Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor 4)

“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,” Zoë said cheerfully, placing folded clothes into the open suitcase on Justine’s bed. Not only had Zoë agreed when Justine had asked if she could cover for her, she’d been positively enthusiastic. In fact, Zoë had insisted on helping her pack for San Diego.

“Nita’s sister is coming in to help with the cleaning,” Zoë 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.

Zoë 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.” Zoë 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 Zoë’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.” Zoë took the antique crystal brooch pinned to her retro-styled sweater, and fastened it to the lowest point of the dress’s neckline.

“Zoë, thanks, but that’s totally unnecessary. I’m not going out to dinner with Jason or anyone.”

Zoë 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?” Zoë 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,” Zoë 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.”