the pillow away, and slipping her hand over her clit, arched into it. She rubbed across her mound, her movements frenzied, her fingers scrunching through her pubes.

  She’d tried a Brazilian once, doing it herself; it resembled not so much a runway as a moth-eaten heli pad. And the incessant itching when it was growing back was intolerable. She looked as if she had crabs—the amount of scratching she’d done. Ever since then she’d decided to leave her pussy as nature intended, a wild bush.

  Her hand circled and polished, pushing her further, but she was struggling. And guessed it was because she was being timed. “Lights out in half an hour.” She redoubled her efforts.

  She closed her eyes, imagining that she was a slave made to do what her master wanted. He pushed her over a table, ignoring the people who were watching, held her tight by her long skein of hair and forced himself into her. Taking her hard, he thundered his cock in deep, and his large hand slid over her clit.

  Grace could feel herself peaking, the warmth heating her stomach. It swirled and she gasped, thrusting up into her hand. Her climax was close, so close ….

  “Ten minutes, Grace, hurry up. It’s nearly time to switch the lights off.” Sage’s voice blasted down the stairs.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing he’d switch off permanently. “Shit!” Her orgasm petered out, dead. She collapsed back, swearing long and hard. And realized something had to be done. Things couldn’t go on as they were.

  The
y needed to sit down and discuss their sex life. A lot she could tolerate, switch off from, but she needed a wicked orgasm at least once a day. Once a week she couldn’t cope with.

  * * *

  It was Saturday night and Grace lay in bed wearing her nightdress, her long hair plaited. That was another requirement of his; he didn’t like getting tangled up in it. He had originally asked her to cut it, but she stood firm on that one. So they’d compromised.

  She glanced towards the door—it remained closed—then checked out the time. He was in the bathroom and had ten minutes to spare.

  Grace peered over to his side of the bed, the sheet turned down at a forty-five degree angle, his three pillows plumped up. A single condom lay on the bedside cabinet. Along with a box of tissues.

  She turned and stared at her bedside cabinet. A tatty book, a glass of water, and a grubby TV Guide were crumpled over it.

  She thought back to last night, and his expression when she’d asked him if he masturbated. Horror had been scrawled over his handsome features, and his suckable lips had pursed in disgust. He made her feel dirty, as if she should be arrested for even fetching up the question. For the first time ever she’d seen him rendered speechless.

  Yet it was what he deserved, interfering with her hand job last night, she thought with a splash of frustration. She was determined, once he was asleep, to nip into the bathroom. Grace knew from experience she wouldn’t get satisfaction off him, and she’d hidden one of her toys in the cupboard for such times.

  He’d shaken his head at her question. “I really can’t believe you’re asking me that.” Sage stared at her as if she was a mass murderer intent on her latest victim.

  “Come on, Sage, get real, will you?” She’d shrugged her shoulders, determined that he wasn’t going to make her feel like a pervert. But it didn’t work. Because Sage had that rare ability to flick the blame, the onus, back on her. “It’s not the dark ages, for Pete’s sake.”

  “There’s more to a relationship than just sex.”