“No. Because you are a dangerous creature and I've no desire to poke the dark world.”
Slam.
Dangerous creature? Dark world?
“Miss Wolf, has my father been filling your head with tales about me?” Lilith ignored the neighbors' servants, all poking heads out of windows and opening doors to watch the spectacle Lilith was making.
“I have never met your father. Go away, you restless spirit! I've no unfinished business with you! Leave me be.”
“You said I was a conduit. For a whole soul. Which is an oddity. Are you saying all other souls are broken and unwhole? Shall I tell everyone I know that you think this of people?” Like a barker at a carnival, Lilith projected her voice and added a touch of the grandiose.
Evangeline Wolf opened her front door, dressed only in a threadbare nightgown, hair in a cap, and roughly grabbed Lilith's upper arm, dragging her in. Miss Wolf slammed the door behind her, leaving Lilith breathless.
“How dare you? I'll be bruised by you – ”
“How dare you.” The medium spat the words out as if possessed by a spirit, voice rough and pebbly. “Whatever soul does possess you is a Loki, bent on wreaking havoc. Have your say and then leave.”
Outrage and self-righteous anger battled with need and dependence. Miss Wolf was the only person who might help her, damn it. Need overrode pride. “Can you help me to reach someone who is dead.”
Miss Wolf flinched and turned green. “No. Never.”
“Because you are unable?”
“Because I value my life.”
Mad with grief, Lilith grabbed the medium's hands. Ice cold. “Please help me. James died. I need to talk to him one last time. When we saw each other for the last time I didn't know. I didn't know it would – ”
Flinching, the medium wrenched her hands from Lilith's. “This is exactly as I feared. You're doing another soul's work. If I intervene, then I may become its target. You must go.”
Dark sobs filled Lilith's throat and mouth. “How can you be so cold?”
Miss Wolf's eyes softened, the yellowing corneas ringed with pink lower lids that sagged like ungartered stockings pooling at the ankles. “If I seem cold, I apologize. In a few more cycles, though, you will understand. This lifetime is all you think you know. There will be so much more. Think in centuries and not in years.”
“I can't even think in seconds! My heart is broken. Each breath is shattered glass.”
“All the more reason to think in centuries, Miss Stone.” She looked deeply into Lilith's eyes with great kindness tempered by a guardedness, as if Lilith were an injured animal who could do damage if unleashed. Opening the thick door, Miss Wolf guided Lilith to the front step.
A stray kitten appeared from a bush adjacent to the steps and began brushing against Lilith's ankle. A little brown tabby, the kitten was scrawny and underfed, with a brown beard and mustache.
Lilith hated cats.
Against all instinct, though, she picked him up.
“A sign,” Miss Wolf whispered, then shut the door quickly.
Cradling the kitten in her arms, Lilith petted the small creature. Purring, it nestled into her arms. All she could think to do was walk, soon finding herself breathing in concert with the kitten's purr, her legs taking her to the Unitarian church where she and James had shared their first kiss.
She stopped, closed her eyes, and inhaled, the moment frozen by memory and loss.
“Miss Stone?” A warm male voice interrupted her reverie. She opened her eyes.
Dr. Burnham.
“Hello,” she said, hearing death in her voice, yet not caring.
He tipped his hat. “Good day.” Glancing back at a group of men and one woman, with whom he was obviously socializing, he asked, “Would you like to join us?”
“Oh. No. Thank you,” she said thickly, her throat small and laboring.
“I trust your...issue is resolved?” His eyebrows rose slightly.
Stammering, she answered, “Uh, well, yes.” A stroke of the cat's fur. “Yes,” she sighed. “It is resolved.”
“Very good to hear. I hope to see you at my next lecture,” he said.
“I fear that will not be so,” she replied. “I leave for Toronto tomorrow.”
“For a short trip?”
“No. To settle. My mother's family is from the city.”
“David!” shouted a tall, rakish-looking man. Dr. Burnham glanced at him, held up one finger to ask for more time, and then doffed his hat.
“Good day, then, Miss Stone. I wish you well in your new city.”
“Yes. Good day to you, and thank you. For everything.”
And with that he walked away.
Lilith leaned down and kissed the kitten's head. “You need a name, kitten. I think I shall call you James.”
THE END
Legs (A Reincarnation Romance)
Whose romance are you reliving 100 years later?
SO IF LOVE NEVER DIES, THEN where does it go? One hundred years after James and Lilith find – and lose – each other, recurring dreams haunt history scholar Jill Knowles. Sometimes she's in a foreign country, where a lover betrays her, wearing clothes from a century ago. Sometimes she's making love with the same man, dreams so erotic that she wakes up burning with desire.
Fellow grad student Seth Hines has been having the same erotic dreams. Neither links the dreams to the other, not even when a surprise encounter that feels more like déjà vu than chance leads them into an unexpected affair. Sex deepens into love, until an enemy tricks Jill into believing Seth will betray her, exactly as the lover in her dreams betrayed her.
Even as she runs away, Jill's research leads her to believe her dreams may be memories of another woman's life; on his own, Seth realizes they may be reliving a painful love story. Now Seth must win back Jill's trust before history repeats.
Read a sample from Legs now:
Chapter One
“THE FOX SISTERS were well-known psychic, or spiritualist, frauds in their time,” Jill Knowles began, hands trembling slightly as she referred to her notes. Her hands felt like ice cubes, fingers so cold she couldn't grip the pages of her outline. “But even after news of their deception was well-known, well-to-do women such as Lilith Stone and, in particular, her mother, Margaret, frequented mediums for seances.”
“Like the 1910s version of The Psychic Friends Network?” She looked up quickly, but couldn't catch the source of the question. Probably Miles Loring, the resident grad student blowhard. He made every 20th Century America seminar difficult, but today, her day to present research on the role of spiritualism in the women's rights movement in the 1910s, he would become the academic equivalent of Zuul from Ghostbusters.
Where was the Sta-Puf Marshmallow Man when you needed him?
“Not quite,” she replied, controlling her expression and voice. A bored tone would hit its target better than anger, and his dark brow furrowed, clearly displeased with her lack of a reaction.
“So why would Lilith Stone, a well-established women's rights crusader and a confirmed skeptic, go to a séance? And especially one with Evangeline Wolf, of all people?” Relief flooded her and she nearly mouthed a silent “thank you” as Seth Hines asked the question.
“And,” he added dryly, turning to Miles, “did Miss Cleo give you a bad reading, Miles? At $3.99 a minute, I hope you got your money's worth. Or did you dial the wrong 1-900 line and get Miss Cleo by accident?” A ripple of tittering floated around the table.
“I've never called one of those – ”
“Jill, please continue.” Dr. Andrew Miller-Konitz, their professor and chair of the history department, took command. Jill glanced at him, all grizzled and grandfatherly, overgrown ear hair and eyebrows that spiraled out like a chia pet on steroids, and shot him a grateful look. Then she glared at Miles, her bright blue eyes locked with his dark orbs, and resumed her presentation.
“Good question, Seth. We don't know why she went. That's one question I need to answ
er when I do research next year in the archives in Toronto. She left her letters there, and not here in Boston, where she was born and raised. It would have been easier to uncover more.”
“No kidding,” Miles said flatly. He stretched his short, thick legs and cracked his neck, tongue rolling between his teeth and cheek, and let out an enormous, overly dramatic sigh.
Everyone ignored him. “I've been to Cambridge and toured the townhome where Evangeline Wolf held her seances and talked to some Unitarian archivists to ask about the link between Lilith and spiritualism, but there isn't much to go on.”
Seth nodded and gestured for her to continue. Warm, kind brown eyes countered Miles' assholery. Wavy chestnut hair, just long enough to be a bit mussed. Broad shoulders strengthened by volleyball and biking. Strong arms stretched across his t-shirt covered chest, and she swallowed, hard, as she wondered how his calloused hands would feel on her –
Dr. Miller-Konitz cleared his throat. “Jill?”
“Yes?” She inhaled and shook her head slightly, clearing her thoughts. “Yes. So, Lilith Stone. We know that she visited Evangeline Wolf twice, in fact. Once with her mother and once, later, just before she moved from Boston to Toronto and assumed her exile. There may be documents indicating she visited a medium one other time, with her purported lover, Esther Nourse, but I won't know that for some time. Need to get in the archives and dig through the documents.”
Out of the corner of her eye she watched Seth. Friends since they both entered the Ph.D. program in History two years ago, Jill had spent most of that time trying not to be attracted to him. Avoiding him had been easy.
But lately, not so much.
All that had changed was her availability.
She liked men and, it turned out, so had her fiance.
Sometimes you can have a little too much in common.
“Hello? Jill?” Miles glared at her. “I asked a question.”
“Sorry. What's that?”
“You said 'purported.' Esther Nourse may or may not have been her lesbian lover?”
She nodded. “Right. I have records documenting their friendship. I know they had some sort of bond going back to high school, and that Nourse lent her money for a trip to San Diego. That trip came about a year before she went into her hermit stage.”
“So why assume they were lovers?” Seth asked.
“I'm not. Lilith Stone never married, and because there are no records of her having a relationship with any man, some scholars believe she and Nourse had a 'Boston marriage.' The relationship would have been considered a dear friendship in their time. One detail I've found: Lilith visited a Dr. David Burnham shortly after he gave a lecture on lesbianism.”
“A what?” Miles asked.
“A presentation on what was then called 'sexual inversion.' Female homosexuality. Burnham was a well-known sexologist in his time here in Boston. In fact – ” She stifled a giggle. My gynecologist is also named Dr. Burnham. Wonder if they're related. She nearly blurted those words out, but literally bit her lips to hold back.
“In fact...” Miles drew out the words as if speaking with a kindergartner.
“I need to learn more, though.” Mask. Turn your face into a mask. She went from friendly to cold and stared at Miles icily.
“So you seem to specialize in uncovering people who live in the closet,” Miles said under his breath. A butterfly of anxiety fluttered in her chest, her blush turning from arousal to anger.
“Cut it out,” Seth hissed across the table to Miles, hands flexing in anger. Whoosh. There went her heat level. From freezing hands to burning cheeks as Seth leaned forward on the table, those muscled arms with a sprinkling of sandy hair resting in front of her, hands she couldn't get out of her mind lately.
Miles smirked. Wound delivered.
“That's enough. For the day, I mean.” Dr. Miller-Konitz looked pointedly at his watch and stared Miles down. “Good work, Jill. Seth, you're on for next week.” The rest of the grad students filed out. Jill stayed in her seat, struggling to put a cap on her feelings. Organizing her brief bag seemed like a safe course.
“Hey, good presentation.” Seth leaned over her shoulder and peered at a copy of a photo she had in her hand. “Who's that? Lilith Stone?”
“No. Esther Nourse.” Wild coils of curly hair framed the woman's up-do, the effect a bit like Marie Curie's laboratory photos, with hair a giant rat's nest struggling to look presentable. Nourse's eyes were as wild as her hair, giving her a slightly maniacal, unpredictable look.
“Miles is an asshole.” Seth put his hand on her shoulder, which immediately prickled with fire. Breathe, Jill. Breathe. Maintain a steady rate of respiration. She wanted to turn and kiss him, touch him, smell him. Two years of fighting her feelings and now, now she had a tiny chance. A crack in a shut door. A wedge.
An opening that could be filled.
Instead, she inhaled. Then exhaled. Maintained composure.
“You know he just comes to these meetings to trip people up.” He squeezed her gently and let go, the absence of his hand worse than its presence. Desire filled her belly, her throat, and she fought for control.
Where was this sudden rush coming from?
And whatever it was, how could she quell it?
Swallowing hard, she opened her mouth to speak. Unsteady tones blurted out, “Yeah. I know.”
His warm smile spread across a kind, open face.
“You want to go grab a coffee?”
Yes. With you, tomorrow morning. In my bedroom.
“No, thanks. I have to go dig through some digitized images and email a few archivists in Toronto.” She pretended she needed to check the time, breathing in deeply, catching a touch of his scent. A lightly scented soap, with cloves and musk. A sporty scent, of biking and sweat and man.
A scent she could almost lick.
Biting her lips together, she smiled awkwardly, caught his eye for a second, then looked away. Could he read her mind? Was she that obvious? All she could helplessly do in the face of this wave of attraction was to escape. So she did.
“Sorry, Seth. Gotta go. See you later.” Slinging her brief bag over her shoulder, she walked away, imagining his eyes boring into her back, shoulder still stinging, alive and flush, from his touch.
Was he imagining that?
Two years. He'd been biding his time for two years now, wondering if he's ever have a chance. Watching her in that seminar made him feel like time was measured drop by drop, her long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, revealing an extraordinarily attractive face, compelling eyes pulling him in. Those bright blue eyes, a cerulean he could lose himself in.
Eagerly.
Never, in two years, had she hinted at any sort of interest. Of course, she'd been with Joe for much of that time. Seth had played the role of nice, benign friend.
Two damn years.
Play it casual. Asking her out for coffee wasn't any big deal. They'd gone out a million times. Friends. Just friends.
But now she was available. So was he. Did she...was she...?
He chuckled to himself as he walked to the coffee shop. This kind of uncertainty was for high school. Not a 30 year old man.
Warmth coursed through him, the rush of possibility.
Maybe it was finally time.
He'd played time to his advantage. Waiting worked.
Yet she'd turned him down for coffee.
Across the snowy field a red hat caught his eye. Jill. Walking off toward the library. Miles followed her, a few beats behind. Coincidence? Miles was preparing for his research year, just like Seth and Jill. They'd wrap up their classwork and spend the next year in archives. Working in the library wasn't Miles' style; he was well-off enough to hire undergraduates to pull his articles for him. Actual work and Miles didn't go together.
Miles split off, following a different path, toward the parking garage. An uneven laugh, involuntary and full of relief, poured out of Seth. He ran a hand through his hair.
Get a gri
p.
The thought of anyone else with Jill consumed him. This opening, this time after her breakup, tormented him. Move too fast and scare her off.
Wait too long, and someone else might fill the void.
Maybe time wasn't his friend after all.
Chapter Two
THE HEELS OF HER BUTTONED boots caught in the crevices between cobblestones as she click-clacked her way down an unnamed street. Her corset felt like a vice and although she increased her pace, she felt as if she were walking through water, her feet clawing the rocky bottom of a clear lake. She reached up to check her hat and adjust the pin, the feather damp and limp now as the fine mist slowly turned to a full deluge, the incongruity of bright sunshine and sheets of rain giving the stone-lined street with its row houses and gas lamps the feel of an impressionist painting.
Spine stiff and straight, she walked faster, cursing herself for failing to bring an umbrella but tucking the thought away in the back of her mind. A slight smile played on her lips as she thought of him and she willed her tiny feet to walk faster, each step closing the gap of thousands of miles, a journey she'd begun weeks before. The long buildings sectioned into row houses with differing facades, some a pale stone with black iron detailing and others with painted wood exteriors, offered no asylum from nature's wrath.
She would appear before him with the countenance of a drenched match girl. He would have to help her out of her wet clothes to prevent a case of the chills. The thought aroused her, but she kept her face set like a stone statue, neutral and unyielding.
Beggars reached toward her and asked for money in a foreign language she didn't know, yet somehow spoke fluently. At one point she stopped a man in uniform and asked for directions to a building. The police officer replied and she thanked him, changing direction and seeing the church steeple, knowing her destination was just around the corner. Soon she spotted the gray stone building, the thick wooden door, and she walked into the lobby, a feeling of relief and excitement blending at once in her chest.
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