“Tell me not to do something, and I can’t resist.” His presence jets past my legs, dipping beneath the bar to resurface behind me, reforming into his full height. “In that case, never kiss a spirit,” he says at the base of my ear. “It might set the bar too high for poor mortal men.” I laugh. Actually, laugh. “Kissing a ghost”—I struggle to get the words out—“I might as well kiss the wind from a cart cow’s ass.”
