Page 46 of A Ghost of a Chance

He leaned in and stopped just short of touching her. The sweep of his lashes as his lowered eyes focused on her mouth, the curve of his lips, his nearness that invited song, all combined to a heady longing. Could she? Could they?

She closed the gap between them, concentrating on pressing her lips to his. The soft pressure, the feeling of being kissed, rushed through her. He moved his lips softly. She moved hers with his, pressing back. Light filled her, along with an indescribable bliss.

She felt beautiful. Cherished. Whole. She filled with sweet, joyous music. An orchestra played in her mind with a single, sweet violin quivering at the top note. She had never imagined the beauty and joy of sharing a kiss with a man whom she adored, and who had come to be with her for one day, year after year. Nothing in her life compared with this wondrous moment with this remarkable man. Her love for him expanded until it encompassed all creation.

Rafe ended the kiss, pulling back only a few inches. “That was even better than I had hoped.”

“It far exceeded my expectations as well.” She smiled like a cat with a bowl of cream.

He puffed out his chest a bit before standing and holding out a hand. “Will you dance the Waltz with me?”

Only then did she notice the sweet notes of the musicians that drifted to them from the drawing room with a strong, three-four time signature.

She arose. “I do not know this new dance you call the waltz.”

His eyes glittered. “I’m not worried you’ll step on my foot.”

She laughed. Dancing took all her focus and much of her energy but moving with Rafe, having the sensation of his arms around her, was worth any price.

The notes fell away. Rafe moved in for another kiss. Osanne obliged him. That same sense of beauty and wonder filled her until she became a creature of beauty and hope and joy.

Her strength faded and she lost the ability to touch him.

He pulled back. “Osanne?” His mouth opened in astonishment and ...horror? “You’re transparent.”

She tried to speak, but could make no sound.

He paled and his breathing turned unsteady. “You’ve always looked solid until dawn. You’re not leaving early, are you?”

She faded into a world of gray fog. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift.

As if from a great distance, Rafe’s voice called to her. She swam through the fog to the surface like a sleeper slowly waking.

“Osanne!” Panic laced Rafe’s voice.

Osanne’s vision cleared. Rafe stood below her, looking wildly around.

“I’m here.” She maneuvered herself back down to him from the corner of the ceiling where she had drifted.

He took several steadying breaths and the color returned to his face. “Thank Heavens you’re back. I couldn’t see you for a moment.”

“It takes a great deal of concentration and, apparently, some form of power or energy to touch you. Extended contact seems to be rather taxing.”

He nodded slowly, looking stricken.

She took his hand and squeezed it as she smiled. “Dancing with you and kissing you was well worth it, I assure you.”

A very somber Rafe said, “The waltz was the last dance to be played tonight. I ought to bid my guests a good night. Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Having you near is a great comfort.”

She remained by his side as he said farewell to his guests. He graciously accepted his parents’ praise for a triumphant first ball. Pretending to be fatigued, he bade them goodnight.

In the study, Rafe sat with Osanne on the same leather sofa where her father had spent many days. “I realize we could have gone into my bedchamber, but that seems indecent somehow, your current state notwithstanding.”

She curled into him. “You’re a true gentleman, Rafe Beauchamp.”