Under His Spell (Holiday Hearts #4)

by Kristin Hardy

  On the counter lay a newspaper clipping. The story featured a photo of J.J. after a race, his helmet on, his goggles up on his forehead, that effervescent grin shining out. “Local Champ Heads to Finish,” the headline read. Reaching out, she picked it up and began to read, at first in idle curiosity, and then with a steadily growing anger.

  In a sport where the average competitor is out to pasture by twenty-eight, thirty-three-year-old J. J. Cooper is a relic. The human body simply can’t keep up with the demands of the World Cup circuit forever, not with the wear and tear of competing in one or two races a week for five months. This year’s injury may simply be a harbinger of the end.

  Meanwhile, the younger, hotter, more resilient racers are breathing down Cooper’s neck, fighting for a share of the limited resources of the U.S. Ski Team. It’s time that he passed the baton to them. Then again, given his current condition, the baton may be passed to them whether he wants it to or not.

  Lainie snapped down the paper. A relic, indeed. She’d just seen that relic in action. Idiots.

  At the sound of J.J.’s feet on the stairs, she moved back out to the living room.

  He came in whistling, hair damp, smelling of soap. His royal-blue shirt made his eyes look incandescent. For a change, he wore trousers instead of shorts.

  “Nice pants,” she said awkwardly.

  “Custom-made.” He slapped his thigh. “Standard pants don’t fit me.”

  “I can’t think of anything standard that does,” she said.

  He didn’t take her to a restaurant but to a narrow Irish pub tucked in at the edge of a residential neighborhood, blocks away from the fashionable wharf area. Dark wood, deep booths—above all it held a sense of comfort. They sat at a table butted up against a corner banquette and took their time, sharing shepherd’s pie and fish with pub fries, picking from each other’s plates and washing it all down with Guinness.

  “Mmmmm.” Lainie set her fork aside and dabbed her mouth.

  “Good?” J.J. asked.

  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  “See how I improve your life?”

  He sat around the corner of the table from her, which meant that instead of a nice safe expanse between them, they sat practically elbow to elbow. It was the sort of table where couples held hands, leaning in to trade kisses and confidences.

  And with the distraction of eating gone, it was far too cozy.

  Time to change the subject. Lainie looked at J.J. speculatively. “So what would your trainers say if they found out you’ve gone off the wagon twice?”

  “That I don’t listen to those rules any better than I listen to anything else,” he told her as the waitress who’d greeted him by name came over to clear their plates.

  “Ah. A regular,” Lainie observed. “And here you were bucking for sympathy over the egg white omelets.”

  “You asked me if they made me eat them. I told you my trainer gave me a box of stuff.”

  “And?”

  J.J. propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “It’s true, he does. And then I put it in a corner and come here.”

  Vintage J.J. Those who expected things from him were destined for disappointment. “You know, I should know better than to trust you,” she said, amused despite herself.

  He reached out to toy with her earring. “You can trust me to do lots of things.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She was afraid of more: the flutter in her stomach; the way the brush of his fingertips against her neck made every nerve ending come to alert.

  The way despite all that, she sat there motionless.

  She swallowed. “So how did you find this place? You seem to be a regular.”

  “Wandering around. I usually take different routes in the morning when I run, just to keep it interesting.”

  “Variety is the spice of life?”

  “You’re mellowing. A month ago, you would have told me it was inability to commit.”

  “Far be it from me to be predictable.”

  “That’s part of what I like about you.”

  She shifted. Under the table her leg pressed against his, and immediately she flashed on the way he’d looked earlier, the power, the control, the bunch and ebb of gleaming muscle. He was so near, too near. It wouldn’t take much, just leaning a bit closer and she could have her mouth on his; she could taste him, feel him, see where it would take them.

  With a thump the waitress slapped the leather check cover on the table. Lainie blinked. She was out of her mind. Suddenly the warm, dim confines of the pub were fraught with danger. Time to go, she decided. “All set?” she asked abruptly, nodding at the check. “I’m ready to get outside.”

  “You don’t want to hang out at the bar awhile?” J.J. asked, signing the slip. “There’s usually a guitarist who plays on Thursday nights.”

  She rose. “I need some air.” They’d come to the restaurant on foot; the walk back would be good for them both.

  It had rained briefly while they’d been inside, adding a sheen of damp to the streets. The night air was surprisingly mild; in her short, flippy skirt and T-shirt she was more than comfortable. She swung her arms a bit, relaxing. Now that they were outside in the open air, she’d gotten her sanity back. She knew what the smart move was, and she’d stick with it.

  “It’s so nice to be outside at night and have it be warm,” she said. “I hate the thought that winter’s coming.”

  “It’s a ways off.”

  “I know, I know. But it’s out there.”

  “So’s spring, on the other side.”

  She looked at him from under her brows. “Who are you, Pollyanna?”

  “You’re talking to someone who lives in the snow ten months out of the year. You’ve got to find some way to deal with it.”

  A car passed by, lights strobing through the night. “Do you like it?” she asked impulsively.

  “Of course. I get paid for having fun. What’s better than that?”

  “Being born rich?” she offered.

  “Nah. That just screws you up. Look at Paris Hilton. I think people need to have a purpose. It’s how we were built.”

  She turned to stare at him. “Is this J. J. Cooper, Party Guy?”

  “Work hard, play hard. If you work, you deserve it. There’s no shame in relaxing.”

  And he did work hard, she knew that now. “So what happens when it all goes away?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Skiing. Racing. I read…I saw the article.” She broke off, wondering if she’d gone too far.

  “You mean the one that’s telling me to make reservations in an old folks’ home?” He laughed, but it sounded a little forced. “They’ve been writing articles like that for the past five years. For some reason, it really pisses people off that I don’t go by the rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “Take your pick. Play it safe when you’ve got a lead instead of pushing it as far as you can. Pick just one discipline, don’t ski them all. Retire at twenty-eight or twenty-nine. You know me, I’ve never been any good at doing what people expect.”

  “Yeah, I know you.” And she couldn’t imagine him without skiing as his life. “So you think you’ll just keep going?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.” They turned onto their street, the houses growing smaller, shabbier. “The thing is, they’re right, in a way. Sooner or later it is going to be over. And I don’t know…”

  “About what?”

  They walked in silence for a while. “Anything,” he said finally, his voice low and warm in the night. “My life has always been about the mountain. I mean, you don’t realize, maybe, but I almost never get time like this. Except for about six weeks out of the year, my life is about the World Cup. It’s always the goal, everything I do, everything I am.”

  “I thought the goal was to have fun.”

  His teeth gleamed in a smile. “That too. Winning is fun. Goin
g fast is fun. But it doesn’t just happen. You’ve got to work at it.”

  “People need to have a purpose.”

  “Exactly. The World Cup’s the purpose. It’s always been the purpose, the goal, ever since I was a kid. And now…” The smile faded. “Sooner or later it’s going to change. It’s got to.”

  “There’s the ski lodge, the work with Gabe.”

  “I could do my part of it with my eyes closed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s fun, but it’s not enough.” He paused. “And I don’t know what is.”

  Her house was dark as they walked up. Of course, she thought, she hadn’t left on any lights because she’d expected to be back quickly. “Are they right about the retirement thing?” she asked.

  “Who knows? It’s not like there’s some expiration date. You go until it doesn’t work anymore, or until it’s no longer fun.”

  “What happens then?”

  He was quiet for so long she thought maybe he hadn’t heard her. “Your guess is as good as mine. I just don’t want to be some has-been running around the circuit telling stories. I’ve seen a couple of guys like that and they’re pathetic. That’s not what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  He looked at her, his eyes shadowed in the night. “You.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lainie shivered, though the air was still balmy. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, trapped by his gaze, unable to look away.

  “I don’t?”

  “I can’t be your way to kill time until the ski season starts.”

  “I didn’t say you were. That’s not what this is about.” He stepped closer.

  “What is it about?”

  “You. Me. Something that’s been a long time coming.”

  Intensity vibrated in his voice, determination flickered in his eyes. She felt panic, a sort of stunned resignation and, hidden underneath, somewhere down deep, a flicker of delight.

  She swallowed. “We don’t make sense together, J.J. You know that. You live a different life.”

  “And isn’t that what you’ve always said you wanted? A different life? Aren’t you even curious?” He reached out to trace his fingers along the neckline of her T-shirt where it dipped low. “I am.”

  Low and insistent as a distant drumbeat, desire began to thud through her. “It doesn’t matter,” she managed. “It can’t happen.”

  His laugh was quiet, intimate in the night. “Oh, yeah, it can. Want me to show you?”

  And then, before she could react, he slid his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her to him.

  Hot, urgent, demanding, his kiss was no more like the quick, friendly brush he’d given her that morning than a forest fire was like a match flame. It overwhelmed even as it scorched her, sending heat blasting through her veins. Always before, when she’d kissed men, she’d enjoyed the taste, the feel, the dance of tongue and lip. With J.J. there were no separate elements; everything was all bound up into an onslaught of sensation that was more force of nature than human touch.

  In some part of her brain, she’d always known it would be like this between them: overpowering, devastating, uncontrollable. Anxiety crowded into her throat. But another part of her, a steadily growing part, wasn’t alarmed at all. Instead, it was exhilarated, eager—and greedy for more. The excitement broke through the panic, broke through the control she’d imposed on herself, and suddenly she was diving into the maelstrom, tasting, touching, pressing herself heedlessly against him.

  Now she wanted, and she took, nipping at his lips, savoring his flavor until she was giddy with it. Winding her fingers through his hair, she made a growling sound of demand.

  The sudden impatience of her response stunned him. He felt her move, avid against him, pressing him back against one of the porch pillars. He fought the almost overpowering urge to simply lift that skirt and take her right there. This was the Lainie he’d wanted, the Lainie he’d always guessed was hidden away from him. She was flash and fire, heat and hunger. She was all he’d ever guessed she’d be and more.

  “Upstairs,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

  Everest, J.J. thought, was not as lengthy a climb as the staircase to Lainie’s flat.

  “I don’t remember it being this far before,” he grumbled as they got to the first landing.

  “Shhh,” Lainie said, “you’ll wake up Elsie and the kids.”

  “I’ll be quiet,” he said, and slid his hands up under her skirt, drawing a little yelp of surprise from her.

  “Shhh,” he cautioned, “you’ll wake up Elsie and the kids.” Although, at the moment he didn’t give much of a damn about Elsie and the kids, because his palms still tingled from the surprise of the bare skin he’d found exposed by the thong Lainie wore under her little skirt. At the moment, rock hard and aching, he didn’t give much of a damn about anything but getting her alone.

  At the top of the stairs, in the little vestibule before her front door, Lainie stopped to open the lock. J.J. leaned in behind her. She felt a sudden breath of cooler air as he lifted her hair away, and then he nibbled the nape of her neck.

  And her keys dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

  “I’ll get them,” he murmured, kneeling down.

  Lainie trembled as she took the bundle back, trying to ignore the need that slammed through her. She’d just begun to clumsily sort through them when she felt the hot press of lips on her calf. She jumped and made a little sound.

  “You’d better hurry,” J.J. said, his breath warm against her skin as he worked his way up to the back of her knee, licking the tender skin there.

  It took her far longer than it should have to pick out the right key. Blindly she reached back to touch J.J.’s hair. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to wait,” he murmured. “I may just have you here.” He slipped his hands up under her skirt, sliding them over the round warmth of her bare ass, framed by the thong.

  “I thought about this at Gabe’s party, you know,” he murmured, tracing the back of her thigh with his tongue. “I looked at you in this little skirt and thought about how much I wanted to just flip it up and bend you over and—”

  His mouth was hot against her bare ass cheek as he slid his hands up and down her thighs. The roughness of a day’s beard provided a shocking counterpoint to the softness of his lips, the slickness of his tongue. She was on fire. “Tick, tick, tick,” he whispered against her skin. “Turn around.”

  When she did, mindlessly, he pushed her skirt out of the way and kissed his way up, licking the fragile inner skin of her thigh. Lainie shivered and reached down to wind her fingers in his hair as he went higher. Then all she could do was fight for air in a sort of choking gasp as he pressed a hot kiss to the satin-covered mound at the apex of her thighs. She felt the heat of his breath through the fabric and bit back a moan.

  “Time,” he said softly and pulled the keys from her limp hand.

  She was strung tight as a wire with need, breathless, shaking, barely able to let the front door close behind them before she seized J.J. and brought his face to hers to fuse their mouths together. Heat arced between them, searingly intense. There were no doubts now, no hesitation. She needed; it was as clear and as simple as that. She had to have.

  His hand slid under her shirt to find her breast, sending a jolt through her. She could feel him hard against her leg.

  And the thought that drummed through her was “I want.”

  “Now,” she breathed against his lips, reaching for his belt buckle. There was no time for teasing and foreplay and all the rest. If she didn’t get him inside her that instant, she was going to die.

  As one, they sank down to the hallway rug. In a sort of delirious joy, she felt J.J. strip off her thong. Then he was on top of her, his erection thick and hard against her thigh, and tension coiled tight within her. When he rubbed the tip of himself against her cleft, she jolted in pleasure.

  She could feel how wet she was as he ran himself over and over the hard lit
tle bud of her sex. She gasped for air. So hard, so silky, so slippery, each touch sent her twisting mindlessly against him.

  And then he pumped his hips and plunged himself in fast and deep.

  Lainie cried out as he filled her in a single surge. Bigger than she’d guessed, harder than she could ever have imagined. He stroked into her again and again until she almost didn’t recognize the high-pitched whistling sounds coming out of her throat. And they, who had always been at cross purposes, were now one, moving together, gasping together, working toward the same urgent, glorious goal.

  His eyes stared into hers, not relaxed and amused, for once, but narrowed in intensity. It was as though he could see into her, as though they were connected by much more than their linked bodies. He varied his rhythm, now speeding up, now slowing until she finally gave up anticipating and just wrapped her legs around him and held on, absorbing every sensation, feeling him drag her closer to orgasm with every fast, furious stroke.

  When she got there, she didn’t so much go over the edge as she was flung, gasping, jolting, feeling the explosive burst of sensation radiate out through her entire body. She cried his name.

  And with a final groan, J.J. spilled himself into her.

  “God.” J.J. lay on his back, staring up at the hallway ceiling, waiting for his system to level.

  “You can say that again,” Lainie added feebly.

  He’d thought about this in the past few weeks—longer, if he were honest—but he’d had no idea what it would really be like, to have her body taut and springy under his, furled tight around him, to feel her urge him on as her eyes went blurry and unfocused with pleasure.

  On impulse, he reached out for her hand and brought it to his lips. “Sorry for not kissing you properly, but I’m not sure I have the strength to move.”

  “The spirit is willing but the body is weak?”

  “Right now, the body is happy. So is the spirit.”

  “Glad to know you’re satisfied.”

  “Oh, well, I think satisfied might be overdoing it. In fact,” he added thoughtfully, “I think I’m a long way from satisfied.”