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An Invisible Lover (MF, Ghost)
By Margaret Marr

***

The hot coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup and scalded Darcie
Linch's hand.  She wailed, and shook her hand to sling the beads of
coffee off. She hadn't been  able to concentrate since her husband,
Marty, had been killed in an automobile  accident last month. All she
did was get out of bed in the mornings, and lie  down on the couch to
stare at the ceiling for hours at a time. She slept, ate,  breathed the
memory of Marty all day long. She missed him so much it hurt, and  it
didn't seem to be easing at all. How much longer could she go on?

Something cold and wet touched her hand, cooling the burn. She jerked
her hand  back. Where had that cold dishtowel come from? She didn't
remember walking to  the sink to wet it, but she must have. God, would
this never end?  She felt a gentle touch on her fingers, and a slight
tug. The dishtowel rose in  the air, then pressed to her hand once
again.  A scream bubbled up from deep inside her. This was not
happening. She must be  losing her mind on top of every thing else.
"Stay away from me!" She rushed out of her apartment, leaving the door
hanging  open behind her.

When she got to the sidewalk, she stopped to catch her breath. She
looked up at  the window to her apartment. Nothing was there. She didn't
know what she'd  expected to see.  A slight breeze kicked up the crisp
leaves on the ground, and blew them in  circles. Darcie shivered and
wished she'd brought a coat. She wasn't about to go  back into her
apartment ... at least not yet. It wasn't because of the dishtowel
exactly. It was the touch that had her all shook up inside. It had felt
familiar. She hugged herself and headed down the sidewalk.  She walked
for a long time, not noticing how late it was, until a bottle clanked
against the side of a trash can in an alley. Darcie suddenly became
wary. It was  dusky-dark, and she was a woman alone in a seedy part of
town. Why hadn't she  paid any attention to where she was headed?  She
turned and started back the way she'd come, quickening her step as she
went.

A hand clamped down on her arm and closed around her flesh with an iron
grip.  She opened her mouth to scream, but her assailants other hand
covered her mouth,  and she was jerked into the alley.  Darcie struggled
and tried to bite the hand that stank of sweat and garbage. She  stomped
down on a foot.  He grunted in pain.

"Be still, or I'll slice your throat." His voice was rough and guttural.
 She felt the cold blade of steel against her skin, and went still.
"Your money now," he said and removed his hand from her mouth.  She took
a deep gulp of air and gagged at the smell of whiskey on his breath. "I
.. I don't have any with me."  He slapped her hard across her cheek, a
stinging blow that caused her to cry  out.  "I'll just take something
else, then."  Darcie renewed her struggles. She'd die before she allowed
him to touch her. Her  knee jerked up and she aimed for his crotch.  He
turned side-ways in the nick of time and her knee bounced off his thigh.
He  grunted, but didn't let go. He drew back his fist and smashed it
into her cheek.

Pain exploded into her eye-ball. Her vision blurred, and she sagged
against the  wall.  Suddenly, the man was yanked backwards and slammed
against the other wall.  Darcie battled the darkness that threatened to
take her down in its murkiness.  She wanted to see her rescuer, but all
she saw was her attacker pressed against  the wall, his eyes wide with
fright.  "Get away!" The man shrieked. He hit the ground with a hard
thump, and as soon  as he regained his footing he scrambled out of the
alley, running like all the  demons in hell chased him.  Through the fog
clouding her mind Darcie looked for her hero once again, then  she gave
up the battle and sank into oblivion.  When she came to she was lying on
her couch in her apartment, with no idea how  she got there. A cool wash
cloth dabbed at her cheek and along her forehead. No  hands held the
wash cloth that she could see.  Dizziness washed over her. "Who are
you?" she said, and attempted to sit up.  "I'm not sure you can hear me.
You haven't yet. I wish you could."  Darcie gasped. Marty? But it
couldn't be. He was ... "Marty?" she whispered. "Is  that you?"  "Yes,
babe."

She felt the air where she thought he might be, and touched his arm. "I
can feel  you. I hear you; why can't I see you?"  "I don't know,
sweetheart."  "I've missed you so much ..." Her voice cracked. She took
a deep breath and  blinked back tears. "Maybe too much."  "I've been
right here with you, all along. I didn't know how to approach you.
Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore, so I tried to make your burn feel
better  this morning. I'm sorry I scared you."  "How is it that you are
here?" she asked. Her hand stroked his arm, loving the  feel of his
taunt skin beneath her fingers, the feel of the rough hairs on his  arm.
 "I want to be here." He removed the cloth from her cheek and replaced
it with  his lips, kissing her gently, tenderly. "I need to be here."
"If only I could see you," she whispered.  "See me with your hands."

Darcie cupped his face, running her thumbs over the stubble on his
cheeks. He  always looked sexy with a five o'clock shadow, and she knew
his blue eyes would  be caressing her body. She ran her hands down his
neck to his chest and felt his  broad expanse. Her fingers traveled down
to his flat stomach, feeling each  rippled muscle. She heard the sharp
intake of his breath when her hand went to  the waist band of his jeans.
After undoing the buttons on his fly, she slipped  her hand inside his
underwear and took possession of him.  Marty's lips crashed down on
hers, his tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring  her hot moistness.
He groaned into her mouth, then kissed a trail down her neck  and up to
her ear. His breath against her skin sent a thrill coursing through  her
blood.

Darcie gasped at the sheer pleasure of his touch. She ran her hands over
his  back and ground her hips against him, feeling how hard he was
through his jeans.  He shoved her shirt up, and she quickly pulled it
over her head and tossed it  aside. The feel of his tongue on her skin
was almost her undoing. She moaned and  arched her back. He unclasped
her bra, and it joined her shirt on the floor. His  mouth closed over
her breast, and she sobbed at the intense pleasure of the feel  of his
tongue drawing lazy circles around her nipple. He moved to the other and
 gave it equal treatment.

Darcie closed her eyes and lost herself in the feel of him, his hard
body  against her soft curves. Skin against skin. She hoped this was not
a dream. How  could she endure the morning light if it was?  Marty moved
away from her for a brief moment. When he returned he removed her  jeans
and panties, then picked her up and carried her to the bedroom where he
lay her gently on the bed. His lips kissed her stomach, then moved lower
until  he reached the hot, silky moistness between her legs. He thrust
his tongue deep  inside. She almost came up off the bed at the pleasure
of his tongue swirling  inside her.

Pleasure crashed over her in a blinding light of gratification. Tears
rolled  down her cheeks. Marty moved up her body and kissed her tears
away before  slipping inside the soft, moist recesses of her.  They
moved together as one body, heart, and soul. The passionate frenzy of
their  mating consumed them. White hot fire seared through them, burning
them with its  heat. She felt him thrust deep inside her, and it spurred
another release inside  her. She cried out his name as wave after wave
washed over her again.  Afterward, feeling limp, she lay on the bed,
breathing heavily, with her eyes  closed cuddled next to Marty. He
stroked her skin in a slow, delicate caress.  Darcie stretched and
opened her eyes. She gasped and sat up. "I can see you!"  Marty smiled.
God, how she'd missed his sexy smile. It had the power to melt her where
she  sat.

"I always knew you could raise the dead," he said, laughing. His smile
faded. He  touched her cheek. "We are truly one. Nothing can separate
us." He captured her  lips and kissed her with such an aching, sweet
tenderness.  Darcie let him draw her down on top of him once again. He
was back in her arms  and nothing could take him away from her again.
Not even death.

© 1999 by Margaret Marr; all rights reserved

