A Ghost on Two Wheels

A Ghost on Two Wheels

by Bebe Balocca

NOOK Book(eBook)

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A Ghost on Two Wheels by Bebe Balocca

An accident tore us apart, but I can't live without Michael. I'll find a way to love him, even if it's the death of me…

Ivy and Michael, her tattoo artist boyfriend, share a timeless, passionate love. Both work from home, so their breaks are spent together, making love and going for erotically-charged motorcycle rides through the countryside. They plan to make their bond official with name tattoos over each other's hearts, but fate and a reckless driver bring their world to a crashing halt.

At first, Ivy is devastated by grief, but she finds that she can make contact with Michael once more. She can touch him in his phantom form and feel his ghostly caresses. Across the veil of death, their lovemaking is different, but every bit as heated. Their after-death journey is mysterious, romantic, and undeniably erotic.

Ivy and Michael learn that sexual pleasure remains after life ends, and that death doesn't stand in the way of true love.

Reader Advisory: This story contains anal sex.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781781841068
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group Ltd
Publication date: 10/22/2012
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 42
File size: 210 KB
Age Range: 18 Years

About the Author

I live in a teeny-tiny town in the southeastern United States, surrounded by rolling hills and lots of cows. My house is brimming with my rowdy sons, hot husband, and more pets than I can shake a stick at. When I close my eyes, though, I’m in a white stucco villa on the Mediterranean, sipping a Pimm’s Royal and watching the turquoise waves crash at my feet. Next to my hot husband, naturally.

I love to read and write erotic romance, fantasy, and sci-fi because of the escape factor: I want to leave the ordinary and travel somewhere exotic, unusual, and sexually-charged in a book. My characters are thrust into unpredictable situations, and they respond with humor, open-mindedness, and loads of scorching passion. I hope you enjoy escaping with me into the sultry world of erotic romance.

Read an Excerpt

"Barney!" I lean out of the back door and holler up into the meadow. "Barney, damn it, come on in!" As I have for the past several days, I hope to see him dart out from our rickety barn, his namesake and his favourite haunt, and plummet down the gentle slope to our back door like a ginger lightning bolt. Barney enjoys nothing more than lurking in that dusty old barn, chasing field mice and sparrows and lizards, then resting after his hunts in my lap.

We inherited Barney when we bought this old farmhouse ten years ago. After we moved in, we told Mack Grayden, the owner, that we'd found a cat in the barn.

Mack had shrugged and spat on the ground. "Just an old barn cat," the crusty old man had grunted. "And I got no use for him where I'm going. Keep him or call animal control to pick him up, don't matter none to me. Reckon you might want a good mouser, though. Keep mice from gettin' into the place."

We decided to give the unnamed mouser a trial period. I set out dry cat food in a dish, and the cat acted like it was wild salmon on a bed of caviar. Apparently Mack had never fed the cat at all and had just left him to fend for himself with mice and lizards and whatever else he could catch. The poor, scrawny thing was just skin and bones. We fattened him up, got him checked out at the vet, and invited him into the house. Our hand-me-down cat proved to be a well-adjusted and contented pet, as well as a very, very good eater. He'd rolled with the punches delivered by his neglectful previous owner Mack, and was more than ready for the next phase of his life. Now Barney, as we named the orange barn cat, is part of our family, a huge, tough tomcat who sleeps at the foot of our bed and curls next to me while I write, as loyal as any dog.

I wait and I hope, but there's no lightning bolt this morning.

Michael comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "I'm afraid he's gone, babe," he says quietly, and plants a kiss on my neck. "He's been missing for six days now."

Fear stings the back of my throat and I swallow painfully. I just can't bring myself to believe it. "He's been gone for a week before and come back, hungry and filthy and covered in burrs. He's probably just out hunting," I insist. I cup my hands around my mouth and shout once more into the air. "Barney! Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!"

Michael leaves me to my yelling and walks to the coffee pot.

I shut the back door with a sigh. "You think he's really gone for good?" I ask quietly.

Michael pours two cups of coffee and sloshes some cream in the mug intended for me. He hands it to me and answers carefully. "Barney's an old cat, Ivy," he says quietly. "And he was starting to move pretty slowly. He's had a good, long life, but he may have gone off to die if he felt the time was near. Outdoor cats do that sometimes, you know." He sees me bite my lip and quickly adds, "But I could be wrong. He could show up any minute, begging for some Fancy Feast and a nap in your lap. What do I know, right?" He smiles at me over his coffee cup, blue eyes glinting warmly.

Two months into his biannual buzz-cut has given a nicely tousled look to his wavy black hair. I love how he can't be bothered with frequent haircuts, yet manages to look devastatingly hot with his hair at every length from shaved to shaggy. I think that now is my favourite hair length on him, though-long enough to run my fingers through his short waves, and still short enough to stand up on its ends.

"Wanna go for a ride this afternoon?" Michael asks. "I've got an appointment this morning, but we could get a nice little putt in after lunch. It's going to be gorgeous today. I've got the Chief waxed and ready to ride." He clears his throat before continuing. "I thought today would be a good day to get started on our new tats. Joe and Chloe have time for both of us at two o'clock."

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