Free How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead by Wendy Sparrow Page A

had
never commissioned, let alone ensured the damn thing was
immortalized forever in this wretched room. It mocked him. “Here, Shane, remember when you existed? Isn’t it sad that you
don’t anymore? Hah!”
    Someone was having the final laugh
there, and he’d always believed in a merciful creator. Perhaps this
was hell, and his torment was nearly his size; an oil painting that
was framed, and impervious to malicious spirits. He was his own
Satan. If he could destroy that thing—maybe then he could rest in
peace.
    Plus, it looked nothing like him.
Nothing.
    The painting of the sheep beside it
looked more like him—which triggered a weird memory from his
daytime self that he was grateful was ephemeral. It was just as
well he couldn’t talk during the day—though that might lower the
public’s interest in ghosts if they found out how rock dumb they
were during daylight hours.
    But none of that mattered anymore.
His little library mouse was back again—and she must have come back
to see him or she would have left by now. She was so engrossed in a
book while tucked into a corner chair that she didn’t notice him.
Her right hand was worrying her lower lip while her left hand
turned the pages. He wanted to kiss that luscious mouth of hers
again and nibble on that lower lip of hers. He wanted to nibble all
of her, but his energy wouldn’t allow an in-depth perusal of her.
Besides, for the first time that he could remember, he was just as
interested in exploring a woman’s mind as her body.
    “Hello,” he said, causing her to
jump, but then a slow smile spread across her face as their eyes
met.
    She catapulted out of the chair, and
he barely forced solid form when she dove into his arms. His energy
was draining rapidly, but he didn’t care as she pressed kisses
across his face while standing on her tip-toes. Even though she
thought she was tall, he was over six foot. Her mouth found his,
and her fingers pressed against the back of his head to deepen the
kiss. When her tongue brushed his, he reconsidered his supposition
about this being hell.
    He tightened his arms.
    Ana kissed like a harlot—he was in
heaven.
    In his experience, while alive,
women hadn’t been this openly amorous. He could only applaud what
women’s liberation had done for kissing, even as he wondered how
liberated Ana was in other ways. For once, he didn’t feel in
charge. In fact, his brain felt decidedly mushy. He wanted her so
bad he couldn’t think straight. It was every bit of her too which
his energy levels wouldn’t cooperate with.
    Reluctantly, he pulled back, saying,
“I think we should slow down and talk.”
    Had he ever said such a
thing?
    No.
    Who was this strange new person who
wanted to find out everything about Ana and not just what she
looked like without her clothes on? Although, the thought of Ana
naked on the library floor was certainly an appealing visual to
entertain. Still, he did want to talk—just talk. This wasn’t like
him at all. Was it possible for a ghost to become
possessed?
    Ana’s mouth looked swollen and soft,
but she nodded and dazedly slid from his arms, walking back toward
the chair. In relief, he shifted to a less energy-draining form and
followed, sitting in a nearby chair. He glanced at the book she was
reading.
    “You’ve chosen some interesting
reading,” he said, smiling. He’d brushed by that book several times
and been tempted to move it from the history section, perhaps even
throw it out into the main library to be shelved with other dross
and scandal rags. It had always seemed a waste of his precious
energy however.
    Ana wrinkled her nose. “Actually, it
is. Did you know that Seaside had its own version of the Salem
Witch Trials to a lesser degree? It was spear-headed by my great,
great grandfather, Charles, after he killed a
practitioner.”
    The realization that she was from
that Franklin family shocked him. Clearly, she knew of their shared
history because she was watching his face.