Charon's Crossing

It had been so long, so long.

"Bitch," he said again, but it was a whisper this time and as he said it, his mouth softened against hers until he was rubbing his lips gently over hers, until his hands were slipping back up her spine and his arms were sweeping around her and he was kissing her passionately.

And she was responding.

Oh, she was responding. Seconds ago, she'd been fighting him in blind panic. Now, she was winding her arms around his neck, burying her hands in his thick, silken hair, and dragging his head down to hers.

The taste of his mouth was as she remembered it, from the dreams. The feel of him, hard and powerful, in her arms. The smell of him, and the heat of his body...

No. It wasn't like the dreams. This was reality, and it made the dreams pale by comparison.

"Cat," he said thickly.

His hands caught the hem of her skirt, fisted in the cotton fabric and swept it impatiently to her hips.

She made a sound in her throat.

"Cat," he said again, and all the urgency in the world was in that one word.

His fingers felt hot against her flesh as they hooked into the elastic of her panties. His

thumbs rasped against her skin as he began to draw the panties down...

Was she mad?

Kathryn jerked back. She jammed her elbows down and shoved both hands against his chest, hard enough so he stumbled back in surprise.

"Catherine," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Stop it," she hissed.

But he didn't stop. He reached for her instead and she lifted her knee and drove it straight into his groin, as hard and fast as she could.

For an instant, nothing happened. Then she heard the awful sound of the air rushing from his lungs, saw the color drain from his face. His lips formed her name but there was no sound.

Kathryn was shaking. She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped back.

"I told you to stop," she whispered. "Matthew...?"

He made a horrible, gagging sound and then doubled over, clutching his belly. Kathryn reached out her hand, then drew it back.

"If only you hadn't..." She thrust her hands into her hair and shoved it back from her face. "I'm sorry I had to hurt you, but..."

"Don't—be—sorry." He lifted his head and it seemed to her he smiled. "It—was—the—one—question—I—didn't—think—of," he gasped.

"What question?" she whispered, watching him in fascinated horror.

He gave a terrible little laugh that ended on a groan.

"Can—a—ghost—feel—pain?"

My God, he was fading! "Matthew," she said.

He was gone.

Kathryn reached out, carefully swung her hand through the air. Her fingers felt nothing, touched nothing.

The hair rose on the nape of her neck.