That Carrington Magic

chapter 7



“Stupid contraptions.” Jami teetered on the delicate-strapped, spike-heeled sandals and tried to master walking, feeling like a child trying on Mommy’s pumps. Though pumps she wouldn’t have minded. Too bad her coral pumps didn’t match the new dress. She nearly tripped, her ankle buckling just as she reached the full-length mirror. This is exactly why I don’t wear anything higher than two-inch heels, she mentally scolded, regaining her balance.

Her glance raised from the troublesome sandals up to the mirror, where she met the answering stare of an elegant stranger. Even her hair was different with her wild mane of waves swept up in a style that allowed only a few untamed copper tendrils to escape.

Jami had spent the last five years avoiding male attention instead of seeking it. To see herself undeniably displayed in her curvy and glamorous reflection shocked her as though she’d swapped bodies with a space alien. She skimmed her palms over the silk hugging her hips and the image in the mirror duplicated the action. She blinked, and so did the sexy lady in the glass. “This really is me.”

A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “Come in,” Jami called, still staring at her own reflection.

Grant, GQ gorgeous in his Armani suit, stepped into the room and into the reflected vision. Their gazes locked in the glass. Jami’s breath caught as she suddenly saw why Sierra had selected them as the perfect couple to represent CupidKey. They appeared made for each other. Grant Carrington’s debonair, cosmopolitan Adonis complemented this seductively elegant new Jami Rhodes. A perfect match. Poster material, just as Sierra had predicted.

“Hi,” Jami breathed, still staring at into the mirror, almost afraid to turn around and discover that Cinderella had broken her glass slipper, and the magical spell along with it.

“You’re lovely,” Grant replied huskily, fidgeting with the knot of his tie.

Their eyes met again. The mirror served as neutral territory, one in which they could take one step closer. But as the heat of their attraction rippled over the reflective surface, neutrality disappeared, and awareness took its place. They were no longer merely an arranged match. No longer hidden behind the masks of Sierra’s brother-in-law and Toby’s mother. Stripped down to man and woman, male and female, they watched each other and desire kindled.

Nervously, Jami touched the sensuous silk of her gown. “Thanks for the dress.”

He moved a fraction closer. “I’m glad it fits.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Jami, too, was glad the dress fit. The feeling that she was Cinderella grew stronger. She even wore the glass slippers in the form of the shoes Grant had presented with the dress. She reluctantly turned to face him. “The sandals fit, too. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” The heat in his eyes deepened, smoldering as those gorgeous lips of his curved into a devilish smile. “I hope you’re feeling romantic tonight.”

“What?” Jami gasped, instinct nudging her to clutch the plunging neckline of her dress where Grant’s conspicuous gaze had dropped to linger upon her exposed cleavage. She avoided the panic move and straightened her spine, unintentionally jutting her bosom forward, then glared at him. “Don’t get any ideas, Carrington.”

“I meant romantic poses for the camera. Sierra expects dynamite professional shots.” His deep, playful chuckle vibrated through Jami, sorely tempting her to fling one of her spike sandals at his handsome head.

Grant pushed his cuff up to glance down at his Rolex watch. “Mike will be waiting for us down in the Garden Room. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll get,” Jami mumbled.

She made it three steps before tripping on the spike heels and lurching into Grant’s arms. Her cry of surprise was swallowed by his lapel, suddenly crushed against her mouth as his hard form absorbed the slam of her soft curves.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’m not complaining,” Grant said, holding her tight, his chin against the top of her head. A tidal wave of desire swept through her. Don’t trust him, Jami reminded herself as she stood entwined with him mere inches from her bed. No way would she let another man shred her heart as her ex-husband had done. Grant could find another victim. She tried to channel her feelings into righteous anger.

“Please, let me go,” Jami whispered forcefully, still cradled against his massive chest.

“Mmm. You smell heavenly,” he whispered, his minty breath warm against her ear, sending delicious shivers down her neck and arm.

Jami moved to separate their bodies, disgusted with herself for letting him send her sensations into a tailspin every time they were close. She nearly stomped Grant’s toe, but was afraid her deadly footwear would cause permanent damage. “I can’t walk in these stupid heels.”

“Then take them off.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Grant raised a brow in question.

Lips pressed together, Jami mutely stared back at him.

“We’re not going out in public. Carry your sandals,” he explained in a reasonable, business-like tone. “You can slip them back on if Mike needs you to wear them for a shot.”

“Stocking footed in a cocktail gown?”

“Regardless of footwear, you’re beautiful.”

Jami slipped off the stiletto sandals, one at a time, a sigh escaping her lips. “Those heels are torture.”

“On the phone tonight, Sierra told me you dislike high heels.”

“That high I do,” Jami replied earnestly. “What else did Sierra tell you?”

Grant smiled down at Jami. “Not nearly enough.”

As they entered the Garden Room, Jami nearly dropped the sandals dangling from her fingers. “I feel like we stepped outside, but we’re still indoors.”

Directly across from them stood partially open, arched French doors flanked by floor to ceiling windows to bring the outside inside. That window design continued around the room to form three of the four walls, which gave the impression of a room of glass, set in the mountain woods.

“It’s always been a favorite spot of mine,” Grant said proudly. “In the winter when snow frosts everything, it’s unbelievable.”

“It’s unbelievable now,” Jami gasped, charmed by the intrinsic blend of nature with the interior decor in the romantically old-fashioned room. Muted strains of saxophone music floated from stereo speakers hidden somewhere behind the greenery.

She spun around to appreciate the way strategically placed indoor plants of climbing ivy, trailing gardenias, and hanging ferns teamed with six-foot umbrella trees, split-leaf philodendron, and potted trees to enhance the wilderness effect. The room’s cool, inviting terrazzo tiled floor blended well with natural wicker furniture, but the center crown was a lace-covered dining room table. Ivory taper candles cupped in antique brass and a goblet holding a floating lily blossom graced the tabletop, along with twin crystal champagne flutes and rose-rimmed, gilt-edged china.

Grant led her to the table, then pulled out a floral cushioned wicker chair to seat her. “Becca went all out for us.”

“For CupidKey,” Jami corrected, wanting to remind him that their romantic dinner was based on business.

“For us and CupidKey.” He took the chair directly across from hers, then he scooted it nearer to sit intimately close.

Hand flying to her throat, she glanced around for the photographer. “Where’s Mike?”

“He’ll be here. I noticed he already has his equipment set up.”

Jami glanced at the abandoned tripod and lights several yards away. Beyond, the French doors opened out onto a slate patio where she could see a sunken, redwood hot tub. But no sign of Mike.

Grant leaned a fraction closer. “Mike is probably hanging around Becca’s kitchen.”

“Hoping for a taste of her delicious baking?”

“Hoping for something,” Grant replied with a wink. “Becca’s helper is a pretty teenage girl named Pam.”

Jami unfolded her creamy white linen napkin, spreading it over her lap. Anything to keep from meeting Grant’s piercing gaze. Awareness raced through her in response to his dynamite glances, alerting Jami that her traitorous body needed to be reminded this date was fantasy. She and Grant had nothing in common and certainly weren’t a real couple. This rendezvous was for Sierra. Nothing more. Now if only Jami could convince her heart.

“I haven’t met Pam.”

“Pam only helps out for special events.” Grant reached across the table to place his hand over Jami’s. “Since we comprise a special event tonight, I’m sure you’ll met her shortly.”

Jami stole a peek at Grant through her lashes, and as her gaze dropped from his handsome face to his lapel, she burst into laughter.

“What?”

“Lipstick on your collar,” Jami sang, waving a hand at his chest.

He examined his lapel where she had left a perfect imprint of her lips. He chuckled. “We can’t blame Toby for this stain.”

“Hardly,” Jami agreed with a smile. “Maybe Becca can bring us a warm, sudsy cloth, and I can lighten the lipstick, so it won’t show.”

On cue, Becca hustled into the room carrying a basket of rolls, bowl of tossed green salad, and decanter of vinaigrette. “First course of our romantic dinner for our Cupid couple.”

The innkeeper was followed by a pretty blonde teenager who carried a champagne bottle packed in an ice bucket. Wearing a sheepish grin, Mike entered behind them with camera in hand.

They exchanged greetings and introductions as Becca and Pam bustled around the table. “We’ll leave the champagne for you to open.” Becca waved, exiting the room in a whirlwind, Pam trailing in her wake.

“Bye, Pam. You, too, Becca,” Mike called, smoothing down the brown fuzz on his head as he watched Pam’s departure with interest. He brightened as the teenager threw him a pert grin when she sashayed out the door. “Cute kid.”

“You’re a still kid yourself,” Grant nonchalantly remarked, leaning back in his chair with amusement.

“I’m twenty-six,” Mike disputed, his statement drawing attention to faint lines around his mouth and eyes, and a shallow crease slashing his forehead, none of which Jami had previously noticed. “I’ve been in business four-and-a-half years.”

“That long,” Grant drawled with a twinkle.

Jami watched the exchange, surprised to discover that Mike was only a few years her junior. At the moment she felt eons older. Something she suspected came with motherhood and single parenting.

“Guess you two started without me,” Mike said, his dancing hazel eyes targeting the lipstick imprint on Grant’s lapel.

“It’s not what you think,” Jami protested her hands curling the edges of the napkin on her lap as she imagined what the photographer was thinking.

“Yeah, sure.” Mike grinned and exchanged a glance with Grant.

“The lady speaks the truth,” Grant returned, raising a palm. “She, ah, fell into me. A case of deadly spike heels.”

“Right.” Mike’s grin broadened.

Jami lifted her killer sandals from the floor, dangling them before the men. “I can’t walk in these heels.”

“Then why did you buy them?” Mike skeptically asked.

“I didn’t,” Jami replied, her glare shifting to Grant.

“Guilty as charged,” Grant responded smugly.

Mike shook his head. “I can’t figure you guys out, but, hey—that’s not my job.” He removed the lens cover and adjusted his camera. “Put your shoes under the table and out of camera range.”

Jami obeyed. “I can wear them later if necessary, just don’t make me walk in the things.”

“Okay, pretty lady. Now lean toward Grant and gaze into his eyes.” Mike’s demeanor altered to pure professional. “Grant, take her hand and give me an ensnared lover’s gaze.”

Grant’s large, strong hand slid over Jami’s petite one, his warm grasp bringing her nerve endings to life. She stared into Grant’s deep blue eyes, watching his pupils flare darker as a magnetic current flowed between them, and a dizzying warmth engulfed her.

“Good. Great. Closer,” Mike remarked, reminding them of his presence and the click, flash, whirr of his camera as he metered the light and hopped around.

“I’d like some shots by candlelight.”

“No problem,” Grant said, withdrawing a silver and gold cigarette lighter from his jacket pocket.

Jami noticed the initials C.G.C. embossed in gold. She remembered the packet he’d received when they first arrived at the lodge and that it had been addressed to C. Grant Carrington. What did the C stand for? Colten? Chance? Cory? None seem to fit the man. Neither did the lighter. With his spectacular physique, he appeared too health conscious to smoke. She shook her head. The more she thought she knew him, the less she did. With one flick, a whiff of lighter fluid and a flash of flame, he set both candles alight.

“A lighter?” Jami voiced aloud. “Do you smoke?”

“No. It’s a gift that occasionally comes in handy.”

A gift from a woman, Jami concluded as he slid the lighter back into his pocket. Don’t ever forget what kind of man he is, she warned herself. Or forget what happened to your heart before.

“Dish up the salad, and we can get one of you feeding each other,” Mike said, unaware of Jami’s tightening resolution.

“I don’t think so,” she retorted.

“Fine, I’m easy.” Mike shrugged. “Grant, pour the champagne, and we’ll shoot you toasting each other.”

“A toast?” Jami wondered if that would be just as bad.

“Definitely a toast,” Mike answered firmly. “It’s on the list.”

The cork popped. Jami watched as Grant poured fizzing champagne into the crystal flutes, again noticing her lip-print on his jacket. “Hadn’t we better try to sponge the lipstick off Grant’s lapel?”

Mike laughed, adjusted the lens on his camera, and changed angles. “I don’t know. It adds to the mood and the romance.”

“That’s tacky,” Jami countered, dabbing the edge of her napkin into the water of the goblet holding the lily blossom. “Here, let me.” She leaned close to Grant, uncomfortably aware of his gaze lingering on her cleavage as she bent to grasp his lapel. She scrubbed the stain with a moistened napkin, succeeding in lightening the lipstick while Grant succeeded in accelerating her heartbeat.

“Enough, Jami. I can airbrush that out of the final photograph. You’re ruining the romantic mood,” Mike announced. “Now, first the toast, and give me a fabulously in love expression, then I want you to entwine your wrists and sip from each other’s glass—like in the movies.”

They held the toast for several shots and three varied poses. But it took Jami a minute to catch on to the entwined arms sip-from-each-other’s-glass thing. The intimacy of the movement ruined her concentration as Grant’s closeness, his touch, his scent rained havoc on her senses.

“I think we’ve got it.” Mike switched lenses as he spoke. “Now I want shots of you lovebirds dancing, then I’ll promise to let you enjoy your dinner.”

“Dancing?” Jami groaned. “In those wretched heels?”

“You don’t have to really dance,” Mike said in the same tone Sierra had used to lecture her earlier. “Just stand in Grant’s arms and sway a little.”

Jami bit her bottom lip as she slipped on the aqua sandals and adjusted the straps around her ankles. She certainly couldn’t blurt out that being in Grant’s arms alarmed her more than balancing on spike heels.

Grant stood to hold a hand out to her. “May I have this dance?”

As she stepped into Grant’s embrace, he steadied her with powerful arms, pulling her against his muscled frame. Her senses shifted to overload, and a wild, sweet yearning bloomed inside her, much like a blossom opening to the sun. She felt the woven fabric of his suit against her bare skin, his body heat seeping through the thin silk of her dress. The expensive aftershave he wore spiced his uniquely male scent, and his warm breath still bore a trace of mint toothpaste.

“Good, now stare into each other’s eyes. Closer. I want dreamy,” Mike rattled, snapping frame after frame.

Grant cinched her snugly against him, and she felt his rising desire. Cheeks burning, Jami wished she could glance away, but reluctantly met his gaze.

“That’s it!” Mike cried, “Give me some magic!”

She gazed up at Grant’s chiseled features, his stubbornly strong jaw, and his sensually molded mouth that curved upwards in a hint of a grin. Such a magnificent man, those sexy midnight eyes telegraphing passion mingled with amusement. “Relax, Red. I don’t bite.” He nuzzled her neck, zinging tiny shocks to mark the spot. “At least not with an audience.”

“Yes,” Mike bubbled with enthusiasm. “Whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Now dip her like you’re dancing the tango. Make it sizzle.”

The saxophone softly wailed in the background, more jazz than tango as Grant bent Jami backward from the waist to lean over her with his lips hovering barely above her throat. Yearning turned to a white-hot flame. She wanted to melt her body into his, to feel his lips on her throat, on her lips, on her breasts. Sizzling, Jami thought in panic, that’s what he’s doing to me—making my blood sizzle.

Becca waltzed into the room with a platter of steaming seafood, the tantalizing aromas of lobster, crab, and salmon announcing a feast. “Hot stuff.”

“Do you mean dinner, or our Cupid couple?” Mike joked, sending Becca into gales of laughter.

Grant swept Jami upright, but gave her a smoldering appraisal that seared her entire body. “To be continued,” he whispered. “When we’re alone.”

“Not if I can help it,” Jami muttered, gathering her composure as she smoothed her dress into place.

“The lady doth protest too much,” Grant countered equally softly as he led her back to the table.

“Obviously, I’m not protesting enough,” Jami said under her breath as she sat down and removed her sandals.

“Mike, pack up that camera and let these two eat,” Becca ordered, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You ought to have enough promo pictures to keep the ad men busy for months.”

“Ad woman,” Jami corrected. “I think Sierra’s friend, Dara Sheen, might get roped into the CupidKey publicity campaign.”

“Dara?” Grant queried. He glanced at Becca. “I don’t think I’ve met her, have you?”

“No, but I hear she’s a honey, and a very good friend to Ty’s wife.”

“She’s really nice.” Jami volunteered, “And great at her job.”

“So everybody’s happy,” Grant said, thinking of Cupid inspiring Cupidkey. Maybe a friend in advertizing would work well for Ty and Sierra’s business.

“Happiness is what we all want, right?” Becca stated in her forthright country manner. “Now, Mike and I will skedaddle out of here and let you enjoy dinner.”

“By the way, Toby thought his trout tasted all right.” Becca stuffed her work-reddened hands into her apron pockets. “That boy’s proud as can be. You have a sample of today’s catch next to the salmon fillets.”

“Thanks, Becca,” Grant said with a heart-stopping smile full of warmth and caring. Jami watched the exchange, envying the two their easy friendship.

“I appreciate you taking care of my son,” Jami said, offering a smile of her own to the innkeeper.

“He’s a fine boy.”

“I think so,” Jami replied, her regard for the other woman increasing.

“How’s the champagne?” Becca asked, eyeing the hardly touched bottle.

“Between Mike and his camera we haven’t tasted anything,” Grant replied charmingly, adding, “But we’re going to make up for lost time.”

“Jami had a hard enough time pretending to sip out of her glass—heaven help us if she’d been drinking,” Mike added as he folded the tripod and gathered his equipment.

“That’s not fair.” Jami started to rake her fingers through her hair, but encountered the upswept hairdo and thought better of it. “I rarely touch alcoholic beverages, and I never get tipsy.”

“Didn’t say you did,” Mike replied, reaching toward the seafood platter to steal a sautéed shrimp. “Will you and Grant meet me at the boat dock around nine in the morning?”

“You ate enough of those in the kitchen,” Becca scolded, knocking his hand away before he could touch the curled pink shrimp.

“What about Toby?” Jami asked, not about to spend the next day without him. She intended to take him on the lake shoot with her.

“That tyke ate his share of shrimp, too,” Becca stated, misunderstanding Jami’s query.

Grant smiled, that disconcerting devilish smile which never failed to affect Jami. “She’s asking about Toby going to the lake with us for the shoot.”

“Sure,” Mike responded, with a longing glance at the seafood. “We’ll make it a family outing.”

“Now that that’s sorted out, we’ll be on our way.” Becca moved toward the door. When Mike failed to follow, she turned and snagged the young photographer by the arm. “Let’s go.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Mike called as Becca practically dragged him out of the room.

“Don’t give them ideas,” Becca chuckled before they disappeared through the doorway. “They have enough of their own.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Jami alone with her Cupid match. Suddenly the room that had seemed so open, closed around them, Grant’s dominating presence filling the entire space.

“You’re like a frightened doe ready to bolt,” Grant said, his penetrating scrutiny infiltrating her thoughts.

“It’s just hunger.” Jami attempted to sound composed as she dished up salad, keeping her eyes lowered to the lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and green peppers she piled on her plate.

“Hunger,” he growled, his midnight gaze devouring her. “We could skip the meal and get right to dessert.”

“I rarely have dessert,” Jami replied, keeping her eyes on her plate as she dripped a dainty amount of dressing over her salad.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Grant drawled in rough velvet tones that flowed over Jami.

Ignoring his innuendo, she started to take a sip of her champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose. She thought better of it, and replaced her glass, glancing up at him through the fringe of her lashes. Knowing he expected her to be dessert tonight, she needed every ounce of willpower she possessed. She didn’t dare relax that willpower with alcohol.

Grant chuckled, as though he knowingly played her emotions as expertly as the fishing line that had netted him more than his share of catches. She didn’t intend to be another. “You may change your mind about dessert.” He lifted the dome off the silver tray to reveal two scrumptious, generous squares of chocolate layer cake. “Nell’s famous chocolate heaven. A confection mere mortals can rarely resist tasting.”

Jami’s gaze went from the cake to Grant’s lips, something far more tempting to taste. A rush of pleasure flowed through her as she recalled their kiss, the memory only to be extinguished when she remembered it had ended with him saying he shouldn’t have kissed her. Once she’d given her heart to a man who betrayed her love and left her with a legacy of pain and distrust. Never again. No matter what Grant expected to happen tonight, Jami silently declared, she wouldn’t let her guard down again. No kisses for either of them to regret.

“And if I can’t talk you into dessert,” he continued, “Maybe I can persuade you to join me for a dip in the hot tub after dinner?”

“In this?” Jami retorted, glancing down at her cocktail dress.

“Out of it would be fine with me.” Grant’s midnight gaze darkened.

“No, thank you.” She tried to sound prim and in control, though a waver lilted her words. “I want to get back to Toby as soon as possible.”

“I’m crushed,” Grant said, his eyes twinkling as if he envisioned her sans dress.

Jami laughed in spite herself. “Public skinny dipping never was my thing.”

Grant’s expression turned rueful. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Jami gazed at Grant, realizing she was enjoying herself—and actually flirting with him. “Boys will be boys.”

“A toast,” Grant requested, lifting his champagne glass.

“To what?”

“To girls who turn into lovely women.”

With a smile, Jami clinked her glass against Grant’s, glad that no one was snapping photos of this toast. She didn’t think it was a romantic one, yet she knew her heart had captured this shared moment in time to examine and replay when Grant Carrington was no longer in her life. A pang of sadness accompanied the thought, but she shook it away and tried to concentrate on her dinner, and not her dinner companion.

“Is there something wrong with your champagne?”

“No. It’s just not my beverage of choice,” Jami replied, not about to admit why she didn’t dare drink it. She didn’t need any help getting woozy about Grant.

“Could I go get you something else? Wine? Iced tea? Milk?”

“No, thank you.” Wanting to change the subject, Jami tried to think of a topic to discuss. “Did you send that Cupid key back to your brother?”

Grant sputtered mid-sip, knocking his champagne flute over when he grabbed for his napkin.

He coughed and sputtered a moment longer, but just as Jami became alarmed and ready to offer assistance, he choked, “Why do you ask?”

“You didn’t seem too happy when he sent it to you here at the lodge, so I wondered if you’d returned the heirloom to your brother for safekeeping.”

“Then you haven’t seen the Cupid recently?” he queried, mopping the spreading beige spill from the lace tablecloth.

“No.” Jami blinked at him in surprise. “Why?”

“Just curious,” he answered, sounding more disturbed than curious. “Ah, do you go to the beach a lot?”

“The beach?” Jami noticed he seemed to relax with the change of subject, still she wondered why he got so uptight over his grandmother’s pin. “You mean the beach back home?” Grant nodded. “I thought owning a scuba and diving shop means you must like the ocean.”

“I do. I love the water.” She smiled, catching her breath as he smiled back. He was so handsome—even soggy from spilled champagne. She could do this. The evening was almost over, anyway. Their remaining dinner conversation revolved around getting to know each other better, exchanging likes and dislikes, and Jami felt a warm glow of companionship.

After Grant polished off the last crumb of her piece of cake, he invited her to sit with him in the swing on the patio. They settled into the old-fashioned swing at odds with the modern steaming, bubbling hot tub directly across from them. Chlorinated water mingled with the fresh mountain air as the evening warmth became infiltrated by the night chill. The wooden swing swished with an occasional creak as they glided forward and back. Savoring their closeness and saturated with intimate contentment, she wished the night would never end.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Jami said softly, unconsciously snuggling against his shoulder, relaxing as the swing drifted to and fro accompanied by a chorus of crickets and the rhythm of her heart.

“Beautiful,” Grant repeated, gazing into her glowing amber- gold eyes as he slid one hand up to caress the satin-smooth skin of her slender throat. The warmth of her bare flesh seeped into his fingertips, leading him on a quest to seek the tender, sensitive spot behind her ear. What other places could he touch to make her shiver with delight? Grant leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the erratically beating pulse on her throat. He wanted to discover all of Jami’s secret desires, to drive her wild with passion and taste her sweet fulfillment. He wanted to make her his.

The unbidden thought shook him. He drew back, suddenly unsure of his own intentions.

“Grant?” Jami gazed up at him, her exotic eyes confused and uncertain.

“It’s late,” he murmured. “I promised I’d get you back to Toby.”

“Yes, Toby,” Jami stammered, rising to her feet a bit unsteadily. She lifted her sandals off the edge of the swing bench. “I hope he hasn’t given Nell any trouble.”

“Nell’s a match for any boy,” Grant replied, glad for the change of subject. “Even your son.”

“What do you mean even my son?” Jami headed through the French doors into the Garden Room, moving toward the hall door.

“Nell’s son, Ralph, was no angel, and neither are her grandsons. Nell Ballingham may appear frail, but that lady’s still got some dynamite left.”

“The Ballinghams are quite the characters. Toby’s very taken with Homer,” Jami mused as they strolled upstairs side by side, but not touching.

“Toby doesn’t have grandparents?” Grant asked, hoping she didn’t mind his question. He really did want to know more about her family situation—and more about her.

“No.” Jami shook her head, sadness cloaking her lovely features, her shoulders seeming to momentarily droop. “My parents died in an auto accident before Toby was born.”

“I’m sorry.” Grant took hold of Jami’s fingers, her slender, delicate hand fitting perfectly. Everything about her body seemed to perfectly fit his. “What about Toby’s paternal grandparents?”

She stiffened. “Doug and I divorced when Toby was a year old. My son hardly knows his father, let alone Doug’s family.”

“I’m sorry,” Grant repeated, sensing his response was inadequate.

“I’m not. If I had my way, I’d erase my ex-husband off the face of the earth.” Jami’s full moist lips pressed together, her pace increased, and she stared straight ahead.

“That bad?”

As if unable to verbalize her answer, Jami just nodded.

“The guy hasn’t been much of a father figure to Toby,” Grant surmised, matching her stride as he felt the intense desire to flatten a man he’d never met.

“None at all.”

“He’s a fool.”

“What?” Jami spun around to face Grant. He studied her, noting her jutted up chin and trembling lips. A shimmer of tears glistened in her eyes.

“Your ex-husband is a fool for leaving you and Toby.”

Her eyes grew wide as she appeared to digest this. She tilted her head. “What about you? Why isn’t there a Mrs. Grant Carrington?”

“There almost was once.” Grant rubbed his chin, realizing it was only fair to reply truthfully.

“What happened?”

“Rachel decided that a rich, up-and-coming state representative was better husband material than a struggling college student.” He took Jami’s elbow and they started walking again. “Rachel was right. I’ve never been husband material. I like the bachelor life far too much.”

Jami bit her lip, wondering why his bald statement hurt so much. It was none of her business if he chose to never marry.

Reaching the suite, Grant opened the door, allowing Jami to enter first. A lamp on the telephone stand glowed softly, throwing illumination through the doorway into the smaller bedroom, where Nell could be seen in a chair by the bed. The elderly woman had nodded off and jerked awake as they entered.

“My, my,” Nell tittered, “Must have dozed for a minute. Just let me get my knitting, and I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re not in the way,” Jami assured her, helping Nell rewind a ball of lavender yarn.

“Oh, dear,” Nell said, “I can’t find my knitting needle.”

“We’ll find it,” Jami replied, keeping her voice quiet as they searched around the chair, then under the bed where Toby curled beneath the covers deep in sleep.

As the women searched for the knitting needle, Grant stayed in the outer suite and found himself inexplicably drawn to check the top drawer where he’d placed Cupid in the padded envelope. Unobtrusively as possible, he slid the drawer open to glance inside.

He swore as the golden brooch glittered up at him from the dark interior while the envelope remained pushed toward the back of the drawer. Grant felt he’d been kicked in the gut. How had Cupid gotten out? Was someone playing a trick on him? His hands balled into fists, then relaxed as he reached out to touch the pin. If someone wasn’t pulling a prank, he must be losing his grip. Sierra was right. Maybe he had been working too hard. Still, his reaction to Jami proved it wasn’t fatigue. Instead, she sent his energy level soaring somewhere around the speed of light.

“We found it, so I’ll be on my way. Goodnight, Grant.” Now holding a bag full of knitting paraphernalia, Nell tottered out of the bedroom with Jami trailing behind and ready to catch the older woman at any moment.

“You can’t wander around the hallways alone this time of night,” Jami protested, again in position to catch the teetering woman.

“I’ll walk you to the family quarters, Mrs. B.,” Grant offered, slamming the drawer and moving forward to take Nell’s bony, paper-skinned arm.

She twinkled up at him. “You always were such a gentleman.”

“Ah, then goodnight, Grant,” Jami called, breathtakingly lovely as she hovered uncertainly by her bedroom doorway.

Damn, Grant thought, swearing at the timing. “Jami, I’ll be back in a few minutes, if you’d care for a nightcap with me?”

“Thanks, but it’s late.” Jami sounded breathy and nervous, as if she dare not spend more time alone with him. As he watched her turn and step back into her room, her exquisite beauty seemed to catch fire, reminding Grant of what he was missing.

He smothered an urge to beg Jami to wait up for him. “Goodnight, then.”

Feeling a tug on his arm, he glanced down to meet Nell’s keen gaze, her wispy white hair styled by an eggbeater. “These old bones don’t approve of night owl hours.”

“Then we’d better get you off your feet,” Grant replied, ushering her out into the hallway as Jami’s door shut with a firm click.

“That girl’s real special,” Nell commented, shuffling along beside Grant.

“I can’t argue that.”

Nell snorted. “You not argue? That’ll be the day.”

“Mrs. B.,” Grant said, caught between being amused and offended, “You make me sound difficult.”

“You are difficult, young man.”

Grant knew better than to disagree. Instead, he chose to quiz her about the Cupid key. At least his mind could have some relief, even if his body was forced to suffer. “Did Toby go into the outer suite by himself tonight?”

“Not when he was with me.” Nell clutched the knitting basket to her chest. “I may have nodded off a time or two, but if that boy would have stirred, I’d have been wide awake.”

“So Toby wasn’t in my room alone?”

“Nope. Why? Was something disturbed?”

“No.” Unless you count my sanity, Grant added to himself. Aloud he asked, “Mrs. B., do you believe in love charms and magic spells?”

Nell shuffled to her own door, pausing with one hand on the brass knob. “Love is magic, son.” She tapped a gnarled finger against his lapel, where Jami’s lipstick stain covered his heart. “If you don’t know that by now, it’s time you learned.”