Ghost for Sale by Sandra Cox

purse, held up my phone, and checked caller ID. I groaned. Clayton. “It’s after midnight. What do you want?” I said by way of greeting.
    “I’m sorry, darling, did I wake you?” He sounded solicitous and slightly drunk. The noise in the background and the slur of his words clued me to the latter.
    “I’m still waiting for an answer. What do you want?”
    “We really haven’t had an opportunity to talk since I came back from Europe. I thought maybe I’d come over.”
    “You’re wasted. Go home and sleep it off.” I punched the phone off and shut it down for good measure.
    “You shouldn’t be wasting your time on that one. He’s slick on the outside but shallow.”
    “You’ve barely seen him.” I stuck the phone back in my purse. My ghost hovered a few inches off the floor, his arms crossed, a frown marring his perfect features. I slid out of the car, and we walked into the kitchen.
    He leaned against the wall and watched me grab a soda. “I know the type. You deserve better.”
    “I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for it. I’m not interested in Clayton.”
    “Are you interested in me?” A second ago, he’d stood across the room. Now he stood beside me, passionate inquiry on his face.
    “And if I were?” I fought back the heat that tried to flood my face. I normally didn’t put myself out there when it came to dealing with the opposite sex, but everything about this relationship was different, surreal.
    The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. “Caitlin. Nothing can come of this. You’re alive and I’m…” He looked down at himself and shook his head. “Let’s just say we don’t dwell on the same plane. You need a man, not a ghost.”
    My throat clogged. I swallowed down the lump in it. “But what if I want a ghost?” I whispered.
    The hum of the refrigerator stopped. The atmosphere grew strained. “Then look me up when you die. But for now you need to find someone to grow old with.”
    My head jerked back as if I’d been slapped. I guess that’s what I got for coming on to a ghost. What was I thinking? Well that answer was pretty simple. I wasn’t. My hormones were. They’d been seriously hopping ever since Mr. Liam O’Reilly’s appearance.
    Up until the moment Liam had entered my life, I’d had no interest in having a sexual relationship. Now, I knew the old cliché about never having met the right man—or ghost in this instance—had the ring of truth to it. My longing for Liam was intense and painful.
    I took a slug of soda and made a serious effort to compose myself. Pride came to my rescue. The ghost didn’t need to know I had a bad case of lust for him and that his response of finding someone to grow old with had hurt.
    He obviously didn’t feel the same about me. Well so be it. I pulled myself together. “I’ll do that. Though by that time, I can’t guarantee I won’t have changed my mind.” I kept my voice light. “Want to go sit by the pool?”
    A look of profound sadness crossed his handsome features. A moment later, the look of unhappiness disappeared as if it’d never been. “Sure. I like your pool. Do you want to put on one of the tiny outfits you swim in?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
    “Uh, no.” I bit my lips and swallowed the laugh bubbling in my throat. Human or ghost, boys will be boys. He might not want to linger as a ghost while I grew old and gray, but he certainly didn’t mind looking at me now.
    “Well that’s too bad.”
    I ignored that and headed to the pool. I lay back on the lounge, kicked off my shoes, and wiggled my toes. A wispy gray cloud drifted across the sky and for a moment hid the moon. My silent companion had his hands behind his head and appeared lost in thought.
    “A penny for them.”
    “My thoughts?” He turned his head and looked at me.
    I couldn’t decide which view was better: his profile that showed the high cheekbones, hawk-like nose, and the outline of bone and sinew, or