Ghost Writer

He closed his eyes for a moment when Megan said his name. He cleared his throat. "It's been in the family for generations. I am the last." Woodrow's eyes opened and locked on hers.
She jumped at the intensity in his gaze. The word 'yes' came instantly to mind. Megan had no idea what she would have been saying yes to, knowing only that it was the right thing to say to this man. Megan lifted her hand from his arm. Normally she never had problems dealing with anyone. But this man? Everything about him affected her senses. Touching him made it both better and worse. "I'm sorry."
"For what? Death is just a door to another world just as interesting as the one we left."
That was true. Megan wasn't religious in any way but she believed there was more than just the world she knew. "Death interests you?"
"As I believe it does you," Woodrow responded. "You're a Goth. You understand the dark and the needs of one soul to commune with another, be it here or in the afterlife."
Megan's mouth dropped open. Yes, she did believe that but no one had summed it up quite like that. "You're a very unusual man, Woodrow." She liked the sound of his name on her lips. And the flash of vulnerability she saw in his eyes when she called him by name? It made her long to hold him close to her and ease whatever pain he was feeling.

Amarinda Jones believes anything is possible and sometimes just asking for the impossible will surprise someone enough that they will give it to you. Writing is like that. Put it out there and wait for a response. There is always the possibility you may fall on your arse, but after all, that's what cellulite is for. Amarinda believes in taking chances, speaking her mind and aging disgracefully. Twenty years from now she plans on being the neighborhood witch that all the kids are scared of. But then, everyone has to have a hobby.