Breaking Dawn

Chapter 10

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple working. "I make your toes curl?"

She nodded. "Would you like me to come in with you?"

His brows drew together. "Why would you want to?"

She told him honestly, "Because right now you are my favorite man in the entire world."

A half-naked ghost with high, plump br**sts wants to get into the shower with him.

And he has no idea how to go about processing this. He starts sweating, his teeth grinding. He has no experience like this to draw from.

He was born and raised in a conservative culture. As an adult, he's never been wholly unclothed in front of a woman, certainly has never washed in front of one.

Yet this female is standing before him, clad in only her hose, garters, and a pair of wicked panties. They're black and lined with a tight band of jet lace that cuts up across the generous curves of her ass. Her br**sts are proudly bared.

She's acting as natural as if he and she were wed. I don't even know her last name.

Unable to help himself, he rakes another hungry gaze over her body. She's surprisingly defined, her legs taut and strong. The lines of her form are lithe - a dancer's body, with softly flaring h*ps and a tiny waist he can span with his hands.

And those br**sts...

He shakes his head. She's too pretty. A half-naked beauty dropped into his shower? Into his life? This simply isn't in keeping with his fortunes over the centuries. "I'm still contemplating if you are real." When she grins, he curses his clumsiness with this. He wishes for Zayn's ease with women - he never has before, even when he'd recognized at a young age that he lacked charm.

"Do you often see things that you don't think are real?"

"No...only you. The rest I know are hallucinations, I know this." But if she is real... "Come in. If you wish to."

Her gaze holds his as she drifts toward him. She has sultry blue eyes, knowing eyes. Hypnotic. He finds his body arching toward her of its own will.

She floats into the stall with him. Inside, the water doesn't wet her, instead sparking off her like minuscule electrical flares, seeming like glitter.

A dream - an erotic one. Can he really be na**d with an almost nude dancer? Enjoy it.

Bloody how? He can't feel lust. He isn't erect. And... she's a ghost!

That doesn't seem to be stopping her. He can sense her energy, as strong as it's ever felt to him. It radiates off her in waves, slingshotting from her to him and back again.

"Le dément has a magnificent body, so strong, virile."

He feels that increasingly familiar heat on the back of his neck. "Do not call me that again."

"So you speak French among all your many languages?" When he replies with a curt nod, she says, "Well, what shall I call you, then? Harry the Mad? Harry the Crazed? Or I could call you my vampire?" The last one made his body shiver. She noticed. "I think you like that."

How can she read him so well?

She murmurs, "If you can hear me, and you can see me, I wonder what else is possible. Perhaps I can... maybe I can try to feel you?" The yearning in her voice staggers him. "I feel nothing, you see. My hands pass through everything."

She can't touch, and he can't get erect. But at least he still experiences pleasure - the tang of blood on his tongue, the exhilaration of a bracing wind.