Must Love Ghosts (6 page)

Richard entered the room at that moment with a tray full of dessert plates. He shot Tia a hard glare.

Clutching her stomach with both hands, Tia tried to make her voice tremble. “I'm so sorry to do this, but I'm not feeling…”

Her voice died when she saw the look on Cassandra's face. She was staring at the old photo of Uncle Billy, her skin as pale as the white of her hair, one heavily jeweled hand pressed to her throat, her mouth open. Tia couldn't tell whether the old woman was choking on her words or about to scream.

She took a cautious step forward. “Mrs. Jameson, are you okay?”

Jules looked up from poking the fire, put a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. “Grandmother?”

A movement, a shadow, from the hallway caught Tia's eye. She turned in time to glimpse Billy and his bomber jacket surrounded by a halo of light before he disappeared. The fire died at the same moment.

“What was that?” Richard was on his feet, moving toward the hall. “Tia, what the hell is going on? There is someone here, I just saw him.”

“There's no one here.” And because she couldn't resist, “Like the other night when I thought I saw an intruder and it was all in my imagination.”

“Where did you get that photo?” Cassandra's voice was a cold rasp, and the anger on her face made Tia back up a step.

“That's my—”

A knock on the front door interrupted her.

“I'll get it,” Richard called from the hallway. “Tia, I'm sure I saw someone here.”

Tia whirled, realizing who was at the front door. “Maybe someone was here. You should go look upstairs.” She practically ran to the front door and threw herself in front of Richard. “I'll get this.”

Richard stared down at her in amazement. “You're acting really strangely. We talked about this. Are you
trying
to sabotage this grant?” He glanced over his shoulder, but they couldn't see Cassandra or Jules and Leo from the hallway.

Another knock.

“Open the door,” Richard said.

“Why don't you check on Mrs. Jameson?”

Richard folded his arms. “Open the door, Tia. I want to know what's going on.”

Doom descended on her shoulders like a cloak.
I didn't really want to marry you, anyway
. The thought popped into her head, and, to her surprise, she meant it.
But I'm going to miss the grant money.

Tia pulled open the door. Dec stood there under the porch light, wearing his usual jeans and T-shirt and faded boots. Next to Richard's polished elegance, Dec looked rugged, undomesticated. Like trouble.

He had a cardboard box under one arm that Tia guessed held Uncle Billy's urn and dog tags. Dec glanced at Richard. “Ah. The fiancé. Congratulations.”

Richard looked blank. “Fiancé?”

Tia didn't like the grin Dec tossed her way.

“Never mind,” she said quickly. “Dec, what a surprise to see you here.”

Richard's back stiffened. “What the hell are you doing here, Mancini?” A thought seemed to occur to him and he stepped back, looking at Tia with disgust. “Was he the man in the hallway?”

“What? No.” One look at Richard's tight, furious face and she knew he didn't believe her. Anger bubbled up and she told herself to take deep breaths. There was no need to make a scene.

Cassandra entered the hallway, Jules and Leo flanking her.

“You might as well come in, Dec,” Tia said and moved aside so he could enter. “Mrs. Jameson, Jules, Leo, this is Declan Mancini.”

“We're leaving,” Cassandra said flatly. “I've seen enough.”

Jules looked Dec up and down, and took his grandmother's elbow protectively. “Are you the same Declan Mancini written up in the paper not too long ago? The
paranormal investigator
?” He glanced down at his grandmother. Cassandra's lips thinned more than ever.

“That's me. A pleasure to meet you.” Dec extended his hand, but another look at their expressions and he dropped his arm to his side.

“I understand what's going on here.” The anger in Cassandra's voice echoed in the hallway. “The howls of wind, the thumps on the floorboards, the fireplace,
that photo
. Now a so-called paranormal investigator. All of this is quite familiar. I suppose you thought I believe in ghosts. How dare you, Dr. McGarry? I didn't fall for this tripe decades ago and I certainly won't do so now.”

“Mrs. Jameson! That's not—”

Cassandra held up a hand, regal as any queen. “I can't imagine what you hoped to gain with this charade. Leo, get my things. We're leaving.”

They swept past, Jules stopping long enough to say quietly to Richard, “I'll call you in the morning.”

Richard closed the door and turned to Tia. “If you were unhappy in our relationship, all you had to do was say so. There was no need to put both of us through this ridiculous scene.”

Tia's head shot up. “This isn't about our relationship!”

Richard flicked his gaze at Dec, then looked away dismissively. “I was hoping to do this privately, but since you've obviously picked up where you left off with Mancini, I guess there's no reason not to say it here. Tia, I think we should see other people. We've both outgrown our relationship—actually, judging by tonight, you seem to be regressing—and, quite frankly, I've had doubts for months about your academic seriousness. You're a publicity hound. That lightweight self-help stuff is your kind of thing, and I'm sure whatever you and Mancini have cooked up will be just as fitting for daytime television. In the meantime, I'm replacing you on the research project.”

Her mouth fell open. “You can't do that. The proposal is based on
my
work.”

“I'm lead on the project. I can do whatever I want. You're out. Don't make this harder than it has to be.”

“Why you—you,” Tia sputtered. “You pompous
ass
.”

“Exactly the kind of juvenile remark I'd expect from you.” Richard crossed to the coat rack, shook out his jacket and put it on. “Goodbye Tia.” He didn't acknowledge Dec.

“The man certainly knows how to make an exit,” Dec said when he was gone.

Tia stumbled into the living room and flopped onto the couch, one arm crossed over her face. “Well. There goes my career.”

“Wait here.” Dec's voice came from somewhere above her. She didn't bother to look. “I'll be right back.”

From the tangle of her thoughts and emotions, Tia pulled out the fact that Richard had just dumped her. All she felt was a pang that she'd have to start over finding someone with whom she had so much in common, someone with whom she could build a life. That was it. A little pang—and a sense of exhaustion.

The point was, she didn't feel the utter desolation she'd had when she'd thought Dec had betrayed her. When she'd walked away from him and ignored every one of his phone calls and emails. She'd told herself she wouldn't cry over a short-term mistake like Dec, and instead she'd cried rivers of tears.

Tonight her eyes were dry.

Dec's footsteps echoed in the hall and then he was in the room, lifting her feet and sliding his body underneath her legs. “I brought you chocolate,” he said.

She let her arm fall from her eyes. He sat there with a delicious slab of the dark chocolate cake she'd planned to serve for dessert. “How'd you know I had that?”

He forked up a generous bite of cake. “You always have chocolate in the house.”

He guided the fork to her mouth, and she snapped her teeth around it. The rich sweetness melted like a snowflake on her tongue.

She gave a blissful sigh. Chocolate always made the bad stuff seem bearable, even though the logical part of her mind knew she was confusing food with comfort. “Thanks. So do you think my great-uncle will be back tonight? And why did he disappear instead of finishing his grand entrance?”

“No idea.” Dec took a bite of cake. “This is good. That lasagna you were serving, though…”

“Mrs. Jameson didn't like it either.”

“I'm surprised you cooked.”

“You know I don't cook.”

Dec cooked. Not only had his parents blessed him with the great genes that made him look the way he did, his mother had taught him to cook like a pro, thereby ensuring he was utterly irresistible to the female population, and part of the male. When they'd been together, they'd fallen into a routine of Dec cooking a mouthwatering dinner at his place or hers, then Tia returning the favor by cleaning up. Eventually.

He fed her another bite of cake. “Richard cooked?”

“Take-out. Richard lacks your culinary talents. And your other talents as well.”

She froze when she realized what she'd said. There was a long silence, and then he leaned across her legs to put the cake plate on the table. He sat back and pulled off one of her black flats. “Good to know.”

She pushed up onto her elbows. “Hey, that wasn't an invitation.”

“Relax. This isn't a proposition.” He had her other shoe off and was rubbing his thumb in lazy circles on the arch of her foot. She sank back onto the cushions and tried not to groan out loud. “Just a friendly foot rub between friends. What are you going to do about Richard?”

His strong hands molded her feet, and the tension seeped out of her body. Liquid heat spread up her legs every time he squeezed. “I'm going to grovel.”

He stilled for a moment. “Grovel?”

“I'll tell him that my grandmother's death affected me more than I realized, and that's why I've been acting so strangely. But I'm dedicated to this research as much as he is, and we'll succeed better together. I need his neurology expertise and he needs my psychological interpretation.”

Dec circled her ankle with his thumb and forefinger. She shivered.

“I meant,” he said, “what are you going to do about your engagement?”

She pulled the throw pillow from under her head and put it over her face. “We weren't engaged.” The pillow muffled her voice, but Dec must have heard.

He laughed softly. “I figured that when Dickhead acted like he'd never heard the word fiancé before. Why did you lie about it?”

She kept the pillow over her head, too chicken to face him despite the need to confess pushing words out of her mouth. “Because I thought if a relationship between us was off-limits, I wouldn't be tempted by you.”

Silence fell as he pressed the exact right spot on the arch of her foot and she bit back a moan.

“Richard's mad now, but he'll take you back. He'd be a fool not to.” Dec's voice was flat, utterly expressionless, giving her no clue to what he was thinking.

“I don't want Richard back. He was a mistake.” If only she could figure out what had gone wrong with her perfect plan, she could figure out how not to make the same mistake again.

Suddenly, the pillow was yanked off her face and Dec loomed over her. His movement shifted her legs, his hard thighs slid under hers, and she was breathlessly aware that they'd moved from a friendly foot-massage position to something much more intimate. Every nerve ending in her body fluttered to life. She met his dark eyes, her skin heating when he flashed that grin at her again. This time so close that if she raised her head, she could kiss him, taste him.

He was like a double chocolate gelato dipped in sin and she'd been stuck with nonfat tofu ice cream for far too long.

He snaked an arm under her back, lifting her a few crucial inches. “It's probably tacky to make the moves on a woman who was dumped less than an hour ago.”

“Totally tacky.” She coiled her arms around his neck, playing her fingers in his hair. Just one kiss and then she'd stop. Even as the thought flitted through her mind, she knew she was as bad as any addict going back for one more hit. Except her drug of choice was a Dec-induced dopamine rush.

“I have to move fast with you,” he whispered. “No doubt you'll find another boring idiot to marry by tomorrow.”

And then his lips were on hers and all thoughts of biochemical madness scattered. She wrapped both arms around him, the taste of his mouth making everything in her world disappear but the thrum of wanting pulsing through her. That was why she'd gone to bed with him on their first date. Their goodnight kiss had gone from light and polite to hot and hungry in an instant, and then he'd bet her a night she'd never forget, and she'd let him all the way in.

Dec pulled off her glasses, tossed them on the coffee table, and bent his head back to her to run his tongue lightly across the seam of her lips. She shuddered, parting her lips and he deepened the kiss. He lowered her back down to the couch, following her with his body so his delicious weight pressed against her breasts. Would it be so bad if she let him in again?

One of them moaned, maybe her. He trailed his fingers down her back, hesitated an agonizing moment at the hem of the silk shell she wore, and then his warm hand slipped under the material and moved up her stomach. His thumb grazed her breast, heat flashed in the pit of her stomach, and fireworks boomed in the distance.

Fireworks?

Her eyes flew open and she blinked at the blurry darkness. All the lights had gone out.

“Looks like now's the time to ask what your intentions are toward my grand-niece.”

Dec came to his feet in one powerful surge of motion. All the warm parts of Tia went cold at his absence. She sat up slowly. The cold might also be because the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. She found her glasses and shoved them back on.

Her great-uncle sat cross-legged on the hearth, grinning like a leprechaun.

“You!” Tia was on her feet next to Dec in a second. “What on earth were you trying to do tonight?”

His smile dimmed. “Just having some fun.”

Dec shook his head and strode to the window, drew back the curtains to peer out into the darkness. “I think he blew a transformer.”