Spirited 1 (5 page)

“Do I frighten you?”

“No,” she lied.

The swirling aura around him faded to a muddy brown, and he seemed almost sad. He held up his free hand, palm out.

“I’m really not trying to scare you. But you’re headed down a bad road.” His deep voice had lost that gruff tone and came out oddly soothing. His aura shifted again, this time to green, and she sensed protectiveness and concern.

She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. “You want to talk, fine, we’ll talk. Just back up a little, please.”

He nodded, lowered his arm, and stepped back three paces. Disappointment darkened his features. He stared at the handbag, and the frightening aura receded until she could no longer see or sense it.

“Ernie and April are good people. You could ruin their lives by bringing drugs into their home. Not to mention you could destroy
your
future.” He sounded like a dad giving a speech to an errant child.

She could argue with him or she could try to reason with him. They were both adults; time to reason. “Okay, why exactly are you under the misguided assumption I’d do drugs?”

“I found the bag.”

“What does my purse have to do with anything?”

He frowned. “Not your purse. I found the bag of drugs
inside
your purse.”

“You went through my purse?” Jules crossed her arms, fury and a familiar pain knifing through her chest. He was just like her ex-husband. “You had no right!”

“It was in my apartment,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“It’s
my
property!”

“That you left in my apartment after you broke into it last night. I could have arrested you for that alone.”

True enough. Despite the anger pumping through her system at his invasion of her privacy, she at least owed him the courtesy of listening. Ghostly-induced mistake or not, he could have thrown her in jail. Her anger cooling, she found herself more confused than before.

She didn’t have drugs in her purse. Did she? Panic flickered through her at the thought. Last night she and another guest at the party had bumped into each other in the bathroom. They knocked their purses on the ground and scattered contents everywhere.

Although the other woman snatched up her belongings in a rush, she had eyed the baggie of oregano on the floor. Sweeping through the exit, she’d muttered under her breath, “Just say no.”

Her confidence strengthened, Jules lifted her chin and smiled her most placating smile. “What you found in my purse was not drugs.”

“Right. And prisons are packed with innocent people who were falsely convicted.”

“Listen to me!” A short burst of laughter escaped from her. Big Jim would have probably found this scene amusing if he were here. “Not drugs. Lavender and—”

“I know lavender when I see it. There wasn’t any.” He cut her off. “And since you think it’s so funny doing pot, let me show you what would happen if another police officer had found it.”

He backed her against the wall and clamped a hand around her wrist before she could think enough to react. Fear stole her breath, killing the nervous laughter in her throat. Still, some part of her mind rationalized that while he moved quickly and pinned her in place, his touch hadn’t been rough or painful. Just authoritative.

Tossing the handbag over his shoulder, he patted her down with his now free hand. “Here’s when he would Mirandize you. Should I continue this demonstration and take you downtown? I’ll be glad to call Ernie to come pick you up at the station, where you can explain to him why you had—”

“
Oregano
in my purse,” she shouted the first word.

His hand froze on her backside. “What did you say?”

“Or-eg-an-oh.” She carefully enunciated each syllable to be certain he heard her this time. “The
herb
you found was oregano. And what kind of rookie cop are you that you can’t tell the difference between pot and a bag of oregano?”

Jules wished she could laugh again but she was hyperaware of his hand on her behind.

Surprise and realization lit his expression. He rolled his eyes. “Ah, crap. My mother’s lasagna.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He met her gaze. A stain darkened his cheeks. “Oregano. Brilliant detective work.”

The last comment seemed to be more to himself than to her. She might have sympathized with him if she weren’t still pinned to the wall.

Jules rotated her hips and his hand slipped farther down her backside. Go figure! The only time anyone had touched her this intimately in three years had been Seth the Cop demonstrating his search-and-seizure technique. “Hey, are we finished with the pat-down?”

He jerked his hand away as if touching her burned him.

Backing away, he propped his hands on his hips. A decidedly distracting position given that the man was shirtless with wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and he’d just been touching her butt. Okay, so he had been searching her for drugs, but her traitorous body was turned on anyway.

“I guess this is where I’m supposed to apologize.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if it pained him, but didn’t say anything else.

“And?”

“And what were you thinking? Normal people don’t carry oregano in their purse.”

“Sure they do.”

He shook his head.

“Oh come on, see the world past the monochrome. The colors are really beautiful.”

He leveled a glare at her but she was sure the corners of his lips twitched as if she amused him.

She shrugged. “Normal people carry around spices if they’ve just been to the health food store. April only eats organic. I stopped by the store and picked up some oregano and lavender for her. End of story.”

The cop cocked his head to one side as if studying her. His stoic expression revealed nothing. Not doubt, not disbelief, not even suspicion. She would have described it as bored, except for his bird-of-prey gaze that locked with hers.

“I told you, I know lavender when I see it. I didn’t find any lavender.” He delivered the statements tonelessly. Still maintaining that hawklike eye contact, he added, “I thought you went to a party.”

“I did go to a party. Jeez, you are so suspicious.” Jules waved away his mistrust, then his previous statement registered. “Wait, you didn’t find the lavender?”

“No.” He glanced toward his open bedroom door as if to reassure himself. “The only baggie was the one in there.” He pointed to the purse he’d flung onto his faded faux-leather couch.

“I can’t believe I’ve lost something else! What is wrong with me, lately?” Jules raked her teeth across her lower lip. When was the last time she’d seen the herb? “I had it outside your apartment. I’m sure of it. I remember pushing it out of my way as I searched for my keys last night. I know I didn’t take it out of the purse. Are you certain you didn’t see it?”

“Maybe it slipped under the bed,” he answered, scratching his stubbled cheek. “I can look—”

Jules didn’t wait for him to complete his sentence; she hurried to the bedroom. Dropping to her hands and knees, she crawled partway under the cherrywood sleigh bed, skimming her fingers across the floor. She shouldn’t be so upset over missing a three-dollar bag of herbs, but she was getting tired of losing things. It would be nice if she could find something . . . for once.

“April really needs this to help her relax,” she called out to him as she shimmied beneath the wooden frame.

The cop made a sound that was cross between a grunt and a snort. “You don’t seriously believe in that New Age hocus pocus?”

“It’s not hocus pocus,” she replied, then shoved herself farther under the bed.

She opened her mouth then closed it again at what she found beneath his bed. The man had the cleanest floor she’d ever seen. There was nothing under there, not even a stray dust bunny in want of a new home.

Wow, Seth the Cop’s a neat freak.

She started to scoot back out when she spotted the shiny edge of the baggie poking out of a narrow space between the bed leg and the wall. Relief swept through her, and she grabbed it and scooted out.

“All ready to cure whatever ails with your magic lavender?” he asked, a chuckle in his voice.

“Don’t believe me,” she said, rising to her knees before him. She held up the bag of fragrant tiny purple dried flowers triumphantly. “But aromatherapy works, even on stodgy old guys like you.”

“I’m not that much older than you,” he answered, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.

“So says you,” she teased, still smiling.

He nodded. His eyes lowered and an indefinable look crossed his face. Jules felt her own smile fade at his inscrutable expression, then she followed his visual path.

The top button of her polo had popped free, revealing the lacy edge of her pale pink bra.

No, he’s definitely not a dirty old man. Dirty young man, maybe.

She tugged her shirt back in place and quickly re-buttoned it, certain her cheeks glowed in matching color to her underwear.

He stared down at her with his hands on his hips, his chocolate-colored eyes nearly black, and his hungry expression sent her pulse racing. Then images zinged into her mind.

Like an erotic movie, she saw herself tugging down his pajama bottoms and taking him into her mouth. She practically felt his hands on her head, his fingers curling into her hair as he guided her back and forth over his shaft a few times until she delivered the long, wet strokes he craved. Her heart hammered as she listened to him groan and encourage her. It was so real, the silken steel of his erection, the heady scent of sandalwood and male musk, the way his hands caressed her hair and face as he murmured encouragement.

The only thing missing was taste. This had to be his fantasy, because if it had been hers, she would have imagined tasting him. Plus, in her short marriage to Billy, she’d been too self-conscious to try to please him orally. And Fantasy Seth was definitely pleased.

As quickly as thoughts winged into her mind, they were zapped out as if someone slammed a door closed on them. Or as if Seth crushed his desire by sheer will.

Too stunned to move, she wondered at what had just happened. She’d read the thoughts of another person. Oh dear God! This couldn’t be happening. First seeing his aura, now reading his fantasies? She’d thought last night had been an aberration. What if it hadn’t?

The last thing she wanted to do was start experiencing the thoughts of the living. Seeing ghosts was bad enough. But if she started hearing living people’s thoughts, she’d never have a moment’s peace.

He extended a hand toward her and she gasped.

She didn’t want him to touch her. Not until she figured out how to block his fantasies from invading her thoughts. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed his little one-sided sex show.

She had.

A little too much.

Falling backward onto her butt to evade his touch, she banged her shoulder against the bedframe behind her.

“Are you all right?” Seth pulled his hand back with a frown, then asked in an exasperated tone, “Can I have my bedroom back now?”

“Of course.” For the second time in twelve hours, she’d forced her way into his bedroom. And she’d thought last time had been embarrassing. Jules pushed to her feet, avoiding eye contact.

She hurried through his apartment. Clutching the knob of the front door, she tugged but it didn’t give. A tanned, muscular arm reached around her and flipped the lock. Before she could escape, he tapped her on the shoulder.

Jules rotated on her heel, relieved none of his stray thoughts had filtered into her consciousness. Still, he stood so close the scent of sandalwood filled her senses and sparked memories of the vision she’d just had.

He frowned at her and held out her purse. She tried to accept it, but he didn’t release it. The purse acted as a conduit and again she connected to him. Unlike last time, there were no images, just an electric current of awareness evident in his darkening eyes.

It was sinful, frightening, and strangely intoxicating.

He lowered his head.

Instinctively, she lifted her chin, keeping her gaze locked with his. Her breath caught in her chest. His lips kicked up in a small grin.

His cell phone rang.

The shrill tone severed the link they shared. Sanity returned as the cop retrieved the phone from his pocket and scowled at the caller ID. He opened the front door.

With one hand on her back, he pushed her through it.

“Wait, my pur—”

He tossed her the clutch, which she caught against her chest with both hands, then he gave her his back as he answered his phone. “Detective English.”

The door closed unceremoniously in Jules’s face. For some reason she couldn’t name, disappointment settled in a lump in the middle of her chest, immediately followed by an overwhelming sense of relief. She’d almost kissed a near stranger—a cop at that—for the second time since three this morning. And to top it off, she was either losing her mind or she’d just discovered some new facets to the Scott family curse. She could read thoughts. Maybe not everyone’s, but definitely his.

I’d rather be insane.

“You’ve got your purse. Good. Lock up please.” Jules glanced up to see April, arms full, waddle into the hallway. “I can’t believe you own a Prada.”

“Yes, well, I needed to get something out of the divorce,” Jules said, taking a stack of forms out of April’s arms. “Go on downstairs, I’ll lock up.”

That’s when Jules remembered which two items were missing from her handbag, her cell phone and her keys.

Perfect! Hopefully they’re together, at least.

Tucking the purse under her free arm, she hurried down the steps and caught up with April just as she stepped out into the morning sunshine.

“April, can I borrow your cell on the way to work? I need to call myself.”

CHAPTER 3