Under His Spell (Holiday Hearts #4) Read online

  J.J. hesitated and glanced at Lainie. In his eyes she read reluctance and discomfort. “Well, I’m not really a long-term—”

  “Just for today,” George said. “If you could run a fourth crew, we’ll be done with the demo that much quicker. You could take the kitchen. It needs to be gutted—countertops, cabinets, appliances, everything. It’ll go faster with someone who knows what he’s doing. What do you think?”

  Across the way in the backyard, Tyjah held a hammer with both hands and with great concentration pounded a dirt clod to dust. J.J. watched him for a minute, then he looked back at George. “I think I’m your man.”

  There was something immensely satisfying about knocking holes in a wall with a sledgehammer, Lainie thought as she slammed the heavy mallet with gusto. Especially when her emotions were all over the map. She’d known that she had something of an unhealthy attraction to J.J. If she were honest, that had been going on for years.

  She’d never expected to like him.

  I’m not really long-term…

  It had never been a problem before to keep her distance, to maintain the scorn. Everything he was about made it easy: the partying, the women, the luxe life, the fact that his personal soap operas played out in the newspapers. Everything he was about made him the exact wrong person for any sane woman to be involved with, no matter how sexy that crooked smile was.

  Always before, when she’d kept him at a distance, it had been easy.

  It wasn’t easy anymore.

  “Remind me never to tick you off,” J.J. said from beside her, where he was stripping away Sheetrock with a crowbar. From the house all around them came the sounds of pounding, the protesting screech of nails being wrenched loose, the whine of circular saws. “Of course,” he added, tearing loose a slab of rock with a grunt, “now that I’m your supervisor, you have to be friendly to me.”

  “Aren’t there laws against that?”

  “What, being friendly?”

  A snarky comeback was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she didn’t quite have the heart for it. “Thanks for helping George out,” she said instead.

  J.J. stared at her. Before she could react, he’d taken two steps toward her and pressed a hand to her forehead.

  “What?” she said, face flaming.

  “You feeling all right?”

  “I’m feeling fine,” she muttered, pushing his hand away.

  “You’ve just never voluntarily said anything nice to me before. I figured you had to be delirious.”

  She glowered at him. “I was just about to say something nicer to you but I think I’ve changed my mind.” She reached for her sledge.

  “You’re going to leave me hanging with that?” he protested. “Come on, at least give me something. Nobody drops a sink through the floor like I do, say.”

  That brought a smile, he saw. She glanced at the patch of shattered plywood at their feet. “That wasn’t your fault. Tracy bumped you.”

  “Not only thinking about saying something nice to me but taking my side,” he said with relish. “I think I’m making progress here.”

  “The only progress I care about is progress on the house,” she said, glancing around at the gutted kitchen. She could almost convince herself that she meant it. Hollow thuds sounded from overhead as people walked on the roof.

  “Do you realize we’ve been working more than eight hours?” J.J. asked, leaning against a stud.

  Lainie shrugged. “The more we do today, the less we have to do tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We work the weekend. You can think of us while you’re lounging around.”

  His Sunday plans had mostly focused on watching the game. On the other hand, suddenly that prospect didn’t seem nearly so appealing. He’d enjoyed himself, he realized. Not just being around Lainie but all of it. Laughing with George, teasing Kisha and the other kids, working hard.

  Doing something for someone besides himself.

  “I’ll be here,” he answered.

  “Here?” She blinked. “You mean working?”

  “What did you think I meant?”

  “I think—” She looked down at the floor, out into the dining room where a square of sunlight had just appeared from the roof dismantlers. “I think maybe I’ve underestimated you,” she said slowly.

  He grinned. “I told you I’d surprise you one of these days.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lainie pushed open the door at Cool Beans. “Coffee,” she announced, as the bell jingled. “For the love of God, I need—” And she stopped in her tracks at the sight of J.J. up at the counter, laughing with George.

  “Hey, Lainie,” George said, reaching automatically for a cup, “come on up. I’m just having a little confab with our newest team foreman.”

  J.J. held up his cup. “Great coffee.”

  “I know,” she muttered.

  His grin widened. “Cranky in the morning before she gets her fix, isn’t she?”

  George snorted. “You kidding? She’s cranky any time of day without coffee. I think she mainlines it.” But he held out a cup that she reached for gratefully.

  “So, anyway,” J.J. continued to George. “Here I am, driving to the site with my overhead rack loaded with the PVC pipes. And I’m late—”

  “Who woulda guessed?”

  “Hey, I was sixteen. What do you want? Anyway, I’m blasting along. You know, back roads, early morning. But the closer I get to Montpelier, the deeper we get into the morning commute. And then I hit a yellow light that goes red just as I drive up to it, and there’s a state trooper right there.”

  “Oops.”

  “Yeah. So I jam on the brakes. It’s touch and go but I manage to stop, so I’m feeling pretty good. But then I see this shadow fall over the windshield and I realize that maybe I stopped but the pipes haven’t. The whole damned load is still going. It hits the ground like pickup sticks out of a can and just keeps sliding.”

  George guffawed. “What did you do?”

  “I had the statie right there giving me the hairy eyeball. What do you think I did? I got out of the truck and picked it up, pipe by pipe.”

  “Remind me never to put you on delivery duty,” George said.

  “Want to hear about the time I lost a couple of commodes, making a fast right?” J.J. offered.

  “Definitely no delivery duty.”

  “Well, you helped us get down to bare slab.” He set a blueberry muffin on the counter. “On the house, Cooper. Job well done.”

  “You never give me free muffins,” Lainie muttered, “and I’ve been working Human Habitat for two years.”

  “Well, if you’re going to pout…” George put out another muffin.

  “I don’t pout,” she returned indignantly.

  “Of course you do. You’re pouting right now. Anyway, eat up, both of you. We’ve got a bare slab to celebrate.”

  It had taken time and work, but the Human Habitat crew had finally pulled the old house down. Now it was time to start the real work—building it back up.

  “Got the pressure-treated yellow pine and studs coming in this weekend,” George was saying. “Lotta work to get done. I want to try to get the whole thing framed up this weekend.”

  “That’s all?” J.J. snorted. “Why don’t you add in getting it roofed over and sided this weekend while you’re at it?”

  “Hey, cold weather’s coming. I want to get it buttoned up and into dry out as soon as possible.”

  “Okay, okay, I get you, but if you think you’re going to get the whole thing framed up this weekend with your crew, you’re going to be disappointed.” J.J. mulled it over for a minute. “How about if I come work this weekend?”

  “I never say no to a good volunteer.” George turned to Lainie. “Best thing you ever did was bring this guy around.”

  An emotion she didn’t quite recognize whipped through her. Irritation? Of course not, not at George. Frustration? Still didn’t feel right, she thought. Jealousy? she thought, st
artled.

  Jealousy.

  Frowning, Lainie dropped a bill on the counter. “Thanks, George.”

  “You going?”

  “Got to earn a paycheck.”

  J.J. grabbed his muffin hastily. “Wait. I’ll go with you.”

  “No need to. I know the way.”

  But he was already on her heels as she went out the door.

  It was silly. More than silly, it was childish to feel territorial about her coffee shop, but she was. Irritated at herself, she walked a little faster.

  “What’s the rush? Did you skip your workout this morning?”

  “I’ve got stuff to do. It’s only six weeks to Halloween, you know.”

  She’d managed to avoid being alone with him since that unsettling moment in the kitchen the previous weekend. The last thing she’d wanted to deal with was J.J.—or her feelings about J.J. But now he was showing up, everywhere, it seemed.

  It wasn’t just Cool Beans and George. She walked outside her house and he was there, showing Kisha and Tyjah how to get into a skier’s crouch or fixing their porch rail. She showed up at Human Habitat and he was leading a team, she went to the farmers’ market to buy vegetables and he was at the booths, joking with the vendors. He was everywhere, an outsider subtly shoehorning himself into her community.

  Into her life.

  And it made her feel like an immature jerk that it bothered her. Salem was just a passing phase for him. Right now he was at loose ends. It amused him to play big-time sports guy in the small town. And everyone was lapping it up—after all, it wasn’t every day they got to hang with a famous athlete.

  Although, he hadn’t brought it up, now that she thought about it. Word had filtered around the Human Habitat site, but J.J. had downplayed it as much as possible. He hadn’t told “World Cups I Have Known” stories when they’d all gone out for pizza at the end of demolition. Instead, just as he had with George a few minutes before, he’d put the focus on living in New England, telling self-deprecating stories of growing up in a small town.

  Charming self-deprecating stories.

  She made an impatient noise.

  “You want to tell me what you’re so ticked off about?” J.J. asked mildly.

  “It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Absolutely no way. She’d sound infantile. She felt infantile just thinking about it. She couldn’t really be ticked off at J.J. She was mostly ticked off at herself.

  “You know, I kind of thought we were getting somewhere last week. And then you started avoiding me.”

  “I always avoid you,” she said automatically.

  “I kinda started thinking that might change.”

  He wasn’t joking, she realized, as they came to a stop in front of the museum. There was a slight, but unmistakable edge in his voice. And in his eyes she saw disappointment.

  Disappointment? J.J.?

  Lainie shifted. “Look, it’s nothing personal. I’ve just been busy.”

  “Busy, tired. You can do better than that, can’t you, Lainie?”

  At the moment she couldn’t, because she didn’t even understand herself. She cleared her throat. “Look, I should really go in.”

  “I guess. I don’t think we’ve finished this conversation, though.”

  “Probably not,” she agreed. “But I have to get to work.”

  For a moment he just looked at her, and then something seemed to slip sideways.

  Once, in college, she’d taken a road trip to San Francisco, going west of Albany for the first time in her life. Somewhere in Nevada, she’d looked at the land around her and with a dizzying abruptness understood down deep that she was on a different part of the globe. North was no longer Maine, it was Oregon. South was Los Angeles, not Manhattan and Baltimore. It was subtle and impossible to describe, but she could almost feel it as her internal grid shifted, momentarily filling her with an almost physical disorientation.

  It was the same sensation that swept over her now.

  Bewildered, she stared at J.J. She’d always known the geography of what they were to each other. Now, somehow, that had changed. She was in some new, unmarked place, and none of the usual landmarks were there to help her. “I should go,” she whispered, but didn’t move.

  And as she stood there staring at him, he leaned in and pressed a kiss on her lips. It was a pressure, a warmth, no longer than the length of a heartbeat. It would have been almost friendly, if it weren’t for the little whispers of demand laced through it. “You’ll think of me, though,” he said softly.

  And she did. All day long, throughout the meetings, the phone calls to secure jugglers for the festival, throughout the games of phone tag with first one vendor, then another, Lainie thought of him. And every time she thought of the feel of his mouth on hers, she felt a little stir in her stomach.

  Things were different. She didn’t know when or how, but they were different, and if she didn’t get them under control, she didn’t know what was going to happen. She’d meant what she’d said to Caro. It wasn’t just the women, not really. It was his entire world, the life he inhabited when he wasn’t fooling around in Salem. A life that was a bit too fast—too temporary—to be sure about.

  They had to talk. If they cleared the air, he’d understand that it was best they kept things from getting physical. He knew he was going back to racing soon. He was used to quick changes, to rushing from country to country, from relationship to relationship. From enjoying the moment to really enjoying it, then ending it with no hard feelings—or perhaps no feelings at all.

  So it was that she found herself standing on the peeling brown porch of his house that evening, nerves jumping in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she knocked. And while she waited, she rehearsed the words in her mind. Too complicated… Too transient… Practically like family…

  Which wasn’t the same as actually being family. Still…

  There was no answer. Lainie knocked again, more loudly. No response.

  J.J., it appeared, was out.

  She wasn’t about to admit to the sneaky little feeling of relief. Turning, she started back down the steps. She’d tried. Some other time, maybe. She could write him a note. Or maybe she should just leave and keep her distance, no matter what J.J. thought. It was what any sane woman in her spot would do.

  And then she heard it.

  Lynyrd Skynrd.

  Reluctantly she turned and followed the narrow drive to the back of the house. Ahead lay his blue truck. Ahead of that, the open garage and inside, she saw, was J.J.

  Hopping.

  Bemused, she walked closer. He’d set up light rails about three feet high off the ground, parallel. From a flatfooted, standing start, he gathered himself and leaped over each, feet together, in a single explosion of power. Even with a running start, she’d be hard-pressed to do it. From a dead stop? No way. But J.J. just stood and leaped, stood and leaped, grunting with the effort but making it over each time. And each time, at the end of the row, he’d turn, and like a human metronome, do it all again.

  Lainie watched, fascinated.

  He wore only athletic shoes and a pair of workout shorts. His body gleamed with sweat. Below the shorts, his thighs swelled in a practically inhuman display. Above the shorts, his belly was corrugated with muscle, a set of six-pack abs that was enough to make any woman swoon.

  Including her.

  Six hours a day, he’d said, six hours of workout and training. Exaggeration, maybe, she’d suspected at the time. She didn’t anymore. Lainie shook her head as J.J. reached the end of the row and turned again, shuffling his feet until he was ready to jump.

  It was more impressive than if he’d made it look effortless. It was the end of a long day. The exercise was obviously costing him, and yet he continued, making those agile, prodigious leaps, one after another, again and again.

  She’d always wanted to class him as a lightweight, someone who’d been gifted with talent and coasted on it. But he hadn’t
, Lainie realized. J. J. Cooper, she had to reluctantly admit, had gotten where he was by hard work. Talent, too, sure, but much of it had been fueled by sheer bloody-minded determination.

  She didn’t want to care about him; she really didn’t want to.

  It was becoming impossible not to.

  And at that moment J.J. looked over. “Hey.” The smile that broke over his face didn’t hold any mockery or challenge, only pleasure, and she found herself responding in kind.

  “Hey.”

  He grabbed a towel and swiped his face as he walked up.

  “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

  “That’s okay, I was done,” he said. “There’s only so much fun I can stand.” He raked his damp hair back from his face, and Lainie watched the muscles in his biceps and chest shift. It was one thing to know he was built. It was another to see it. Okay, so maybe there was more than liking going on.

  That didn’t mean she had to do anything about it.

  “What brings you around?” J.J. pulled on a ragged T-shirt.

  Dragging her gaze back up to his, she groped for coherent thought. “Oh. Well, I just…I wanted…”

  “How about dinner?” he suggested.

  “Dinner?” she repeated blankly.

  “Yeah. I was just going to go grab something. You eaten?”

  She shook her head. “I just got off work.”

  “Then come.”

  It was a casual invitation, even simple. Nothing was ever simple between them, and yet this sounded like no more or no less than it was. Just friends, going to eat. It could be the perfect location for The Talk, someplace out in the open where things wouldn’t get out of hand. If he kept his clothes on, she could focus. “All right.”

  J.J.’s smile was bright and uncomplicated. “Great,” he said as they walked across the parking apron to his back steps. “I’ve got to grab a quick shower. Wait for me?”

  “Sure.”

  It was definitely a rental property, she thought as she wandered through the living room and listened to the water run through the upstairs pipes. Someone had obviously redecorated in the seventies and the place still had the blue shag rug to prove it. The kitchen was resplendent with avocado appliances and antique-gold wall tile. Definitely seventies.