Free The Charm Stone by Donna Kauffman Page A

all been some kind of trick of the sunlight and water.
    “No, a perfectly sane person would faint,” she muttered. Unfortunately, she had never been a fainter. Even more unfortunately, she was pretty sure she could no longer think of herself as perfectly sane.
    Only the insane would believe in invisible little people and sexy, kilt-wearing ghosts. Her gaze drifted to the tower, drawn there by a force she couldn't explain.
    Connal grinned down at her from a tower window.
    No way could he have made it up there that fast. In the next instant, he vanished again. She swallowed hard, might have even whimpered a bit, trying hard not to recall how swiftly he'd moved from the beach to standing right behind her on the night they'd first met. She wondered if Gregor had any whiskey stashed in his croft as she slowly turned back toward the path leading to his house… only to find Connal perched on a large boulder at the top of the hill.
    He looked incredibly unghostlike to her. His damp kilt clung to well-developed thighs, his shirt was unlaced midway down his chest, his hair danced a bit in the shore breezes… and his smile was knowing and not a little smug as he faced the sun. And her.
    “I don't believe in ghosts,” she said flatly.
    He levered himself off the rock and walked down the path toward her. “Rather hard to deny what is before your very eyes.”
    She let her board slide to the sand and raised a shaky hand toward his chest. His shirt was cold and damp, but the skin beneath it was warm and vibrantly alive. As were the eyes she lost herself in when she lifted her gaze to his. “You don't feel like a ghost.”
    He grinned again, and her body was having no problem making the leap of faith. “What is a ghost supposed to feel like, lass?”
    “I-I don't know. Cold. Dead.”
    “Och, my mortal self is dead, yes.” He lifted her hand and placed it back on his chest. “But my soul still burns with life.”
    She yanked her hand back as if it had itself been burned. “I've lost my mind. Completely gone.”
    “Ye no have ghosts where yer from, then?”
    “Other people have ghosts. Just like other people see UFOs.
I
am not other people.”
    “I'd say ye are now.” His lips quirked again and she couldn't manage to look away. God, the man had a mouth made for sex.
    She looked away then. But the sex part stayed in her brain. “If you're dead, then how exactly did you plan on making babies?” As soon as the words left her mouth she realized she'd blundered. Badly.
    If she'd thought his previous smiles sexy, this one was downright carnal. As was the way he reached out to stroke her cheek. She should pull away. Sheshould run. Fainting would even be welcome at this point.
    She did none of those things. His fingertips were blunt and rough, but his touch was gentle. And yet it was his gaze, far too alive for someone claiming to be dead, that held her in thrall.
    “Upon my death, I made a pact with the gods. They've allowed me to play ghost of the tower as I awaited the charm stone's return. Fate has tested me long, but I knew if I kept faith it would be rewarded. It was the only way to prove my clan worthy of being saved.” He stepped closer. “Year upon year I waited.” His voice deepened to where it resonated along her skin… inside her skin, until she felt as if her body had somehow come alive in a whole new way beneath his fingers. “And now you're here.”
    It
was
some kind of madness, she thought wildly. And yet, she didn't try to escape it. She couldn't.
    He leaned down and she realized his intent immediately. A sane person would have screamed, kicked, or shoved. She stood perfectly still as his mouth descended on hers, so slowly her body ached for the contact by the time his lips brushed against hers.
    Not cold, and far from dead. And neither, she soon realized, was she. She didn't lift her hands to his chest, or do anything to involve herself in the kiss in any way. She merely accepted his mouth on hers… and