More Than Magic (21 page)

Grace brought his hands up to her chest and moved herself sensuously over him, her expression defiant. He groaned and gritted his teeth, his fingers closing hard around hers.

Nick saw stars. Literal stars. He vaguely remembered an odd snapping sound in his head, and now he was on his back, on the cold ground, looking up at the stars again. Any remnants of arousal were fading fast.
 

Had he had some kind of fit? Or fallen asleep? Had he dreamed—? No.

He heard someone retching and raised his head off the blanket.

Grace stood off in the grass, throwing up. Pooka was circling her anxiously. Nick tried to sit up himself and wondered once again what the hell had just happened because he could’ve sworn he was only
slightly
tipsy. Now he felt…strange. Sure, he hadn’t had any alcohol in a long time, but he had been certain most of his lightheadedness was because of Grace.

Grace. Shaking his head, he managed to get to his feet and aim himself in her direction. Grace waved him back. “Bring the bottle.”

“The champagne?”

“Yes.
Please
?”

He went to the blanket and scooped up the champagne and a glass. There was barely any left.

“Not enough in here for the hair of the dog.” He reached her and held out the glass.

Grace grabbed the bottle, upended it, and rinsed out her mouth, spitting onto the grass.

“Expensive mouthwash,” he quipped.

As she stood there in the grass staring at him, the empty bottle in one hand, her hair held back with the other, he realized that he was in trouble. She had thrown up and used expensive champagne as mouthwash. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were filled with tears. She was looking at him as if she wished he would disappear. And he was falling in love with her. One of these things was not like the others.

“What just happened?” he asked. He remembered asking that before, somewhere.

“Nothing. I—I had too much to drink, that’s all.” She groped in her pockets for something.

Nick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to her.

She opened it slowly, almost in disbelief.

His Nan always told him to carry an old-fashioned folded handkerchief for occasions like this. And, since she persisted in giving him a stack every Christmas with his initials embroidered on them, he always had.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping at her eyes then blowing her nose. Looking at the handkerchief, she folded it carefully and put it in her pocket.

Nick added “blowing her nose” to the list, decided he was still in trouble, and took a step closer. “No, I’m sorry—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she snapped.

He looked back at the blanket. “I didn’t?”
 

“No, I mean you didn’t— I’m the one who— Oh, never mind.” She marched past him.

“Grace? I didn’t mean—”

She spun around. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should apologize for—for dragging you out to my family cemetery, for goodness sake, and—and practically seducing you. Today of all days. What was I thinking? Obviously, I
wasn’t
thinking—” She dropped the champagne bottle next to the blanket where Pooka nosed at it.

“I suppose I was just along for the ride? Helpless to resist? Under your spell or something?”
 

Grace didn’t react to that, just leaned down and folded up the blanket. Nick managed to grab her jacket off the ground and held it up to help her into it.

She glared at him for a moment, then sighed and turned to shrug it on. Somehow his hands got tangled in her hair when she jerked away from his touch on her shoulders.

“Don’t
touch
me. Please?”

Oh boy. He had apparently blown it, big time. But he
had
said “Are you sure this is what you want?” He remembered saying that. Everything after that got a little fuzzy. But his clothes were still intact. Her clothes were still intact. That was good. Well not
good
—

“Sorry.”

“Are you
listening
? It was
my
fault. I’m the one who should be apologizing, not you.”
 

“I don’t see how.”

She tugged her hair back into a ponytail. “I don’t normally— I never—” She made some inarticulate noise and picked up the other glass, shoving it into her pocket. “Just accept my apologies, please? And forget it happened.”

Nick knew he should, but as he watched her grab the blanket and flashlight, then head toward the lights of the house at a fast clip, he shook his head.

Forget her above him with a backdrop of stars, her hair streaming around her? Forget her face glowing in the moonlight, as she closed her eyes and breathed his name?

“I don’t think I can,” he whispered.

Foolish. Stupid. Reckless.

Grace had never thrown up in her entire
life
. But she would be lucky if that was the worst thing that happened. She glanced over her shoulder to see Nick plodding behind her like a whipped puppy.

Well, throwing up was preferable to blacking out, although things had really gone sideways and fuzzy for a while. Perhaps it was because she had started the process yesterday, or perhaps it was because Tink had been so much closer to dying.

However she had escaped fainting again, she hadn’t shown much control at all. She had been so thoroughly and completely aroused that she had wanted to crawl inside him at that moment and there wasn’t much she could’ve done to stop herself. But the one thing she was certain of was that his lymphoma was gone. Eradicated. And since he seemed so determined to ignore the fact that he had it, to lie about having it, and to nearly kill himself pretending he didn’t have it, perhaps he wouldn’t notice.

Right.

She could only hope that he wouldn’t think too much about what had happened—that he would just accept it as the gift it was and remember her as a harebrained idiot and a horrible tease.

She could only hope.

Glancing back, she realized that Pooka had dropped back to walk alongside Nick.

Nick.

Nick who was going to live. Nick who was going to go back to his cabin and write his stupid book and leave. Nick who was going to take part of her with him.

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him. Not in a day.

But he would live. And he would go back to being normal Nick Crowe, the glib and urbane Mr. City Man. Writing his novels about drug dealers and addicts. Cooking Italian food for someone else. Charming children and dogs and giving hand embroidered handkerchiefs to silly moonstruck women. Touching some other woman’s hair, whispering her name, making her feel as if she were the center of the universe.

Foolish. Stupid. Reckless.

You are going to send Nick on his way none the wiser. Remember the way that Tink was obsessed with you. Remember he’s showing signs of the same thing. Remember that any desire he has to be with you is a side effect of the magic and nothing else.

And maybe in a month or two, she wouldn’t ache for him and want to feel as if she were filled with stars and moonlight and magic fairy dust all the time. Maybe
that
was just a side effect as well. When Grace had fled to the mountain, it had taken every bit of her willpower not to track down Tink and make sure she was all right. The photo they had sent
was
next to her refrigerator for a reason.
 

Maybe he would leave tonight, so she wouldn’t have to see him ever again.

“Grace?”

So she wouldn’t have to hear him say her name like that ever again.

Perhaps she could make him leave. Offend him so much that he would write a scathing review of the place online and ruin their business for gorgeous gray-eyed authors of books about drug dealers.

“Grace?”

She took a deep breath. She couldn’t keep ignoring him. “Yes?”

Nick came to a halt behind her with Pooka panting beside him. “I—”

“Please do
not
say you are sorry again.”

He seemed to think about that for a moment. “Okay.”

He wasn’t angry, he was confused. She would have preferred angry. “Good. Can I help you?”

His eyes searched hers for a moment. He was probing for some answer that wouldn’t be there, because she was working very hard to keep her face void of anything. But inside she was shaking.

She watched as his eyes narrowed. He looked back toward the meadow, then at her and sighed.

“I need to get started on my research, and I wondered—can you introduce me to your neighbors?”

Grace hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. “My— The Taggarts? Why?”

“Well, they sound like a good model for the family in my book. The family impacted by meth.”

“But they don’t— I mean the sheriff— I
know
they don’t use meth. They drink, but no drug use. I’m sure I’d
know
if they were.”

He raised his eyebrow at her.

“The sheriff’s made a point of having his guys casually check up on Old Annie now and then. They see the boys. They’re clean.” She had to grimace at that. “Well, they don’t use drugs, I mean.”

“I don’t plan on accusing them of using or cooking or anything like that. I know all I need to about that. I need local color. The way they talk. The way they live. The way they deal with their neighbors. Their environment.”

He was focused on his book again. This was good. “Well, I don’t know if they’re the best example. Annie makes the difference in that family. She’s a real matriarch. I imagine she’s the reason the boys aren’t into anything harder than Jack Daniels.”

“Great. Can you introduce me?”

She chewed on her lip. “I—I was planning on going over tomorrow morning to check on her. You could come along if you like. But it’s a bit of a hike over the ridge. Are you up to it?”

“I feel fine. I feel—” He took a deep breath. “I feel better than fine.”

“Good. Then you probably don’t need that powder right now. I’d wait and see how you feel tomorrow. If the symptoms come back, we can try the powder again.”

“Great. That’s—that’s great.” And it was. Already she could see the change in him. His color, his eyes—

His eyes.
“So, in the morning then?” she said. At least he was smiling, even though there was no sign of that dimple. “Right. And thanks for tonight.”

Instead of thinking she was a horrible tease and leaving in a huff, he was sincerely thanking her? It had to be a side effect of the magic, like Tink. Grace started backing toward the house.

“Thank
you
for the wonderful meal and for the…conversation. It was…”
the most fun I’ve had in a while.
“I’m sorry if I talked your ear off.
That’s
why I don’t drink.”

His smile faded.

“So, goodnight.” She walked away as fast as she could, Pooka running after her.

But when she looked back, he was still standing there holding that stupid empty champagne bottle.

Nick fumed, wondering how that cool composure of hers would hold up if he followed after her and grabbed her and kissed her so hard that she forgot whatever had broken the spell out there. Because, no matter what she said, his gut told him she was attracted to him. She was afraid of what she felt for him, but she felt something.

Still, he didn’t need this. Not now. What had started as a simple plan to get her slightly tipsy and talkative had turned into something else, and then nothing at all.

And he couldn’t just explode or force the issue. There was still a job to do. The only choice he had was to be polite. She wanted to act like it was a mistake but not hurt his feelings? Fine. He could fake that.

He watched her walk away. That burnished copper ponytail of hers swaying with each step. It had been a while, sure, but he had kissed his share of women—hell, he had done a lot more than that. But this was different. This was—

Insane. Unbelievable.
Magic
.

That word again. Terrific.

Matt had warned him about these mountains, these people, but he doubted if Matt could’ve predicted this.

Slick Nick. On a blanket. On top of a mountain. Under the stars. Falling in love. With a—

Grace looked back and his heart raced.

Witch?

Damn.

Chapter Nine

Grace wove her fingers through Nick’s hair, and she was surprised to find it long and curling down to his neck. His mouth was on hers, heated and urgent, and she forgot to think. He tasted like the champagne, full of stars, and he grasped her hands in his and pushed her gently onto the blanket. Then his hands were stroking down her ribs, ghosting across her stomach, caressing her breasts, and he was leaning over her, kissing her neck and licking that spot under her ear that made her—

“You can fix it, Grace,”
Nick said, his breath warm against her skin.

Grace pulled back, looking around wildly then crawling back on her elbows to get away from him. She was on the blanket, but not in the meadow. They were at Pops’s cathedral overlooking the ginseng. The quivering leaves of gold receded off into the darkness. But there was no blackness boiling in the trees, only the wind blowing leaves around the clearing.