Ghosts of Boyfriends Past (11 page)

He was going to kiss her. It was like a compulsion, an invisible net tightening around the pair of them, tugging him closer and tangling around his thoughts until all he could think of was her. Her wild curls, conflicted eyes, soft curves and inviting lips. Somehow in the last few seconds her mouth had become the focal point of his universe.

His heart stuttered, as if it would stop beating entirely if he didn’t kiss her
right now
.

He bent his head and her hands pushing against him fell away. Her chin tipped back, her eyelids fluttering shut. For a breathless moment, he held there—she’d been running so hard and he wanted to be sure she wanted this just as badly as he did. When she didn’t stop him, he let his own eyes fall closed and bent to cover the last inch, anticipating the rich feel of her lips.

And finding nothing but air.

The slam of her front door and the snick of the lock sounded unnaturally loud in his ears. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know she was gone. Slipped right through his fingers.

“Biz?” He knocked on the door—as if she didn’t know he was standing there.

“I’m sorry, Mark,” she called through the door. “This is for your own good.”

Which was what everyone told you when they denied you something you
really
wanted.

“Let me in, honey.”

“Go get a physical.”

“A physical? Biz, I swear I’m perfectly healthy. My grandparents all lived into their nineties. I’m genetically predisposed to live forever.” Silence. “Biz. C’mon, sugar, open the door. It’s the middle of the night. I’ll get a physical tomorrow. I promise.” He thunked his forehead against the door and groaned. “Shit.”

As if that was the magic word, the lock clicked softly and the door swung silently inward. Mark grinned, sure he would see Biz standing behind the door, looking contrite or eager or
something
, but the shop was empty. He heard footsteps rushing up the stairs, but no sign of anyone who could have opened the door. He studied the lock, looking for signs of a mechanism that could open it remotely, but if there was one, it was too small for the naked eye.

Maybe it just hadn’t latched properly? But it hadn’t budged when he banged on it.

He couldn’t bring himself to care too much about the mystery right now. The door was open. How didn’t matter as much as seeing Biz again. The need to see her burned under his skin.

But he was just going to go up and apologize for coming on too strong and make sure she locked the door properly behind him on his way back out.

Really. That was it. No funny business.

Mark shut the door firmly behind him and started toward the back of the shop.

Chapter Thirteen—Interrogation a la Casanova

Biz paced restlessly from the kitchen to the library and back again, unable to settle.

She’d almost kissed Mark.

That hadn’t been part of the plan. She’d meant to explain about the curse and make sure he understood what a danger she represented to him, but instead, somewhere between her third and fourth schnapps-loaded cocoa, she’d started wanting to use the curse. Sure, she had to find the counterspell, but until she did, he wanted her and since she sure as hellfire wanted him back, she might as well enjoy a night of romance.

It had to be the Parish Cocoa.

Because if it wasn’t, then she was a pathetic, lonely spinster who was so desperate for affection she was willing to risk men’s lives just so she could get the cheap thrill of feeling pretty and special for one lousy night.

“Two
years
,” she said to the library, not caring if the ghosts were there or if she was officially a nutter talking to herself in the middle of the night.

Two years since Gabriel died and she realized her spell had become a curse. Two years of avoiding unmarried men like the plague, pushing away everyone who wanted to be close to her. Two years without a single match made because she couldn’t risk being around unattached men.

Tonight, when Mark told her the guys were all terminal, it seemed to prove their deaths weren’t
entirely
her fault. And even if Mark was already caught in the curse, she couldn’t undo it no matter what she tried, so she finally let herself enjoy it. Enjoy
him
.

Right up until the moment he’d almost kissed her.

She didn’t know which she regretted more—that she’d let it get to that point or that she’d run away before she seized her chance to get a taste of him. She’d bet the store he was a damn fine kisser. Doubtless worth the years in purgatory she’d earn by kissing him.

The floorboards groaned in the doorway. Biz didn’t turn to look. There wouldn’t be anything to see anyway. Just another ghost.

“Nice place. If the charm business ever dries up, you can always open a bookstore.”

Biz spun, the breath whooshing out of her lungs in a rush. Mark stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his front pockets, rocking on his heels as he studied the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves built into every wall.

“How did you get in here?” she asked, loving the sight of him and hating herself for it. If he was here, it was a sign, right? He was definitely cursed. Might as well live it up ’til the bitter end.

“Door was open.” His blue stare dropped from the bookcases and landed hard and hot on her, but he didn’t twitch so much as a finger in her direction. “I’m sorry about… I shouldn’t have pushed you.” He ducked his chin, the self-mocking grin tugging his lips. “I’m usually not quite that much of an ass. I don’t know why I can’t seem to leave you be.”

She wasn’t going to get a better opening. Biz took a step toward him, just a token gesture since the width of the library still separated them. “I do,” she admitted. “There’s something I’ve been trying to tell you. Something important. Though, to be honest, I haven’t been trying very hard.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” His grin quirked. “You can’t shock me. I’ve heard it all.”

She doubted he’d heard this. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

A smile split his face and he took two quick steps forward before she held up a hand to stop him.

“No. Don’t.” She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to find the clarity to make the words come out right. “You only wanted to kiss me because
I
wanted you to.”

“Is this some pheromone thing?”

She sighed. “No. It’s a magic thing.”

“Magic.” He arched a skeptical brow. “Like the witch thing.”

“Yes, a witch thing.” She took a deep breath to remind herself to breathe.
All or nothing
. “I’m a witch.” Her voice broke up a little on the last word, but considering it was the first time she’d ever said the words out loud without the shield of sarcasm, she thought she did a pretty good job of it.

Mark just smiled. “Okay.” He started toward her again.

Not exactly the reaction she’d expected.

Biz backed away, circling around the courting couch that dominated the center of the room. “I’m not kidding.”

“I didn’t think you were.” He kept advancing, a small, tolerant smile on his expressive mouth.

Anger flashed through her blood. He was
humoring
her. “I won’t be patronized. I
am
a witch. A spell-casting, charm-making, real live
witch
.”

“I’m very impressed.”

“My mother was a witch too. She died when I was a little girl, and I was raised by my grandmother—also a witch.”

He continued to stalk her in slow circles around the room, his eyes alight with wicked intent. “Fascinating.”

“From the time I was a little girl I’ve had the touch. I can sense when two people are meant to be together and sometimes I give them a little nudge toward romance. None of my couples have ever gotten divorced.”

“Impressive.”

“Then, a little over four years ago, my grandmother passed away. She left me the house and the shop, but all I could think of was how she’d left me all alone.” She bumped against a hip-high table, realizing too late she’d gotten distracted and backed toward the reading nook.

“I’m sorry.” Mark was suddenly in front of her, so close, cutting off her only avenue of escape.

Biz’s breath tangled in the back of her throat, but she pressed on. She had to tell him all of it. “Everyone I knew had someone, but I was so lonely. So that Valentine’s Day, I polished off an entire bottle of Cuervo—”

“Uh-oh,” he murmured, sliding his fingers along the base of her neck, beneath her hair. “I’ve seen what a lightweight you are. That can’t have been pretty.”

“I’d helped so many people find love. It didn’t seem fair that I was alone.” Biz swallowed around the heavy lump of remorse in her throat. “So I cast a spell. For myself. Which was the one thing I’d been told I must absolutely never do.”

He bent closer until each exhale ruffled her hair. “I love a woman with a rebellious streak…”

Little tingles began racing over her body, shooting out from the delicate brushing of his fingers against the sides of her neck. “I cast a spell to call men to the island who would love me.”

“And here I am, is that it?” He chuckled, and she felt the vibration against the sensitive shell of her ear.

“No,” she whispered. Good God, what had happened to all the oxygen in the room? How was she supposed to breathe? “Paul and Gabriel and Tony came. But the spell went wrong. Every year, on the anniversary of the day I cast it, the man who had been drawn to me died suddenly.” His lips grazed her neck just beneath her ear and electric energy shot down to her core from the touch. “It’s a curse, Mark.”

“Mmm.”

He nibbled his way down her neck, and Biz angled her head to give him better access. How was she supposed to warn him when he was doing
this
?

“I didn’t mean to…”

He hummed against her skin. Her knees felt like Jell-O. She clutched his shoulders to keep from sagging to the floor.

“It was an accident, but I called down a death curse.”

“Mm-hmm.”

His hands cradled her jaw, tipping her head back until his bright blue eyes swam into view.

“Mark,” she whispered when his lips were less than a breath away. “You’re next.”

His mouth settled over hers in a searing kiss, burning away the last fragments of her will to resist.

Chapter Fourteen—Casper the Jealous Ex

Biz tasted like a dream. A smooth, sweet, cotton-candy dream.

Maybe she was right. Maybe there was magic at work, because no earthly woman could ever taste this good without supernatural assistance.

He deepened the kiss. Her tongue stroked against his and sparks of want ignited inside him, cascading down to his fingertips. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see colored sparks shooting off them both. They could have floated right up off the ground and all he would have cared about was the way Biz leaned her body into his, the press of her lips, the way her fingers curled into the muscles of his shoulders.

A loud
slam
jolted him back down to earth when Biz jerked away. Her face was flushed, her breathing quick, and he was no better off.

Her eyes met his, wide and startled—but he knew that surprise was for the stunning intensity of the kiss, not the bang of a giant book falling from the top shelf. Masculine satisfaction coiled deep in his gut at having put that dizzy look in her eyes.

“I… Gabriel must’ve…” Biz waved vaguely toward the massive book that had crashed down and broken them apart, and Mark took particular pride in her inability to form a coherent sentence. “He always was the jealous type.”

She slipped past Mark, careful to avoid brushing against him. “I’m never really alone.” Kneeling next to the book that was nearly as big as her torso, Biz hefted it up and slid it onto a coffee table already covered with slimmer volumes. She waved toward the papers, her face still delightfully rosy. “They’ve been helping me look for the counterspell.”

He glanced around the massive library. “These are all…”

“Spell books. My grandmother collected them. If there’s a spell or counterspell in existence, it’s in one of these books.” Her shoulders slumped. “At least, I have to hope that it is. I’ve been going through them all one by one, but one person, hundreds of books, most of them with no indexes since they were written for personal use by the people who wrote them—sometimes it feels impossible.”

Mark felt something suspiciously in the vicinity of his heart give a lurch at the dejected expression on her face. He liked Biz. He respected her ability to cope with the tragic senselessness that life kept throwing her way. Her coping mechanism was an elaborate delusion, but that didn’t make her belief in it any less sincere.

She was trying to take control of her life. Trying to find a way to fight the helplessness that came with being powerless to save people she cared about. To Biz, that meant a counterspell for a curse.

It made sense, in a weird sort of way. And he had to admire the tenacity of her beliefs.

He didn’t believe in curses any more than he believed in ghosts—heavy books fell from hundred-plus-year-old shelves all the time without supernatural assistance, and some curse certainly wasn’t responsible for his attraction to her—but he knew Biz believed in them.

She needed to find the counterspell. And he needed to give her whatever she needed to be happy. He couldn’t stand the hopelessness in her eyes. It made his whole chest ache.

He walked toward the nearest shelf and pulled down a book at random. Letting it fall open, he began paging through it absently. “So, tell me what I’m looking for.”

A flicker of confusion crossed her face before a slow, radiant smile burst through. “You’re going to help me?”

He’d walk across hot coals if that was what it took to replace her earlier hopelessness with the bemused wonder she now exuded. He shrugged, tossing her a lecherous smile. “It’s either that or try to seduce you again, but I don’t think Casper here would appreciate that.”

She smiled and a pleased blush tinted her cheekbones. That blush promised he would have other opportunities to see if she tasted as magical as he remembered. Soon.

But for now, he had a few thousand books to read.

“Where do we start?”

Biz was trying to concentrate. Really she was. But the view was just so distracting.