Must Be Magic (Spellbound) (5 page)

She squealed and scrambled to grab on to him. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

He laughed. “I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Her expression was so serious his smile faded and he nodded, caught up in how blue her eyes were.

He abruptly started walking, half wishing he’d left her to stumble along when she dropped her head and tucked it under his chin. He tried to distract himself by thinking about how annoyed she’d be with him if she remembered this in the morning.

Maybe she’d give him the cold shoulder on the hike tomorrow. Cold would be much better than all the warmth from Darby presently seeping into his skin.

“How far is your place?”

“Just another minute or so that way.” They walked a little farther in silence, then she sighed. “You know what the problem with this place is? There are palm trees and drinks with little umbrellas and—” she tipped her head back, “—stars.” She sighed, her expression suddenly sad. “It’s too much like Florida.”

He didn’t need to ask why all of that was a problem. He’d been feeling it too, since he’d looked over and seen her swinging in that hammock. It shouldn’t be so easy to remember what she’d worn on their first date—faded jean shorts with a plain white tank top that barely reached her waist—or how desperate he’d been to just hold her hand.

There were years of arguments and animosity between them. Hell, it had been there only hours ago, and yet he kept catching glimpses of the Darby who’d laughed so hard she’d choked on salt water when they first met.

But she didn’t ask if he was having the same problem, so he kept quiet—right up until she straightened in his arms and stared at him so intently.

As much as his brain told him to haul ass and get to her bungalow, his steps slowed. Darby’s attention slipped to his mouth and a bolt of heat shot clean through him. He remembered that too, the feeling of sheer need that twisted him up inside until he’d do anything to satisfy it.

Ahead of them, a couple turned the corner, laughing at something. Bryce stepped to the side to give them room to pass, intensely aware of every second that Darby watched him.

With the path ahead clear, he started walking—and nearly tripped himself.

She locked her arms around him. “Bryce.” Her voice was low and soft.

His gut clenched. “Yeah?”

“Stop.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Not when he was trying really hard not to think about kissing her.

Who was he kidding? Kissing her was all he could think about.

Darby Calder.

The woman who’d gone out of her way to either ignore him or make sure he knew exactly what she thought of him at every opportunity for the last four years. The woman he’d fallen for ten years ago, lying to her about who he was because he’d been so determined to get to know her.

Right now he’d be better off provoking Dante than stopping when Darby was looking at him like he was still the guy she’d knocked off a surfboard one spring break a long time ago.

“Stop—”

“Darby,” he began, without a clue what to say since talking was quickly becoming less appealing than a lot of other things he could do with his mouth. She was too close, her lips looking so damn soft and sweet. He was half convinced just a taste—

“Down. Now.” She squirmed out of his arms and stumbled off the path, leaning against a palm tree.

It took him another second to piece together the alarmed tone and bleached face. She was going to be sick.

After a painfully long minute spent wondering if she expected him to keep his distance or hold her hair back if it came to that—and he sure as hell hoped it didn’t—she finally turned around and gave him a lopsided grin.

“False alarm.” She leaned into him when he met her halfway. “I think I can own my walk now.” She laughed. “Walk on my own.”

To prove it, Darby straightened and would have toppled over in the other direction if he hadn’t looped his arm around her waist to keep her close.

Although
close
was where he kept going wrong, and at his best guess he had a few more minutes of it to get through without doing anything stupid.

Lifting her into his arms before the path tripped her up—again—undoubtedly bordered on stupid.

“How much did you have to drink tonight?” He stared straight ahead, focused on the path and not the fingers slipping under his collar to hold on.

Darby relaxed in his arms and sighed, her breath hot on his neck. “Too much,” she mumbled sleepily. She lifted her head long enough to point to the third bungalow on the right.

By the time he walked up the few steps to the small veranda she was practically snoring.

“Key?”

She toyed with the collar on his shirt. “Hmmm?”

“Do you have a key?”

“Inside.”

Great.

He looked at the doorknob.
“Reserare.”
His amulet warmed his skin from the burst of magic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used magic for something as simple as unlocking a door.

Once he had the door open, he carefully set her on her feet. “Here you go.”

“Thanks for the help, Councilor.” She leaned against the wall.

Bryce scanned the room behind her and tried not to wince. Two suitcases were open, clothes trailing from one in all directions like some kind of bomb had detonated, scattering her stuff.

At least half a dozen shoes were strewn about the room, a couple propped up beneath a gauzy yellow sundress laying across the back of a chair, as though she hadn’t made up her mind which ones she’d wear with her outfit.

He’d bet his last paycheck that the bathroom hadn’t fared any better. He remembered the one she’d used during spring break and all the brushes, jewelry and makeup that had covered every inch of the vanity. He hadn’t realized one girl could use so much stuff.

Things hadn’t changed all that much in that department.

He set her sandals by the closet, and when he turned back around she was sliding down the wall.

“I’m just going to sit here for a few minutes.”

He glanced at the door, wondering if grabbing the blanket off the back of the small sofa and letting her get comfortable would really be so horrible of him when his own survival was at risk.

Crouching down, he brushed away the hair stuck to her cheek.

She smiled, her eyes heavy with sleep, and he felt his heart tug.

“Up you go.” He guided her to her feet, smart enough not to put them in any closer physical contact than necessary.

“I remember this Bryce Lancaster. The guy before he broke my heart.” She turned around, stumbling as she faced him. “I’ve missed him.”

He stopped, telling himself he had no choice but to hold on to her or else she’d end up in a drunken pile on the floor.

She leaned in like she was inhaling his scent, and her hair teased his jaw. She tipped her face up. The heat in her gaze would have stopped him in his tracks if the warm press of her body hadn’t already brought him to a standstill.

“You know what?” she murmured.

He tried like hell not to look at her mouth when he answered. It didn’t work. “What?”

Her lips curved into a secretive smile. “Everything…everything is spinning.”

Right. Spinning. Because of the alcohol.

God, he needed to get his mind on something else. He picked up the book on the table beside her bed and tried not to laugh. Emphasis on
tried
.

“What’s so funny?”

He held up the book. “Isn’t this about vampires?”

“Werewolves too, actually.” She yawned.

“Doesn’t it strike you as funny, considering you’re a witch?”

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we witches do know how to read,” she confided.

Nudging her around, he sat her on the edge of the bed, then grabbed one of the glasses on the table and filled it with water in the bathroom.

His guess about the state of the bathroom had been dead-on, and after spotting the black silk panties hanging on the edge of the tub, he wished she were as much of a neat freak as he was.

Darby had stretched out on the bed, her eyes closed, by the time he returned. He thought about making her drink a glass of water before she fell asleep for the night, then reminded himself he’d already gone above and beyond anything the truce obligated him to.

That didn’t stop him from snagging the blanket on the back of the sofa after all and draping it over her. He stared at her for a long minute, half hoping she wouldn’t remember any of this. As much as this might prove to her that he wasn’t the ass she believed him to be, it would probably make things awkward in the morning.

With one more glance to be sure she looked comfortable enough—there was no way he was taking any of her clothes off—he leaned down to shut off the bedside lamp she’d left on earlier. There was more than enough light coming in through the front window to find his way to the door.

“Bryce?”

All the blood in his body slid south, and not because of that sexy take-me-to-bed voice. No, it was definitely because of the finger that hooked the waistband of his pants.

His gaze snapped to hers.

Biting her bottom lip, she stared up at him as she found his zipper and slowly tugged it down. Every notch it moved echoed in perfect sync with his suddenly pounding heart.

He’d barely interpreted the seductive promise in her eyes, and then his zipper was down with her hand slipping inside and promising the kind of down and dirty foreplay that left
him
feeling half-drunk.

Jesus, she was awfully coordinated for someone who wouldn’t have been able to walk a straight line. Awfully, wonderfully coordinated.

His eyes slid shut and for a second he thought about seeing where this went. He’d been hard by the time her palm grazed his cock, making it way too easy for his brain to jump ahead to the part where he joined her on the bed.

She made a sound of distress and he looked down to find he was just out of her reach. With his blood running hot and the temperature in the room even hotter, he didn’t have a clue how his body had gotten the message to back the fuck up, let alone make it happen.

Darby sat up, pouting for a second before apparently rethinking her approach and grinning at him.

He was in serious trouble. And not just because he was fighting the urge to help her out with his pants—and between the two of them his pants could be on the floor in a heartbeat.

Studying the floor, he tugged his zipper back up, cutting off that last thought before he did something stupid. And anything that involved either of them getting naked would be
insanely
stupid.

Darby might have smiled at him more in the last fifteen minutes than in all of the last ten years, reminding him that he’d missed that too, but tomorrow she wouldn’t be smiling if she thought he’d taken advantage of her.

Even if she wasn’t as drunk as he thought, it would take more than alcohol to overcome their past and all the hostility they’d used to bury it.

“Night, Darby.”

Her expression dimmed, and he hated taking that light out of her eyes. He could add that to the list of mistakes he’d made where she was concerned.

“Have you ever thought about it, what it would be like between us now?”

Between the wild tumble of hair that had come down to frame her face and the way her dress had slipped off one shoulder, not to mention how she’d been looking at him for the last few minutes, it was all he
could
think about.

Answering the question, though, might give her a reason to reach for him, and he wasn’t convinced he could back away from her a second time. Lingering now was a bad idea, and with all the practice he’d had over the years at avoiding her, his ass should already have been on the other side of the door.

She moved to her knees. “I’m not the same girl you met on a sunny beach.”

“Yes, you are.” Right now, anyway, when they didn’t have a private investigations case or a family feud getting in the way. “A little older now, more beautiful, but you haven’t changed.” Not entirely. Watching the way she was with her family tonight had proved that much.

“And you have.” For the first time she sounded a little cautious. Maybe she was sobering up. That was a good thing, right?

He turned to leave. Probably the smartest decision he’d made all night.

“I know you want to stay.”

He stopped. “I can’t, not when it will only give you another reason to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Bryce.”

Ten years ago, he would have killed to hear those words. Even now, it surprised him how much he wanted to believe it.

“You never asked me.”

Frowning, he paused. “Asked you what?”

She made a sweeping gesture down her body. “Didn’t you ever wonder what happened?”

Somewhere along the way they’d silently agreed to never address what happened between them, and he’d been fine with that. Talking wouldn’t have changed the way things ended, wouldn’t have made them friends.

He shook his head. It was easier than lying. “It doesn’t matter now.” He resisted the urge to tack on “Right?” and instead went with, “Sleep tight.”