[Siren Classic: Erotic Paranormal Romance, ghosts, HEA]
Jenny Ashbury is a beautiful woman from Florida running from a jealous and dangerous ex-boyfriend. She flees to Canada, hiding in an old hotel on the south shore of Nova Scotia. She meets an incredibly handsome and interesting man named Devon North, the mysterious owner of the North Country Inn. She works there for free in exchange for a room where she can disappear like a ghost. In time her brilliant business sense rescues and revives the floundering inn, and she is drawn irresistibly to Devon, a man who unleashes her unfulfilled, wild passions.
Staying at the inn, she soon learns of its ghostly inhabitants: the Captain and a nun named Maria. The lovers lived side by side for decades, separated only by a door without a lock, but they never consummated their burning love, nor ever physically touched, even once. Their spirits wander, destitute, waiting for Jenny and Devon, the perfect couple who will release them with the scorching lovemaking the Captain and Maria craved but never experienced.
Then the mad ex-boyfriend tracks Jenny down...
A Siren Erotic Romance
On this warm, rainy evening in mid-June, Jenny Ashbury had never felt more alone in her life. She felt a crushing, staggering sense of loneliness. Yet as darkness began to settle over the Atlantic, its vastness stretching further than the eye could see, a sense of calm suddenly started to pervade in her spirit. The ocean put everything into perspective: its contempt for time made her realize how insignificant were the dramas of human life. We live, we die, but the ocean just keeps on rolling, oblivious to people with their hopes and dreams and fears. In an odd kind of way, her own insignificance made her feel strangely powerful. She was nothing but a speck in the universe, which made her problems an even smaller speck.
As the light faded into darkness, Jenny was jolted back to reality. She was stranded on a darkening road in a strange place. Her sense of power evaporated like morning dew in a parched desert. One moment she felt powerful, and the next she felt anything but powerful. Jenny Ashbury was a mess. Her life had crumbled around her and everything was chaos happening at lightning speed, as if she had been drawn up into a Kansas twister and was holding on for dear life. She had no job, no prospects, no home, no past...no anything. She didn’t even have a reason to exist. Really, if she disappeared, who would even notice? Only Ivan, she was sure, and that was only because he would be upset he did not have a chance to kill her himself.
The mere thought of him made her shudder. But what to do? Walk? Along this road? No, it was now raining harder. It was better to stay in the car. The car was at least familiar, comforting.
More time passed...
Jenny tried to remain composed, but it became more difficult by the second. Total darkness fell and not a single car passed in either direction. There really was no reason to feel any heightened sense of fear, but what had begun as a dull foreboding grew by degrees into accepted fact: any moment those rough men who passed her earlier would round the corner. What then? No one would hear her screams. No one would rescue her.
She could stand it no longer. Jenny broke down and hot tears flowed, slowly at first, then in a torrent. It was as if she had restrained a great dam of emotions during a long storm. Now, able to be contained no longer, the dam burst in a gushing, headlong wave, her sobs fracturing the silence of the enveloping darkness.
She felt a stifling sense of vulnerability. She was tired of the world, the cold, anonymous world. Life was too difficult, much, much too difficult. In a way it would be a relief to just die and fade away. At least then there would be peace. And all she had ever asked for was a good and decent life, a man to love, a family someday. But nothing of the sort was to be hers. She was reduced to the life of a fugitive who always has to look over her shoulder. She would never find love, happiness, peace. At best she could hope to survive and exist.
By now it was raining hard and she was getting legitimately scared. Suddenly headlights flashed up the road. The thought crossed her mind that Ivan might have been tracking her somehow. He was into all the latest technology and just days earlier he had watched a television report on tracking cars with a GPS device. Jenny could tell he was fascinated with the concept. Given time, she was sure, he would have been monitoring her. Hopefully he had not gotten the device before she ran.
Jenny got out of her car and hurried to the road. The vehicle rounded the corner and came toward her, its wipers steadily swishing. Was this salvation? Or was it those men? Those men, who, like Ivan, wanted to hurt her? Was it, somehow, Ivan himself? Jenny’s heart raced, torn between hope and terror. If she had to, she would run into the woods. She would run so fast they would never catch her. But if they somehow did, they were not going to take her without a fight. This time she would not cower in fear from a man. She would kick and scratch and do whatever it took.
As the vehicle approached, part of her wanted to flag it down and another part of her wanted to run. And what if it really was those men? Drunken, lawless men? This was worse than a Hitchcock movie. This was real. And in her mind she was about to become an innocent victim, a curiosity for some grizzled homicide detective.
Then, in a moment of glorious relief, as when a soul lost at sea is spotted by a search plane, she realized this vehicle was a pickup truck. A huge weight dissolved off her chest. Suddenly it didn’t seem so dark and isolated anymore. Her initial resolve returned and she was convinced she had made the right decision in fleeing to Nova Scotia.
Jenny wildly flailed her arms to attract the occupants’ attention—no way was she going to let them pass. Headlights flashed over her and the truck slowed. She could not make out who was inside, though it was obvious she had been seen. But the truck drove past without stopping. Jenny shouted and again waved her arms in near panic. Finally, forty yards down the road, the brake lights came on and the truck pulled over to the shoulder. Jenny frantically ran toward the truck and noticed a small lamb looking at her from the boxed-in back.
The driver turned on the interior light, rolled down the window, and looked back at her. An immediate and undeniable jolt of electricity surged through her body. She visibly trembled. And so did he. Jenny saw it, plainly and unmistakably. The spark between them was so obvious that for a moment they both seemed embarrassed.
The man before Jenny was handsome. Brutally handsome. As fine-looking a man as she had ever seen. He opened the door and stepped out, highly surprised to have encountered a woman under these circumstances. Over six feet tall with an engaging face, he was the type of man women immediately notice. Wearing only a T‑shirt and blue jeans, he was much bigger and more muscular than anyone she had ever dated, but there was something powerfully elemental and sexy about him...But then again, he was a man. One of them.
It started to pour and the gorgeous man gazed at her, his eyes locked, almost as if caught in a magic spell. He was literally unable to look away from Jenny, and she could not turn away from him, even though the rain rolled down her cheeks and the wind tossed her hair.
“Thank heavens you stopped!” Jenny cried breathlessly. “For a moment I thought you didn’t see me.”
Feeling a bit like Nancy Drew, thrilled at trying to solve a mystery, that mystery called ‘man,’ Jenny strolled to the front door and lightly knocked. No answer. She knocked louder. Again, no answer. She looked in a window and when she didn’t see Devon, she leisurely walked around back. One song ended and then the sweet sound of Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalise,” one of Jenny’s favorite classical pieces, wafted through the air. She strolled to the riverbank and saw a portable stereo at the top of some old rock steps. From behind thick bushes that totally concealed her presence, she spotted Devon through a gap in the foliage. He was standing chest-deep in the moonlit river, washing his hair. She was about to call out, but she opted instead to watch him for a while.
Looking at him made her smile. His head was covered in shampoo and he hummed as he rubbed it into his hair. Jenny couldn’t help but think of White Sands Beach and the otter who had lain on his back contentedly scratching his belly. Devon dipped his head underwater, then zealously rubbed his hands through it. He dipped his head again and, satisfied his hair was now clean, cupped his hands, gathered water into them and splashed it on his face. Then he submerged his head and when he lifted it, he spurted water out of his mouth like a statue in a water fountain. It was all Jenny could do not to burst out laughing, but she was so entertained by the show that she did not want it to end.
Finally Devon finished and slowly walked toward the shore. He paused in waist-deep water, grabbed a towel he had left on an overhanging branch, and continued forward. Jenny could see his entire upper body now. She would have turned away except that his form was magnetic and it attracted her eyes with irresistible appeal. Firm and muscular, his body looked like a work of art, like something Michelangelo might have carved. Whenever he moved, muscles twitched. He was thick, bulky, yet incredibly sure and adept on his feet. He looked like a dancer and a weightlifter rolled into one, a man’s man. The sight of him fascinated her and she could no more remove her eyes than the hypnotized can resist a command. She drank him in, swirled him in her mouth, studied every square inch.
Jenny wondered, for the briefest moment, what it would be like to be in the river with him. Would she feel the need to touch him, to have that handsome man hold her in his strong arms? He moved forward again and she prepared to call out that she was here on business. Watching him move toward her had nothing to do with business, however, but everything to do with pleasure, and she hesitated in alerting him to her presence.
Jenny couldn’t help wondering what he would look like in the nude. Then, suddenly, a shock jolted her system. He was naked! Naked as a jaybird. He stood, exposed in the moonlight, but hidden by the geography and visible only to her. With the wharf obscuring him, and the trees on the bank enveloping him, he was standing in a super private sanctuary. But she could clearly see his entire body as he stood knee-deep in the river. Jenny felt guilty at not alerting him, but she could not, and she gazed at the beautiful male form bathed in light. He was so big, so powerful. He was unlike any man she had ever seen, any man she had ever imagined. Pure, raw strength, handsome to a fault, sexy.
He dried his upper body, then his legs. Jenny watched, fascinated, as he slowly slid the soft white material over his thick, long cock. She unconsciously licked her lips and felt a tingle in her clitoris. To her surprise, and delight, as he dried himself, he closed his eyes and started to roll his head back and forth. Instantly Jenny realized he was about to engage in the most private of acts, and she knew she had to leave, had to respect his right to be alone for what he was about to do...but she could not leave. Could not! Her eyes would not let her.
Devon started to stroke himself, completely certain he was alone and unseen, but Jenny watched him with her eyes wide open. Devon moved his hips and moaned, bringing himself to full erection in seconds, a full ten inches of thick cock horn, the huge head swelled and his sack full of heavy cream. Jenny’s heart pounded and she breathed shallowly, but still she could not turn away. Devon tossed the towel aside and held onto an imaginary woman, holding her as if they were dancing. Suddenly they were making love and Jenny felt a tremendous, overpowering sense of guilt. She had to leave, absolutely had to, but she could not.
Devon thrust his hips back and forth, his big, hard cock swinging, slapping his belly and jiggling like some kind of heavy wand. He was now in full heat, blinded by lust for an imaginary lover. It was a brutally frank moment, one in which he was acting out his most private and intimate fantasy to an audience of one, an audience who had never been more absorbed in a performance. Devon then suddenly started breathing hard and wrapped his right hand around his huge cock and started to pull. Jenny unconsciously held her hand to her lips, but her eyes never blinked. Devon thrust his hips forward like a piston, as if he was now making love to a woman from behind. Jenny rubbed her legs together, her panties dampening.