...The idea of a ghost, even a tragic one, made the house feel…real. Solid. Time-worn but welcoming. Besides, it couldn’t be too bad; the previous owners had simply sold out, not run away screaming.

David glanced up at the painting over the fireplace again, then out the bow windows to the river. “Hope you don’t mind sharing the house, Brian. It really is a spectacular view, isn’t it?” He grabbed a pair of cotton pants from his duffel and pulled them on before moving to the small desk gracing the window area. Tomorrow he’d set this up as his personal “think-space,” far nicer than the three-by-three corner of his apartment he’d been able to spare.

He shivered. He’d also have to check the A/C vent. There was a cold spot here. It tickled his damp hair where it moved against his neck. He smoothed the locks back in place, finger-combing the mess into some semblance of order.

Soft cotton sheets welcomed his tired body and the pillow-top cradled his back. David settled with his hands clasped behind his head, gazing at fine porcelain features gentled by the twilight. Somehow looking at Brian made the house feel less empty.

“So what do you think of turning that old boathouse into a cottage? It’s close enough to the dock I could say it has a river-side view.” He yawned. “You any good at interior decoration? I could use some help.” The second yawn stretched his mouth larger than the first. He smiled at the man in the painting. “It’d be nice to have someone to share all this with. Especially someone as good-looking as you.”

It must have been the light of the rising moon through the window, but just before he drifted off he could have sworn the painting smiled back.

Share? Now that was generous. Considering the house isn’t yours! Still, that smile captivated. An impish quality definitely lingered there, but so did a hint of sadness. The pines sighed outside the windows, the sound giving voice to so many regrets. Yes, it would have been so good to have someone to share the house with. Someone who understood and, like this handsome intruder, shared his preference for men. Nice, as the interloper said.

The side of the bed gave gently, barely causing a stir in the sleeping man. “Very nice.” And perhaps that statement wasn’t just for the thought of someone companionable about the place. The cover drifted down, baring a broad, muscular chest to the moonlight. “Very nice indeed.” The pines sighed again.

The stranger stirred, sleep deepening the even breaths, one graceful hand moving to settle on a toned abdomen with its light sprinkling of dark hairs around and below the navel. The memory of the glorious body beneath those cotton pants sent a jolt of desire where Brian thought such things long done. Ah, his uninvited guest had beauty of the sort to inspire poets.

Sharp pain lanced the night. But poets died and the pines whispered the unfairness of the world.

“Do you know that sort of pain, beauty? Do you have any comprehension of truly being alone?” Moonlight and shadows traced the line of the sleeper’s generous lips, warm under cool fingertips. Living breath steamed in the chilled air. “Year upon year of isolation, building until there’s nothing but a chasm before you?” Bright drops of agony fell on the sculpted chest.

The man groaned softly, dark head turning and—kissing his fingertips? Warmth eased through the cold. “Ah, beauty, you do understand.” He bent to experience the glory of that generous mouth. Those wide lips felt so soft against his, tasting faintly of mint and maleness.

Perhaps not so uninvited after all.

But his guest was tired. Brian smoothed the covers up under that square jaw and brushed a lock of dark hair off the high forehead. After pressing a kiss to a warm cheek, he moved to gaze out the window at the silvered river in its quiet course.