The Siren's Touch. Amber Belldene

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СКАЧАТЬ in a real boxing ring. His index finger went to the bridge of his nose. Some women preferred a thug like him over a pretty boy. But not her, and that was only right. She was some other kind of woman than the ones he dated—if nightclubs, vodka, and half-numb screwing could be called dating.

      She must have been a knockout—a real class act. With all that hair. Probably a shade lighter if it were dry, it would be a glossy and rich brown. And that curvy hourglass of a figure—his hands could easily wrap most of the way around her waist.

      “Please, don’t look at me like that.” The sultry voice was back, dazing him with desire as if she’d just gripped the back of his head and pressed her tongue into his mouth for a kiss.

      She whimpered. “Please…”

      Poor thing. She wasn’t doing it on purpose. She needed his help, not his lust. And, in the unlikely event she liked him, she was still a goddamn ghost. Not like he could really touch her.

      “I’m sorry. You just…do something to me. Your voice, your skin, your…” He waved his hand at the glorious body he would very much like to bare and touch, in the flesh.

      “I know. I can’t seem to help it. I don’t mean to—”

      “Don’t worry. I can tell you’re not the type—”

      “Dmitri?” Somewhere down the hall, a door clicked closed and Elena’s heels tapped on the hardwood floor before she appeared. “Who are you talking too? Do you have one of those damnable headsets on? I swear they’re getting smaller by the day.”

      The scantily dressed sex ghost hovered at his side, clearly visible in Elena’s line of sight. Which very likely meant she couldn’t see her at all.

      Shit. It had to be true. He was completely bonkers.

      His aunt drew near. “Is your call finished then? What was all that racket? I could have sworn I heard—” Her foot crunched on the shards of glass littering the floor in a wide blast pattern, and she let out an exasperated sigh. “Damn it, Dmitri Ivanovych Lisko. Both my teacups? Those were a gift from…”

      He tuned her out, keeping his eyes glued to the ghost. Her supernaturally beautiful face flickered between curious and fearful as she tracked his aunt’s movements around the room. “She can’t see me.”

      He shook his head.

      “Or hear me.”

      “Nope.” He scratched his head, trying to make sense of the whole damn thing.

      “Dmitri?” Elena’s heels clicked out an arc behind him.

      He pivoted on his heels. “Huh?”

      “Are you on the phone or not? And what on earth is going on?” She reached into a closet and pulled out a broom.

      “Nah. Not on the phone.” At a complete loss, he glanced back at the girl. “I’m just seeing ghosts. Or, ghost—one of them.”

      Elena began to sweep the shards of glass into a neat pile. “Don’t be ridiculous. You said yourself that you’re hungry and fatigued. You need a meal and a good night’s rest, and then you’ll listen to reason about this thing you seem to think you must accomplish.”

      Ouch. The euphemism cut coming from her. But there was no way he wasn’t killing Boris Makar.

      Dmitri ignored her, searching out the ghost with hungry eyes. She’d flown over to his aunt, if fly was the right word. Perhaps float was better—there was no obvious method of propulsion. She seemed to be experimenting and tried to grab the broom from Elena’s grip, but her ghost hand passed right through it. She grimaced, then filled her sweet round cheeks with air and tried to blow Elena’s hair. Nothing. The ghost glanced back at him and held her palms up, shrugging.

      Elena stopped sweeping and followed his line of sight until she was staring right at the ghost. A frown pressed down her brow, and she bustled over to him more quickly than her short legs should be able to carry her.

      Standing on her tiptoes, she touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “No fever.”

      “Nah. I feel fine since I ate.” Fine, except for the layer of sweat forming on his lower back and clamming up his palms. Fine except for the buzzing fear in his veins. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “If I’m hallucinating, it’s because I’ve gone completely nuts, not because I’m hungry.”

      The ghost floated, intent on their conversation, the corners of her pretty mouth turned down.

      Elena scowled, tapping her toes. “Maybe you just need a good night’s sleep. You said yourself—”

      “No way. She’s too fucking real. I’ve gone off the deep end.”

      “I am real,” she said, her voice at once plaintive and potent.

      He shook away the desire flashing through him.

      Elena peered into his face, and her mouth softened like she was considering possibilities other than him being a useless, wasted drunk. “Perhaps she is real. I happen to believe in ghosts.”

      “What?” This had to be part of the hallucination.

      “I do. How could I not? I study folklore. All the Slavic fairytales, even the literature, it is full of eerie legends about ghosts and witches that must have some roots in reality.”

      Oh hell.

      If she was going to give him a lecture, he really needed that smoke—bad. He stepped toward the chair where his coat hung and reached inside for the box. But he stopped himself before pulling them out. It would only give Elena one more thing to nag him about—no more drinking, no more smoking—blah, blah, blah.

      He folded his hands together to keep them from fidgeting, or from grabbing a cigarette of their own accord. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

      “No. But many people have.”

      “Right. And like them, I’m completely nuts—”

      His stomach twisted with a sudden fear, one he’d never even thought of until now. “Elena, did my father drink himself crazy?”

      She took firm hold of his elbow. “No. And don’t even think it. You’re not him.”

      Her words melted away some of his dread—maybe this ghost was just a coincidence, and not one more stepping stone on the path to becoming his father.

      “Now tell me. Is the ghost male or female?”

      “What?” His spine went rigid, all too aware of his freaky reaction to the ghost. “Why does that matter?”

      Elena skewered him with her glare.

      He dragged a straight-backed chair away from the table and dropped into it, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his tired eyes. “Female.”

      “Did she follow you from Kiev?”

      “No way. I’d have been spooked outside, not enjoying a smoke.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ