Welcome Liza! I can’t wait to hear about your ghosts so let’s get right to it! 😀
I live with a ghost. An Irish fellow once offered to get rid of my ghost for me. I refused without hesitation, because a) this is her house, her brother built it for her, and b) I rather like having a ghost hanging around. She is a very nice lady, named Mrs. Martin.
Not that she told me her name. It’s just my house has only had three owners, and the only person who has died in this house is Mrs. Martin. While she’s never spoken to me, nor materialized before me, she has made her presence known in many ways.
Floorboards constantly creaked as if someone was walking on them. Doors would open, I presumed from a draft. Cabinet doors opened as well. All of these oddities I attributed to the house being 50-years-old.
But then, the throw rugs I placed in various places to protect the carpet began to move. I’ve never seen them move, but I put them in a certain spot and the next time I enter the room they are placed somewhere else. Now the creaky boards sounding like footprints took on another possibility. So I asked my neighbor if anyone had ever died in my house and discovered the original owner of my house had indeed died in her bedroom.
I thought perhaps all the walking about and opening doors was because she searched for the adorable five daughters who lived in the house before me. I told her the little girls had gone to live by the shore and she was stuck with me now. And just like that, the constant door openings and floor board creaking ceased. The rugs still move, even to this day. But otherwise, she’s pretty quiet now.
However, when my dad came to visit and I put him in her room, she got riled up. The first morning he comes in to the kitchen and asks me if I have a ghost. I admitted I did and asked him how he knew. He said he’d heard what sounded like boots slam down on the floor and then stomp over to him. Then he heard a heavy sigh and the sound of boots leaving the room.
While I’ve never seen her, one Halloween I went to the door, where a mother stood with her little monsters. She complimented me on my Halloween scene. I had no idea what she spoke of. She insisted an old woman sat at my piano playing.
I was highly insulted Mrs. Martin would show herself to strangers, but not me. She got scolded. And when the next batch of monsters arrived, I told her she could answer the door. She refused.
How does this equate to my fictional ghost, Lassier?
Well, Lassier not only materializes, but does so in a convincing manner. He can even excite his molecules sufficiently to generate the sensation of warm skin. So most of the million women he has made love to never had a clue he was a ghost.
Also, he’s much older. He was alive in the 15th century. Nor is he the only ghost in the castle. Any Durran buried in the family cemetery will return as a ghost. However, since Gar refuses to invite anyone to the castle, most of the ghosts float about as white orbs. Materializing takes a great deal of effort, and if no one is even going to notice, why bother? Only Lassier materializes daily and can do so in spectacular form.
His ghost ocelot is a bit different. You cannot see the cat, but you can feel him. And when he walks across something soft like a bed, you can see the indentations. He also has a deep resonating purr that can put you at ease.
Having a real ghost opened my eyes to all sorts of potentials, and one night I dreamed of a sexy ghost lover. The next morning I googled the matter and discovered this matter has been talked and written about since early man. So I decided to write a book with a sexy, lascivious ghost, who is treated as a real person instead of something evil or paranormal.
By Liza O’Connor
Contemporary Romance with a touch of paranormal
Two sexy English brothers. One irresistible ghost. Who would you choose as your lover?
Completely broke and with a criminal record to boot, Senna Smith is one day from eviction from her apartment when Brendon, her promiscuous roommate from London, suggests she go to England, marry him, and manage his fortune. With few other options, she agrees to an open marriage. But she’ll never, ever, have sex with him, knowing if she falls in love with him, he’ll break her heart.
As trustee of Brendon’s family fortune, there is no way Brendon’s older brother, Garrison Durran, is going to let him marry a self-professed American gold-digger. As Senna tries to embrace castle life and English society for Brendon’s sake, Gar discovers Senna is the perfect woman for him–beautiful and intelligent, kind and caring. Now, if she wasn’t already engaged to his brother…
The ancestral ghost of Durran Castle has to intervene if the Durran brothers have any chance of an heir. He can’t leave them to fix matters on their own. They are useless buggers when it comes to love. As counselor to Gar, matchmaker for Brendon, and lover to Senna, a ghost’s work is never done.
CONTENT WARNING: Allergy warning: Ghost cat in book.
Senna woke to her breast beeping. Trying to make sense of the oddity, she pushed herself up to rest on her elbows and discovered the noise came from Brendon’s wristwatch. Somehow, his hand had found its way beneath her bra during the night, and now chirped like a baby chick.
She contemplated tearing his hand off at the wrist, but he looked so angelic with his curly dark hair framing his handsome face. With a heavy sigh, she unlatched her bra and eased his hand out, then gently shook him until his face scrunched into a pained grimace.
He groaned and frowned at his noisy watch. “This is a god-awful hour to be woken up,” he said in his sexy British accent. “Never bothers me when I’m coming home at this hour.”
Senna rolled her eyes. “Speak for yourself.”
Pushing himself up, he shook his head. “Remember the second night I came around? You kept yelling at me, ‘Did I realize it was four in the morning?’ At the time, I couldn’t understand your fuss.” He groaned and scratched his scalp. “Well, I certainly understand it now. It’s bloody hell to be woken at this ungodly hour.”
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About Liza O’Connor
Liza lives in Denville, NJ with her dog, Jess. They hike in fabulous woods every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels. She loves to create interesting characters, set them loose, and scribe what happens.
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About Ghost Lover
To One Lucky Commenter, I’ll give away one copy of Worst Week Ever
What do you get when you put a hardworking, can-do middle-class young woman together with an egoistical, outrageous, billionaire boss, then throw in the worst week of disasters imaginable?
A humorous disaster romance of epic proportions.
Just leave an email address in your comment and tell me you want the book.