"We could give our guests mittens," he said, turning onto West Street.

She just looked at him for a moment. "No."

"Okay, so it has to be warm," he agreed. "April is warm."

"April still has snowstorms," she said. "October is lovely. Early October is usually warm and the colors are beautiful."

Bradley looked over at her. "You're serious about waiting that long, aren't you?"

She nodded. "It takes that long," she said.

Bradley turned away from the fast food restaurants and in a few minutes pulled into Mary's driveway and shut off the engine.

"What are we doing here?" Mary asked. "I thought you were hungry."

"We are going inside and figuring this out," he replied, "if that's all right with you."

"Sure," she said. "Ian went into Chicago to meet with some friends, so we can talk without being disturbed."

He followed her into the house and hung his coat in the closet.

"I think we've forgotten the most important item on our list," he said, moving to the fireplace and placing a log on the grate.

"I don't think so," she began, "dress, venue, food... Oh, yes, the church. We need to find a church. We could talk..."

He held up his hand to stop her. "May I present my case first?"

She nodded. "Of course."

He guided her to the couch. "Why don't you just take a seat for a moment?" he suggested.

"Bradley, what are you..."

"I'm presenting my case," he interrupted.

She sighed loudly and flopped back on the couch. "Fine."

He tamped down the fire, so it burned warm and low. He turned down all the lights, except for a lamp that glowed with a golden hue. Then he walked over to the stereo and selected music that was soft and romantic.

"Bradley?" she asked, her voice a little tentative.

He turned from the stereo and met her eyes. "The most important item," he said, his voice low and determined, as he slowly walked over to her, "is not the food or the place or the church."

He held out his hand. "Dance with me, Mary."

"What are you..."

"Dance with me."

She stood up and he brought her close, slowly guiding her in a small circle in the middle of the room. "Relax," he whispered into her hair, pulling her closer so she could rest her cheek against his chest.

They swayed together to the gentle strains of jazz, their bodies brushing as they moved to the music. She inhaled his scent and felt a rush of heat pool below her stomach. He slipped his hand slowly up and down her back, caressing her to the beat of the song. She slipped her hands up his chest and around his neck, nestling against his shoulder. He bent his head and softly kissed her neck. She shivered and felt the heat grow.

His lips traveled slowly up her neck, feasting on the delicate skin below her hairline and her heart beat faster. "Bradley," she whispered softly. "I feel..."

He leaned away from her for a moment and she saw the hunger in his eyes. "You feel wonderful," he murmured, "and you taste even better."

He lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her slowly and tenderly, exploring her mouth until she melted against him with a soft moan. "Mary, we should talk..."

She grabbed hold of his shirt and pushed him against the wall, her mouth eagerly covering his. "I don't want to talk anymore," she breathed into his mouth. "Just kiss me."

He wrapped his arms around her and turned them again, b.u.mping her against the wall. Bradley froze for a moment. Would she have a flashback?

She moaned and pressed her lips against his. A quick flare of relief went through him and he happily plundered her mouth with his own.

Her body was churning with hot liquid hunger. She had felt pa.s.sion before, but this was different, more intense. She wanted to do more, go further. She wanted be closer, so much closer to him. She wanted... no she needed... more than she understood.

"Bradley," she begged, moaning against his mouth. "Please."

Grabbing hold of his shirt, she pulled and then froze at the sound of fabric tearing.

"Well, d.a.m.n," Bradley exhaled slowly.

She couldn't lift her head. Couldn't face him. What had happened to her?

"Mary?" he asked tentatively.

She shook her head.

He took a deep breath, gathered her into his arms and tenderly stroked her back, his breathing still uneven and rough. "I'm sorry, Mary," he panted, "I really didn't mean to get... to go... so far."

Burrowing against his chest, she shook her head. "You? I just ripped your shirt."

She could feel his chuckle vibrate in his chest. "Yes, you did," he said, "one of my favorite shirts by the way."

"Oh, Bradley," she said apologetically. "I'll buy you a new one."

"h.e.l.l, I'm going to have this one framed."

She tentatively lifted her head. "Framed?"

"Do they bronze shirts?"

"Bradley!"

Placing his finger under her chin, he held her so she had to meet his eyes. "I was trying to make a point," he admitted. "But things went... overboard."

"I don't understand," she said. "What kind of point?"

He shook his head. "This feeling that you just experienced. The overwhelming feeling?"

She nodded. "The shirt-ripping, out-of-control feeling?"

"Yeah, that would be the one," he agreed with a smile.

"I am so embarra.s.sed," she said, pulling away from him. "I don't know what came over me."

He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. "Love came over you," he said. "Love mixed with pa.s.sion. There is nothing to be embarra.s.sed about. But, you... no, we promised to wait until after we are married to satisfy those urges. And every day we are together it's going to get more difficult. Because the more our love grows, the more we are going to want to be together. It's natural and it's beautiful, but it's also, as you know, very powerful."

"I probably could have stopped," she argued. "It probably wouldn't have gone much further..."

Sighing, she shook her head. "Okay, I admit, I was pretty much ready to rip all of your clothes off."

He choked. "Mary, you are not helping matters here."

"So, waiting a year is a bad idea?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm a guy..."

"I think we've established that," she interrupted.

"What I meant is that although I care a great deal about marrying you, I really don't care what colors we have, what we eat or, quite frankly, who comes to the wedding," he admitted. "As long as you're there and you're happy. But, I know these things are really important to you. And if you really want to wait a year, in order to plan your perfect wedding, we'll have to make some rules, limit our alone time. Just to be sure..."

She placed her hand on his cheek. "You'd do that?"

He shook his head, confused. "Of course I would. Mary, I love you."

She leaned forward and gently kissed his lips.

"June," she said. "I always wanted a June wedding."

"Early June?" he asked with a grin, lifting up the ripped collar on his shirt.

Laughing, she nodded. "We'll see."

"Perfect," he said, placing a quick kiss on her forehead. "And now, I'd better go."

He stood up and took his coat from the closet.

Mary followed him. "Do you have to go so soon?"

He slipped his coat on and turned back to her. "Oh, yes, I have to go," he said, and then he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her with all of the pa.s.sion still burning inside him.

Heat spiraled inside her and she felt all of the urges from just moments before rekindle. Before things got out of control, Bradley broke off the kiss and stepped away from her.

"Good night, Mary," he breathed heavily.

She held on to the collar of his jacket, so he couldn't leave. "Yes?" he asked.

"Early. Very early June," she exhaled.

Chapter Five.

The next morning Mary inserted the key into the lock of the front door of her office and hesitated. The last time she stepped foot in her office she had been nearly blown up by a bomb planted on her toilet. The damage had been extensive enough to require her to work from home for several weeks while her s.p.a.ce was renovated.

She took a deep breath, pushed the door open and relaxed when the little bell above the door rang its familiar welcome. She looked around. "Wow, this place looks better than it ever has," she said. "It should have been blown up years ago."

The walls were painted in a soft sage green and the new woodwork was a complimentary crisp white. The carpeting had a botanical print with varying shades of sage green on dark wheat-colored background. Her new desk was oak and it matched the bookcases that lined one wall. She could feel the tension slip away in the peaceful surroundings.

Dropping her briefcase and purse on the desk, she walked over to the bathroom. It too had incurred a major renovation, which was, Mary decided, a good idea since pieces of the toilet had been on the other side of the office last time she saw it.

The bath now held a small shower stall, a sink and a toilet. The color scheme from the office was carried through in the bath, except for a flash of black next to the toilet seat. Mary cautiously moved forward to examine it. She peered over the toilet and laughed when she saw the phone installed on the wall. A sticky note posted on the phone, with Stanley's distinctive handwriting, read, "Just in case of emergencies, Missy."

She grinned, pulled the note off and sat down on the closed toilet seat.

"Testing it out, sister?"

Her heart jumped as she turned and looked through the man standing outside her bathroom. He had probably been in his sixties when he died. His greying hair was styled in a crew cut and the face below was wide, with a strong and stubborn jaw. His nose looked like it had been broken a number of times and his broad grin advertised the wide gap between his upper teeth.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

He nodded toward the toilet. "Normally when you test one of those, you open the lid."

She looked down at the toilet and quickly stood up. "I wasn't testing it," she said. "I was just sitting down for a moment."

"Yeah, you'll do," he said, nodding with satisfaction.

"I'll do what?" she asked.

"You're a fighter, kid," he said. "You don't back down. You don't even sweat when you see a ghost."

The ghost slid out of the way, as Mary walked into her office area. "So, you know you're a ghost?"

"Yeah," he replied. "So does that make me a spiritual genius?"

Chuckling, she nodded. "You want a certificate?"

He laughed loudly. "Yeah, you're pretty feisty."

She sat in her chair and turned to him, her pen ready to take notes. "What's your story?"