Maybe This Time

  Which didn’t mean it would go wrong again.

  “Listen,” she said sensibly. “We can’t go back to where we were. We’ve changed too much, there’s too much at stake with the kids—”

  “I don’t want to go back to where we were,” he said, and she thought, Oh, and felt depressed. Then he said, “I want to start something new,” and she said, “Oh,” and thought, Don’t lose your grip here.

  “Well,” she began, trying to be rational about the whole thing, and then the DJ on the radio said, “This one goes out to Andie, from North. North of what, I don’t know. Okay, then, here you go, Andie . . .” and the first bars of Clapton’s acoustic “Layla” began.

  North looked as surprised as she did. “Not me.”

  “Southie sent you in here, right? Southie called that in.” Clapton’s guitar distracted her with that low, swinging rhythm, and she took a deep breath. Sexiest song ever. “Why ‘Layla’?” she asked him, trying to get her mind back to reality.

  He grinned, and she said, “Tell me,” and he shook his head and crooked two of his fingers at her.

  Like I’d just come because you called, she thought, but he was moving toward her, and she met him halfway without even thinking about it.

  It’s just dancing, she thought as he reached for her. Nothing crazy about this.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said as he slid his arm around her waist, and she shivered and said, “I’ve missed you, too,” and he pulled her close and rocked her to that perfect rhythm, pulling her hips to his as her blood heated, and she didn’t miss a beat. Ten years went away and they were dancing in the attic again, everything was the way it was . . .

  No it’s not, she thought, but he was there, and she was glad, she never wanted to stop dancing with him, never wanted to lose his hands sliding over her, never wanted to leave him . . .

  “Andie,” he whispered, and she knew the question without him asking.

  “No,” she whispered back. “The place is full of people, we’d get caught.”

  He smiled down at her, rocking her to the beat, and she thought, If it wouldn’t be so insane, I’d say yes, I would, I would.

  “Andie,” he said, and she put her forehead on his chest.

  “No,” she said, “we’re in the real world now, we have to think about the consequences,” but his breath was warm on her neck as he kissed her there, his hands hot on her as he pulled her hips against his, and she thought, Don’t lose your grip on reality, that never works for you.

  The song ended and there was some advertising blather but she couldn’t hear because North said, “Andie,” as he gently pressed her back against the counter, and she breathed deep and realized that reality was losing its grip on her.

  “Okay, somebody’s going to walk in on us,” Andie said breathlessly.

  “I like this T-shirt,” he said in her ear, making her shiver. Then he drew his finger slowly across the “Bad Witch” lettering, and made her shudder.

  “Don’t do that,” she whispered, but his hand had already moved to cup her breast, and he was bending down to her, and she tried to think, but all she wanted was his mouth on hers, her hips tilting to meet his.

  He kissed her softly, going deeper as she relaxed against him, his hands moving under her T-shirt now as he slipped his tongue in her mouth, and she forgot everything else, kissing him back, wanting him more than she ever had before.

  “Okay, but upstairs,” she breathed as he pushed her T-shirt up. “We have to be practical here. Come on.”

  She tried to slide away from him, but he held her trapped against the counter.

  “Here,” he said, his eyes dark, the old, hot, demanding North back, unsnapping her bra with one hand and unzipping her jeans with the other.

  “No, no, this is crazy, I’m not crazy anymore,” she said, fumbling to block his hands. “You were right. Reality, common sense, come upstairs.”

  “Here,” North said, his voice low, going right into her spine, and she shivered, and then he stripped her shirt and bra over her head and tossed them behind him.

  “Wait!” she said, grabbing for them and missing, and then closed her eyes as she felt his lips on her skin. “Crazy,” she whispered. “We should—”

  “Here.” He bent his head down and kissed her neck, and then she felt his mouth on her breast, and common sense evaporated along with sanity and all the other buzzkills, and she said, “Yes.”

  Thirteen

  Someone rapped on the kitchen door, and Andie jerked back as Southie said loudly from the hall, “I think we should stay out of the kitchen. It’s really Andie’s turf.”

  “Stop,” Andie whispered to North, and then she heard Lydia say, “Sullivan, I don’t know what your problem is, but I want a drink and I’m going in there,” and North pulled Andie down the counter and into the pantry, her jeans sliding off her hips on the way.

  He kicked the door closed, and they were in the dark, and she thought about Lydia finding her bra and Bad Witch shirt on the floor, and then he touched her again, and she didn’t give a damn. She yanked his shirt up, wanting his skin on hers, wanting all of him, and he pulled the shirt off as she shoved her jeans the rest of the way down, tangling her ankles and almost knocking herself over in Crumb’s hallucinogenic pantry. He caught her the way he always did and boosted her up onto the pantry counter, and she wrapped herself around him, around all that muscle and heat and power and safety and sense, everything she’d lost ten years before, all of it focused on her, his hands and mouth urgent on her, teasing her, heating her, making her insane.

  “What happened to sanity?” she said, gasping. “You were such a fan.”

  “I saw you again,” he said in her ear as he slid his hand between her legs. “And I went crazy.”

  “Oh,” she said, and then his fingers moved inside her and she said, “Oh,” and bit him hard on the shoulder, raking her hands down his back, and he grew rougher, too, making her moan and gasp, until she couldn’t stand it, until she banged her head on his shoulder and said, “Now,” and he pulled her hips to him and slid hot inside her, and she cried out because he felt so damn good after so damn long.

  He moved with the old, familiar, deliberate rhythm that always made her mindless, touching her everywhere as she touched him, blanketing her mind with heat until she moaned, sliding against him, tasting the salt of his skin and feeling his breath on her neck, hearing him whisper low to her that she was beautiful, that she was everything, that she was his. His rhythm built inside her until she was sobbing from the tension, until it was too much and she arched up and bit down, her eyes closed tight, and felt it coming, now, now, now, and then he moved hard against her and she broke just as hard, crying out as he held her tight and the spasms took her. And when she was quiet and gasping, she felt him shudder, too, and held him as tightly as she could, leaning back to take his weight as he lost his mind.

  After a while, he took a deep breath and eased out of her, and she said, exhausted and exhilarated, “Tell me again about common sense.”

  “Fuck common sense,” he said, his voice husky, and then he got rid of the condom, and she thought, Where the hell did he get a condom? and realized he must have brought them with him. Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you? she thought, but she didn’t care, and that wasn’t it, anyway. He’d have brought them just in case, to protect her. Because he was North and that was practical.

  He cupped her face in his hands and said softly, “You okay?” and she kissed him, long and slow and deep, mindless with love again, and he said, “You’re okay,” and put his hands on her waist to help her down.

  She stood next to him, breathing deep, her arms around his waist, her head on his chest, practicality coming back with sanity, knowing she should tell him that she didn’t want to make the same mistake all over again, that they were going to have to have a serious talk about the reality of their situation, that they were going to have to deal with the ghost of their old marriage, but all she wanted was to go upstairs wit
h him and do that again, slower and longer this time.

  We won’t even have to light the fire, she thought. May was a hallucination. We’re safe.

  North kissed the top of her head and said, “Do you want me to get your clothes?”

  “I can get them,” she said, lifting her face to his. “On my way upstairs. To the bedroom.”

  “That’s it,” North said. “Play hard to get.”

  He kissed her again, and she thought, I’m yours, and then she stopped thinking again and just loved him.

  It wasn’t that simple, of course. She had to put Alice and Carter to bed, Alice protesting, Carter picking up a comic book without a word, and then she had to be polite to the guests in the sitting room, which she did on autopilot because all she could see was North, smiling at her. Southie pulled her aside and whispered, “You’re a little obvious there, tone it down some,” but she didn’t care. There weren’t any ghosts and she was back with North, even if it was just for tonight, she was back with North, so at the earliest possible moment, she said brightly, “Well, I should go check on the kids. You all have a good night,” and left to run up the stone stairs to the kids’ rooms, really meaning to check on them until she heard North’s step behind her.

  “You should have waited fifteen minutes,” she whispered over the railing to him. “People are going to notice.”

  “People already noticed,” North said, gaining on her. “Also, I don’t care.”

  She picked up speed, but when she got to the landing, she heard music coming from the nursery.

  “Damn it,” Andie said as North hit the last stair, and went into the nursery to see Alice dancing to “Make a Move on Me” in the light of the gas fire.

  “What are you doing, young lady?”

  “I woke up,” Alice said, bopping around the room. “There were noises. So I turned on the music!” She flung her arms over her head and danced wildly, a little savage in her nightgown.

  “Noises?” Andie looked around but there was nobody there except for North, standing in the doorway. Waiting. Not for long, Andie thought and said to Alice, “Back in bed, it’s way too late for you to be up.”

  Olivia Newton-John sang, “I’m the one you want,” and North laughed in the doorway.

  “What’s so funny?” Alice said, annoyed.

  “I just recognized the song,” he told her. “Andie and I danced to this once.”

  “Really?” Alice said, as Andie pulled back her covers.

  “Get into bed,” Andie said to Alice, and Alice climbed in. “We’ll be right in the next room.”

  “You and Bad danced to this?”

  “Not that I remember,” Andie said, pulling the covers up.

  “Arts Ball,” North said, his voice lazy with satisfaction. “The band was awful, and Southie got his boom box out of the car and set it up in the hall because the girl he was with—”

  “Oh, yes,” Andie said, remembering the hall, and Southie, and North laughing with her, and how happy she’d been. “The little ballerina. The one who was so damn flexible.”

  North laughed again. “That was her. Bridget?”

  “No,” Andie said, thinking hard. “Brin. Short for Brinda.” She laughed, too. “Brinda. My God.”

  “Right. And Southie said she must have had a dyslexic mother. And she got mad, and he got the boom box, and she wanted this song . . .”

  “I remember now. I was wearing the skirt you got me, the green-blue one with the sequins. Alice loves that skirt.”

  “I love that skirt,” Alice said solemnly.

  “And I dragged you out—”

  “And then you danced me down that hall,” Andie said, smiling as she remembered. “All those mirrors. We stayed out there for the rest of the ball. Remember, Southie went and got champagne . . .”

  “And we sat on the floor while he fed Brin caviar,” North said. “Charmed the socks right off her.”

  “Southie can charm the socks off anybody. That was a good time.”

  “I should have been there,” Alice said from her bed.

  “You weren’t born yet, monkey,” Andie said, and then the music changed to Jackson Browne, and the memories came pounding back.

  “What’s wrong?” Alice said.

  “Nothing,” North said, smiling at the little girl now. “This is our song, Andie’s and mine.”

  “Why is it yours?” Alice scowled at him. “I like it, too.”

  “When people fall in love, they get a song.” North didn’t look at Andie, just smiled at Alice. “This is the song that was playing when we met.”

  “Did you dance?” Alice said.

  “Oh, yeah,” North said.

  “Show me,” Alice said, and North walked into the room and held out his hand to Andie, and she let him pull her against him because her days of saying no to him were gone.

  He held her close and began to move, and she moved with him and the music, full of the memory of him and the reality of him, blanketed by all the satisfaction he’d released in her, feeling again the incredible, irresistible erotic pull he had on her, every cell expanding at his touch, back from the long, cold dead. He twirled her away from him and back to him, catching her the way he always had, holding her tight until the music slowed and then he stood, smiling down at her, heat in his eyes again, always.

  “Hey,” Alice said, and North reached over and turned off the tape deck.

  “Bedtime,” he said, and she grumped, but she slid back under her covers.

  Andie let go of him to kiss Alice good night. “I love you, baby,” she said, “sleep tight,” and pulled the covers up over her.

  “Good night, Bad,” Alice called.

  “Good night, Alice,” North said.

  “Tomorrow, you have to dance with me,” she said.

  “Whatever you want, kid,” North said, and Alice nodded as if that was the way she thought things should be, too, and rolled over.

  North took Andie’s hand and tugged her toward her open bedroom door. “Come here,” he said, and his voice went to her spine.

  She followed him through the door, taking one last backward glance at Alice as he closed it, and when she turned back, he bent and kissed her, and it hit hard again, and she clung to him, shaking, drinking in that kiss as if she were dying.

  “So,” he whispered when she pulled back, his voice husky, “I think we should take it slower this time—”

  She pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling him.

  “Or not,” he said, and May said, You’ve got troubles, and Andie pushed North away and rolled off him to scoot back on the bed, saying, “No, no!”

  “What?” North said, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

  May floated in the room in front of them and Andie realized they hadn’t put the fire on. Because ghosts weren’t real. “You’re not real.”

  That Kelly woman is doing something down in the Great Hall. Sneaking around. I can possess her and stop her if you want. May smiled, helpful and eager to please. I don’t think she has a soul, so it wouldn’t matter.

  “I’m hallucinating.” Andie slid off the far side of the bed. “Crumb fed us all salvia, and you are a hallucination.”

  “Andie?” North said, alarmed, reaching for her.

  Fine, May said, swishing her skirt and scowling. But you might want to look downstairs anyway because she’s got that camera guy and they’re filming. And I think Carter’s got trouble, too. Although he’s used to it.

  “Carter?” Andie said. “What’s wrong with Carter?”

  May swished her skirt again. That was good stuff you did down in the pantry, but it’s stirred things up. You better go look.

  “Andie,” North said, putting his hand on her arm. “It’s okay. I’m here. Maybe it’ll take a while until the salvia’s out of your system, but whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.”

  May swished her skirt again and said, I may not be real, but you’d better go look anyway.

  “She’s not real,”
Andie said to herself out loud.

  “Right,” North said, trying to pull her back to bed. “Come on, you just need to sleep it off—”

  I’m real, Andie, May said, and Andie knew it was true.

  She pulled her hand free from North’s grasp. “Kelly’s filming in the Great Hall,” she said as she headed for the door. “And Carter’s in trouble. You go stop Kelly, and I’ll help Carter.”

  She went through the nursery, where Alice was still sleeping, and out into the gallery, thinking, She’s not real, she’s not real.

  Then she saw a flickering light from Carter’s room and ran.

  North left the bedroom, trying to get some blood back to his brain. He almost followed Andie to Carter’s room, but he saw a glow from downstairs and looked over the railing to see lights and Bill the cameraman pointing his camera at something under the gallery.

  Kelly O’Keefe really was filming again.

  He hit the back stairs at a run.

  “A little girl,” Kelly was saying into her microphone when he ran into the Great Hall, “in tears, terror-stricken, while her guardian ignores her and her nanny talks to ghosts,” and then North pulled the plug on Bill’s extension cord and flipped on the big chandelier overhead. “What the hell?” Kelly snapped at Bill, who nodded toward North.

  Kelly turned on him angrily and then saw who it was. Her smile flashed back on. “North! We were just—”

  “Finished,” North held out his hand to Bill. “Give me the tape.”

  “That’s the property of the station,” Kelly said righteously.

  “Give me the tape or I’ll take it,” North said, really wanting to hit something.

  Bill pulled the tape out and handed it over.

  “Bill!” Kelly snapped and then she turned to North. “You’re violating my First Amendment rights!”

  “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me,” North said. “You’re out of here. Now. If you’re still here in the morning, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”

  Bill nodded and began to break down equipment.