“There, there!” cried Clarice, glancing at her wristwatch—1:37 A.M. precisely. “Can you hear it? It’s starting. Right on time! And you thought I was crazy, huh?”

“Hear what?” asked Tangie, standing directly behind her outside the closed bedroom.

Through the door, the male spirit’s familiar husky, lust-filled chuckle issued through the wood; the female spirit giggled in answering delight.

Clarice spun around to face her friends. The three sets of eyes staring at her in query whisked away her smile of triumph. She looked from one frown to the next. “Quit kidding, Tange. How can you not hear that? Tell her, Leslie?”

Leslie blushed and glanced at Monica.

Shivers horripilated the skin along Clarice’s arms. For the first time, she felt sheer terror—not at the ghostly presence within the bedroom, but at the notion that perhaps she had indeed gone insane. “Okay, come on, you guys. Quit clowning around. Monica, tell them—tell me, for pity’s sake—you hear that!” She cocked a thumb toward the door, even as another wave of masculine laughter rumbled with what sounded like enough force to wake the dead.

Monica’s face deflated, her once-hopeful expression vanishing. “Clarice…I don’t know what you want me to say…”

With a surge of crazed fury, Clarice flung open the door and immediately felt the customary chill air. She flicked on the newly installed electric light and dragged Monica into the room by her sleeve.

There, beside the bed, stood the slightly transparent male figure, stripping out of his phantom jacket and looking as devilishly handsome as ever. His long fingers frantically worked the buttons of his waistcoat, while beneath his bushy mustache, his tongue swept his full lips.

On the mattress lay the female spirit. Although still too misty and wavery for Clarice to clearly view, the woman spread her legs to her ghostly lover.

“I am thirsty with desire for you, my sweet,” he said, his voice booming. “Where shall I commence quenching my thirst?”

The female touched herself. Clarice felt her own body start to tingle, as if being teased. “I want you. Right now! Taste me, my love, drink from me…drink from me…”

Clarice found herself mouthing the words to this salacious performance, the lines having been long-embedded into her brain. Knowing exactly what would happen next, she focused all her attention on the male and watched as he practically tore off his shirt, revealing the sinewy, lean torso Clarice had come to sinfully admire. The hair covering his firm pectorals and muscle-ridged abdomen looked as crispy as ever. Her fingers itched to fondle him, while her mouth hungered to suckle each of his large, hardening nipples.

“…but it certainly is freezing in here.”

Clarice blinked when Monica’s voice cut into her thoughts. She whipped around to face her friends. “Now do you believe me?”

Again, frowns met her gaze. One by one, the girls stepped into the bed chamber, each wrapping their arms around themselves and visibly shivering. But they inspected the room from wall to wall, obviously seeing none of what had so totally enthralled Clarice night after night.

Clarice stepped toward the bed, pointing with a shaky finger. “Watch, damn it, watch!”

“Watch what?” said Tangie. “Come on, Clarice, give it up. Even the worst prankster knows when to surrender...”

Love Romances' 2003
Golden Rose Readers Choice Awards
Best Novella Nominee!