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What do you do when a ghost mistakes you for his wife?
Furious with her boyfriend, journalist Nikki O'Connell visits Paris while reassessing their relationship.
What she doesn't need complicating matters is the ghost of Claude Debussy crawling into her bed
every night. Yet that's exactly what happens when the dead composer believes Nikki is his wife.
Journalists deal in facts, not in the supernatural, and it's that guiding rule that forces Nikki to doubt
the possibility her rented apartment is haunted. Instead, she's confronted with the possibility that
she's inherited the insanity that destroyed her mother.
Chapter 1
“Nikki...Nikki, please don’t throw that!” Jonathan Greene shouted, ducking to avoid being struck by a crystal vase. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Ironic question coming from the likes of you,” she fired verbally at him this time, eyes lit with anger and nostrils flaring as she stood there, hands on hips, panting.
Her face turned a bright crimson, nearly as red as her hair, while her blue eyes darkened to the color of thunder clouds. Jonathan had never seen her so angry. His hopes of placating her with some good-old-fashioned psychology had been doused by the cold water from the vase.
“You knew how much that damn awards dinner meant to me,” she shot her words at him like staccato bullets between ragged breaths. “I was counting on you to be there.”
“And I would have been if I’d not had a last minute emergency to tend to.”
“Lately, you always have some kind of emergency,” she countered, glaring at him.
“I’m a doctor, for God’s sake.”
“You’re a psychologist. It’s not like you’re an obstetrician on call.”
Jonathan laughed at her glib reply. “I’m there to save suicidal women, so they live to have babies.”
“Don’t you dare use my own words against me!”
Jonathan moved closer to her, wanting to enfold her in his arms and defuse her anger with kisses.
“Stop right there! Don’t you dare come any closer, either,” she said, fending him off with outstretched palms.
“Can’t we talk this out civilly?” Jonathan tried to reason with her.
“No!” She shook her head, her long red hair whipping about her face like angry tongues of fire. “Just get out of here and leave me alone.”
Jonathan made one final attempt to reach her, but she shook her head. “No! What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?”
He sighed, conceding there was no way he’d be able to reach Nikki tonight. She was too upset. Perhaps he’d speak to her tomorrow, after she’d had the chance to cool off. He grabbed his trench coat off the arm of the chair and headed toward the door. Opening it, he turned to say something, but she screamed, “Get out!”
As Jonathan closed the door behind him, he heard her yell, “Damn you, Jonathan!” The words were punctuated by the sound of glass shattering against the door.
* * * *
Chapter 1
“Nikki...Nikki, please don’t throw that!” Jonathan Greene shouted, ducking to avoid being struck by a crystal vase. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Ironic question coming from the likes of you,” she fired verbally at him this time, eyes lit with anger and nostrils flaring as she stood there, hands on hips, panting.
Her face turned a bright crimson, nearly as red as her hair, while her blue eyes darkened to the color of thunder clouds. Jonathan had never seen her so angry. His hopes of placating her with some good-old-fashioned psychology had been doused by the cold water from the vase.
“You knew how much that damn awards dinner meant to me,” she shot her words at him like staccato bullets between ragged breaths. “I was counting on you to be there.”
“And I would have been if I’d not had a last minute emergency to tend to.”
“Lately, you always have some kind of emergency,” she countered, glaring at him.
“I’m a doctor, for God’s sake.”
“You’re a psychologist. It’s not like you’re an obstetrician on call.”
Jonathan laughed at her glib reply. “I’m there to save suicidal women, so they live to have babies.”
“Don’t you dare use my own words against me!”
Jonathan moved closer to her, wanting to enfold her in his arms and defuse her anger with kisses.
“Stop right there! Don’t you dare come any closer, either,” she said, fending him off with outstretched palms.
“Can’t we talk this out civilly?” Jonathan tried to reason with her.
“No!” She shook her head, her long red hair whipping about her face like angry tongues of fire. “Just get out of here and leave me alone.”
Jonathan made one final attempt to reach her, but she shook her head. “No! What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?”
He sighed, conceding there was no way he’d be able to reach Nikki tonight. She was too upset. Perhaps he’d speak to her tomorrow, after she’d had the chance to cool off. He grabbed his trench coat off the arm of the chair and headed toward the door. Opening it, he turned to say something, but she screamed, “Get out!”
As Jonathan closed the door behind him, he heard her yell, “Damn you, Jonathan!” The words were punctuated by the sound of glass shattering against the door.
* * * *