by Megan Hart
“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
owered lashes and a vamping grin.
“Hello, handsome.”
Lillian?
Inside him, Rolly stirred. Jon gritted his teeth. His shoulders straightened.
“Mel. Don’t.”
She moved a step or two closer, hips swaying. “Why not? Afraid you can’t resist me?”
“That’s…yes.” It was the truth.
She paused. “So don’t.”
“I have to.”
“Why?” she cried, and this was clearly all Mel, nothing of any other woman, spirit or otherwise, in her at all. She put her hands on her hips. Her chest heaved in that excuse of a dress, and one strap slipped off her shoulder.
He wanted to kiss her there. And on the slope of her breasts. The hollow at her throat.
“Why can’t you just do what you want to do?” Mel said in a shivering, furious voice. “What are you so afraid of, Jon?”
“That it’s not really you who wants me!” He shouted loud enough to send her back a step or two. He moved toward her, fists clenched, and stopped himself to take a long, slow breath. Then another. Refusing to let Rolly take control of this in any way and wishing he could blame the spirit for all of it.
“You think it’s just her.” Mel’s lip curled. “Lillian. You think I’m all hot and bothered because of some ghost who’s too damned stupid to just move on, is that it?”
The mirror over the fireplace shattered as if a fist had struck the center of it, cracks radiating outward. A few pieces fell and shattered on the mantel. Jon jumped, but Mel didn’t. Her gaze flickered in that direction, but only briefly before settling on his again.
“Some dumb bitch,” she said evenly, “who can’t figure out how to let go.”
“It’s not just her,” Jon said. “It’s him, too.”
Mel lifted her chin. “Why’s it so hard for you to believe that maybe they’re the side effect, not us? Why can’t you believe that we’re just meant for each other, and they don’t matter?”
“Because,” Jon said as Rolly’s familiar pain started to twist in his gut. “They do matter.”
Mel moved forward and cupped his face before he could move away from her. Her gaze searched his. Her grip was gentle, but she kept him still when he tried to move away.
“So do we,” she said, and kissed him again.
* * *
There was being too proud to beg, and pride that went before a fall, and pride that went along with prejudice. Mel’d had enough of all three. Fuck pride. It was worthless if it meant she didn’t even try.
He didn’t kiss her back at first, but that didn’t mean she thought she’d made a mistake. She was going to do her best to make this happen, however it could, and everything else be damned. She couldn’t force him to want her, but she could damn well do her best to make him believe that she wanted him. Mel, not Lillian. Jon, not Rolly.
She pressed her body against his and felt the heat of his erection against her belly. At least there was that. She nudged open his mouth with hers to find his tongue and sucked it gently. That did it. Jon moaned. His arms went around her, restlessly roaming her back. He cupped her ass, grinding her against him as the kiss deepened.
There was no turning back. Her fingers fumbled with his belt and zipper. She found him hot and hard in her hand a few moments later. His groan sent a thrill through her. When she pulled him free, stroking, Jon’s kiss stuttered on her mouth. He bent his head to her neck, hips pushing forward.
“I want you, Jon,” Mel whispered into his ear. She anchored him to her with a hand at the back of his neck. She licked his earlobe, loving how it made him shiver. “Me. Mel. I want you.”
He didn’t answer with words, just another low groan. His hands inched up her dress. When he found she was bare beneath it, he shuddered. His cock pulsed in her hand as she stroked. He mouthed her neck. His teeth pressed. Mel gasped when he bit at her skin, not hard enough to break or bruise it. Just right.
Closer, closer, she pulled him, shifting her weight on the table so that she could ease him inside her. Everything around them had gone hazy and wavery, but she didn’t care. Blinking, she focused on the man in front of her, not the shifting landscape of her apartment. The quality of the light changed, going from her modern Ikea chandelier to a soft glow from a fixture hung with crystal pendants. Mel ignored it.
Fuck Lillian and Rolly.
This was here. This was now. Mel and Jon, together, and whatever happened after that…well, they’d deal with it.
Jon hesitated when the tip of his cock brushed her heat, but Mel wriggled, opening for him. Wet, slick, her body invited him in, and with a groan, Jon didn’t resist. He looked into her eyes. He was there with her, she saw that much. He creased his brow as he thrust inside, but it was the look of a man consumed with pleasure. God, she loved the way that looked.
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form the words. It felt too good, having him fill her. When he pushed harder, rocking the table, Mel hooked her legs around his hips and clung to his shoulders. Urging him deeper.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Like that.”
Jon moved, no more hesitation. No fumbling. Smooth, steady strokes that hit his pelvis against her clit with every thrust, though after just a few he slid a hand between them to press her in perfect time. Just the way she liked it. It felt so good she let her head fall back, giving up to it. Only when he muttered her name did she look at him.
Staring into his eyes, Mel felt her body tighten around him. The pleasure spiraled up and up, coiling. Jon gasped and bit his lower lip, eyes closing for a second as his smooth thrusts became a little ragged. His body tensed. He was holding back.
“Let go,” she said.
He shook his head. “No…not until you…”
“What a gentleman.” Mel’s laugh skipped like a stone across water, rippling and become a series of jagged sighs. She was so close it took only another press of his knuckle against her to tip her over.
She’d always thought of orgasms like cresting waves, and she rode this one now. Up, up, swelling with it until she had to tip over into ecstasy. She came, hard, with a hoarse cry.
Jon opened his eyes, slowing his thrusts. He smiled. He kissed her. She ran her fingers through his hair and let herself dissolve into sated laughter.
Around them, tension swirled. Jon’s expression hardened, mouth going tight. He gripped her shoulder too tight. Thrust inside her just a little too hard.
Mel smelled lilac.
* * *
This last time, oh, if she’d known it would be the last, how would she have made it different? Would she have checked his pockets? Would she have let her Rolly betray her again and again?
“Bastard! You goddamned bastard!” The slap flies. His head rocks back.
He catches her hand before she can hit him again.
His fingers go around her throat, squeezing. Squeezing.
Lillian finds the knife.
* * *
Jon blinked away the scene in front of him. Mel stared at him with wide eyes, her legs still wrapped around his hips. Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. When he tried to pull away, she shook her head and pulled him down to kiss her.
“No,” she said. “We are more important than this. We matter. They don’t.”
Being inside her had felt so good, so right, that when her hips moved against him he could only move in response. Feeling her flutter around his cock had nearly sent him over, but he’d learned a lot about self-control over the past few years. He couldn’t let himself go. He had to hang on.
“Let go,” she whispered again.
“I can’t,” Jon said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Mel shifted and did something magic with her body that had him sweating with pleasure. “You won’t.”
“You can’t know that.” He groaned.
“I know it,” she promised. “Make love to me, Jon. Let go. I want you to come inside me.”
The words undid him. He moved faster. Behind, around, inside them, th
e lingering spirits poked and battered, trying to get in, but Jon focused on Mel’s face. Her smile. The way she tipped her face to his to kiss him. The feeling of her hand on the back of his neck. Her body around his.
* * *
Lillian takes the knife, heavier than expected. You have to get close to use a knife. Close like a lover. First she’ll use it on him. Then herself. Because she loves him, her Rolly, she loves him way too much to let anyone else have him.
Ever.
* * *
Mel hadn’t been thinking about another orgasm, but when the pleasure started building again she wasn’t about to fend it off. She kissed Jon on the mouth, hard, catching his lower lip in her teeth until he looked into her eyes. Lillian was there. Rolly, too. Mel felt them both. When she put out a hand on the table to keep herself steady as Jon thrust inside her, she touched the steak knife she’d so carefully laid out earlier.
Jon shuddered and shook his head. Sweat had broken out along his brow. “You feel so good.”
“I want you to feel good,” she said into his ear, holding him close. Rocking her hips. With every thrust, she eased closer and closer to climax, breathless with it. Incapable of thought beyond how good it felt. How right.
“I want you to come,” she told him.
Jon still held back, the tension of his efforts evident in the straining muscles of his shoulders and how hard he gripped her. “What if—”
Her fingers curled around the knife.
“Let go,” she urged him again, as her own pleasure took over.
* * *
Lillian raises the knife. Rolly, gripping her hips, thrusts inside her and lets out a groan. He says he loves her, but she knows it’s not true. If it was, he wouldn’t do this to her, over and over.
“No more, lover,” she tells him.
The knife comes down.
* * *
Once more, Rolly’s vision overlaid the reality in front of him. Lillian. Mel. The dishes on the table rattled as Jon moved. Lillian had a knife. So did Mel.
“Let go,” she urged him.
And he did.
Jon pushed. The pulse filled him, up and out, and with it came the same sense of relief and release as orgasm. He pushed at Rolly. He pushed at Lillian. But he focused on Mel—the arches of her brows, the silken fall of her blond hair, her parted mouth wet and slightly bruised from his kiss. She looked at him with those blue, blue eyes, and Jon got lost there.
