Under His Spell (Holiday Hearts #4) Page 7

  And she heard his low chuckle as he released her. “I think that’s definitely worth moving to the neighborhood for. Now go get your shower.”

  Chapter Six

  “So now I’ve got Speed Racer as my neighbor. Of all places he could go, he’s got to move here.” Lainie scowled at her salad, not even bothering to pick up her fork. “And not just here, but here, here.”

  “The hand kisser?” Caro looked at her across the table at the cheerful café they’d chosen for lunch.

  Lainie scowled and stabbed at a bit of lettuce. “A truly kind friend would have forgotten about that.”

  Caro fought a grin. “I’m sorry. It must be frustrating.”

  It was mortifying, was what it was. He’d kissed her on her front porch in broad daylight and she’d just stood there and let him do it. Not even let him, she’d practically climbed all over him. After all the years of thinking she was impervious to his charm, all it took was him crooking a finger at her and that was that. It was infuriating.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  “This is my town. I’ve got a place here. It’s not fair for him to just breeze in.”

  “It is a free country.”

  “I know, and I should be free of J.J. It’s so annoying. And he knows it’s annoying. He’s doing it deliberately.” And if she could stay annoyed, maybe she could stop thinking of the way his mouth had felt on hers.

  “Maybe he just wants to be closer to Boston.”

  “And of the twenty or so towns he could have chosen, he just happened to pick here?”

  “Okay, unlikely,” Caro acknowledged. “All right, so he wants to be closer to you.”

  “Well, he’d better get over it,” Lainie said briskly. “There is no way J. J. Cooper’s getting anywhere with me.” But he already has, a voice in her head taunted.

  “You know—” Caro picked up her iced tea “—for someone who’s not interested, you seem awfully focused on him. Why not just have a quick bonk to get him out of your head and call it good?”

  If she thought it would be that simple, she’d do it in a heartbeat. “A quick bonk?”

  “You do remember how it’s done, right?” Caro took a sip of tea.

  “I remember.” Lainie met Caro’s eyes. “He kissed me.”

  Caro choked. “He kissed you?” she spluttered. “Now you tell me he kissed you? After we’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes?”

  “We were talking about other things,” Lainie said with dignity.

  “We were talking about him,” Caro corrected. “So what happened? Did he kiss you or did you kiss him or did you kiss each other?”

  “I think we kissed each other,” Lainie admitted grudgingly. “But he started it. On my porch,” she added in response to Caro’s unspoken question. And she blushed; she could feel it.

  Caro’s brow rose. “I guess the man knows what he’s doing.”

  “Of course he does,” Lainie said bad temperedly. “With the amount of practice he’s had, he pretty much has to, doesn’t he?”

  “Which begs my earlier question—why not bonk his brains out and get it done with? I mean, it sounds like it would be memorable.”

  “Because it’s not that easy, Caro.”

  “Why not? The women?”

  Lainie let out a breath of frustration. “Look, the women are only part of it. They’re the symptoms, not the reason.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “It’s the disposable lifestyle. Everything. He doesn’t keep anything, he doesn’t stick with anything. His whole life is about whatever’s new today. Salem’s just something to do in passing, and as soon as he gets used to it, he’ll be off to something else. I don’t want to be his disposable woman,” she said.

  Because she was very afraid she could get in way too deep.

  “You could wait until he retires.”

  “And he’ll be the same person, just with a different job. No, thanks.”

  “And you don’t think a quick, superficial affair—”

  “No way am I getting naked with J. J. Cooper,” she said firmly, remembering the kiss, the flash, the fire. “I don’t even want to go there.” She sighed. “I just need to get him out of my head and I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a change of scenery,” Caro suggested.

  “Who’s got time for a vacation right now?”

  “I don’t mean a vacation. I mean moving on, really moving on. Different city, different job. Maybe what you need is a complete change of pace. I know I do.”

  “You’re moving?” Lainie stared. Caro was one of the best things about Salem. If Caro was gone, life would be a whole lot less fun.

  “If I get lucky. I’m applying for a museum in New York. It’s a long shot, but you never know. I’m sure as hell never going to go anywhere if I don’t try. Jobs don’t just fall from the sky.”

  “Headhunters,” Lainie offered.

  “Headhunters don’t recruit at regional museums like this one. They hunt the A-list places. Nope, if I want to get out of here, I’ve got to do the work.”

  “What’s the museum?”

  “The Museum of Antiquities. A friend of mine from college, Julia Covington, works there. She tipped me off about the spot.”

  “Manhattan,” Lainie said, tamping down a little curl of envy. “Wow, would you live in the city?”

  “Depends on what they pay me. Maybe not at first, but once I know my way around I might.”

  Living in Manhattan. It was what she’d planned, back when she’d been in college. She’d taken it as a given that it would happen, but somehow, she’d never quite managed it. Somehow, she’d wound up back in a small town. “I’ve always wanted to live in a city like New York.”

  “So do something about it. Start looking. Forget J. J. Cooper, it all starts with you.”

  Forget J. J. Cooper.

  That was the trick.

  One thing to be said for not having a home, there was less to move when it was time to go, J.J. thought as he set down the box of books and CDs in his new living room. A couple of suitcases, his iPod and laptop and he was pretty well good to go. Weights, of course, but he’d installed those in the garage the day before. Everything else, the furniture rental store had delivered that morning.

  The place could have used the attentions of a couple of determined handymen, but it was fine for the month he’d be living in it. The rooms were big and the light was good. The garage and yard out back gave him a place to stash his truck and a place to work out. It was wired for cable, so he pretty much had everything he needed.

  He flopped down on the couch and picked up the remote. The chance of any skiing being on was practically nil, but maybe he could catch the Sox game. When he tuned it in, he leaned back with a sigh, feeling the good exhaustion in his muscles from his workout. It didn’t get much better than this.

  His stomach growled. Okay, he could think of one or two ways to make it better, like oh, say, pizza. Better yet, pizza with Lainie.

  Lainie.

  He’d kissed a lot of women in his time. He’d never been rocked back on his heels quite like the way he had been with that little interlude on her front porch. So what if the better part of a week had passed? He still kept flashing on it and feeling the want, as fresh as it had been in the moment. Feeling the urge for more. It had been an impulse, as things so often were with him. He’d been curious, expecting something pleasurable, but not necessarily something to take seriously.

  Not something that would leave him awake and wanting.

  He’d always been a big fan of chemistry. How else to explain all the lost days at various European hotels? Dive in, burn it out, go on. As long as both parties involved were on the same page, it wasn’t a problem. And he’d found chemistry, over and over. But this chemistry wasn’t the kind that stayed in a little test tube.

  This chemistry was the kind that blew the roof off the lab.

  If he’d ever guessed how it would be, he could never have kept
his hands off her all those years. And it had been there for her, too. He’d felt it in her body, in her mouth, heated against his. Something was brewing between them. After all these years, it was time.

  Thoughtfully, he reached for the phone. It didn’t do him any good to be in the neighborhood if he didn’t take advantage of the opportunity. He had a pretty good idea that he could grow old and die waiting for Lainie to roll out the welcome mat, but there was no reason he couldn’t do it in reverse.

  With a smile on his face, he dialed her number.

  Lainie sat at her desk, scratching out a hasty grocery list. Her lunch break was just long enough for her to scoot out and pick up a few things, to ensure she didn’t starve over the weekend. Opening her desk drawer, she rummaged for her purse just as her phone rang.

  “Lainie Trask.”

  “I guess so.”

  He didn’t even bother to identify himself, just assumed she’d recognize his voice.

  And the most annoying part was that she did.

  “Why are you bugging me?” And why was it that her first thought was of the feel of his mouth on hers? She almost didn’t recognize the person she’d been on that porch, the person dragged down into hot and greedy wanting by the taste of him.

  “It’s done. I moved my stuff in today. I’m now officially your neighbor.”

  Nerves stirred in her stomach. “Gosh, how thrilling.”

  “I think so.”

  “So what are you up to tonight?” J.J. continued. “I thought we could go out. You know, welcome to the neighborhood?”

  “Tonight? As in a date?”

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it? Dinner, movie, whatever. I can guarantee you won’t be bored.”

  “Boring is the last word that comes to mind when I think of you, Speed.”

  “Brilliant? Charismatic?” he offered.

  “Unreliable. Erratic.”

  “Are you still mad that I kissed you?”

  “Did you kiss me? I didn’t notice.”

  “Then I guess I need to do a better job of it next time.”

  Something in his voice made her shiver. “I’ll pass, thanks. I’ve got things to do tonight.”

  “Hot date?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I am.” Making a face, she slammed down the phone.

  It rang again, almost immediately. “What?” she demanded.

  “Jeez, Lainie,” said the voice of her cashier, “we just need some change in the gift shop.”

  Squeezing her eyes closed, she counted to three. “I’m sorry, Marla, I thought it was someone else.”

  “Not for work, I hope. What’s going on? You’ve been in a bad mood all week.”

  Lainie scowled. “Bugs. I’m having problems with bugs.”

  The day was headed into dusk by the time Lainie walked in her front door. The summer weather in New England was fleeting enough as it was; it was absurd to spend so much of it at work that she missed it. She’d been going flat-out from the time she’d hit her desk that morning, but she was damned if she could point to a single thing she’d knocked off her to-do list.

  Which only made her crankier.

  Of course, she knew exactly why she was cranky in the first place, she thought as she wriggled out of her work clothes and into shorts and a T-shirt.

  So what if J.J. was living in her back pocket, getting in her way with that tempting mouth, that velvet voice? It wasn’t a crisis.

  A hurricane wiping out New Orleans, now, that was a crisis. People not having enough food to eat, that was a crisis.

  Abruptly she smacked herself on the forehead. Grocery shopping. After J.J.’s call and the change run for the gift shop, it had gone right out of her head. A peek in the refrigerator confirmed what she already knew—unless she did something drastic, like going grocery shopping at seven o’clock on a Friday night, she was stuck with a choice between a dried-out burrito or some wilted and slightly slimy-looking field greens.

  One more grievance to lay at J.J.’s door.

  She picked up the cordless phone and wandered over to the refrigerator, where she’d tacked up the take-out menus. Tomorrow. She’d go shopping tomorrow; for tonight, pizza would do. For tonight, food coming to her door was about the most civilized thing she could imagine.

  An hour and a half later she’d changed her mind about the civilized part. She loved Renzetti’s chewy, greasy pizza, but their delivery and timing skills always left something to be desired. Her stomach growled loudly enough to be heard over the stereo. If they didn’t show soon, she’d go looking for them.

  The doorbell rang. Lainie jumped to her feet and walked out on the landing. Going on two hours. This was enough to set a record. She stomped down to the street door. Whoever it was, if they didn’t have a pizza in their hand, they were going to be sorry.

  They did.

  Or, he did, to be more specific. J. J. Cooper stood on her front doorstep, holding a steaming pizza box. The Fu Manchu now had a vaguely piratical look to it. His blond hair was even more disheveled than usual. With his earth-toned madras shirt unbuttoned over a T-shirt and shorts, he looked more as though he belonged in a beachfront Mexican bar after a long day of surfing than on her front porch.

  Lainie pulled open the inside door and stared at him, arms folded. “What do you want?”

  “I thought you might want your dinner.”

  “My dinner?”

  “I intercepted the delivery guy on the front porch,” he said, nodding at the taillights disappearing down the street. “You owe me fifteen bucks.”

  She opened the screen door and reached for the pizza, but he pulled it back. “Ah, ah, ah, package deal. I come with it.”

  “You’re holding my pizza hostage?”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I thought you’d want to make a friendly gesture. You know, get to know the new guy on the street?”

  “I know you already.” Her mouth watered at the scent of hot pepperoni and cheese.

  “You think you know me,” he corrected. “I figure you’re a little out of date.”

  “Well, we’ll have to deal with that at some point.” Lainie made another try for the box, but he just shifted it out of reach. She eyed him. “I could order another one.”

  “Sure, but you’ll have to wait. This one’s right here, and it’s hot.” He waved it in front of the door.

  She took a blissful sniff. “Do I have to let you through the door? Can’t I just give you a slice or two?”

  “No way. You have to let me in and let me sit down long enough to eat.” He nodded down at his shorts, which hung from his hips with the weight of the beer bottles stuffed in the pockets. “I brought drinks, too.”

  She refused to be amused, Lainie told herself sternly, even as she pressed open the screen.

  They sprawled on her streamlined gray couch, Death Cab for Cutie on the stereo, the remainders of pizza scattered on plates around them. J.J. took a sip of his beer and looked around the room. It had mottled grayish-beige carpet and walls of rental-property white. She hadn’t given in, though. Instead, she’d livened things up with a purple floor lamp, a lime-green coffee table, and pillows in purple and bright pink and lime green. The overall effect was vivid, memorable.

  Like Lainie herself.

  Like the flowerboxes. “Did you plant the flowers downstairs?” he asked.

  She gave him a puzzled look. “Elsie and the kids and I did it together. Why?”

  “Just curious. They look good. This place does, too.”

  “And here you wanted me to move.”

  “It doesn’t seem likely.”

  “No,” she agreed.

  Moving was a moot point, anyway. This was working. He was in Salem, she had let him in her house voluntarily—at least sort of. He figured it was progress. Persistence, that was the key.

  “So what is there to do here?” he asked lazily, taking another swallow of beer.

  “Nothi
ng. Terminally boring. You might as well leave now,” she added.

  “Too late. I’m already here. Got to keep an eye on you.”

  “I don’t need keeping an eye on.”

  He looked her over, in her shorts and skimpy top. “The pleasure’s all mine, trust me.”

  Lainie snorted.

  “What, you don’t think I’m sincere?” he asked.

  “I think you’ve been feeding women lines for so long it’s second nature.” She popped the last bit of pizza into her mouth. “God, that’s good.” She closed her eyes, chewing with a little moan of pleasure.

  And opened them to find J.J. staring at her. “Remind me to bring you pizza more often,” he said.

  “You do that, you might actually start being welcome.” She reached out for her beer. “So what does the ski team think of your little vacation?”

  He gave her an amused look. “Vacation? I’m training five hours a day.”

  Her jaw dropped before she could stop herself. “Five hours?”

  “Yep,” he said, setting his plate aside. “Three with the trainer and two hours of weights at night. Oh, and an hour run in the morning,” he added. “I guess that makes it six.”

  She stared at him. “That’s nuts. I always knew you were a lunatic, but six hours a day? Nobody can keep up with that.”

  “It’s not that bad,” he said dismissively. “I mean, it’s different kinds of training, targeted at different things.”

  “And PT for your shoulder?”

  “Nope, the shoulder’s pretty well healed. I got the release from the doctor last week. It still needs strengthening, but it’s good to go.”

  “Congratulations. Does that mean you’re heading out?” She should have been relieved at the prospect. So where did the sneaky wisp of disappointment come from?

  “You’re not rid of me yet. I’ve got a couple more weeks of training here before I hit the snow.”

  “Six hours a day,” she mused, shaking her head. Even three or four hours was a lot. She’d had no idea he could be so disciplined. “So do they have you eating disgusting things like protein shakes and egg-white omelets? Did you break training tonight with the pizza?”