By Magic Alone (27 page)

The energy swirled and bobbed and stole my breath. But then, as if someone pushed the pause button, the momentum ceased, waiting . . . waiting for me to finish the wish. It was an odd feeling, this absence of movement. It left me off balance and uncomfortable, because while the pressure, the vitality of the power remained, it existed without flow.

What did I want from this weekend? My soul answered instantly.
Passion.
I wanted to experience passion, and I wanted to experience that with Scot. True, unadulterated, blood-pumping, sweaty, all-consuming passion. And then, when I got home, I’d do whatever needed to be done. Once I had more information and could make a decision based on facts.
But that . . . Well, I didn’t have to think about that now. Right now, all I needed to do was complete my wish.

Scot knocked on the door again, harder and more insistent. “Julia? I’m getting worried out here. What’s going on?”

“One more minute, Scot. Sorry! I’m . . . ah . . . putting my shirt on.”

The energy grew hotter, teasing over my skin like a lover’s caress, reminding me to get on with it. I bit my lip and scrawled one word:
passionate.
Which finished my wish, so it read, “From the second I open the door tonight until the minute I step off of the plane at home, everything about this weekend will be passionate.”

The pause button released and movement returned. Magic, potent and electric, pushed against my skin, raising the hairs on my neck, my arms, my entire body. A numb, knotted-up ball unraveled from somewhere in the center of me, and tiny explosions of sensation erupted all at once. I pressed my lips together, muffling the moan of pleasure that escaped. This—dear God, this wasn’t like any of the other wishes.

I dropped the journal and the pen and gripped the bedspread with both hands, squeezing tight, hanging on while my body vibrated. My head tilted back and another moan came to my lips, begging to be released. I felt
everything.
My blood flowing through my veins, my heart beating in my chest, my breaths panting in and out of my lungs, the sensual glide of the air along my hot skin. It was a level of awareness I’d never before had, and it was exquisite. It was terrifying. It was something dormant coming to life: the power of
me.
Of being a woman. A sexy, alluring, desirable woman. A woman who craved to be touched.

I kicked the journal under the bed and bolted to my feet. I ran to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright. I flipped my hair and
smiled, and this time . . . this time, the result was definitely that of a vixen wanting to play.

This time, what I wore had nothing to do with my sex appeal. I had never, in my entire life, seen myself as beautiful, as sexy, as desirable, as I did at that second. I wanted to stare at myself, dissect the reasons why, because truthfully . . . I didn’t look all that different. Same hair, same clothes, same body, same girl.

But I
was
different. And there was absolutely nothing to dissect. It was magic, and I had three days to enjoy
this
woman before the other woman, the boring one, returned. I lifted my chin and smiled again. Oh, yes. This was going to be so much fun.

Scot pounded on the door again, and I remembered why I’d cast this wish in the first place. I was at the door as fast as my legs could carry me. I opened up and did the flippy toss, and I gave him the smile and said, “Why don’t we stay in and order room service?”

He blinked. His gaze sought my face and eased down my body all the way to my toes, and then back up. Those firm, straight lips I loved kissing slid into a slow, lazy smile. My spell worked! Desire burned low in my belly, and images of all the delicious things we might do to each other whisked into my mind. I opened the door wider, making room for him to enter.

And then he laughed. Laughed! “We’re in Vegas, Julia! You seriously want to stay in our first night here? Come on . . . let’s go get dinner. I’m starving.”

Well, shit.

The magic from the spell laced around me in an intricate weave, like millions of invisible spiderwebs gathering on my skin, tightening with every step, every breath, as Scot and I made our way through the casino. Instead of feeling restrictive, the sensation added to the energy zipping through my blood. It was powerful. Almost addictively so.

The signs of my spell’s success were everywhere. People removed themselves from our path, giving us room to pass without our having to alter direction. Interested gazes followed our movements in the type of awe usually reserved for celebrity sightings. One man tripped over his feet, another dropped his drink before it reached his lips, and yet another received a well-aimed punch in his arm from the woman standing beside him. Probably his wife or girlfriend.

It was liberating. And I would’ve enjoyed the process a hell of a lot more if it weren’t for one thing. Or, rather, one
man:
Scot. He appeared to be completely unaffected by the magic.

He walked next to me, but he wasn’t really
with
me. He didn’t offer any sidelong glances or smiles. He didn’t rest his hand on the small of my back, and other than asking if Mexican food sounded good, he hadn’t said a word. Not one. It was frustrating to the nth degree. Especially because I wanted to drag him to my room and rip every article of clothing off of him. Or his room. Either would do. Not only were my hormones out of control, but Scot looked freaking amazing.

He
didn’t require magic to ooze sex appeal. His black slacks
hung on his rock-solid frame as if they were professionally tailored, but they were off-the-rack. He’d teamed the slacks with a white button-down shirt worn beneath a cobalt blue V-neck sweater, the top several buttons of the shirt left undone. The clothes, along with his rough-shaven jaw, dark eyes, and the air of cool confidence he carried, created a hot and sexy
GQ
vibe. Simply speaking, I was on fire and melting fast.

We entered the restaurant and were seated immediately. Good thing, too, because I didn’t think my legs were going to hold me upright for much longer. Scot opened his menu, so I did the same. But being all hot and bothered, I couldn’t settle.

The Mexican-themed restaurant was all brushed aluminum, dark wood, leather, and glass. These design elements, along with a huge bullfighting mural on the back wall, gave the establishment a fun and funky aura. “This place is fantastic,” I murmured.

“Yes, it is,” Scot said without looking up.

I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, wondering if my spell had somehow managed to have the opposite effect on him. Perhaps he now found me revolting. Which, I guess, wouldn’t be that far off from how he’d originally seen me. But I thought we’d moved on from that.

I hoped so, anyway.

Our waiter stopped at our table. His gaze landed on Scot first. “My name is Chet. And it will be my pleasure to . . .” Chet’s narrow jaw clenched when he switched his attention to me. His body straightened. He blinked several times and a cloudy haze dripped into his eyes. In a higher, almost squeaky, pitch, he continued, “Chet. My name is Chet. And it will be my
utmost
pleasure to serve you tonight. Would you like something from the bar?”

“I . . . uh . . . I think I’ll try this raspberry tequila drink,” I
said. Chet nodded without dropping his eyes. It was flattering. It was also slightly disconcerting. “Oh, and a water. Please.”

“It will be my pleasure to bring you those drinks,” Chet replied earnestly. His blond, shoulder-length hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones. “My
utmost
pleasure.”

“It’s my pleasure to be served by you,” I quipped, trying to make light of his studied appraisal. Chet didn’t crack a smile but continued to stare. The flattery became uncomfortable. “Shouldn’t you write my order down?”

“Yes! I will do that!” Chet flipped to a new page of his order pad, but his hand jerked so hard the pad flew out of his grip. He nearly stumbled in his haste to retrieve it. “Okay. Write it down,” he said, his pen poised above the pad. “Write your order down.”

But he didn’t. He kept staring at me with bunched-together eyebrows and a blank, vacant expression that clearly stated he’d already forgotten my order.

Scot coughed to draw the waiter’s attention. “The lady would like the raspberry tequila drink and a water. I’ll have a Dos Equis Amber. And bring us an order of nachos.” Scot spoke in an authoritative manner, but he wasn’t unkind. Just firm. “Can you do that for us, Chet?”

“Y-Yes. Of course.” Chet scrawled the order and then offered a faint, bewildered smile. “Sorry. I’ll put this right in.”

As soon as he disappeared, I breathed a sigh of relief. Be careful what you wish for, right? “That was odd,” I said. “Maybe it’s his first night on the job or something.”

I mean, I knew the deal, but Scot didn’t. For some reason, it seemed important to rationalize Chet’s behavior for Scot’s benefit.

Scot chuckled. “Our waiter is besotted with you, Julia. You made him nervous.”

I fluttered my eyelashes. “And what about you, Scot? Are you besotted with me? Do I make you nervous?” Oh, hell, no. I hadn’t just said that, had I?

“Not nervous,” he replied. “But you confuse me. I think I have you figured out, and then—” A sigh pushed out of his lungs. “What was going on in your room tonight?”

“What do you mean? I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but it wasn’t that long. Just a few minutes, right?”

“There was something . . . Lights flashed under your door. Your voice sounded off. I thought that maybe—” Scot lifted his shoulders in a barely discernable shrug, and the muscle in his arm pulsed. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. What did you think?” Flashing lights? I hadn’t noticed. Though I’d been a bit preoccupied with the unexpected surge of passion rippling through my body.

“That maybe Miranda followed us to Vegas and was in your room. I don’t know that much about her, and I’m sure she’s harmless. But I was worried.”

“Nope. If Miranda is here, I haven’t sensed her.” Which, you know, made me rather happy. What with the plans I had in mind for me and Scot, I didn’t need an invisible spectator. “I was running late. That’s all.”

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.”