And like he had a few days previously, his eyes rolled back into his head and his immaterial body crumpled.
THIRTEEN
Jack
Iawoke to Chiara’s worried voice. “Jack? Jack. Please come back to me, Jack!”
I opened my eyes and found myself staring into Chiara’s brown gaze, her face just inches from mine, forehead wrinkled in concern. Turning my head, I realized I was still outside, collapsed and hovering about a foot off the ground.
Part of me was surprised by this. But . . . of course I would still be in the same place. How could Chiara have moved me? It wasn’t as if she had a ghost lasso to tug me inside.
Memory rolled through my mind . . . Chiara’s foolhardy attempts to chase off the man. Me pushing myself into near invisibility, trying to hide. The agonizing pain of holding my body in that position. Thepaparazzothreatening Chiara.
The sudden jolt of finding myself corporeal.
In hindsight, it was obvious. I had pushed my entire body nearly out of this world, and I had rebounded by coming more into this reality.
It was a rubberband effect. If pushed too hard one way, I sprang back an equal distance in the opposite direction.
But . . . the sheer shock of the moment, of finding myself entirely corporeal for the first time in forever. The barrage of sensation.
Why had I ever taken it all for granted before?
The weight of the stifling summer air. The smell of mown grass and flowers. The instant stickiness of dense Tuscan humidity. The rustle of my clothes as I breathed in and out. The feathery sensation of the soft breeze across my skin.
And Chiara. Staring, open-mouthed, pupils dilated, the slight wind ruffling her dark hair and the red silk of her blouse.
Thepaparazzohad said something about a kiss. My eyes dropped to her lips. Every other thought had scattered.
This had been my wish.
For the first time since leaving the shadow world, I could feel my body again. I had no intention of wasting the opportunity. Two steps and I had her in my arms, her back curved, pressing her into my chest.
I was a gentleman. I didn’t ravish women.
But something about that first touch of Chiara D’Angelo.
The flood of sensation short-circuited my brain.
The petal softness of her cheek against my palm. The perfect fit of my hand at the nip of her waist. The arching rise of her body to meet mine.
The lush give of her mouth.
All of it . . . crazed madness.
I lost any sense of time, of reason. I could have spent centuries kissing this woman.
And now, facing her, all sensation having faded . . . I realized I would probably spend centuries reliving the memory of that kiss.
Huzzah for me.
Chiara sat cross-legged on the ground, her face level with mine. “Are you all right?” Concern laced her voice. “You gave me another good scare there.”
Chiara worried about me? I could get used to this.
I sat up. A wave of fatigue rolled over me.
“I . . .” I swallowed. “I am tired but I don’t think there was any permanent harm done.”
