by Lisa Kleypas
The line moved forward, and she bent to pick up her bag.
A pair of gleaming black lace-up shoes came into view. Straightening slowly, Justine felt her heart rise in her throat. She looked up at him, her thoughts tumbling in a confusion of eagerness and need.
Jason spoke in a casual tone, but his gaze was caressing. “You can’t get a room here. They’re all booked up.”
The inside of her throat felt as if it had been coated with honey. Justine swallowed hard before replying. “I have a reservation.”
He took the overnight bag from her nerveless fingers. “It’s been canceled. You can share my room.”
Their electric mutual awareness had communicated itself to the others around them. A few gazes followed them, some curious, some envious.
Guiding Justine to the partial concealment of a tall potted ficus, Jason set her bag and his briefcase aside. He surveyed her intently. “Why are you in San Diego?” Before she could reply, he added, “Let me make it clear that I’m not complaining. I’m happy as hell to have you here.”
“You’re not ‘having’ me here. I’ve come to get the Triodecad.”
“I was going to bring it to you the day after tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t wait that long.”
“For the spellbook,” he asked, “or me?”
She had already decided in advance that she would not flirt with him, would not smile or relent or succumb to his charm. “I want my book.”
Wordlessly Jason picked up his black leather briefcase and gave it to her.
Bemused, she asked, “You’ve been carrying it around with you?”
Jason smiled faintly. “Like it’s the nuclear codes.”
Turning away from him, Justine opened the briefcase and peeked inside. She reached in to pull up a corner of the linen cloth. A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw the grimoire’s familiar cover.
Jason drew close behind her. His head bent, his mouth lightly caressing the side of her neck.
A sensual shiver ran through her. “I’m still going to fry your ass.”
“Yes, do it,” he said, right before she felt his teeth in a gentle bite. “With both hands.”
Fuming, Justine turned to face him. “You lied to me.”
“Not technically.”
“Bullshit. If nothing else it was a lie of omission.”
“It was the only way I could be with you.”
“And the end justifies the means?” she asked caustically. “You haven’t even justified the end.”
Jason studied her with outward calm, but she sensed the force of strong emotion locked beneath the surface. “This is why you got rid of the geas,” he said. “You wanted love. Now you’ve got it. I love you enough for a dozen people. Maybe there’s something I wouldn’t do to have you—some rule or law I wouldn’t be willing to break—but I’m damned if I can think of one. I know I’m not perfect. But if you—”
“You are the opposite of perfect.” Justine clutched the briefcase and stared at him unhappily. “And I didn’t want the kind of love where people get hurt and things go wrong and you’re not even sure who you are anymore.”
Jason had no right to look so sympathetic, when he was the cause of her misery. He reached for her hand, his grip warm and firm. “Let’s go somewhere, honey. I’m not comfortable discussing my innermost feelings behind a potted plant in a hotel lobby.” Picking up the overnight bag with his free hand, he pulled Justine toward the concierge desk.
Seeing their approach, a man emerged from behind the desk, radiating an air of confident knowledge befitting a concierge of a world-class hotel. It was said that a great concierge was part Merlin, part Houdini, able to solve a wide spectrum of problems with lightning speed. The issue could be anything from replacing a lost toothbrush to chartering a private jet. There was only one word that a well-trained concierge would seldom, if ever, say to a hotel guest … the word “no.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Black. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, thank you. As it turns out, I need a different room.”
“Of course. May I ask if there is a problem with your current room?”
“No, it’s fine. But I need something a little more spacious. I’d like to change to one of the beach cottages.”
“We don’t need a beach cottage,” Justine said hastily.
Jason ignored her. “One with as much privacy as possible,” he said.
“If I’m not mistaken, there is an available suite at the end next to the Sapphire pool. Quite private. It’s a one-bedroom king with its own patio, fire pit, hot tub, and gated access to the beach.”
“That sounds expensive—” Justine began.
“We’ll take it,” Jason said, giving him Justine’s overnight bag. “Would you have this brought to the cottage and move my stuff there, as well?”
“Give us half an hour to forty-five minutes,” the concierge said, “and we’ll make up some new room keys and have you all settled in. Would you care to sit at an outside terrace while you wait? Perhaps I could send out some wine and refreshments?”
Jason looked down at Justine. “How does that sound?”
“Oh … are you asking me something?” Her tone was pure saccharine. “You want my opinion? My preference?”
The concierge’s expression was politely blank as Jason turned to him. “I think we’ll go for a stroll on the boardwalk,” Jason said. “Just give me a ring when the cottage is ready. Oh, and please cancel my friend’s room reservation. She’ll be staying with me.”
“Yes, sir.” The concierge smiled and looked at Justine expectantly. “May I ask for the name on the reservation?”
“Justine Hoffman,” she muttered.
“Miss Hoffman. Welcome to the Del. We’ll do everything possible to make certain you have an enjoyable stay.”
Justine accompanied Jason through the lobby of the main Victorian building. As they neared the entrance of the garden patio courtyard, a bellman dressed in a uniform complete with a red vest and a black bowler hat recognized Jason. “Mr. Black. Need the car brought around?”
“Not at the moment, thanks.”
“Have a good one, sir.”
As they continued through the lobby, Justine frowned at Jason. “I am not impressed by the way people suck up to you.”
“Yes you are. Even I’m impressed by it. Here, let me carry the briefcase.”
“I’m just staying for one night,” she said, handing it over. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Stay the whole weekend,” he coaxed.
“Sorry, I can’t.”
“You still haven’t forgiven me for borrowing the spellbook,” he said rather than asked.
“You took the most treasured possession I own without asking. I had a heart attack when I saw it was missing. You took ten years off my life.”
“Tell me how I can make it up to you.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“I’ll hire a skywriter to write an apology over all of San Diego. I’ll take you to the Taj Mahal. I’ll start a charity for wounded kittens.”
She gave him a disdainful glance.
“You like books,” Jason continued, undeterred. “Did you know that L. Frank Baum wrote The Wizard of Oz while living at the Del?”
“Yes, I knew that. What about it?”
“Right now there’s a display of Wizard of Oz memorabilia in the lobby. Including a first-edition copy autographed by the author and the entire cast of the 1939 movie.”
“That’s cool,” Justine said. “I’d like to see that. But why are you—”
“I’ll buy it for you as a souvenir.”
She stopped in her tracks, obliging him to stop, as well. Had he really made such an outrageous offer? “That’s not a souvenir. A souvenir is a T-shirt or a snow globe.”
“You’ll need something to read on the way home.”
“A book like that would cost a fortune,” she said, adding in a highly insulted tone, “How ma
ny times do I have to tell you that I can’t be bought?” She paused. “The entire cast?”
“Including Toto.” Seeing her expression, Jason pressed his advantage. “His cute little paw print is right on the inside of the front cover.”
Had a woman ever faced such temptation? “I don’t want the book,” Justine forced herself to say. “Not even if the ruby slippers came with it.”
“What if I take you to dinner tonight? A table by the ocean, the two of us watching the sunset.”
Justine wanted to prolong her coolness toward him. However, she was hungry and tired, and the prospect of a fine meal with an ocean view was too tempting to resist.
“That might be nice,” she said grudgingly. “But even if I have dinner with you, it doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”
“Am I at least a little bit forgiven?”
“Maybe a barely-measurable-by-science bit forgiven.”
“That’s a start.” Jason fished his cell phone from the inside of his suit jacket. “I’ll make the reservation.”
“All by yourself?” Justine asked in mocking awe. “You’re not going to have one of your minions do it?”
He gave her a sardonic glance and began to dial.
“Wait,” she said, recalling his schedule. “You have plans for the evening.”
“I’m completely free.”
“You’re supposed to have dinner with some computer-simulation guys tonight.”
Jason looked up from his phone. “How do you know that?”
“Priscilla gave me your schedule.”
He glowered down at the phone. “Bad minion,” he muttered.
“It’s no problem. I’ll just relax in the private hot tub while you go out for your business dinner.” Justine paused before adding, “I hope there are no rules about nudity. I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
She heard his breath catch. “I’m canceling dinner.”
“At the last minute?”
“I cancel dinners all the time,” he informed her. “It’s part of my elusive charm.”
Justine couldn’t help smiling. “‘Elusive’ is one word for it.” As they reached the boardwalk, she paused to take in the view, the flat sand beach silvered with a heavy infusion of mica, the water, startling Pacific blue. “No wonder L. Frank Baum wrote such a great book while he stayed here,” she said. “It’s a magical view, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” But Jason was looking at her. “Did you ever read The Wizard of Oz?”
“When I was little. Did you?”
“No, but I saw the movie at least a half-dozen times.” Gently he smoothed back her hair as a breeze toyed with the loose locks. “Incidentally … I always rooted for the witch.”
* * *
The beach cottage was sophisticated and luxuriously appointed with hardwood floors, an abundance of glass windows, and deep comfortable furniture. A color palette of creams and neutrals gave it a fresh open feeling, with the blues of the sky and ocean visible from every room. There was a gourmet kitchen, a dining room, and a main living area with a fireplace surmounted by a flat-panel TV. The king-size bed in the bedroom was covered with heavy slick linens. A huge marble tub dominated the adjoining bathroom, which also featured a separate glass shower. After investigating every room of the elegant villa, Justine went back to the main area.
Jason had removed his suit jacket and was draping it over the back of the chair. She had caught him in an unguarded moment. He was tired, she saw, his handsomeness a bit lived-in, worn around the edges. Somehow that made him even sexier, more human, a man with flaws and needs.
“You wanted love,” he had told her in the lobby. “Now you’ve got it.”
No matter how angry or hurt she was, Justine knew it was the truth.
And the echo of Priscilla’s words were still with her: “Even if that spell worked … you don’t have forever.”
Could she afford to waste a moment of love? Could anyone?
Jason looked up as she approached him. The self-possessed mask was instantly resumed. “Do you like the cottage?” he asked. “Because if you don’t—” He broke off, his only reaction a quick double blink as Justine deliberately stripped off her T-shirt and tossed it to the sofa. His gaze locked on to her slim form, dressed in a white cotton bra and jeans. “Justine,” he said raggedly, “I want to make it clear that there’s no obligation … that is, you don’t have to…”
“You’re trying to say I’m not required to sleep with you in exchange for room and board?”
“Exactly.” He didn’t move as she reached for his tie, her slender fingers unknotting the length of silk.
Justine tossed the tie aside. “So when you canceled my reservation and insisted that I stay in this cottage with you, there was no thought of sex lurking in your mind?”
“Not lurking,” Jason said, breathing unevenly as she began to unfasten his shirt. “Stampeding. But you still don’t have to sleep with me.”
Justine let the front of his shirt hang open and slipped her bra straps down. Reaching for the back fastening of her bra, she arched her breasts toward him. “So if I asked you to take the sofa tonight, you’d be fine with that?”
“Yes.”
She let the bra drop to the floor. Standing on her toes, she slipped her hand behind his taut neck. “Doubtful,” she whispered, and pressed her parted lips to the underside of his jaw. “But you get points for trying to be a gentleman.” The familiar warmth and scent of his skin was her undoing. All trace of melancholy was driven out by a relief so sweeping and giddy that it felt like being drunk.
Jason brought his mouth to hers in a slow, hot kiss. His long fingers spread over the contours of jaw, cheeks, nose, forehead, as if he were blind and could perceive her only by touch. The kiss turned deep and ravenous, until they were both panting, fumbling to undress each other.
Soon a trail of clothes marked the path to the bedroom. Standing by the bed, Jason held her close and cupped her breast. He shaped the plush contour, his thumb and forefinger gently pinching the tip until it was hard and deep pink. He bent to soothe it with his tongue. At the moment her balance faltered, his arm was there to support her, lowering her to the wide bed covered with cool white sheets.
There was nothing in the world beyond this quiet room with the shutters drawn closed. No time, no spinning earth, no deep blue ocean, no broken magic or fate bestowed by unfriendly stars. There was only this man. Her lover, her charmer, binding her heart with invisible cords.
He pressed her back and bent over her breasts, kissing the swollen tips. Sensation darted from her breasts to her groin in vibrant flashes. His hand went to the soft place between her thighs, one of his fingers wriggling into the tightness, his thumb resting lightly on the aching peak. He began to massage her in slow, teasing circles, inside and out. Pleasure began rolling up to her, gathering momentum. Not yet. She wrenched free and bent over his lap to take him into her mouth, letting her tongue circle the stiff silky tip. The taste of him was intensely arousing, a hint of saline freshness like the ocean.
Jason went still. His eyes closed, and his hands clenched into fists as if he were being tortured. Soon he moved to stop her, pulling her head away with unsteady hands.
He pushed Justine to her forearms and knees, his palms sliding along the taut lines of her body. As he moved behind her, the hard, hair-roughened texture of his legs intruded between hers, spreading them wide. She jerked at the touch of intimate hardness, a blunt stroke all along the open cleft. Moaning, she gripped handfuls of the sheets, waiting blindly. He lifted her hips into a high upward tilt as if she were a stretching cat.
They breathed in unison, hearts and lungs laboring. Without warning, he entered her in a demanding thrust. She writhed and backed up against him, her flesh throbbing reflexively around the insistent pressure. He set a relentless rhythm, every movement roughened with pure carnal feeling. Her inner muscles clenched and unclenched in the opposing tensions of pleasure and need. Another slippery-hard plunge, another, deepening until
there was no part of her he hadn’t reached.
Too much pleasure, her face burning with it, her flesh aching. She was so close, just a few heartbeats away.
“Jason. Please—” She broke off with a whimper as his hands came to her bottom, rotating to make her feel the taut circling pressure of him inside.
“Tell me,” came his dark whisper. “Tell me what you need.”
She found herself gasping out words that had spilled from a heart cracked wide open. “Love me. I need you to love me.”
She felt his response, a deep shiver, a hot jolt inside her. He answered with a rasping word. Leaning over her, he murmured endearments, gathering her hips more tightly up against his. His hand slipped between her thighs, kneading in counterpoint to the deep centering thrusts. A climax broke over her, immolating and blinding.
Pressing her face against the mattress, she made raw pleasured noises, her flesh squeezing and pulling at him. He drove deep and held, not moving, not even breathing for a moment as the release pumped through him. A shudder, a growl, as he luxuriated in the hot clasp of her body.
As they lay together afterward, groggy and spent, Justine realized what he had said to her in that ultimate moment.
Always.
Twenty-two
Since neither of them was inclined to leave the bed, Jason canceled their dinner reservations. He paused to stare at the long lines of Justine’s body. She was stretched out on her stomach, the sheet gathered up to her slender hips. “Your skin is so beautiful. Like white violets.” He ran his fingertips along her spine, marveling at the perfect paleness of her back. She blushed easily, the fever-color lingering. He found a delicate rosy shadow on her shoulder, and another on the side of her breast. “After I’ve made love to you,” he said, “these sweet little pink patches appear everywhere, especially on your—”
“Don’t embarrass me,” she protested, burying her face in the pillow.
Jason bent to kiss every patch he could find, and continued to stroke her with proprietary hands. “Making love…” he mused aloud. “I’ve never called it that before. Too old-fashioned. But with you, the other words for it don’t sound right.”