Under His Spell

She slept.

JIM LOOKED DOWN at the sleeping woman, surprised that he didn’t feel more frustration. He could still smell her with every breath, and her taste lingered on his tongue. He was harder than a rock and could barely think for the need to bury himself to the hilt inside her.

And yet, he was holding her as she slept. This close, he could see the lines of fatigue in her face, the dark smudges beneath her eyes, only partially covered by her long eyelashes. The girl of his adolescent fantasies was asleep in his arms. The thought warmed his heart.

He settled her more deeply in his embrace, then stood up. He staggered, more from drunkenness than her weight. It wasn’t easy climbing the stairs. If he hadn’t spent a ridiculous number of evenings at the gym, he never would have managed it.

Fortunately, she didn’t notice their near-tumbles but slept on, completely undisturbed. He made it into the bedroom and settled her on his pillow. She made the shift easily enough, sighing deeply as he pulled the sheet over her. There wasn’t anything he could do about her skirt, which was twisted awkwardly beneath her, but at least she’d lost her shoes somewhere along the way.

Looking down at her, he rubbed a hand blearily over his face. He was still hard, his erection stretching for her even now. But hot as he was for her, he couldn’t stomach waking her. So he did the next best thing. He stripped and readied for bed. Then he climbed in behind her and wormed his arm beneath her shoulders before spooning her tight against him.

In one way, it was absolute torture. Here she was, with her sweet behind pressed against his swollen cock. It wouldn’t take much to do what he wanted.

On the other hand, this was his own dream come true. Nicky, his high school fantasy, was asleep in his bed. There was a mint scent to her hair and the hot reminder of her still in his mind. He closed his eyes and let himself drift into his own fantasies.

Sometime later he, too, slept.

4

NICKY SMILED IN HER SLEEP. She knew she was sleeping because nowhere else felt so wonderful except, of course, that fabulous island paradise. Wait … Island paradise and the god who created it. Oh yes, the god. She shifted her legs restlessly. She liked her island god.

There was something important for her to remember about that. About him. Perhaps she should get up and look for him. Was she still on her island? She felt warm enough to be, but in this fuzzy half-awake state, she couldn’t remember. Didn’t really want to know. She drifted back to sleep.

She had to pee. Mentally, she sighed. She would open her eyes—just a crack—and find the bathroom. After that, she could go back to bed and keep dreaming. Reluctantly, she blinked her eyes open. She frowned. She didn’t see anything familiar. That wasn’t her bedside table. This wasn’t her room. It didn’t even smell like her house!

She tried to hold on to her blissful state. But reality became too insistent. Panic clutched her chest and pressure built. Awareness burst painful and heavy across her consciousness, and she crumpled beneath the weight. What had she done? What had she done?

“OH, NO. OH, NO.”

Jim’s eyes popped open at the odd sound of a woman having hysterics in his bed. Light stabbed his eyeballs, and he immediately slammed them shut again, but the woman would not be quiet.

“Oh, no.”

Memory returned with a rush. Nicky in the audience. Nicky in his hallway. Nicky on his mouth and tongue. He would have smiled if she weren’t at that very moment jostling the mattress as she scrambled out of bed. He did manage to moan as the sudden cold air hit his body.

“Oh. Oh!”

This was not the morning he had envisioned last night. He cracked an eye. “Nicky?”

A door slammed nearby and the sound jolted him completely—miserably—awake. He clutched his head. How much had he drunk? It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was that Nicky was obviously panicking in his bathroom.

“Nicky,” he tried again, wincing at the sound. “It’s okay. I know this is weird, but really, it’s okay.”

The only response he got was the sound of a flushing toilet. It was a really loud sound, and he clenched his shoulders as if that could hold back the pounding in his head. He thought longingly of the medicine cabinet inside his bathroom, but kept the bulk of his attention on listening for Nicky. She was running the sink tap now. Why wouldn’t she speak to him?

“Come on, Nicky.” He tried again as he pushed to his feet and stumbled over to the dresser. Fumbling around, he managed to find a pair of sweats and pull them on. “We’ve known each other forever. This doesn’t have to be weird.”

It was a lie, of course. Being neighborhood pals back when they were twelve made everything more surreal, not less. Especially since they hadn’t really been pals. More like, oh-there’s-that-kid-who-lives-down-the-street acquaintances. And yet, because of that wonderful prom night, she was so much more important to him than just that. He scrubbed a hand over his face and went to lean against the bathroom door. “You have to come out of there sometime, you know.”

It took a few moments more before he heard the tap shut off. And then a soft voice wavered through the door. “Um … do you … um … know where my clothes are?”

Okay, that did not sound good. Her voice was high and tight, but he tapped down his nervousness and made sure his voice sounded calm. Stay casual, he told himself. It’s no big deal. And wasn’t that the lie of the century?

“Sure. I’ll go grab them.” He made quick work of it, though it took him a moment to find her blouse on his porch railing. Even with his hangover, he couldn’t resist smiling at that, not to mention what they’d done at his staircase railing. Last night had been beyond anything he could have expected. Now he just had to make sure she stayed in his life.

“I’ve got your clothes,” he said when he returned to his bedroom. “Did you want—”

The door opened a crack and a hand snaked out to grab her clothes. He tried to delay a bit. He didn’t hold on to the clothes, but he put his other hand on the door and tried to talk calmly.

“You want coffee or something? I’ve got … um … bagels. And cereal.”

It didn’t work. He caught the briefest glimpse of big eyes and dark circles. Lower down, his blue towel wrapped around pale skin. Then the door was firmly shut again.

He sighed. His head was pounding too much for him to think clearly. He wanted to be suave, to say something that would make it all better for her, but he just didn’t know what that would be. And while he was still standing there without a clue, the door to the bathroom quietly opened.

He tried a winning smile. “Hey there.”

She looked pale standing there in her wrinkled business suit. Her hair was loose, falling about her face in pretty waves. But it was the bruised look to her eyes that held his attention. And that she wouldn’t look him in the face.

“Nicky …” he began, but stopped when she flinched.

“No, thanks,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “About the coffee. But if you … Do you know where my shoes are?”

He blinked and looked down at her bare feet. Her feet were unadorned. Even her toenails weren’t painted, and he found the sight oddly delightful. If only she didn’t look as if she was about to bolt.

“You kicked them off downstairs, I think.” He didn’t say what they’d been doing when she lost them. But then he saw the hot flash of color in her cheeks, and he knew her mind had already gone there.

He shifted awkwardly, wishing he knew what to do. “Let me take you out to breakfast. We can talk. Catch up.”

She shook her head. At least that’s what he thought she did, though it was hard to tell, given the tight set to her shoulders. “Um, I have to get to work.”

“I really want to talk to you, Nicky. Just talk.”

She bit her lip and he realized that, except for that small movement, she appeared to be frozen in place. When she spoke, her words came out in a high whisper. “Look, you don’t know this about me, but last night … I never … I mean, that’s not me. I don’t … do that.” Her eyes darted briefly for a moment to his bed, then back to the floor.

He looked at her, and his mind struggled with her words. If he weren’t so hungover, maybe he’d be quicker on the uptake. “Of course I know that. Nicky …” He took a step forward, and she gave a little pip of a squeak and shied backward. She was scared of him! He stared at her, his mind fumbling through the facts.

“What’s my name, Nicky?”

She didn’t answer. At best, her eyes went wider in horror.

He swallowed, feeling the sucker punch to his gut once again. It shouldn’t make a difference. So she didn’t remember who he was. His brother was right: he hadn’t been that memorable in high school. But this was Nicky. He’d shared the best night of his life with her. He’d forged a connection with her, damn it. Twice! Back years ago on prom night and again last night. She had to remember him.

“What’s my name, Nicky?” He still spoke quietly, but the gentle had gone out of him. His words came out more as a low command.

“Magic?” she finally said.

He stared at her, his pounding headache receding beneath the bare truth. “No,” he said slowly. “That’s not my name. Nicky, look at me.” He was pleading now, praying that in the harsh light of day she could look at him and know him. In fact, he stepped over to the curtains, hauling them open so that the sun shone harsh on his features.

She winced at the sudden flare of light. He did, too, for that matter. She swallowed and visibly drew in a breath, obviously trying to steady herself. Lord, he hated seeing her like that. She looked as if she was about to throw up.

“Let me give you a hint. We went to high school together.”

She blinked. Her expression shifted away from nausea, more to an intense confusion as she peered at him.

With a curse of disgust, he grabbed his glasses from his dresser and plopped them on his nose. “How about now?” he asked, then he gazed at her with a moony-eyed adoration that was, unfortunately, reflected in the mirror. He only saw it in his peripheral vision, but it was enough to churn up a well of self-disgust.

“Oh, my god! Jimmy Ray?”

“I go by Jim now. Sometimes James.”

Her hands dropped to her sides as she frowned, looking at him from top to bottom and then back up again. Her shoulders relaxed, but only a fraction of an inch. And then she just shook her head. “Jimmy,” she murmured, half to herself. “You’ve filled out.”

“I work out,” he returned. And was there ever a more inane conversation?

“Wow, Jimmy … uh, Jim.” She bit her lip. “You’re … a magician?”

He shook his head. “I’m an engineer who plays a magician on amateur night. Rick—my brother—owns the club and he calls me when they’re short an act.” Then his pride forced him to add, “But I’m a good engineer, so I’ve done well. And I’m taking a little time off right now. To … um … play.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding her head. He could tell she didn’t know what to say any more than he did. “Well, you always were good at anything you tried.”

Not true. He’d tried to impress her and had obviously failed miserably. But saying that would be surly. Humiliating, too. “You look like you’re doing well,” he said, gesturing to her wrinkled clothing. “Power suit and all.”

“Corporate America and all its pressures.” She shrugged. “I manage some distribution nodes for Korner Plastics.”

“Impressive.”

“Not really. It just requires a lot of time and attention to detail.”

“And you always sold yourself short,” he returned.

She didn’t answer. There was something in her eyes that he remembered, a vulnerability or an ache maybe. As if she wanted to believe what he said, but was too afraid. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, the déjà vu making him reel. Hadn’t they played this scene before? Like ten years ago on prom night?

Before he could answer that question, a double electronic note sounded from downstairs. Beepbeep. Beepbeep. Her eyes widened, and her gaze hopped to the red numbers on his clock—9:14.

“Oh, crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap!” Then she dashed downstairs.

He followed more slowly, mostly because he didn’t know what to say to her. He knew she was seconds away from rushing out the door, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how he felt about that. This whole situation was just too bizarre.

By the time he made it to the first floor, she’d located her phone and was paging through messages. At least she’d stopped cursing, though he could hardly call it an improvement. Now her lips were pursed tight and her back was visibly hunched over her phone.

“Nicky …” he began. “I really want to talk to you …” He let his voice trail away. She wasn’t even looking at him but down at her phone. He’d faded from her conscious mind, her attention fixed on more important matters. Boy, did he remember this feeling. Ignored. Unimportant. How many times had he stood in the background watching her as she did something with someone else?

Well, he wasn’t that pathetic high school kid anymore. He wasn’t the school nerd with braces and acne. And he damn well was a decade beyond mooning after the hot volleyball player. With a snort of disgust, he turned his back on her and went into his bathroom. So maybe it was peevish of him to slam the door, but the resounding bang felt good.

This time he liked his reflection in the mirror. He looked strong and adult. All traces of adolescent yearning were erased from his body. Then he heard the front door open and close, and he sighed, accepting the truth. He’d had his shot at Nicky, and he’d failed. But that was it for him. A man could only take so much humiliation.

“Goodbye, Nicky.”

5

“LET’S GO OUT again tonight.”

Thanks to the miracles of Bluetooth, Nicky didn’t even need to take her hands off her keyboard to answer her little sister. “Sorry, Tammy, I’ve got to—”

“Work. No, you don’t. It’s Friday.”

Nicky didn’t even bother trying to explain that this crisis was different. Her boss had made it clear that if she even whispered the word layoff, she’d be fired on the spot. So she didn’t say anything. But it was one more stresser which threatened to send her over the edge. She keyed a new number into her spreadsheet and studied the result.

“Nicky!”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. I can’t. I got in late today, this report isn’t setting up right, and—”

“And it’s Friday! Come on, Nicky. You had a good time last night, didn’t you?”

Her fingers froze over the number pad and her heart started thudding triple time. Her sister had finally managed to grab all her attention. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

Nicky clenched the edge of her desk, forcing herself to keep her voice normal. Even. “Tammy, I am not in the mood to play.”

“Like that’s different. Come on, sis, you relaxed last night. You were almost serene there at the end, don’t you remember? You actually forgot your phone on the table. I had to grab you and drop it into your purse. When was the last time that happened? You forgetting your cell?”

“Never,” Nicky murmured. Then she shook her head, though no one was there to see her. She didn’t remember forgetting her phone. She just remembered her sunlit island paradise and the god who’d created it for her. That the “god” was actually Jimmy Ray from high school just added more confusion to the whole situation. He’d been a friend when she needed one. A sweet guy she’d liked but never really thought much about in high school. Her life was too busy with other things, with flashier things, if she were to be honest.

But Jimmy Ray wasn’t forgettable now. She should know. She’d been trying to forget him all day, only to catch herself a moment later remembering the feel of his hands on her, the stroke of his tongue—and the way she had felt so absolutely free with him. That was the part she really couldn’t forget. She’d felt so safe that she had let herself do whatever sprang into her head with him. That hadn’t happened to her before. Ever.

What would she give to go to that place again? The question had been tantalizing her all day long. But then reality would hit with a gut-twisting wrench. She had school loans to pay off, a condo the bank mostly owned, a nest egg that was more like a nest prayer. She had to work, damn it. Jobs were on the line, and not just hers. So she swiveled her office chair to page through the dozens of papers on her desk, but her mind wasn’t really on her task. It had wandered somewhere else completely. “Hey, do you remember Jim from high school?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Jim who?”

“Jimmy. Dorky Jimmy—”

“Math geek guy! Yeah, his brother, Rick, owns the club we went to last night. What ever happened to him?”

“He became the Magic Man and starred on amateur night.”

“No way!” Tammy’s voice echoed the same shock that still reverberated through Nicky’s brain. “Can’t be. The Magic Man was … well, he was …”

“Cute. I know.”

“Hot. I bet he has killer pecs under that tux.”

Oh, yes. Jimmy Ray did indeed have killer pecs. She’d gotten an up close look at them this morning.

“Oh, wow. I never would have guessed that. How’d you find out?”

“Um … it just came to me this morning.” Right after she’d woken up spooned against him.

“Oh,” Tammy said, obviously disappointed. “Then you don’t know, you’re just guessing. Which means it’s not him.”

“Trust me,” Nicky drawled, “it’s him.”

“Trust you on a people thing. Hmmm. Nope, don’t think so.”

Nicky frowned and she actually lifted her gaze from the reports on her desk. “No really. It’s him.”

“No really, sis, you suck at people memory. Numbers, shipping lanes, even employees—not a problem. But real people? Not so much.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“What doesn’t make sense is that you’re a gorgeous woman who spends all her time working. What’s up with that, Nicky? Get out of the office! Practice those rusty people skills. Come to the comedy club with me tonight.”

Nicky sighed. They’d come full circle in this conversation. Unfortunately, she couldn’t bring herself to agree with her sister. Not after last night’s disastrous escapade. At the moment, she just wanted to slink her way home, bury her head under the pillows and not come out until next year.

“Sorry, Tammy,” she finally said, her breath short because of the tightness in her chest. “I really do have a lot of work to do. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week.

That’d be better.”

“Yeah, sure. Like that’ll happen,” her sister groused.

“Don’t be like that—” Nicky began, but Tammy interrupted.

“You’re going to have to face life someday, Nicky. One day you’re going to look up and realize you’ve spent yours trapped in that hole you call an office.”

“Tammy—”

“Gotta go. It’s time for my pedicure. Bye!”

The line went dead. Nicky grimaced as she pulled the earpiece off her head. Then she stared at the Bluetooth connector. Did it mean something that her ear felt weird without the thing attached to her head?

She looked down at the reports on her desk, flicking her eyes at her computer screen. There was a ton of work for her to do here, but she couldn’t force herself back to it. Her mind kept wandering.

It had been that way all day. As much as she tried to lose herself in her job, certain memories kept intruding. There wasn’t any particular order to the thoughts. She’d flash on Jimmy standing naked and angry before her. Then Jimmy onstage as the Magic Man. Then Jimmy’s hurt expression when he realized she hadn’t a clue who he was. And most jarring of all, the loud bang of his bathroom door this morning when she wouldn’t even talk to him.

It wasn’t that her morning e-mails had been all that important or that she’d needed to absolutely read every last one that second. But what did she say to the man who had rocked her world the night before? Nerdy Jimmy Ray had given her the best orgasm of her life, and she just didn’t know what to say about that. She didn’t even know what to think about that, except that she wanted more.

She’d never had a one-night stand before. Never really had time, to tell the truth. So rather than face him this morning, she’d buried her nose in her phone and pretended not to be excruciatingly aware of his amazing half-naked body less than three feet away from her. Then he’d stomped away in disgust—not that she blamed him—and she’d boogied out the door as fast as she could move in three-inch pumps.

Now here she was at the end of an unproductive work day, and she still couldn’t get him out of her mind. He’d hypnotized her, seriously put her deep in a way she never thought possible. So much so that she’d gone to his house and told him about her nipple fantasy. How had he done that?

Her face heated to crimson at just the thought. At least she hadn’t confessed any of her other fantasies. Nipples were the most mundane of what she wanted. But still, whatever would possess her to tell him that? To stalk him at night to do that?

She leaned back in her chair in stunned shock. The answer was obvious. She wouldn’t do that. Ever. Stalk a stranger and tell him her fantasies? Never.

Which meant someone else had made her do it. Jimmy. He had put in a posthypnotic suggestion or something. He’d planted something in her brain so powerful that she had leaped right over all her inhibitions and gone straight to hot sex in his house. Good God, it wasn’t possible! And yet … she had no other explanation for her behavior.

She snatched up her phone and quickly found his number. Then she started to thumb it in, only stopping herself with a physical jerk.

What was she doing? If he had truly planted some powerful suggestion in her brain, then she ought to be running screaming in the other direction. She stared at the number on her phone. The compulsion to hit Send was so strong! She wanted … no, she needed to talk to him, to see him again. Why? What for? For an embarrassing repeat of this morning? Never! So why the need to call him?

Was she still hypnotized? Still under the grip of his mental suggestion or something? Everything inside her rebelled at the thought. She was a smart, intelligent woman. She couldn’t possibly be under some hypnotic influence. Maybe she’d just really, really needed to get off, so to speak. That was way more logical than some heebie-jeebie hypnosis. But then why waste hours today thinking about him? This report was the most important thing in her life right now. Close to a thousand jobs were at stake. She needed to get it done and get it done right! She had to put all thoughts of Jimmy away.

With sudden resolve, she put down her phone. She was going to focus exclusively on work for the next couple hours. But just as she made to turn the thing off, her breath started to choke in her throat. With a dispassionate stare, she saw that her palms were slick with sweat. Next came the pain between her shoulder blades that expanded through her chest along with the spikes that split through her temples.

Another panic attack. They’d started about a year ago. Nothing major. They’d only happened a couple times before. She always hyperventilated in a sweaty, can’t breathe, can’t live kind of way, but then it faded. She just had to wait it out. She’d learned to distance her mind from the disaster that was going on through her body. She wasn’t going to die. She wasn’t going to stop breathing. She just had to live through the agony shooting through her chest. It would pass. It would pass, would pass … pass.

She sat sprawled in her office chair. Her blouse was plastered to her sweating torso and she was still panting. But the pain was receding, she was indeed taking in real oxygen, and she had not died. The panic attack was gone, and she would soon feel normal once again.