Happiness? But he’d come from Leslie’s. He was at Leslie’s. Maybe they didn’t need magic to set things right, after all.
“What are you doing here?”
“You sounded funny on the phone. I was worried about you. I needed to be sure you were really okay.” He applied a small amount of pressure to my shoulders. “Are you?”
I couldn’t seem to locate my voice, so I nodded.
“You’re lying. Why?” I didn’t answer. Scot tightened his hold on my shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
A zillion urges kicked to life. Yes! I thought. Come in and hold me. Kiss me. Touch me. But I had to stay strong. “Um . . . not tonight. I have to pack. I’m going out of town tomorrow. Or Friday. It depends when I can get a flight.” My voice held my tears. I tried again, going instead for cool, calm, and collected. “My parents are renewing their wedding vows in Las Vegas. I . . . I think I’d like to be there.”
“I won’t stay long.” He bent over, so his breath teased my neck. In a whisper, he said, “Besides, we’re supposed to be dating. Remember?”
He spun me toward him before his meaning became clear. Strong arms folded around me. He pulled me close. So close I forgot how to breathe. His lips found mine in a hot, melting kiss that turned my Jell-O knees into butter.
My blood heated up and sizzled through my veins in a rush of flat-out want. Need and desire ignited deep in my belly, and I pushed myself closer to Scot. Coherent thinking disappeared, and all that existed was this man kissing me, holding me, tantalizing me.
Someone cleared their throat, but I was so lost in the moment that the sound barely registered. A tiny moan of regret gurgled out as Scot pulled away. I started to reach for him, to bring him back, when reality intruded. We were still in the hallway. I’d heard someone . . . Leslie! Oh, God. Oh, no. I stepped to the side and whirled around.
Yep. There she was. Not in front of her door, but farther down the hallway. As if she’d just gotten off the elevator. Her coat was on, so that seemed likely.
Outright shock and condemnation gleamed in her eyes. Her mouth was pinched in a tight pucker. She held her briefcase to her chest, the whiteness of her knuckles another sign of her distress—and I was a horrible friend. Because my first reaction was relief. Relief that Scot had been hanging out with Kara, not Leslie, while waiting for me.
On the heels of that came a tide of sickening guilt. I lurched toward her. “Leslie! I . . . this . . . It isn’t what—”
“Isn’t what?” She tilted her head to the side, looked at Scot and then back to me. “I have to say that you two make a perfectly dashing couple. I’m tired. We’ll talk later, ’kay?” She walked the few remaining feet to her door and let herself in without saying another word.
Shame and anger collided with my guilt. I rotated and faced Scot. “Did you see her there before you kissed me?”
“No.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not that cruel. I know she thinks she still has feelings for me. I wouldn’t have . . .” He shook his head. “No,” he repeated. “I did not see her.”
“Okay.” I tried to work out what I should do. My stomach somersaulted and nausea climbed my throat. “I need to talk to her, Scot.”
He looked as if he was going to argue, but he didn’t. “Want me to come with you?”
I thought about it for a minute, because having him there would shore me up. But it would make things worse for Leslie, so it wasn’t a good idea. “No. I should do this on my own.”
His left hand came to my chin and he tipped it upward. His other hand came to my cheek and he brushed away the remnants of my tears. “Are you sure?”
Words escaped me, so I nodded.
“Listen,” he said softly. “Whatever chance Leslie and I had disappeared a long time ago. There isn’t any reason to feel guilty over this. Do you hear me, Julia?”
“Yes. And you and I aren’t really together. This is just pretend.” I stared into his chocolate brown eyes, somehow wishing things were different. “But you kissed me, so . . . is this still pretend, Scot? Or has something changed?”
He returned my stare for what felt like forever, though it was probably only a few seconds. I longed to run my finger over the line of his jaw but kept my hands at my side.
“I don’t know why I kissed you,” he finally said. “I was worried. I was glad you were okay. I . . .” He gave his head a brisk shake. “But yes. Still pretend.”
A burning sensation flared in my chest, probably indigestion from the Chinese food. “Good to know,” I murmured. “Now I need to talk to Leslie, so thanks for checking in. But as you can see, I’m fine.”
“Go. But I’m not leaving yet. I’ll wait in your apartment.”
And because I didn’t have the strength to argue, I nodded again and went to face the music. I wasn’t sure, exactly, what I was going to say to Leslie. But putting this conversation off was out of the question.
I waited until I heard my door close before knocking on Leslie’s. It was Kara who opened up. “How is she?” I asked.
“I have no idea. What happened, Julia? She stormed in, didn’t say a word, and closed herself in her bedroom.” Kara stepped to the side so I could enter.
“Scot kissed me just as she came off the elevator. Bad timing.”
“Maybe not. Maybe it was good timing.” Kara darted a glance toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “This gives you an opening. Use it.”
“Are you working tonight?” I asked, mostly to change the subject. Kara, while she had a degree in art history, worked as a bartender at a local hot spot. She’d yet to decide what she really wanted to be when she grew up.
“Uh-uh. I’m meeting Brett for a drink, though. He’s wonderful,” Kara gushed. “Oh! Before I left for work this afternoon, though, you had a delivery from a bakery. Chocolate-fudge brownies. From someone named Elizabeth? She was really nice and said she hoped you were feeling better.” Kara regarded me quizzically. “I didn’t know you were sick. Anyway, they’re in your kitchen. I put them in one of your plastic containers so they wouldn’t get stale.”
Nice of Elizabeth, but right now, my concern was for Leslie. “Thanks. If I’d known, I’d have brought one as a peace offering.” As much as Leslie focused on healthy food, she was a major chocoholic. I almost ran across the hall to grab a brownie, but with Scot over there, decided it was smarter to stay put. “I’m going in. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck. Just be honest with her.”
I sucked in a large mouthful of air and went to Leslie’s room. I rapped on the door once and walked in, not waiting for her to call out. She was seated at her desk, typing away on her laptop, her back to me. “Hey, Les,” I said. “Can we talk?”
Her hands paused for a millisecond, hovering over her keyboard, before she started typing again. “I have a lot of work to do. Can’t this wait?” Her voice was low and even. This worried me right off. Leslie didn’t shriek or scream when she was really upset, she stayed quiet and calm.
“No.” I approached her and put my hands on her shoulders. They tensed instantly. “I’m sorry you saw that. I’m sorry it even happened. He . . . shouldn’t have kissed me.”
“Really?” she drawled. “Then why did you look as if you enjoyed it?”
“Scot’s . . . um . . . a good kisser. So yeah, it wasn’t the worst kiss I’ve ever had.” More like the best. But saying that might result in bloodshed. “I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“I don’t believe you are.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I asked you on Friday if you liked him. You told me no. So what is it, Julia? Did you lie to me then, or have your feelings miraculously changed?” Her nails clicked as she continued to type. “I’d appreciate the truth.”
“We’re not a good match.”
“That isn’t what I asked.” Leslie’s hands stilled as she waited for my response.
“He and I have nothing in common.”
“Still not what I asked.”
I swore under my breath and retr
eated to her bed, taking a seat on the edge. “I don’t know. No. That’s not true. I didn’t know on Friday, but I know now. Yes, Leslie, I like him. But nothing’s changed. My beliefs about love haven’t changed. So it doesn’t matter if I like him.”
She swiveled in her chair. Emotion brightened her tawny eyes to a burnished copper. “It does matter. He kissed you, Julia. I want him in my life. Seeing you two together like that hurt.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I nearly pointed out that she was the one who’d ruined things with Scot to begin with. Not me. But doing so would be cruel and useless to this conversation. “I was upset earlier tonight. He was worried and came over to make sure I was okay. He didn’t mean to kiss me, Les. It sort of just happened.”
Her left eyebrow arched and her jaw twitched. “You don’t know Scot very well if you believe that. He’s a very methodical man. That’s actually something you two have in common.”
Scot, methodical? I tried to see it but couldn’t. Shaking my head, I said, “He’s pigheaded, opinionated, and believes he is always right.”
“Exactly. And the man who thinks he’s always right kissed you.” Leslie closed her eyes for two beats. “How much do you like him?”
“I have no idea how to quantify something like that. Come on, Les. It was a mistake. I’m not planning on anything else happening with Scot.” Wishing it was possible, maybe. Fantasizing about it, definitely.
In a prim and proper move, she folded her hands on her lap. My stomach clenched. She was too composed, even for her. “I would think, after hearing what your friend Celeste did, that you would know how this feels.” Temper colored her cheeks red. “You are supposed to be convincing Scot to give me another chance. Not swooping in and stealing him for yourself.”
“That’s not what I’m doing!” Not on purpose. Oh, God. “Les, he isn’t—” I gulped. “I’ve tried talking to him about you. He brushes me off. You really hurt him and . . . But I think . . . I might be able to fix it. You just have to trust me. I need a little more time to figure it all out completely, but I have an idea.”
“You want me to trust you?” She leveled her gaze with mine. “Forget it. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you to see him anymore. I don’t want you to talk to him anymore. I want you to walk away.”
Walk away from Scot? Not talk to him, not see him. Well, yeah, I understood that. Hell, a part of me even agreed with her. But the rest of me rallied up in defense. I hadn’t cheated on Scot. I hadn’t pretended to be someone I wasn’t. And he didn’t want to be with her. Well, he didn’t want be with me, either.
“That’s not really fair. What about—?”
“Your business and the ad that Scot threatened to run? I don’t care. If you’re my friend, you’ll walk away.” The sharp iciness in her voice, in her gaze, chilled me to the bone. But her actual words, her assumption, ticked me off.
“I was going to say, ‘What about the promise I made to Scot?’ but it’s nice to know you think I’m more concerned about Introductions than I am about you or my word.” I stood. “I’m leaving now. I’m sorry I hurt you, Les. Really, really sorry. But what are you really blaming me for? That kiss or the fact that you cheated on a man and wish you hadn’t? Or that you screwed things up right when he was about to introduce you to his family? You might want to think about that.”
Her chin gave a slight tremble but she didn’t look away. Anger and remorse and stubbornness had me halfway across the room before she asked, “What are you going to do?”
I paused but didn’t turn around. “I’m going out of town for a few days. I’ll figure the rest out when I get home. I guess you can wait and see,” I snapped.
Okay, that was rude. She was upset. But damn it, so was I. Besides, I didn’t think she was being fair. Or maybe, just maybe, the thought of walking away from Scot was too much to bear. Maybe I wasn’t ready for such a final action, even if it was the right thing to do. Even if it was stupid to feel that way.
Kara wasn’t around when I emerged, so I let myself out, locking the door behind me. I found Scot pacing in my living room, his cell phone to his ear. He caught sight of me, grinned, and held up a finger, signaling he’d be a minute. Pleased I had a moment to refocus, to let the conflicting tide of emotions ease from my discussion with Leslie, I removed my coat and deposited my purse, not paying attention to Scot’s conversation.
I joined him in the living room. We did a shimmy-tango kind of shuffle so I could get around him to the couch. Our hips brushed and a tingling sense of déjà vu swept over me. As if we were used to making room for each other, as if we’d done it a zillion times before. Almost more bewildering was that his being here felt right. Natural. How had that happened so fast?
Scot continued to pace as he talked on the phone, so I curled my legs beneath me on the sofa. A half-filled glass of milk and a plate scattered with brownie crumbs sat on the coffee table. He felt comfortable enough to raid my kitchen? That, too, felt natural. Right.
I leaned my head against the cushion and closed my eyes. Leslie’s face popped into my consciousness and my stomach sloshed with acid. My resentment at her and her demands surpassed my guilt over my feelings for Scot, over the kiss. And that scared me. Maybe I was a cold, heartless bitch after all? Shouldn’t I care more about her feelings than mine? Of course I should. She was my friend.
But Scot . . . He elicited all of these strange and wonderful and confusing and crazy emotions. He, more than magic, more than anything else I’d ever experienced, made me believe in the potential of love—the romantic, fairy-tale, head-over-heels type of love. The love I’d argued against so vehemently with Kara and Leslie a mere week ago.
How in the hell was I supposed to reconcile that with my friendship for Leslie? The burning in my chest increased. In the stairwell, I’d decided to use the journal for Leslie. To give her that chance she so thought she wanted. But now, God help me, I wanted that chance for myself.
Feeling this way was wrong. It made zero sense, and it went against everything I believed to be true. So yeah. I guess ice did flow through my veins. Because as much as I wanted Leslie to be happy, I—
The rumble of Scot’s voice suddenly stopped, and while I’d totally tuned out his conversation, the abrupt emptiness of sound in the room startled me out of my thoughts. I opened my eyes to see him sliding his credit card into his wallet.
“We’re all set,” he said. “I have us on the five-thirty flight tomorrow night out of O’Hare. We’ll get in around seven thirty Vegas time. We come home on Sunday.”
Blood filled my ears with a roar. “We? You’re going to Las Vegas with me? You bought our tickets?”
He scooted into position next to me. Reaching over, he removed my hairclip and shrugged, as if making this decision and following through without discussing it with me was natural and right.
“You mentioned Vegas, and I—” Confusion darted over him. “I don’t know, Julia. I had the idea and I went with it.”
I think I nodded. The prickle of déjà vu returned, along with a solid measure of apprehension. How was I supposed to find my balance if Scot was at my elbow for the next several days? I opened my mouth to do the right thing, to tell him that he couldn’t go to Vegas. Because despite what my heart said, despite what I craved, my loyalties had to stay with Leslie. To do otherwise would prove I was a person I refused to be.
“Scot,” I said. “I don’t—”
“Shh, Julia.” His hand cradled the back of my head. I tilted my chin and looked into those dangerously sexy eyes, and I was lost all over again. His lips found mine and I sighed in defeated pleasure as every part of me opened up to his kiss, to him. My body responded instantly. My nipples hardened against his chest, a flash of heady warmth erupted, and my fingers wove into the softness of his hair.
God, this felt so good.
My mouth parted, and his tongue flicked lightly over my lips and then plunged inside, tasting me, branding me, as if nothing in the world could possibly be more important th
an this moment. Fire licked through my blood, through me, and a moan slipped out. I didn’t care. I pushed his head closer to mine and deepened the kiss. I reveled in the kiss. In Scot’s kiss.
We expelled ragged sighs when we separated. I missed him immediately. “That didn’t feel pretend,” I whispered. “That felt like you meant it.”
Scot cursed and pushed himself farther away from me, every muscle in his body tense. My heart dropped into my toes. “It has to be pretend. You’re in a relationship. Damn it, Julia! What about Jameson? I can’t be the other man. I won’t.”
Hope and understanding flared. “You think . . . Of course you do. I . . . I’ve dated him once, Scot. Only once. It isn’t anything serious.” It could be. Jameson wanted it to be. But it wasn’t. Not yet, anyway. “I was upset about what you said. About there not being a guy alive who was right for me, and I was trying to make myself feel better, and I was tipsy, and . . .”
Oh, shit. I’d let my feelings take control.
Comprehension dawned. “You exaggerated the truth?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I expected him to be upset that I’d lied. Because really, that’s what I’d done. Instead, relief eased the hard line of his jaw.
“So you’re not in a relationship?”
“I’m not,” I said firmly. My brain hollered for me to shut up, to find a way to save the lie, but my heart—my stupid emotions—fueled my words. “My parents would love it if I were, but as of this minute, I’m single and unattached.”
He blinked those long, luscious lashes and my stomach went all topsy-turvy. “That’s good. But we’re not soul mates. My grandmother cannot be right about this,” he said slowly, but with conviction. “You’re—no offense, Julia—you’re not the type of woman I see myself with.”
A little piece of my heart withered and died. But I nodded and smiled. “I know. You’re not the type of man I see myself with, either.”
By Magic Alone Page 19
