Scot eyed me with a mix of doubt and relief. I readied myself for more questions, but Chet arrived with our drinks. He set four glasses in front of me. Three of the raspberry/tequila concoction and one of water. “The nachos will be out in a few minutes,” he said without so much as a glance.
This probably had to do with the tension emanating off of Scot. “Thank you, but I didn’t order all of these,” I said to Chet. “And it is probably a bad idea for me to drink so much.”
“The extra two are from the gentlemen at the bar.” Chet angled his head in the general direction. A dark-haired man sat on one end, and an older man at the other. Both smiled when I looked over. Chet passed me a couple of napkins. “Here. They wanted you to have these.”
Wow. Guys buying me drinks. I read the napkins. Each one had a hastily written name (Robert on one, Mike on the other) and a phone number. I didn’t recognize the area codes of either. Again, the pleasure of being noticed sifted in.
I glanced at Scot, took in the taut line of his mouth, and cleared my throat. “Tell them I said thanks for the drinks, but I’m here with someone.” I returned the napkins to Chet. “And please return these.”
Chet still refused to look directly at me. “Are you two ready to order?”
“I’ll have the mahimahi.” I named the one and only dish I remembered from my quick perusal of the menu.
“Excellent choice.” Chet jotted it down. And then, out of reflex, his gaze flipped to me and the fog came back. “It will be my—”
“Utmost pleasure to serve her. Yeah, we know,” Scot interjected. “I’ll have the carne asada, and you might as well bring me another beer with the meal. Please.” When we were alone again, Scot said, “You’re a popular girl tonight.”
“I’m not really used to this type of attention.” Complete honesty, there. “But you must be. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of women buying you drinks over the years.”
“Why would you think that?”
I laughed. “Oh, come on! You’re a very good-looking guy, Scot. You have to know that. One walk through this place and you’d have women handing you their numbers in droves.” I leaned forward slightly. “You’re a hot specimen. As the owner of a dating service, I am professionally entitled to give you that designation.”
Scot grinned. “I have never been called a ‘hot specimen.’”
“Yes, you have. Just not to your face.” I reached over and ran my finger across the top of his hand. Wow. Kind of a bold move, but I didn’t pull back. His skin radiated warmth into my fingertips. I stroked my finger along the curve between his thumb and index finger. “Leslie called you that. So did Kara.”
“They called me a hot specimen?” Ruddy color bled over his cheeks. Did he really not know how other women saw him? “I can’t see that.”
Apparently not. “Actually, Kara’s exact words were ‘Scot’s a hunk of grade A prime beefcake,’ and Leslie’s were more along the lines of ‘the sexiest man I have ever known.’ But basically the same thing.” Now, I rubbed my finger across the top of his knuckles, dipping into the depressions between each.
“Leslie said that?” Pulling his hand away, Scot grasped his beer bottle.
“She did. I swear.” My voice came out breathy. “How did you guys meet?”
Something I couldn’t identify crossed over him. “You don’t know?”
“Uh-uh. Leslie talked a lot about you, but she’s never mentioned how you met.” Actually, that was kind of weird. Why hadn’t she?
Scot’s eyes narrowed. The muscle in his jaw flinched. He was quiet for so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but finally he said, “The standard bar thing. I sent a drink to her table. She really didn’t tell you any of this?”
“No, but why would she? Men buy her drinks all of the time. So . . . uh . . . you two hit it off right away?” Why was I talking about Leslie? Morbid curiosity. I had to know.
“Leslie is a beautiful, intelligent, charismatic woman. But no. We didn’t hit it off right away.” He downed a gulp of his beer. “We did eventually or we wouldn’t have continued to see each other.”
“Right. Obviously.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask more. I knew where I wanted to take this, but I wasn’t sure of the proper route. A reprieve arrived in the form of Chet and our nachos. Oh, and another drink from another admirer. Scot frowned, so I sent the drink away. Not that I needed it, anyway. I was still on my first.
We dug into the food and silence settled around us. After a few minutes, Scot asked, “Why are you so interested in my relationship with Leslie?”
“She’s my friend.” Well, I hoped she was still my friend. “And we’re supposed to be figuring out what’s going on between us.” I chomped on a nacho to hide my embarrassment.
“Your cheeks are pink. You do that a lot, you know. Blush when you’re uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable!”
His left eyebrow rose in humor. “Okay. You’re not uncomfortable. Maybe you’re coming down with the flu? Are you feverish, Julia?”
“No. I’m . . . Dang it, Scot. Yes, I’m uncomfortable. You make me nervous.” I sat straighter in my chair and pulled my sagging confidence together. “You’re mean to me one minute, nice the next, cold and distant the next, and scattered in in-between moments, you kiss me. You’re confusing. I don’t know what’s going on between us. I don’t know what you really think of me.”
“I’m attracted to you. You’re attracted to me. It’s simple chemistry.” Scot’s response was so immediate that it should have bothered me. It didn’t, though, because as quick as his reply was, it also felt practiced. As if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me.
Besides, it wasn’t as if his statement was incorrect.
“Mmm. Right.” I winked at him, going for light, breezy, and flirty. “And attraction is good. Is that how it was with Leslie?”
Scot sighed. A frustrated sound if I’ve ever heard one. “It took a few dates before I thought we might be good together.”
“Elaborate.” I whisked my fingers through my hair, as I’d seen Leslie do a hundred-plus times. “I’d really like to know.”
“Elaborate on what? We went out. I liked her. I liked her more when I learned how similar we were. We both want kids. We both want to get out of the city at some point. We’re both into sports, and we read the same types of books. Watch the same types of movies.”
I squelched the devil on my shoulder who wanted me to spill the beans that Kara had shared, that Leslie had been faking. “Do you love her?”
“No.” Another immediate answer.
“Did you love her? Before . . . before she . . .” I couldn’t say it. Not again. Every time I did, I felt like I was rubbing Scot’s nose in Leslie’s infidelity.
The rest of our meal was served, and the relief on Scot’s face was palpable. But I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. I needed this information. I waited until we’d eaten about half of our dinners before asking again, “Did you love her?”
“No.”
“That’s it? Just ‘no’?”
“If I answer this, can we move on to something else?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m here with you. Not Leslie. She’s my past.”
Well, I liked the sound of that, even if it was disloyal to Leslie. “Yes. If you answer this, we can talk about anything you want.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Scot exhaled a quick breath. “You asked if I loved Leslie. No, I didn’t. I cared about her and I think I could have loved her, if given enough time. We were headed in the right direction and I was ready.” He pushed his plate away. “But she wasn’t ready, was she?”
“No, I guess not.” He could’ve loved her. They could’ve made it. Well, maybe. How much would’ve changed when the real Leslie presented herself? The one who didn’t want children, disliked sports, would never live anywhere but the city, and rarely cracked open a book that wasn’t filled with legal text? “But what if she’s ready
now?”
Scot was shaking his head before I finished speaking. “Nope. We’re done talking about this.”
Fine with me. I’d learned enough. If Leslie hadn’t gotten cold feet and cheated, she’d probably still be with Scot. And I wouldn’t be sitting here now. “No more Leslie talk for the entire weekend,” I promised. “But thank you for sharing.”
“You’re welcome.” Scot leaned forward and captured my hand with his. My libido, which I’d mostly silenced, roared to life. “I’m curious about something,” he said in a slow, soft, mesmerizing way that brought about a shiver of awareness.
“Oh, yeah? Curious about what?” I held my breath in anticipation.
“Why did you decide to open a dating service?”
Aargh. Business talk. Really? I’d rather focus on other topics. Like escaping to my room and getting naked.
Unfortunately, my boldness only extended so far. “Because I believed that a dating service could be successful,” I said, slipping into my all-about-business persona. “At the time, there weren’t any true local dating services in Chicago. We had the national chains, and there were a few independent matchmakers, but I felt sure that a niche dating service would thrive. So I chose my niche—upwardly mobile professionals—and marketed to them.”
“Smart. But why a dating service instead of another type of business? There had to be a reason you chose this field,” he pushed. “Do you like matching people?”
Jeez. No one had ever asked me either of those questions. Not even my parents. “I like it well enough. As for why, I guess because I have a talent for sizing people up, so I searched for possibilities where I’d be able to use that skill and be successful.”
“So your decision to open Introductions was based solely on your chance of success? You didn’t have a burning desire to help couples find each other?” Now, why did that sound like negative criticism?
“Why else would anyone open a business? Of course I’d choose something I thought I could be successful at.”
“There is more than one kind of success, Julia.” Scot let go of my hand and started tapping his thumb against his empty beer bottle. “Do you love what you do?”
This question, for whatever reason, raised all of my defensive hackles. “You don’t need to love your job to be successful! It’s work, Scot. It’s how you pay the bills, you know? You just need to be a high-ranking performer. Know the job and do it well.”
Scot held his hands up in mock defeat. “I didn’t mean to upset you. My grandmother loves matchmaking. She gets a major kick out of the entire process. I think that’s a large reason why Magical Matchups has done so well, so quickly. I was curious if you felt the same about Introductions.”
Huh. “No, I don’t.” The admission surprised me. “I care about doing well, and I care about my clients. But I can’t say I get all jazzed over the process. It’s just a job to me.”
“That’s too bad.”
“So you love your job? Every single day, you’re excited to pound nails, raise walls, and do whatever else you do?” Ouch. Too snarky. “I’m sorry. Introductions is struggling right now, so it’s a tender subject.”
“Of course not every job is wonderful, and of course I have bad days,” Scot replied with an edge to his voice. “But I like working with my hands, building something concrete. Something that will last. I wouldn’t be in construction if I didn’t love it.”
“That’s nice. Really nice.”
“Perhaps Introductions is struggling because your heart isn’t involved.” He shrugged. “Something to think about.”
Could that be my issue? It seemed so nonsensical. Such a little thing, loving your job. I sighed. Honestly, it didn’t compute in my analytical brain. But even so, the idea intrigued me. Enough to do as Scot said and give it further thought. At some point, anyway.
“Did you always know you wanted to work in construction?” I asked.
“Nope. I have a BSEE.” At my blank look, he said, “Bachelor of science in electrical engineering. But five summers of working construction changed my mind.”
“Wow. How did you decide—?”
“What are you passionate about?” Scot asked. “What excites you beyond anything else?”
You, I thought. What I said, though, was “Nothing.”
“I don’t believe that. There has to be something.”
“No, Scot. There isn’t. Unless you want to count success. I’m passionate about being successful.” But even that wasn’t completely true. I wanted success so I wouldn’t be forced into running a business I had no desire to run. But that didn’t make sense, either.
If I wasn’t passionate about what I did now, then what did it matter if I ran Introductions or my father’s firm? Wasn’t one just as good as the other? Probably. But it didn’t feel that way. “I’m happy enough. Come on, I’m ready to get out of here.”
So we did. I let Scot talk me into playing a couple of rounds of blackjack. After those, he tried to teach me the basics of craps, but most of what he said went in one ear and out the other. I couldn’t concentrate. There were simply too many things clogging up my mind.
And the men! My God, they were everywhere. And many of them stopped whatever they were doing to stare at me when we got near. A few even approached but backed off quickly under the weight of Scot’s glare.
Why oh why hadn’t I been more specific in the writing of the spell? I should’ve focused the magic on me and Scot. Because I gotta say, by the time we gave up gambling for the night and headed to our rooms, I was exhausted by all the attention from strangers. I wanted Scot to pay attention. Only him.
We stopped outside my room and I fished my card key out. “Thank you for dinner. I had a nice time tonight.” I unlocked my door and pushed it open. “We’re supposed to meet my parents in the morning. You don’t have to come if you don’t want.”
Scot brushed his fingers along the plane of my cheek. “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve met my family. I’d love to meet yours.”
“My family is nothing like yours. It might be odd.” Desire from his touch slurred my words. “They’re in this . . . um . . . midlife-crisis thing now.” Hey, how else was I supposed to explain their magically enhanced behavior? “But they can also be unrelenting in their opinions. It’s really okay if you’d rather skip breakfast.”
“But I don’t want to skip breakfast.” His fingers spread into my hair, the heat of his touch easing my tension. “I came here to spend time with you.”
“Oh. Okay. If you want—”
“Julia?”
“Yes?” I whispered.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you all evening. I’m going to do so now.”
Before I could process his statement, before I could even blink, he shifted his head and his lips touched mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pushed my body closer to his, and let the tide of sensations, of emotions, take control. All of my concerns about ghosts, soul mates, my parents, my business, and yes, even Leslie, drifted away. The only thing I cared about was this kiss with this man and the way both made me feel.
Scot’s tongue teased at my lips. I opened my mouth wider and moaned in pleasure. Twisty heat in the center of my belly forced another groan. I brought my hands to his chest and pressed, breaking our contact long enough to say, “Come inside, Scot.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes locked onto mine. They were darker than I’d ever seen them—pools of inky brown, just this side of black. And they were filled with desire for me. They also begged for confirmation . . . which I gladly gave.
I grasped his hand and tugged, pulling him into the room with me. The door shut behind us and we tumbled onto the bed. Our movements were frantic. He yanked his sweater over his head and then took off his shirt. I did the same with my blouse. Every muscle, every nerve in my body, trembled with need. With want. Together, as if we’d done this dance a thousand times before, we settled into position. My back against the pillows, his body straddling mine.
I reached for him.
“Kiss me again,” I whispered. “Please.”
“Please?” The husky, need-drenched quality of his voice about did me in. “Are you begging me, Julia?”
“Just being polite. You’re always supposed to be polite, no matter the situation,” I teased. “Something my mother taught me.”
He laughed. “Remind me to thank her.” His lips came back to mine in a searing, engulfing kiss that ripped every other thought out of my head. This man . . . dear God, this man was perfection with a capital P.
He brought his mouth to my neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses down to my collarbone. I arched my back and whimpered. The desire our earlier kisses had unleashed was nothing compared to this. Not nearly as powerful or consuming. Not nearly as deep.
I lightly ran my hands down his well-muscled back, his skin hot and soft to the touch, bringing forth another whimper. And then I thought of those freckles. The smiley-faced grouping on his flat abs that had filled me with such lust.
“W-Wait,” I groaned. “I need to do something.”
Scot paused and lifted his head. “Whatever you want. Just say the word.”
I pushed him off me. “On your back, buddy,” I commanded. “Please.”
His eyebrow arched in amusement, but he did as I asked. “Now what?”
I knelt next to him and traced the freckles with one finger. “I’ve been wanting to kiss these ever since I saw them. I don’t know why.” I bent forward and lightly kissed Scot’s abdomen. “Hm. Not enough. I want to lick them, too.” So I did. My tongue slid over his skin, tasting him in a sensual, heated glide. Scot’s stomach clenched tight and he groaned. My muscles quivered at the sign of his pleasure. I liked bringing him pleasure.
He gripped my shoulders in a gentle but firm hold, and he pulled me to him. We rolled until he was once again straddling me. One hand went to my back, and he fiddled with my bra strap. The other hand rested flat against my stomach, his fingers brushing at the waistband of my pants. Apparently, Scot was ambidextrous, because he managed to unhook my bra and unbutton my pants at the same time.
By Magic Alone Page 22
