“Thanks.”
He ended the call. He had friends to contact in an emergency, but he wanted Joanie more than anyone else. Why, he couldn’t fathom. Sure, he was attracted to her. He’d almost pulled her to him in a desperate attempt for a last kiss before she’d booted him out. But he wasn’t a thief. He gave kisses. He didn’t steal them.
He should have been more prepared for an emergency. Typical. Living in his own world and pursuing his career, working late most nights to anaesthetize himself against the loneliness. He probably should call the Berea Police, though. Report the robbery. He tapped the screen on his Smartphone to bring up the dial screen.
His cell rang. Joanie.
“I don’t understand it.” She sounded close to tears.
“What?”
“I opened my closet to put a jacket on and, well…all your stuff is here. Everything is so neat, all folded in place. Your things are on the left side, mine on the right. My closet is full, for a change. I hoped to fill it with holiday mementoes, shoes, and bags from Cape Town, but it appears you beat me to it.”
He clenched his fists and swore into the phone. “I have nothing to do with all the craziness. Someone is messing with me, and I don’t like it.”
“It’s the magic, Theo.” Joanie’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “The sweet, beautiful magic. Isn’t it so perfect?”
“This has gone too far. Is my car there?”
A scraping noise on the phone indicated she’d probably walked toward the garage.
“It’s parked in my spot and mine is at the back next to the tree. I can’t believe it. It’s like you’ve moved in and taken over.” Her voice no longer held derision, but sadness, as if she’d quit.
“I’m coming right away.”
She ended the call. At least he only lived a few blocks away.
He stood in his empty house, cold and drained. He’d withdrawn his wish long ago, when he came home from Joanie’s. So, why was this still happening? The magic had become bizarre and intrusive; it had done nothing to bring Joanie and him together.
Did he really want to spend the rest of his life with the woman? She seemed vulnerable, sweet, and very human. Sexy, to boot, but he didn’t love her. Maybe they needed to go with the flow a bit, pretend their relationship worked, and then the magic would ease off.
Yeah, that might cure the curse.
***
Joanie flopped onto her bed, resting her head on the pillow and tucking her legs in close to avoid all the papers scattered about her. When Theo had phoned about the robbery, she’d been plotting scenes in her novel because nothing else had worked.
Seemed like the freaky day had gotten to him, too. She hoped he had answers, yet what could she expect? Who was he, anyway? Why him? She didn’t even know what he did for a living, who his family was, where he’d grown up.
Oh, how she wished she could call Leonora.
Tears wet her wrists blocking her eyes. Strange how, with a man living in her home, she could feel so alone, while, before, as a single, she’d felt right. So much for her life coming together.
The doorbell rang earlier than expected. She ran downstairs, hoping somehow he’d found an answer for their dilemma.
He burst into the house, rushing past her without a word of greeting, and headed straight toward her kitchen. At the counter, he patted his coffee machine—placed right next to the outlet—then opened the cupboard above it. “They’re here.”
“Good to see you, too.”
He spun around and grinned at her, but the smile soon faded. “How would you feel if all your favorite personal belongings were teleported to someone else’s house in the blink of an eye?”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s all so crazy. I don’t have any answers.”
“I have an idea.”
“Give it to me.” She moved toward the coffee maker to put it on. The least she could do was make him feel a little more comfortable. For once, her body wasn’t going haywire at his nearness, so maybe she could handle having him around until this magical disaster blew over. “Nice machine.”
“You know how to work it?”
“I’ve had similar things before. They always ended up breaking, though.”
“Whoa. You’re not going to mess with my baby. Let me do it.” He nudged her aside.
Fire branded her whole arm, bringing back all the previous unwanted sensations. She pulled away, huffing at his possessiveness. “It’s just a silly appliance.”
He dug through her cupboards. “I knew I’d find it here—the new packet of Brazilian coffee I bought.”
“Good for you.”
She plopped down at the kitchen table and stared at him, wondering how she would come to terms with a virtual stranger taking over her kitchen. Taking over her body and her mind. “Do you cook?”
“Not often.”
“Good. I don’t want you messing up my kitchen and taking over my space.”
“So, you’ve resigned yourself to not fighting it anymore?” He filled the container with water from her tap.
“What choice do I have?”
He set the machine to brew, and, immediately, the bold fragrance of fresh-roasted coffee filled the room. It had been years since she’d had more than instant coffee. The aroma smelled glorious.
He turned to face her. “If we play along with it, the magic should pan out soon. The fact we’re bucking against it means it’s going to act out stronger.”
“So, you’re an expert. Old hat at having strange, supernatural happenings in your life?”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a penchant for sarcasm?”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you don’t use big words like ‘penchant’ in casual conversation?”
“If this is casual conversation with you, I wouldn’t like to know intense.”
She couldn’t find a reply to that for a moment. “Look, I know I’m uptight. I…. My life isn’t how I want it to be right now.”
“Besides what’s been happening with us, how else not?”
“Well, I was quite happy until you came along. Don’t get me wrong.” She held up her hands. “I enjoyed my space.”
“You’re a divorcee?”
Should I tell him my life story?
He turned to get mugs out. “You want coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
With his back to her, she could talk better. “My parents granted my aunt guardianship of me and my two younger sisters after they died. When she fell sick, I had to care for everyone. She was disabled for many years. Life became hectic, caring for her. Plus I had to work to get my sisters through college. Aunt Edna passed away a few months ago, and although I miss her terribly, I’m enjoying time to myself.”
He brought her a steaming mug with the milk from the fridge. Tenderness and curiosity mingled in his gaze. “I didn’t know you went through all of that. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it made me a stronger person.”
“Strong and independent.” His tone held a sprinkling of respect.
“Thanks.”
“I can understand why you want your space. So why don’t we play along with the magic’s wishes. I’ll live here for a while, a few weeks, maybe. The magic will wear off, and then we can get a divorce.”
Tears pricked her eyes at his kind and calm take on the problem. At least he seemed a considerate person. He had actually treated her well in the whole thing. Hadn’t taken advantage of her—well, close, by almost kissing her. He did seem to want to end the craziness as amicably as possible.
“Well, your stuff is here, anyway. You may as well make yourself at home. One thing, though. You’ll have to sleep in my aunt’s room.”
He scrunched his nose.
“Yes, old-lady stuff. It’s quite modern, though. Aunt Edna kept on top of the latest trends, décor-wise, in her own space. When she could.” The study and lounge were still full of 1980s furniture. Her aunt had a thing about her room. Maybe her way of coping with her disability and to feel a measure of ind
ependence. “Except for the doilies. She spent her last few years in a wheelchair and took up crocheting. There are those funny lacy things all over the house—even one on top of the toilet cistern.”
Theo laughed, and the muscles in his neck flexed. He was easy on the eyes when he laughed, a sight she could drink in much more. He sipped his coffee and glanced around the room, as if seeing his new home for the first time. The sense of being more comfortable with him didn’t take away the tension mounting in her core. Somehow, the easiness between them intensified her struggle. Edna’s room stood right next to hers. Would she sleep, knowing he lay so close to her tonight?
“Actually, I changed my mind. You can stay in my younger sister Maggie’s room. It’s the middle one on the left. Her room has more closet space and less clutter.”
“She won’t mind?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t harm her.”
Joanie finished off her coffee. He’d made her house his home, but she still wanted and needed her space. And she needed to keep her distance from him. Maintain control.
“I was busy with something when you called. Excuse me.”
“Go ahead.”
As she pitter-pattered in her slippers to her bedroom, she wondered what he would do with himself. What did he do on Saturdays? Why should I care? Caring only uses precious writing time.
Not that the writing had gone well earlier. It seemed like all her tactics to make the book succeed before had disappeared with a poof! Nothing seemed to be working. Could it be because she’d changed the hero’s name? The story remained the same, although the relationship would have to progress slower because her new man, Max, had a more serious nature and would take a while to fall for Kaley.
Thinking about her book helped take away the mounting awareness of a sexy man in her home.
Focus on writing, Joanie. That’s what you really want.
All her ideas about deeper point of view had vanished out of her mind again. She’d somehow forgotten what the phrase meant. How could she make her characters more sympathetic to the readers? If Max acted dark and broody, would readers still like him?
She sat on her bed, trying to ignore the thoughts that kept intruding. A handsome man was downstairs in her kitchen, maybe in her lounge. Just a few steps from her, a man who seemed approachable and indeed quite nice. She closed her eyes, trying to block the memories of his stance, the way he moved with fluid ease, the way his energy sank into her.
Maybe he could assist. He’d helped her before, or had that been the magic?
What if she lost a firm hold on her hormones by being near him again?
Nah, she could control herself. She always had in the past, and Theo seemed pretty tame.
She made her way back to the kitchen, slamming straight into his solid chest. The unexpected contact sent shivers of ecstasy through her, making her head spin. Clearing her throat, she waited for everything to return into focus. “I’m sorry.”
“I should be sorry for not watching. You okay?” He rested his hands on her shoulders. He stood at least a head taller than her, and this close, his eyes seemed so much greener.
She trembled, distancing herself before he realized the effect of their impact. “Um…yes, I’m fine. Tell me, did you help me with my writing or did the magic do it?”
He gave a rather broad smile. “I helped you.” He stuck out his chest in mock pride.
“No seriously. What would you know about writing romance?”
“Yes, what would I know about books?” His sarcasm made her cringe.
“Don’t take offense. Most guys wouldn’t go near a romance novel if they were paid to.”
“Most.”
“But you’re not most?” She couldn’t fathom him being interested, and besides, she didn’t want him delving into her imaginary world—but she needed help. Desperately.
“I need to do my grocery shopping and laundry.” She should get away from him, from the heat buzzing between them and settling in her pussy.
“I can help you. What are you stuck on?”
Focus on the book, Joanie, not on how appealing he is. “I took you out of my book, so now, I’m stuck. I couldn’t exactly write about a real person. Writer’s code, you know, that stuff.”
“Of course.”
He sounded so sure of himself, she wanted to swat him. Was he one of those know-it-alls who thought they possessed every bit of knowledge about every subject? Ugh, she hated people who would keep the conversation in a group always centered on what they knew about everything.
“You’re not one of those…intellectual types?”
His eyes twinkled, and his smile grew. He moved closer to her, or did she imagine it? The hairs on her arms rose. Tingles raced along her spine.
She pulled back, unable to keep her breath from coming out in choppy puffs. “How old are you, by the way?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Ancient.” He did look good for his age.
“Nah, young still.”
“No wonder you’re itching to settle down.” She turned to go to her room.
“Well, it doesn’t seem like that’s happening anytime soon.” His voice dripped with bitterness, yet he pressed against the small of her back, urging her to move from the middle of the hallway. Another shiver ran through her, and she jerked away.
How gentle could a man be? It seemed the more featherlight his touch, the stronger the unwelcome feelings soared through her. The decent-width hallway became claustrophobic.
“Where can we go?”
“Well, um, my work is on my bed.” Keep the thoughts at bay, Joanie. He just wants to help. That’s the focus.
“Let’s go.”
She swallowed. “All right.”
Sucking in every ounce of self-control, she sat down next to her papers while he joined her on the other end of the mattress. All of a sudden, having a double seemed like the most stupid decision she’d ever made. She’d bought it for space at night and to accommodate Lacy, her tabby cat, who had gone missing a couple of months ago on one of her wandering-off stints. Lacy had liked plenty of space to clean herself in the morning, and Joanie had hated being poked by a moving claw while sleeping.
He leaned against the headboard, seeming to fit right there, as though he actually was her husband and shared the same room. For a second, she imagined him being her partner by choice, and the thought had a teeny, tiny bit of temptation to it. At least then she could run her hands over his chest and abdomen and explore farther down his body, where she’d never ever explored a man before. Her fingers itched for the contact, for the sensation of hard planes under her touch.
“What’s wrong?” His gaze bored right into her.
She coughed. Her thoughts betrayed her big-time. Could he sense it? “Um…well, you helped me with deeper point of view before. How come you knew so much about it?”
He took some pages and scanned them.
She snatched them out of his hands. “I didn’t say you could read that.”
“I want to help you.”
She folded the papers and stuffed them in her jeans pocket then slapped her hands onto the others on the bed. “Not for your eyes. None of my writing is for your eyes. Got it?”
He nodded, humor in his gaze.
“Loud and clear?” she asked.
“Loud and clear.”
All of a sudden, she laughed. Giggles poured from her. All the tension of the last few days—well, almost of all of it—dissipated. “You’re a good sport, do you know that?”
“I can’t help it,” he said above the din. “You’re kind of cute, in your own bratty, sarcastic way.”
“Am I?” Mushy, soppy tears mixed with happy ones. She gripped her stomach and willed herself to stop. “I do tend to get hysterical when I haven’t had enough sleep. Excuse me.” Also can’t make sense of what I’m feeling.
“I like it.” He reached out and tickled her stomach. “Can I keep you laughing?”
She squealed. “Two can play a
t the game.” She dug her fingernails into his rock-slab stomach, poking as hard as she could.
He wriggled but gripped her wrists in his large hands. She gasped, more at the heat sizzling through her than at his strong, take-command contact.
“We’d better do some work.” She used her adult voice so he would drop her. “No time for games. You should be more serious than this giggly twenty-six-year-old and teach me some tricks on how to act more mature.”
“I don’t think so, Joanie. You’ve spent enough of your life growing up.” His expression showed genuine concern, as if he understood the burden she’d carried all these years and wanted to ease it somehow. Leonora had cared, and so had her other friends, yet, somehow, it seemed different that a man cared.
He was right, though. When was the last time she had let rip on stupid giggling like that? Months ago, when her sisters had been home, maybe.
“Well, I do need help with my writing.” Why did I touch him? It’s made me burn for more contact, more closeness. Sexual need grew in her like an aching hole in her chest.
“Deeper point of view is a very subjective thing. It comes from far inside the author’s psyche. It’s who you are and your life experiences that come out on the page. You have to become your character—feel what they feel, smell what they smell, taste what they taste—get into their skin for the duration of the novel.”
Ooh, taste what they taste. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Of course you do.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“I lived in your book for a while, didn’t I? I know what you wrote that night.”
“How can you know these things, about writing, I mean? What do you do for a living?”
“I work for Colridge Publishing. Editor in chief.”
Joanie closed her eyes, trying to process the new truth. Oh, how she so wanted to disappear. Couldn’t she be teleported somewhere? To a paradise island? Canadian Rockies? Sydney, Australia? Be a character in one of her own books?
He squeezed her hand, and she shivered again, despite her mortification.
“Joanie,” he whispered near her ear.
Her shiver turned to full-on trembling. What had happened to her since Theo came into her life?
Her Real-Life Hero Page 6
