By Magic Alone (32 page)

“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.

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?”

Scot’s thumb paused. The cords in his neck tightened. In a quick, decisive move, he turned off the ignition. “I’m hungry. Feel like ordering a pizza?”

“Pizza . . . yes. Uh-huh . . . sounds good,” I babbled in surprise and relief. He wanted to stay. The spell was over, and he wanted to stay. “I’m starving.”

Grabbing his keys from the ignition, he tossed them to his other hand and tucked them into the front pocket of his jeans. His gaze met mine. A spark passed between us, and hope blew up inside like a gigantic helium balloon. “I had a great time, too, Julia—”

“Good!” I interrupted. “I’m glad.”

His unsaid
but
hung in the air between us, weighing everything down. I leaned toward him and brushed my lips along his jaw. A trail of small kisses led me to his mouth, and I gave him a soft, lingering kiss. His hand came to the side of my neck, his thumb grazed along my cheek. Funny, how one kiss can silence the demons. Funny, how one kiss could make me feel safe. At least for a little while.

“Mmm,” I whispered when we separated. I rested my forehead against Scot’s chin. “I do enjoy kissing you.”

I wanted him to say “I enjoy kissing you, too,” but what I got was a pat on the back of my head. He cleared his throat. “Ready for that pizza?”

“Sure.” Fighting disappointment, I shifted away. Images of Scot sitting me down whipped into my consciousness: all nice and private in my apartment, reminding me that our relationship was only supposed to be pretend, and that as much fun as our weekend was, nothing had changed. “Hey, how about if we go out, instead? Maybe catch a movie?”

“If you’d rather go out, that’s fine,” Scot said carefully. “But I’ll probably fall asleep in a dark theater.” His grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m a little worn out.”

I held back a sigh. Was I really going to drag Scot to dinner and a movie on the heels of a busy weekend just because I was afraid he might say something I didn’t want to hear? I could be wrong. Maybe tonight would be a beginning and not an end.

And even if I was right, why put it off? I told myself to grow a spine, and said, “Of course we can stay in. I wasn’t thinking.”

We gathered my luggage and went upstairs. I half expected to see Leslie lurking in the hallway, waiting for us. But that was a silly, stupid thought. And she wasn’t. Still, I couldn’t deny my relief when I closed my door and latched the chain lock.

But I needed a minute to be alone, to stabilize my emotions and pull together my courage, so I smiled at Scot. “I’m going to unpack really fast and freshen up.”

He shrugged off his leather coat and hung it in my closet. Ridiculous, maybe, but that one tiny action increased my hopes for the evening. If he was planning on breaking my heart and taking off after we ate, why hang up his coat when he could just toss it on a chair?

Yeah, I know. I was looking for signs everywhere. Which meant I’d find them. Everywhere.

“Mind ordering the pizza for us?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he said without looking in my direction. “How does Vito’s sound?”

Even in my distress, I smiled at the memory of the first time we’d shared a Vito’s pizza. Everything about that night felt far away. “Sounds perfect. Vito’s is my favorite.”

“I know.” He faced me and returned the smile. “Where’s your phone book?”

I told him and made my escape. Once in my room, I collapsed on the edge of the bed. I rehashed every second, every word, every action since we’d left the airport, trying to read his body language, his thoughts, and therefore, his intent. But I came up blank. He’d been quiet, a little distant, but so had I.