Reawakened Passions Read online

“Yes.”

  “She’s Lillian.” Mel pointed upstairs. “They’re a messed-up pair of assholes.”

  Jon’s laugh hurt his throat a little bit. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

  “Well. I want her gone. I love my apartment, and I’m tired of her screwing around with me. Can you make her go?”

  Jon nodded after a second. “Probably. It depends.”

  “You felt her, didn’t you? That day in my place?” Mel looked at him with curiosity. “It’s why you acted so weird, why you got out of there so fast.”

  “Yes,” Jon said. “And Rolly, he wants her, but he thinks she’s you. Or something. It’s why I did what I did.”

  “Bullshit,” Mel said evenly. “It’s not just Lillian and Rolly. They’re not around when we’re not in this building. They weren’t with us in the coffee shop, or by the river, or any of those other times we spent time together. And I liked you all those times, Jon. Maybe you didn’t like me, but I liked you. No matter what other stuff happened, that was real. It is real, Jon.”

  He cleared his throat. “I liked you. I do like you, Mel. I didn’t ever mean to make you think I didn’t.”

  She smiled. “Right. The death cock, though. I get it.”

  God, she could make him laugh. He shouldn’t. It was serious business. But the chuckle spilled out of him anyway.

  “One thing at a time,” Mel told him. “First, we need to get rid of these jerks in our apartments. And I think I know how to do it.”

  And then, she told him.

  * * *

  Mel had set the table with her grandmother’s good linen and china. Candles. She’d poured wine into antique crystal glasses she’d picked up in a thrift store, added some lovely mismatched flatware she’d found in the same place. It looked good.

  She looked good too; she wasn’t even going to lie. In the mirror over the fireplace, she stroked her hair into place and checked her lipstick, turning her face this way and that. Daring that bitch Lillian to make an appearance.

  The mirror showed only Mel’s face.

  She wore a drop-waist dress with spaghetti straps, the fabric clingy and sheer over a matching slip. Stockings and a garter belt. No panties. She’d picked her clothes as carefully as she’d chosen the menu.

  Everything was as perfect as she could make it. Now all she needed was her date. As the clock ticked past the hour one minute, then another, her stomach sank. He was going to bail on her. After everything that had happened, everything they’d talked about, Jon wasn’t going to show.

  At the slow, gentle rap on her door, Mel jumped. Gooseflesh humped her skin—a goose walking over her grave. Her nipples peaked too, and that had nothing to do with ghosts or graves, no matter what Jon thought. This was all about her reaction to him..

  “Hi.” She stepped aside to let him in.

  He’d been hiding the flowers behind his back; now he held them out, a small bouquet of daisies and black-eyed Susans it looked as if he’d plucked from one of the front garden beds. That was better than any dozen roses could’ve been. Maybe this wasn’t hopeless, after all.

  “Thanks.” She took them and bent her head to breathe them in—the sharp, almost tangy scent welcome because it was nothing like the ever-present smell of lilac she’d come to hate. When she looked up, Jon was smiling at her. Just a little, but it was better than nothing.

  “Something smells great.”

  “Stroganoff,” she said.

  Awkward. Two people who’d shared a lot and now had nothing to say…she hated it. “Let me put these in some water, okay? Do you want something to drink? I’m having wine, but I made iced tea.”

  “I’ll have a glass of wine.”

  She looked at him as he followed her into the kitchen. “Really?”

  Jon nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You need to get a little drunk to have dinner with me?” She kept her voice light, unaccusing.

  “Yeah.” Jon laughed, just a little.

  It shouldn’t have struck her as being funny, but it did. Mel laughed too. Then a little louder. It felt good to laugh with him, to make this all somehow not so strange. They laughed together as if they’d never stop.

  He stopped laughing when she kissed him.

  “Mel…”

  “Forget it.” Shaking her head, Mel stepped back, careful not to look at his face. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Look at me.”

  She couldn’t. If she did, that bubble of good feeling their laughter had given her would explode. She’d probably start to cry, and she’d be damned if she gave in to tears in front of him. When he stepped in front of her to keep her from passing though, she lifted her chin. Daring him to say one damned word, make one more of those lame excuses…

  This time, he kissed her. Softly, hesitantly, as if he was afraid she’d bite him. Just the barest brush of lip on lip, the hint of his breath on her face before he pulled away to look into her eyes.

  “I wish you didn’t hate me,” Jon said.

  “Hate…hate you?” Mel backed up, but in the kitchen there was no place to go that didn’t end up with her back pressed against something. This time it was the counter by the sink. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Me, hate you. Is that what you think?”

  “I’m sorry. I should go.” Jon took a step back. “This isn’t going to work.”

  Oh, that stung. It hurt as much as the first time he’d said it, possibly more because Mel had done her level best to get past it. It hurt worse because she’d set herself up for it, inviting him here, thinking it could be anything but strained and painful. She waved a hand, but she couldn’t find the voice to say anything. Jon took another step back.

  The faint tinkle of the music box chimed. Lilac teased the air between them. Jon’s shoulders straightened, his chin went up.

  “No,” he said, but not to her. “This isn’t right. I won’t do it.”

  Then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

  * * *

  It was like looking through old-fashioned 3-D glasses with one eye at a time, only one belonged to Jon, who saw Mel’s apartment and the present, and Rolly looked through the other, seeing Lillian’s place in his own time. Two layers of vision, overlapping. Two layers of sensation.

  Disoriented, Jon got no farther than the dining room before he stumbled. He caught himself with one hand braced on the dining room table before he could fall. He knocked over a glass, which didn’t break. In Jon’s head, Rolly let out a string of curses but quieted almost at once.

  Jon knew why. He felt her behind him, didn’t have to turn around to know that Mel had followed him. His fingers curled in the lacy tablecloth, rattling the dishes.

  “Jon.”

  The low murmur tickled him. Arousal, on the other hand, tongued him. He didn’t want to look at her. If he did, he’d be lost.

  Behind him, the shush-shush of her feet on the carpet told him she was headed toward him, and he braced himself for her touch. The heat of her fingertips skimmed the back of his neck, but she didn’t touch him. She didn’t have to. He felt her touch as fully as if she’d embraced him. Or maybe it was Rolly feeling Lillian’s arms around him, her breasts pressed to his back and her mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

  “No,” he gritted out and forced himself to stand up straight. “It’s not right.”

  “Look at me,” Mel said softly. “Just turn around and look at me. Give me that courtesy, at least.”

  He didn’t want to break her heart. He didn’t want to be cruel. But this had been a terrible idea, the worst he’d ever had. He wouldn’t do this to her, use her this way. Rolly and Lillian could rot in hell or stay trapped here forever; it was all the same to him. He could move away. There’d always be other spirits who needed pushing. He could leave this one behind.

  But…he couldn’t leave Mel.

  Jon turned, expecting to see her eyes glimmering with tears. If he was lucky, maybe there’d be a sad, brave smile. Instead, Mel greeted him with l