Description
Hope Hart, the most unpsychic psychic in the business, is desperate. Her customers are demanding refunds. With the help of a bizarre CD, suddenly she's nose-to-nose with mysterious man. who claims he's a ghost. She's skeptical but intrigued. Once he pulls her into his arms, and presses his lips against hers, she yearns to surrender to the ecstasy only he can give her. no matter the danger. Previously published as PHANTASMIC FANTASIES SAMPLE "When I was alive, I took the sense of touch for granted, most of the time unaware of textures, temperatures and so on unless they were extreme or painful." His gaze captured hers again. "How often are you aware of the weight of your clothes, or the texture of the carpet under your feet?" She glanced down at her bare feet. "Never." He lifted their hands until they were both upright then uncurled his fingers and slid his flattened hand up and down against hers. The innocent touch sent sparks of awareness through her body. "Did you feel the rasp of my calluses against your palms?" "Not until you mentioned it." "Or the chill of the tabletop," he said, tipping his head to her left hand, which was resting flat against the table's slick surface. "No." He lifted his fingers to her hair, tugging the cotton scrunchy from it. Curls fell around her face, resting on her shoulders and cascading down her back. He gathered a fistful and pulled slightly. The tingling tension on her scalp felt wonderful, erotic. The little sparks of awareness flared into blazes of molten pleasure as she let her eyelids drop, partly obscuring her view. "Your hair is so incredibly silky, like the finest satin." He lifted it to his nose and visibly inhaled. "Mmm…coconut." "It's my shampoo," she whispered. She captured a stray piece and lifted it to her nose as he gently stroked her jaw with his thumb. "But I showered hours and hours ago… I don't…smell the scent any longer." It was getting increasingly difficult to speak thanks to the heat building insi
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