Chapter 21
Twenty-one
By the third morning after Jason had left the inn, Justine was struggling to stay angry. Anger had given her the energy to get ready for the new influx of guests: maintenance such as fixing a broken toilet, resetting a television remote control, resupplying each room with soaps and toiletries. Anger had also propelled her through the tedium of bookkeeping and bill paying, ordering new supplies, and sending e-mail confirmations to guests who had reserved rooms.
The problem was that Justine wasn’t certain what would happen if she let go of the anger. She didn’t want to soften toward Jason. And she didn’t want to view his actions in context: Love was not a mitigating circumstance. She had to focus exclusively on what he had done, and ignore his reasons for doing it. Which was why she had confided as little as possible about the situation to Zo?, who was a big believer in context. And love.
In the middle of laundering linens and toweling, Justine received a call from Priscilla, who until then hadn’t returned any of her wrathful messages.
Justine had waited for that call, had kept herself awake at night rehearsing long eviscerating rants that would leave Priscilla in an apologetic heap. But as she answered, Justine was furious to discover that all she could manage was a choked hello. All the vehement words had tangled up with each other like fine chains.
“Jason has no idea I’m talking to you,” Priscilla said. “He’d kill me if he knew.”
“Where is my spellbook?” Justine asked tightly.
“Jason’s got it. He’s taking real good care of it. He’ll bring it to you by the end of the week.”
“Where is he now?”
“There’s a conference in San Diego. One of those big gaming shindigs. He has to do a charity fund-raiser and—”
“Are you with him?”
“No. He stayed in Little Rock the night before last and left yesterday for California.”
“Little Rock?” Justine repeated, bewildered. “Arkansas?”
Priscilla’s voice was subdued. “My granny and great-aunt are crafters. They helped figure out the spell to use for Jason.”
“Using my Triodecad,” Justine said tautly. “That’s just great. What spell did you use?”
“Longevity.”
Justine’s anger dropped like a climber abseiling a rock face. Down into a thick fog of gloom. She closed her eyes and leaned against the clothes dryer, needing its heat. She had to take a few deep breaths before she could speak. “You used high magick?”
Priscilla’s tone was cautious. “Granny said she thought it took. So there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll have your book back and then—”
“There are two things to worry about,” Justine said sharply. “One is if you cast the spell wrong. The other is if you cast it right.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me put it this way: Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. There’s no way of knowing exactly what you’ve set in motion. We’ll only find out when it’s too late. And if you’ve done it right… Jason’s going to suffer for it later. Supernatural longevity is a curse, Priscilla. You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. There’s no guarantee against illness or dementia or any of the terrible things that can happen to a human body. The only guarantee is that you’ll live, and live, and live, until you would do anything to end your misery.” Her throat clenched. “I’ve already told this to Jason, the stubborn idiot!”
“He did this because he loves you,” Priscilla burst out.
“Give me a break. He was going to do it anyway, for his own selfish reasons.”
“He loves you,” Priscilla repeated.
“Why do you think that?” Justine asked sarcastically. “Because he said so?”
“Because it’s the truth. Everyone knows you’ll be the death of him. The longevity spell won’t hold out against the witch’s bane. But Jason doesn’t give a damn—all he wants is to buy more time with you.” Priscilla let out a frustrated breath. “My daddy died young, same as yours. People warned him never to marry my mama. They told him to run like hell so that curse could never touch him. I always wondered why he didn’t listen. I couldn’t figure out how a man could be so in love that he’d rather die than live without it. Well, now I’m seeing it firsthand. There’s no way to save Jason. He’s found something he wants even more than a soul, and that’s you. If you won’t have him, he’ll wait.”
“He’ll spend the rest of his life waiting,” Justine snapped.
“I told him that.”
“And what did he say?”
“‘Then waiting is how I’ll love her.’”
Justine was silent, her hand curling into a fist against the warm metal surface of the dryer.
“I hope to Goddess no man ever wants me that way,” Priscilla continued. “And I’m sorry for my part in all this. But I’m calling to tell you where Jason is, in case you don’t want to waste time. Because even if that spell worked… you don’t have forever.”
***
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Zo? said cheerfully, placing folded clothes into the open suitcase on Justine’s bed. Not only had Zo? agreed when Justine had asked if she could cover for her, she’d been positively enthusiastic. In fact, Zo? had insisted on helping her pack for San Diego.
“Nita’s sister is coming in to help with the cleaning,” Zo? continued, “and Annette will be here early to help with breakfast in the morning, and we only have a few rooms booked. So stay the whole weekend.”
“You’re all trying to get rid of me,” Justine grumbled.
Zo? smiled. “You deserve this. None of us can remember the last time you went away for a romantic weekend.”
“It’s not going to be a romantic weekend. I’m going there to get my spellbook from Jason, and then I’m going to yell at him and stay in my own room. The only reason I’m not leaving the same day I arrive is because all the return flights were full.”
“Take an extra outfit just in case. And something cute to wear for dinner.” Zo? pulled a little black dress from the closet. “This will be perfect.”
“I’m not going to dress for dinner. I’ll have a hamburger in my room.”
“Where are your strappy sandals?”
Justine scowled in the face of Zo?’s determination. “At the back of the closet.”
“What about a necklace?”
“I don’t have one that goes with that dress.”
“Here. This will be perfect.” Zo? took the antique crystal brooch pinned to her retro-styled sweater, and fastened it to the lowest point of the dress’s neckline.
“Zo?, thanks, but that’s totally unnecessary. I’m not going out to dinner with Jason or anyone.”
Zo? folded the dress carefully. “You never can tell.”
“Jason doesn’t even know I’m doing this. I’m only going there to tell him good-bye forever, and then I’m coming back here to resume my life of quiet desperation. I didn’t know how good I had it.”
“Why do you have to tell him good-bye in San Diego?” Zo? asked gently. “You could leave a message on his voice mail. Or text him.”
“You can’t text ‘good-bye forever’ to someone,” Justine said indignantly. “It has to be done in person.”
“In strappy sandals,” Zo? added with satisfaction, dropping the shoes into the suitcase.
***
The Hotel del Coronado had earned an instant iconic status upon its completion in the eighteen hundreds. Despite the massive size of the Victorian beachside resort, the broad swaths of white-painted verandas, pavilions, and terraced colonnades gave it a light and airy quality. Justine had never visited the Del, as it was called by San Diego residents, but she had read about it while studying hotel management.
Countless celebrities had stayed at the Del in its history, including Hollywood royalty such as Rudolph Valentino, Charlie Chaplin, and Greta Garbo. The hotel had also hosted U.S. presidents, foreign royalty, and legends such as Thomas Edison and Babe Ruth. There was even a resident ghost, with sightings reported ever since an unaccompanied young woman had died there in 1892.
Walking into the plush lobby with its towering vaulted ceiling, red and gold carpeting, and gleaming dark wood finishes, Justine briefly regretted her casual attire. Although nearly everyone else in the lobby wore jeans as well, it seemed like the kind of place where people should be dressed to the nines.
Standing in a line that had formed in front of the reservations desk, Justine set her overnight bag by her feet. Priscilla had given her Jason’s room number and a copy of his schedule. The gaming conference was located at another hotel, which meant Jason was probably out at the moment. But when he returned, she was going to tell him exactly what she thought of him. How low he was for stealing the Triodecad, and what a fool she’d been for sleeping with him, trusting him—
Her thoughts were interrupted as a feeling of warmth bristled along the back of her neck, all down her spine. She slid a guarded look around. The others standing in line looked unconcerned. People in seating areas continued to laugh and chatter idly.
A small group of men had left the old-fashioned cage elevator to walk through the lobby at a relaxed pace. Engrossed in conversation, they paused at the huge round table weighted with the largest flower arrangement Justine had ever seen. One of the men was sexy and sophisticated in a slim dark suit, radiating a charisma that almost—but not quite—crossed the line from confidence into swagger. His black hair had been neatly brushed but was beginning to fall into casual disorder over his forehead. She remembered the feel of that hair beneath her hands, the sweet, firm pressure of his mouth against hers.
Justine turned away and ducked her head. She was appalled by the strength of her pleasure just to be in the same room with Jason. Her heart had begun the clickety-clack rhythm of a runaway locomotive. She focused on staying still, when all her muscles had tensed with the urge to bolt… toward or away from him, she wasn’t entirely certain.
She thought he might be looking at her… she could almost feel his gaze. But the lobby was full of people, and Jason wasn’t expecting her to be there. It wasn’t likely he would spot her. After a moment, she risked a quick glance at the group. They were gone.
The line moved forward, and she bent to pick up her bag.
A pair of gleaming black lace-up shoes came into view. Straightening slowly, Justine felt her heart rise in her throat. She looked up at him, her thoughts tumbling in a confusion of eagerness and need.
Jason spoke in a casual tone, but his gaze was caressing. “You can’t get a room here. They’re all booked up.”
The inside of her throat felt as if it had been coated with honey. Justine swallowed hard before replying. “I have a reservation.”
He took the overnight bag from her nerveless fingers. “It’s been canceled. You can share my room.”
Their electric mutual awareness had communicated itself to the others around them. A few gazes followed them, some curious, some envious.
Guiding Justine to the partial concealment of a tall potted ficus, Jason set her bag and his briefcase aside. He surveyed her intently. “Why are you in San Diego?” Before she could reply, he added, “Let me make it clear that I’m not complaining. I’m happy as hell to have you here.”
“You’re not ‘having’ me here. I’ve come to get the Triodecad.”
“I was going to bring it to you the day after tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t wait that long.”
“For the spellbook,” he asked, “or me?”
She had already decided in advance that she would not flirt with him, would not smile or relent or succumb to his charm. “I want my book.”
Wordlessly Jason picked up his black leather briefcase and gave it to her.
Bemused, she asked, “You’ve been carrying it around with you?”
Jason smiled faintly. “Like it’s the nuclear codes.”
Turning away from him, Justine opened the briefcase and peeked inside. She reached in to pull up a corner of the linen cloth. A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw the grimoire’s familiar cover.
Jason drew close behind her. His head bent, his mouth lightly caressing the side of her neck.
A sensual shiver ran through her. “I’m still going to fry your ass.”
“Yes, do it,” he said, right before she felt his teeth in a gentle bite. “With both hands.”
Fuming, Justine turned to face him. “You lied to me.”
“Not technically.”
“Bullshit. If nothing else it was a lie of omission.”
“It was the only way I could be with you.”
“And the end justifies the means?” she asked caustically. “You haven’t even justified the end.”
Jason studied her with outward calm, but she sensed the force of strong emotion locked beneath the surface. “This is why you got rid of the geas,” he said. “You wanted love. Now you’ve got it. I love you enough for a dozen people. Maybe there’s something I wouldn’t do to have you—some rule or law I wouldn’t be willing to break—but I’m damned if I can think of one. I know I’m not perfect. But if you—”
“You are the opposite of perfect.” Justine clutched the briefcase and stared at him unhappily. “And I didn’t want the kind of love where people get hurt and things go wrong and you’re not even sure who you are anymore.”
Jason had no right to look so sympathetic, when he was the cause of her misery. He reached for her hand, his grip warm and firm. “Let’s go somewhere, honey. I’m not comfortable discussing my innermost feelings behind a potted plant in a hotel lobby.” Picking up the overnight bag with his free hand, he pulled Justine toward the concierge desk.
Seeing their approach, a man emerged from behind the desk, radiating an air of confident knowledge befitting a concierge of a world-class hotel. It was said that a great concierge was part Merlin, part Houdini, able to solve a wide spectrum of problems with lightning speed. The issue could be anything from replacing a lost toothbrush to chartering a private jet. There was only one word that a well-trained concierge would seldom, if ever, say to a hotel guest… the word “no.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Black. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Yes, thank you. As it turns out, I need a different room.”
“Of course. May I ask if there is a problem with your current room?”
“No, it’s fine. But I need something a little more spacious. I’d like to change to one of the beach cottages.”
“We don’t need a beach cottage,” Justine said hastily.
Jason ignored her. “One with as much privacy as possible,” he said.
“If I’m not mistaken, there is an available suite at the end next to the Sapphire pool. Quite private. It’s a one-bedroom king with its own patio, fire pit, hot tub, and gated access to the beach.”
“That sounds expensive—” Justine began.
“We’ll take it,” Jason said, giving him Justine’s overnight bag. “Would you have this brought to the cottage and move my stuff there, as well?”
“Give us half an hour to forty-five minutes,” the concierge said, “and we’ll make up some new room keys and have you all settled in. Would you care to sit at an outside terrace while you wait? Perhaps I could send out some wine and refreshments?”
Jason looked down at Justine. “How does that sound?”
“Oh… are you asking me something?” Her tone was pure saccharine. “You want my opinion? My preference ?”
The concierge’s expression was politely blank as Jason turned to him. “I think we’ll go for a stroll on the boardwalk,” Jason said. “Just give me a ring when the cottage is ready. Oh, and please cancel my friend’s room reservation. She’ll be staying with me.”
“Yes, sir.” The concierge smiled and looked at Justine expectantly. “May I ask for the name on the reservation?”
“Justine Hoffman,” she muttered.
“Miss Hoffman. Welcome to the Del. We’ll do everything possible to make certain you have an enjoyable stay.”
Justine accompanied Jason through the lobby of the main Victorian building. As they neared the entrance of the garden patio courtyard, a bellman dressed in a uniform complete with a red vest and a black bowler hat recognized Jason. “Mr. Black. Need the car brought around?”
“Not at the moment, thanks.”
“Have a good one, sir.”
As they continued through the lobby, Justine frowned at Jason. “I am not impressed by the way people suck up to you.”
“Yes you are. Even I’m impressed by it. Here, let me carry the briefcase.”
“I’m just staying for one night,” she said, handing it over. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Stay the whole weekend,” he coaxed.
“Sorry, I can’t.”
“You still haven’t forgiven me for borrowing the spellbook,” he said rather than asked.
“You took the most treasured possession I own without asking. I had a heart attack when I saw it was missing. You took ten years off my life.”
“Tell me how I can make it up to you.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“I’ll hire a skywriter to write an apology over all of San Diego. I’ll take you to the Taj Mahal. I’ll start a charity for wounded kittens.”
She gave him a disdainful glance.
“You like books,” Jason continued, undeterred. “Did you know that L. Frank Baum wrote The Wizard of Oz while living at the Del?”
“Yes, I knew that. What about it?”
“Right now there’s a display of Wizard of Oz memorabilia in the lobby. Including a first-edition copy autographed by the author and the entire cast of the 1939 movie.”
“That’s cool,” Justine said. “I’d like to see that. But why are you—”
“I’ll buy it for you as a souvenir.”
She stopped in her tracks, obliging him to stop, as well. Had he really made such an outrageous offer? “That’s not a souvenir. A souvenir is a T-shirt or a snow globe.”
“You’ll need something to read on the way home.”
“A book like that would cost a fortune, ” she said, adding in a highly insulted tone, “How many times do I have to tell you that I can’t be bought?” She paused. “The entire cast?”
“Including Toto.” Seeing her expression, Jason pressed his advantage. “His cute little paw print is right on the inside of the front cover.”
Had a woman ever faced such temptation? “I don’t want the book,” Justine forced herself to say. “Not even if the ruby slippers came with it.”
“What if I take you to dinner tonight? A table by the ocean, the two of us watching the sunset.”
Justine wanted to prolong her coolness toward him. However, she was hungry and tired, and the prospect of a fine meal with an ocean view was too tempting to resist.
“That might be nice,” she said grudgingly. “But even if I have dinner with you, it doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”
“Am I at least a little bit forgiven?”
“Maybe a barely-measurable-by-science bit forgiven.”
“That’s a start.” Jason fished his cell phone from the inside of his suit jacket. “I’ll make the reservation.”
“All by yourself?” Justine asked in mocking awe. “You’re not going to have one of your minions do it?”
He gave her a sardonic glance and began to dial.
“Wait,” she said, recalling his schedule. “You have plans for the evening.”
“I’m completely free.”
“You’re supposed to have dinner with some computer-simulation guys tonight.”
Jason looked up from his phone. “How do you know that?”
“Priscilla gave me your schedule.”
He glowered down at the phone. “Bad minion,” he muttered.
“It’s no problem. I’ll just relax in the private hot tub while you go out for your business dinner.” Justine paused before adding, “I hope there are no rules about nudity. I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
She heard his breath catch. “I’m canceling dinner.”
“At the last minute?”
“I cancel dinners all the time,” he informed her. “It’s part of my elusive charm.”
Justine couldn’t help smiling. “‘Elusive’ is one word for it.” As they reached the boardwalk, she paused to take in the view, the flat sand beach silvered with a heavy infusion of mica, the water, startling Pacific blue. “No wonder L. Frank Baum wrote such a great book while he stayed here,” she said. “It’s a magical view, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” But Jason was looking at her. “Did you ever read The Wizard of Oz ?”
“When I was little. Did you?”
“No, but I saw the movie at least a half-dozen times.” Gently he smoothed back her hair as a breeze toyed with the loose locks. “Incidentally… I always rooted for the witch.”
***
The beach cottage was sophisticated and luxuriously appointed with hardwood floors, an abundance of glass windows, and deep comfortable furniture. A color palette of creams and neutrals gave it a fresh open feeling, with the blues of the sky and ocean visible from every room. There was a gourmet kitchen, a dining room, and a main living area with a fireplace surmounted by a flat-panel TV. The king-size bed in the bedroom was covered with heavy slick linens. A huge marble tub dominated the adjoining bathroom, which also featured a separate glass shower. After investigating every room of the elegant villa, Justine went back to the main area.
Jason had removed his suit jacket and was draping it over the back of the chair. She had caught him in an unguarded moment. He was tired, she saw, his handsomeness a bit lived-in, worn around the edges. Somehow that made him even sexier, more human, a man with flaws and needs.
“You wanted love,” he had told her in the lobby. “Now you’ve got it.”
No matter how angry or hurt she was, Justine knew it was the truth.
And the echo of Priscilla’s words were still with her: “Even if that spell worked… you don’t have forever.”
Could she afford to waste a moment of love? Could anyone?
Jason looked up as she approached him. The self-possessed mask was instantly resumed. “Do you like the cottage?” he asked. “Because if you don’t—” He broke off, his only reaction a quick double blink as Justine deliberately stripped off her T-shirt and tossed it to the sofa. His gaze locked on to her slim form, dressed in a white cotton bra and jeans. “Justine,” he said raggedly, “I want to make it clear that there’s no obligation… that is, you don’t have to…”
“You’re trying to say I’m not required to sleep with you in exchange for room and board?”
“Exactly.” He didn’t move as she reached for his tie, her slender fingers unknotting the length of silk.
Justine tossed the tie aside. “So when you canceled my reservation and insisted that I stay in this cottage with you, there was no thought of sex lurking in your mind?”
“Not lurking,” Jason said, breathing unevenly as she began to unfasten his shirt. “Stampeding. But you still don’t have to sleep with me.”
Justine let the front of his shirt hang open and slipped her bra straps down. Reaching for the back fastening of her bra, she arched her breasts toward him. “So if I asked you to take the sofa tonight, you’d be fine with that?”
“Yes.”
She let the bra drop to the floor. Standing on her toes, she slipped her hand behind his taut neck. “Doubtful,” she whispered, and pressed her parted lips to the underside of his jaw. “But you get points for trying to be a gentleman.” The familiar warmth and scent of his skin was her undoing. All trace of melancholy was driven out by a relief so sweeping and giddy that it felt like being drunk.
Jason brought his mouth to hers in a slow, hot kiss. His long fingers spread over the contours of jaw, cheeks, nose, forehead, as if he were blind and could perceive her only by touch. The kiss turned deep and ravenous, until they were both panting, fumbling to undress each other.
Soon a trail of clothes marked the path to the bedroom. Standing by the bed, Jason held her close and cupped her breast. He shaped the plush contour, his thumb and forefinger gently pinching the tip until it was hard and deep pink. He bent to soothe it with his tongue. At the moment her balance faltered, his arm was there to support her, lowering her to the wide bed covered with cool white sheets.
There was nothing in the world beyond this quiet room with the shutters drawn closed. No time, no spinning earth, no deep blue ocean, no broken magic or fate bestowed by unfriendly stars. There was only this man. Her lover, her charmer, binding her heart with invisible cords.
He pressed her back and bent over her breasts, kissing the swollen tips. Sensation darted from her breasts to her groin in vibrant flashes. His hand went to the soft place between her thighs, one of his fingers wriggling into the tightness, his thumb resting lightly on the aching peak. He began to massage her in slow, teasing circles, inside and out. Pleasure began rolling up to her, gathering momentum. Not yet. She wrenched free and bent over his lap to take him into her mouth, letting her tongue circle the stiff silky tip. The taste of him was intensely arousing, a hint of saline freshness like the ocean.
Jason went still. His eyes closed, and his hands clenched into fists as if he were being tortured. Soon he moved to stop her, pulling her head away with unsteady hands.
He pushed Justine to her forearms and knees, his palms sliding along the taut lines of her body. As he moved behind her, the hard, hair-roughened texture of his legs intruded between hers, spreading them wide. She jerked at the touch of intimate hardness, a blunt stroke all along the open cleft. Moaning, she gripped handfuls of the sheets, waiting blindly. He lifted her hips into a high upward tilt as if she were a stretching cat.
They breathed in unison, hearts and lungs laboring. Without warning, he entered her in a demanding thrust. She writhed and backed up against him, her flesh throbbing reflexively around the insistent pressure. He set a relentless rhythm, every movement roughened with pure carnal feeling. Her inner muscles clenched and unclenched in the opposing tensions of pleasure and need. Another slippery-hard plunge, another, deepening until there was no part of her he hadn’t reached.
Too much pleasure, her face burning with it, her flesh aching. She was so close, just a few heartbeats away.
“Jason. Please—” She broke off with a whimper as his hands came to her bottom, rotating to make her feel the taut circling pressure of him inside.
“Tell me,” came his dark whisper. “Tell me what you need.”
She found herself gasping out words that had spilled from a heart cracked wide open. “Love me. I need you to love me.”
She felt his response, a deep shiver, a hot jolt inside her. He answered with a rasping word. Leaning over her, he murmured endearments, gathering her hips more tightly up against his. His hand slipped between her thighs, kneading in counterpoint to the deep centering thrusts. A climax broke over her, immolating and blinding.
Pressing her face against the mattress, she made raw pleasured noises, her flesh squeezing and pulling at him. He drove deep and held, not moving, not even breathing for a moment as the release pumped through him. A shudder, a growl, as he luxuriated in the hot clasp of her body.
As they lay together afterward, groggy and spent, Justine realized what he had said to her in that ultimate moment.
Always.