Dexter's Haunting Page 4

  Impossible. She couldn’t be the same woman. She would have to be well over one hundred years old, and though she had been elderly, she was not that old.

  Perhaps a daughter or a granddaughter of the woman in the picture. It could explain why she knew so much of the story of the Manor and Dexter’s murdered lover.

  Tearing my gaze from the photo, I thumbed through others. I had almost gotten to the end of the stack when I stopped on one of a man in a tuxedo similar to the one Dexter had been wearing in the picture I’d hung in the bedroom. The man’s tie was more like a normal bowtie than the one Dexter had been wearing. But—

  I felt faint. I dropped the other pictures, still clutching this one as I stumbled backward.

  “I loved that photograph of you.”

  Turning, I saw Dexter leaning against the opposite wall, his pose and attire elegant-casual. Black slacks, white shirt, opened at the throat. He looked so damn alive and real.

  “It’s-it’s not me,” I said, the effort to speak making my throat hurt.

  Dex smiled. “Isn’t it? Doesn’t it look like you?”

  “What trick is this?”

  His smile faded, replaced by such sadness I nearly took another step back. “It’s no trick, Owen.”

  “My name is Julian.”

  He nodded. “Your current name, yes. In this incarnation of yourself. But when that picture was taken, your name was Owen.”

  “That’s not possible. I only look a little like him. Hardly any resemblance at all.”

  Not true—I was a dead ringer for the man in the photo.

  “That was a great night for me. For us. It was the first night we were together. After weeks of wanting each other, trying to pretend to everyone around us that we didn’t want each other, acting like we were expected.”

  Words froze in my mouth and my chest ached.

  “I didn’t even want to have another party. I was sick of them. But my sister, Helen, she convinced me.” Dex shook his head. “I’d told her about my feelings for you. How much I wanted you. And so she said to have a party and to invite you. Black tie. God, how damn pretentious I was.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “But when I went upstairs, you followed me.”

  Dexter took just three steps forward until he stood directly in front of me. He had such long, elegant strides. He was so fucking gorgeous, I understood what “stolen breath” meant.

  He grasped my arms under my biceps, and just as he looked real, his touch felt real, as it had every time he touched me. I should shrink away from him, part of my mind insisted, but I couldn’t. I stood there caught in his grip and in his gaze.

  “It was explosive,” Dex whispered. “We ripped off those tuxes and went wild, against that window in the bedroom. We couldn’t get enough.”

  “That’s not…that wasn’t me.”

  “I want you now. Let’s go upstairs.”

  I shook my head. “Dex—”

  “You’ve been gone all day. I missed you.”

  “I went to breakfast and met this old woman and she—”

  His lips curved into a sensual smile, and he took hold of my hand and led me up the stairs without a struggle from me.

  “She-she was in that photograph. The pool party. Was that when I…I mean Owen—”

  “Let’s not talk about that.”

  We exited the cellar and headed upstairs. As soon as we entered the bedroom, he pulled my shirt up and over my head.

  “You’re not real,” I said.

  “Don’t I feel real?” His lips covered mine in a searing kiss.

  “Yes,” I admitted when I could speak. “But that’s not possible.”

  “We won’t talk about what’s possible right now.” He undid the snap on my pants and lowered my zipper. I suddenly became so hard and so filled with a need for him that the thought of protesting anything further flew out of my mind.

  “Dex, God, I want you.”

  “I know, baby. I want you, too.”

  He pushed me onto the bed and got rid of the remainder of my clothes. I watched as he stripped nude, standing in front of me in all his gorgeousness.

  My mouth dry, I licked my lips, and held out my arms for him. He came willingly into my embrace, his lips finding mine, tongue sliding between them.

  Suddenly, I had flashes of us against that window, the room dark, save for moonlight and starlight. We were frantically scrambling to remove each other’s’ tuxes, unwilling to stop our hungry kissing even to make it easier. He then dropped to his knees to take me into his mouth and…

  “Dex,” I groaned, coming back to the present as his fingers slipped into my entrance, preparing me for the fucking.

  “Yes. You are so ready.”

  He rose above me, achingly hard, and lifted my legs to wrap around his waist. My hole accepted his entry with rather embarrassing eagerness. And I felt lost in him, and him in me.

  * * * *

  The rest of the day became a blur of endless sexual release. I left the bed only to relieve myself, then immediately returned for more. I somehow knew this was the way it had been between us, Dexter and I, always feasting on each other to the point where we ignored all else. Perhaps to our detriment, but it had been the way.

  We were almost hedonistic in our need to pleasure each other.

  At one point, I had no choice but to give in to my thirst and hunger, so I left the bed, with Dex staring at me from a prone position.

  “I need to eat and drink. And God, I need a shower.”

  Dex nodded. “I know.”

  “Can you come downstairs to the kitchen with me?”

  This amused him, judging by his smile. “I can go anywhere in the house.”

  I had questions, although I wasn’t sure I could even wrap my mind around this situation. But I knew I wasn’t crazy; Dex was there.

  “Go take your shower. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

  * * * *

  After I’d showered and dressed and made it to the kitchen, Dex was there waiting, true to his word, fully dressed himself.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked.

  “Here in the kitchen or here as a ghost?”

  I shivered at that blatant reference to his being dead. “I guess the latter.”

  Dex shrugged. “Since I died. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me.”

  “You’ve been waiting a long time then. God, Dex you’ve been dead for—”

  “I knew you would come one day.” He smiled wryly. “Admittedly it took longer than I’d hoped. You must be somewhere around the age you were as Owen.”

  “I’m thirty-six.”

  “Yes, that’s about right. Given that, I assume you likely had another lifetime or two since you died here.”

  I frowned. “I don’t remember other lifetimes.”

  “You probably wouldn’t. I don’t know that much about reincarnation,” Dex admitted. “But I don’t think you’re supposed to remember other lives.”

  “Yet, you know I’m Owen.” I blew out a breath. “And-and there are times I remember—or at least it seems like I am.”

  “I’m still the same version of myself I was when we were together last. I’m stuck here. In limbo.”

  “Why didn’t you pass on from here like Owen did?” I couldn’t bring myself to say “I did,” even though I was beginning to believe I had been Dexter’s lover, Owen.

  He gave another little shrug. “Something unresolved. We didn’t get to have the life we were meant to have. It was cut short.”

  “By Owen’s uncle?”

  A weird shadow passed over Dex’s face. “So you remember?”

  I opened the fridge and took out a container of eggs. “As I said, I met this woman down by the Embarcadero. She said there was a fight between Owen and his uncle. He hit him with a pitcher.”

  “Yes.” He moved to the doors leading outside and stared at the backyard, at the pool. His solidness amazed me. He was as solid as me. No one would believe he was a ghost. Wasn’t even sur
e if I did.

  Was I somehow being gaslighted? If I was, it was a damn good scam.

  “That must have been…that had to have been awful.”

  He nodded.

  “But you didn’t commit suicide.”

  Dexter looked at me, arching an eyebrow.

  “When I first got here, to this town, some guy told me you’d hanged yourself when your lover left you.”

  “No. But it was like slow suicide, I guess. I didn’t want to live once you were gone.”

  I still felt a little uncomfortable with his certainty that I had been Owen. I’d heard of reincarnation, of course, who hadn’t? But I’d never really believed in the possibility.

  “I was Catholic,” Dexter said. “Actual suicide was something that was wrong in my mind.” He laughed hollowly. “Before I got into acting, I intended to be a priest.”

  “You?” I scoffed.

  “Clearly I was not destined for the religious life.”

  “Fuck.” I put the carton of eggs on the counter, not as hungry as I thought I was. I ran a hand through my still-damp hair. “Dex, I have a fiancé. I bought this house with him.”

  He faced me again, leaning against the door. “Times have changed a lot. Our getting married then was never an option.”

  “Well, it is now. And what the fuck am I doing?”

  “Do you love him? This fiancé?”

  “Mace is a great guy. Solid, true. He’s a cop, for crying out loud, and a good one. Very dependable.”

  Dex’s lips quirked. “That’s not an answer.”

  “I feel sick,” I whispered.

  “Then the answer is no.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, Dex. I thought I did. I really did. I’ve known him since we were kids. I thought it was supposed to be, but…now?”

  “Now?”

  “I can’t stop thinking of you or touching you or being touched by you. It’s like an obsession, Dex. Earlier, when talking to Mace, I couldn’t wait to get off the phone. I just…am I cracking up? You’re not real.”

  Dex came to me. He gripped my biceps. And God, I felt him. If he wasn’t real, he was doing a damn good imitation of it.

  “You feel me,” he said. “I know you do. I’ve made you come. We’ve kissed. We’ve shared everything since you got here. You know I’m real.”

  He kissed me, deep and sweet, and I let him, leaning into him, feeling peace and want and need like I’d never felt with anyone. And that made me so sad.

  “What do you intend to do?” he asked, kissing my eyelids, then my cheeks, and back to my mouth.

  “I don’t know. You’ve turned all my pre-conceived notions on their head. Ghosts are supposed to be see-through, little wisps of vapor or something, not solid flesh. And yet, here you are. You look exactly like Dexter Larabee.”

  “Because I am.”

  “But you died. A long time ago. And you aren’t supposed to be here.”

  He sighed. “I can offer no explanations. I only know I have been waiting here for you to come back. And I have waited for an eternity. For me, it seems an eternity.”

  I turned away from him, biting my lip, and crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive manner. “I thought I belonged with Mace. Until we decided to buy this place, I never thought of you. Not once. Wouldn’t I have done so if we were destined to be together for that eternity you speak of?”

  “Something drew you here. When you found this place, you researched me. This place. My life. Didn’t you?”

  “That’s normal,” I insisted.

  “Is it? Does everyone who buys an old house look that much into the previous owners?”

  “You were famous and had a tragic story.”

  “Which you were a part of,” Dex whispered. “I know this must be hard for you. Anyone would be skeptical. But I can show you some things, I think.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  His hand cupped my cheek. “Come with me to the past. Our past.”

  “But how—?”

  I saw an odd flash, like lightning but not quite, then everything changed…

  I stood with Dex by the back door. He was dressed in the tux, just like the one in the picture, and I realized I was, too.

  All around us, people in long gowns and tuxes from Dex’s time laughed and talked. I heard music and realized a live orchestra played in the backyard.

  “Come, Owen,” Dex said, drawing me outside.

  “Dexter!” A beautiful woman with platinum hair piled high on her head approached us and grabbed his arm. “Where are you off to, you bad boy?”

  He smiled. “Just showing Owen around, Susan.”

  She looked at me without a trace of humor. “Owen Wentworth, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” I answered.

  “Then your uncle is Sam. Sam Wentworth.”

  “My father’s brother.”

  Susan turned her attention back to Dex. “Oh, he is breathtaking, Dex. I’d be careful with this one.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, Susan. I know what I’m doing.” He winked at her, then with his hand on my arm, led me away, further from the orchestra and the party crowd, past the pool, where people frolicked.

  “Is that safe?”

  “Is what safe?”

  “Well, most of those people in the pool seem pretty drunk, Dexter.”

  “I can tell you still want to use that law degree of yours, Owen. I’m not worried about liability.”

  I huffed. “Well, you should be.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “Where are we going anyway?”

  “To the gazebo.”

  The gazebo was private, and I suspected that’s what Dex had in mind. I noted a flash of lightning overhead. Some distance away, I suspected, judging by how long it took the thunder to follow.

  “If that storm comes closer, we’re all going to get wet.”

  Dex pulled me up the gazebo steps, which had been covered in strips of orange gauze. Though the party wasn’t for Halloween, it was autumn—a very warm autumn, in fact—and Dexter had made sure the décor was done in browns and oranges with leaves and foliage.

  “What do you think about buying the property next door?” Dexter asked, somewhat breathlessly as he tugged me onto the cushioned bench inside the structure.

  “The vacant lot next door? What for?”

  Dex shrugged and smiled. “To expand this place. And offer even more privacy.”

  “I don’t know, Dex. It’s already pretty private. Can you even afford it?”

  Moving pictures, the industry…it was changing. Talkies were already in the works. It was so easy for actors to get left behind as the world changed around them.

  “If I get that new contract, I can,” he said. “My agent is working on a multi-picture deal.”

  I frowned. “In silent pictures?”

  “In the talkies. It’s time to make the transition. I’ll have to tie my career, my life, to one studio, but it will be worth it. Financial security, darling. Wouldn’t you like to have that?”

  I felt myself blush at the endearment. “Sure. Who wouldn’t? But Dex—”

  He sighed and leaned against the cushions. “I know what you’re going to say. We have to be discreet. Circumspect. I get all that. But, Owen, I want you here with me.”

  “What? Live here?”

  “You almost do already. When was the last time you even pretended to go back to LA? You can have your own room. We’ll say we’re roommates. Other actors do it.”

  Shaking my head, I leaned on the cushions next to him. “I don’t know, Dexter. The family won’t like that.”

  He laughed, rich and deep. “To hell with the family. Like who? Your uncle? Sam will just have to deal. Your dad? He can pretend his baby boy is interested in the opposite sex like he’s always done. And your mom will just have to look to your brothers and sisters for grandchildren. Not everyone gets married, Owen.”

  “Most do.”

  “Is that what you wan
t?” Dex asked. “To marry some socialite? To become some housewife’s husband? Have a household full of kiddies? Even a dog or two? While even to get an erection you have to think of me?”

  My face heated. “Dex.”

  “I love you, Owen. And I need you.” He laughed again. “And God knows, you know I want you. And I think you feel the same way.” His cheeks flushed a becoming pink. “Am I wrong?”

  I grabbed his hand and raised it to my lips, kissing his fingers. “No, you’re not wrong.”

  He turned his hand, palm up, to caress my jaw. “I want you with me, darling. Please?”

  His mouth found mine, his kiss soft and sweet. “Remember my last party? We wore these same tuxes, but we didn’t come to the gazebo.”

  I chuckled as he kissed me again. “I remember. I was mad for you. It was crazy how much I wanted you.”

  “Mmm. It was far too warm that night for tuxes anyway.” He pushed me against the cushions, chasing my lips with his. “You were so worried about someone seeing us fucking.”

  I gasped as his teeth latched onto my throat, likely sucking a bruise there. “I should be worried about someone seeing us now, Dex.”

  “I thought you said we have privacy.”

  “People can still hear.”

  “Then try to be quiet.”

  “Dex!” His hand covered my crotch, squeezing my growing erection.

  “You aren’t trying.” He laughed, low and deep, so sensually it curled my toes in my dress shoes. He moved to unzip my trousers, and though I knew I should probably stop him, I didn’t. He spoke directly into my ear. “Stand up.”

  I obeyed instantly and he yanked down the pants and underwear to my knees. He turned me, then placed himself between my legs and flicked his tongue against my hole and…

  I came back to myself, to Julian, panting and leaning against the back door, in the kitchen once more. And I found myself alone, no longer dressed in the tux, the silence in the house deafening.

  “Dex? Dexter?”

  I was painfully hard and my heart was pounding. And I felt sad, so unbearably sad. For Dexter, for Owen. They should have gotten that life. It was so fucked up that it had been taken from them.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, I knew what I had to do.

  I hadn’t seen Dexter again since the previous night. I had a feeling that whatever he had done to show me that scene from his life with Owen had drained his ghostly energy—temporarily, I assumed. I knew nothing about the spirit world or how it was supposed to work, but I was pretty sure all the books about it had gotten a lot of it wrong. At least from my experience.