My tears fell a little harder. He’d just removed his hat from the ring. And while we hadn’t spent much time together, a bubble of sadness exploded inside. If it weren’t for Scot, I might have been happy with Jameson. He was a good man. He was everything I’d thought I wanted, and he deserved to find that one woman whose kiss would, in his words, help him shed his amphibious shackles. But no, that woman wasn’t me. A million more dates wouldn’t change that.
A different man called to me. I turned around to look at him, to look at Scot. And there he was, all handsome and strong and sexy. Oh, how I wanted him. Craved him, really. A burning that had started deep inside the second we met months before, when Leslie introduced us. This man would likely drive me ten ways of crazy every single day. If I were lucky enough to see him, to have him in my life, every single day. Did I love him? Had I fallen so fast? My heart and my soul screamed yes, but that damn rational brain of mine begged for more time. Just to be sure. And hey, more time was fine. I wanted to really know Scot, what made him tick, what made him laugh, what made him scowl. I wanted to know what his dreams were, what his favorite food was, and so much more. So yes, more time was fine.
Finally, at the age of thirty-three, I believed in the fairy tale.
Hours later, after hugs and kisses and congratulations to my parents, after a strange dinner and then drinks with Jameson and Scot, I finally had the chance to talk to Jameson alone. We were winding down for the evening, and Scot had just excused himself from the table.
“I’m sorry,” I said to him. “Scot came into my life—again—the same day you pretended to be Chicago’s biggest pervert. Everything has happened so quickly, and I . . . I didn’t see this coming. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”
“What way is that, Julia? Do you love him?” Jameson swirled the melted ice around in his almost empty glass. “It isn’t my concern, but I’m curious.”
I shrugged, but instead of answering said, “I had every intention of our continuing to date. But my parents . . . they’re so much in love, Jameson. I want that for me. And I guess I realized—”
“I want that, as well. It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?” Jameson regarded me silently for a minute. Then, “Quit looking at me as if you’ve broken my heart. I’m not a little boy who’s lost his puppy dog. I like you. I enjoy spending time with you, but I think—” He set his glass down. “My dad and yours liked the idea of us being together. I’m not going to lie . . . I liked the idea, too. The reasoning is sound. Our fathers are retiring soon. I’ll be taking over Dad’s firm, and Gregory hopes you’ll do the same with his.”
“Ah. A good business match. I see.” Something I’d expected from my father, but Jameson? I tried to laugh off my bruised ego. “Well. Thank you for telling me.”
“You’re an attractive woman. Intelligent, socially adept, and proper. We have the same background, similar families. We are well suited. But Julia,” he said in his oh-so-charming way, “it wasn’t all business to me. As I said, I like you. But never fear, my heart remains intact. As you said, it was only one date.”
Everything about him, from the tone of his voice to his direct eye contact to his body language, told me he was being open and honest. “Okay, then. Friends?” I asked. “Because I have a feeling we’ll make terrific friends.”
His mouth spread into a full, real smile. “I feel the same. And as your friend, I’m going to let you off the hook for our next date.”
“Next date?” Oh . . . his family’s preholiday party. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
“I’m positive.” Jameson twisted his wrist to check his watch. “It’s late. I want to call the airline and try to switch to an earlier flight.”
“Scot and I are here until Sunday morning. You’re welcome to spend tomorrow with us.” My upbringing and good manners forced me to extend the offer, but I wasn’t disappointed when Jameson shook his head no.
“It was tough to get away. Honestly, I’d have worked a good chunk of tomorrow anyway. Might as well do that on the plane. If I can move my flight up.”
He stood and I followed suit. We hugged, and this time, wonder of all wonders, his touch didn’t freak me out. Because it was the hug of a friend and not a would-be suitor.
We separated. “Okay. Well . . . good luck.”
“You too. If you happen to find a woman looking for a frog prince, let me know.” Again, I thought of Leslie. Before I could broach the idea, he put a little distance between us and gave me a long, considering once-over. “You and I would have been good, Julia.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But we wouldn’t have been epic.”
His jaw fell open in surprise. A loud laugh burst from his lungs. “No, probably not,” he conceded. “But sometimes, good is all we need.”
I thought about that for a second. “I don’t think so. I think we settle for good. Either because we don’t believe we can get more, or we’re afraid to try. I’m still afraid.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Petrified, actually. But I am not going to settle. And you shouldn’t, either.”
He didn’t respond verbally. Just winked one of those emerald peepers, gave me a wave, and walked away.
I dropped into my seat, drained from the emotions of the day. Excited, though, too. I’d followed my heart, had made a decision—one that ignored every rational belief I’d ever had—and yeah, I was scared out of my mind. Of what the fallout would be. But I also felt more alive. As if I hadn’t truly started breathing until today. Not only that, but I had two more nights alone with Scot, and I planned to use them to my advantage. Hopefully, to our advantage.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let out a sigh. So many things to deal with when I returned home. My business. Leslie. Verda and the ghost. Ha. Now that I believed in fairy tales, it almost seemed as if I’d been dropped into one. I just hoped at the end of it, I’d be Cinderella and not one of her unhappy stepsisters.
The stroke of a finger along my arm pulled me from my thoughts. I opened my eyes to see Scot sitting next to me. “There you are,” I said. “You just missed Jameson.”
“I’m sure I’ll see plenty of him tomorrow.” Scot’s shoulders went rigid. “I can hardly wait.”
“Actually, no. He plans on heading home tomorrow.”
“Why the sudden change of plans?” It was a nonchalant tone, but I heard an undercurrent of relief that made me grin. Hugely.
“Work. Oh, and the fact that we decided we’re better suited as friends than as a couple.” I tried for a flirty toss of my hair. “You, on the other hand . . . well, I’m feeling very, very friendly toward you right now.”
“You know,” Scot said in all seriousness, “I’m tired of sharing you today. I’m afraid if I leave you alone, you’ll walk off with one of the men who bought you all of these drinks.”
Yes, the spell was still going strong. In front of me were six cocktails. After that, I’d told the waiter to quit bringing them. And I have to say, if I weren’t afraid of screwing something up, I’d have tried to reverse the spell. Or at least to cast a new one.
But Scot was paying attention to me. He seemed interested in me. Really interested. So I didn’t want to take a chance. Besides, the spell would disappear the second we returned home. And then . . . well, then I’d see what was left.
“You’re the only man I’m thinking about tonight, Scot.” I leaned over close and whispered in his ear, “In fact, I’m ready to call it a night. Are you?”
His eyes darkened in desire. In longing. For me. “I am.”
We stood together. With his arm around my waist, we walked as one through the casino, across the walkway, and to the inclinators at our hotel. This time, I didn’t notice people moving out of our way or the gazes of other men. I didn’t even notice how much my feet hurt in my heels. Every part of me was focused only on one man.
The instant my door shut behind us, Scot’s lips were on mine. This kiss, the one I’d waited all day for, was slow, intoxicating, and it
drove me wild. I pulled Scot close, as close as I could, savoring the taste, the feel, the reality of his body against my body. His mouth left mine and I moaned in complaint. A wicked smile and a sexy gleam in his eyes forced another moan, this one of pure anticipation.
He bent his head and nibbled my ear, lifted my hair out of the way, and whispered soft kisses of fire down my neck. A sweet, delicious heat fluttered between my legs, expanding inch by glorious inch, until every part of me was left flushed and wanting. Oh, dear Lord. This was torment. Exquisite, yes. But torment nonetheless. And Scot . . . well, he seemed to know exactly what I wanted, what I craved. And he strove to please.
He dropped my hair and fumbled at the back of my dress, searching for my zipper, which he found in about three seconds flat. One quick zip, the dress floated to my ankles, and I stood there, back pressed against the door, in nothing but my bra, panties, thigh-high tights, and two-inch heels.
A gasp, rich with need, pushed out of his lungs. “My God, Julia. You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his husky voice bringing me to a new level of desire. “So sexy.”
Curls of pleasure, of longing, trickled over me in another rush. “You’re not so bad yourself, you hot specimen, you.”
Gripping my arms, Scot drew me to him in a tight, intimate hold. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his head down so we could kiss again. This time, I took control, and slipped my tongue inside his mouth. His hands found my bottom, and he squeezed, and then he lifted me up into his arms, capturing me in his embrace. I kicked my heels off and circled his waist with my legs.
I kissed his neck, his jaw, his cheek, his ear, as he carried me to the bed. With one hand bracing my back, he carefully, as if I were the most valuable object on earth, set me down. Kneeling on the bed in front of me, his thumbs grazed my nipples, still covered by the thin fabric of my bra. They hardened and ached in blissful agony, and I gasped.
I tugged off his jacket and loosened his tie, and when those were off and on the ground, began unbuttoning his shirt. The masculine beauty of his solid, muscular chest stole my breath and made my hand tremble as I stroked the taut, firm lines of his stomach. I moved to his pants and unbuttoned, unzipped, and pushed them down his hips, his legs, until they too were off. Beautiful didn’t begin to describe him.
He dipped his finger into the waistband of my panties, and down, his thumb pushed inside of me, feeling my wetness—the proof of what he did to me, the need I had for him—and he groaned. “You’re a vixen, Julia.”
“Am I?” I asked in a throaty whisper. I thrust my hips, so his finger went deeper, so deep, and I whimpered as pleasure thrummed through me. “Well, this vixen wants to play with you. You did buy condoms tonight, didn’t you?”
“I did. Jacket pocket.” Rolling to the side, he fumbled with his jacket. Then he fumbled with the box. I slipped my bra and panties off, so when he was ready, I would be, too. And oh, was I ready. Never had I wanted a man with such intensity.
He ripped the packaging open, and I yanked at his boxer briefs, not able to wait another second to feel him inside of me. I ached with the want of it.
“Patience, grasshopper,” Scot teased—but his eyes, they weren’t teasing. They were serious and dark and filled with the same intrinsic yearning that pounded through me.
With one hand, he unrolled the condom on his cock. With the other, he tickled the line of my hip to my belly button to my other hip and back again, leaving me breathless and hungry for more. Hungry for him. Hungry for everything.
Undeniable desire washed over his features. Centering himself between my legs, he slowly peeled off my right stocking, stopping to kiss and suckle my thigh, my knee, my calf, and my ankle until the flimsy piece of fabric fell to the floor. And then he did the same with the other leg. It just about did me in.
“You’re killing me, Scot,” I breathed. “Enough foreplay.”
This, for whatever reason, brought a grin. “Fancy that. A woman telling me too much foreplay. Well, sweetie, I aim to please. Tell me what you want.”
“I want you inside of me. Now.”
Scot’s body trembled with those words, and in a heartbeat, I knew that he’d been fighting for control, fighting his desire, in order to do as he said: please me. And that made me want him all the more, which shouldn’t have been possible. But oh, it was.
He shifted so that he once again straddled me. His cock throbbed against my belly, teasing me, and I shuddered in delight. Bracing his hands on either side of me, he leaned over and took my mouth with his in a hard, hot, hungry kiss. I threaded my fingers into his hair as my body rocked beneath him.
Reaching down, he spread my legs open and settled himself between them. Right there, right where I wanted—no, needed—him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and wiggled my bottom, tempting him . . . taunting him . . . tantalizing him. He looked up, his eyes locked onto mine, and it was as if he could see straight into my soul.
The intimacy, the power of that, shattered every bit of control I had left, and I put my hands on his butt and pushed. He entered me in a slow, sliding thrust, and I gasped in surrender. Shivers cascaded over my skin. Heat pumped through my blood. I thrust my hips against his harder, wanting more of him, wanting to feel all of him inside of me.
Scot groaned in pleasure, a deep, throaty sound that filled me with satisfaction. My breath came faster. I tightened my legs around him and stroked his butt, his back, his arms. His skin was hot, so hot to the touch. He kissed me again as we moved together, our bodies in perfect rhythm. I met his hips thrust for thrust, and the driving need turned into a building pressure of sensitivity that wouldn’t let up.
Lightning-fast tingles shot through me. I brought my legs down, planting my feet on the bed, and shoved my hips up, hard. A million tiny fireworks erupted one after another, growing in strength, until finally, I reached the highest crest and a blast of mind-numbing pleasure exploded from the core of me.
I focused on Scot’s eyes as the tide of sensations overtook me. He thrust again, the muscles on his back clenched beneath my hands. A shudder rippled through him, and then another. I tightened my legs and arched my back, brought him into me as deep as I could, and watched in delicious rapture when his body shivered and shuddered again.
A minute, maybe two, passed, where we stayed frozen, our limbs entwined and our bodies combined. He pushed out a long, slow breath. “That was incredible,” Scot murmured. “You are incredible.”
“Right back at you,” I said, suddenly feeling shy. Silly, maybe, especially after our sexual escapades last night. But it had been a day of revelations, and this . . . well, this was one more.
He rolled to the side and opened his arms. I curled myself into them and rested my head against his chest. The beat of his heart, the feel of his body, and the touch of his hands on my skin should have relaxed me. But they didn’t. I couldn’t help but worry that in Scot’s mind, all of this was still just pretend. And in my mind, in my heart, nothing had ever been so real.
Chapter Seventeen
We slept in late on Saturday, ate a leisurely breakfast in bed—gotta love room service—and then hopped into the extra-large shower. Together. We stayed there for a while, a very long while, enjoying each other’s wet, naked, soapy bodies. It was luscious. I’d never showered with a man before, and I’d never had sex anywhere but on a bed.
Definitely worth every water-soaked wrinkle. If I could start every day the same way, I’d happily walk around looking like a prune.
That evening, Scot took me to a dinner show at the Excalibur Hotel and Casino. It was medieval themed, complete with jousting knights, fair maidens, swords, horses, and fireworks. We gambled a little before turning in for the night. I won close to eight hundred dollars on a very lucky slot machine, and he won just over a thousand at blackjack. Then we tumbled into bed for another night of make-my-toes-curl sex. I was pretty sure his toes curled a little, too.
It was, in nearly all ways, the perfect weekend. But the second we stepped off
of the plane in Chicago on Sunday afternoon, everything seemed to change. Now we were driving to my place in Scot’s SUV, both of us quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Mine were a weird conglomeration of the good—dreams, hopes, and wishes—and the bad—questions, worries, and fears. I had no idea what his thoughts were. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t share.
But I was tired of the silence, so I said, “Who watched your dog while you were gone?”
“My brother.” Scot rolled to a stop and flipped the left-turn blinker on. “Joe keeps saying he doesn’t want a dog, but he loves Frisbee. He’s always thrilled when I need him to dog-sit.”
“That’s nice. At least you don’t have to put him in a kennel when you travel.” Scot swung the SUV onto my street. “How . . . ah . . . how did you come up with the name Frisbee?”
“Easy. He showed up at a job last summer with a Frisbee in his mouth and no tags. I put up signs, ran a few ads, but no one claimed him. So he’s mine now, and Frisbee seemed as fitting a name as any.”
“Lucky dog,” I murmured, somehow jealous of the four-footed, furry animal. Maybe if I showed up at one of Scot’s job sites with a Frisbee in my mouth, he’d claim me, too.
We pulled into my parking lot. This was it. I was home and my weekend with Scot was officially over. Scot put the SUV in park and kept the engine running. I waited for him to say something—anything—but he was quiet, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. This time, I didn’t see the action as a reflection of his nerves. This time, I saw it as impatience.
Probably, he wanted to get Frisbee and go home. It probably had nothing to do with me. But it felt as if it did. My heart squeezed in sadness.
“Thank you for coming with me. It was great. All of it was great.” I opened the door. “Pop open the back so I can get my luggage, okay?”
By Magic Alone Page 25
