Under His Spell

Liz eyed her. “Buck naked?”

“I’m just reading you the directions,” Lainie said blandly.

“I live in the middle of Boston.”

“I’m sure if your dance is quick, you can get it over before you get arrested for indecent exposure. Better yet, do it on Friday night and the spell will probably be effective immediately.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

Liz’s eyes gleamed. “A love spell for you.”

Lainie cast a glance at the ceiling. “Trust me,” she said. “The last thing I need is a love spell.”

It was the fondest wish of Al and Carol Trask to see their children all married off eventually, with families of their own. Lainie didn’t have any problem with the idea in concept; she just had a few differences of opinion with her parents on the particulars. Like, for example, their definition of the word eventually. To Lainie, that meant before she turned, say, forty. Or fifty, if it suited her.

To her parents, twenty-six was high time to start thinking about settling down.

Which was why she was happy, quite happy to be going to her cousin Gabe’s Jack and Jill party as part of the run-up to his wedding to Hadley Stone. After all, Gabe’s wedding would buy her at least six months of peace from the reminders and questions. Given that, springing for a shower gift and driving a couple of hours to the party was a pleasure. She’d cheerfully have driven twice as far, if that were the sacrifice required.

Although, to be honest, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. She and Hadley had become good friends over the past year. Lainie was looking forward to a nice, long gossip after the party. Besides, it was a perfect day for a drive and she was itching to see the renovated ski lodge where the party was to be held.

Gabe and Hadley had bought the eyesore as a fixer-upper the year before. And fix it up they had, Lainie realized as she pulled in. The grubby, underprivileged-looking buildings she remembered had disappeared, replaced by a soaring complex of two-and three-story cedar-and-glass structures that were the architectural equivalent of a breath of fresh air. The Crawford Arms, the once-faded Victorian grande dame at the edge of the property, had been pulled back from the brink of seediness to boast a subtly gorgeous multicolor paint job and windows that sparkled with newness.

Even the brilliant white stripes on the freshly paved parking lot gleamed. The positively enormous freshly paved parking lot, she amended as she whipped into a spot and turned off her car. In fact, if a natural disaster ever hit the New Hampshire International Speedway, they could probably just move the race to Gabe’s lot. Clearly, her cousin and his bride-to-be knew how to do things right.

Lainie stepped out into the summer afternoon and reached into her back seat to pull out a gaily wrapped package. None of that tired, old white-rose bridal paper for her. A person should make a statement, she figured; all the better if it was red and silver stripes.

A light, warm breeze whisked under her pale aqua skirt, lifting up the short flared silk, making her laugh. Summer might have come late to the north country but it was well worth appreciating when it finally arrived. And appreciating it, she was, with her stretchy, bare midriff top and strappy high heels. After all, in two or three months they’d be back in the frigid temperatures of late fall.

And three-inch heels didn’t go so well with snow and ice.

Nope, she was a summer girl at heart, happy to toss aside her tan-in-a-bottle for the real thing. Fall was for prickly people; winter was for the melancholy; spring was for the ambitious.

Summer was for people who knew how to enjoy life.

Ahead of her, the path curved toward the broad double doors that led into the main lodge. Ski racks flanked the wide cedar porch; come winter, they’d be filled with colorful snowboards and wide downhill skis with their bindings. Come winter, the whole area would be frosted with snow and ice, and crowded with people. She was looking forward to seeing it.

But not before she’d gotten everything she could out of the warm weather.

The breeze whisked at her skirt again, flipping it up as she stepped up onto the porch. Hastily she reached behind her with one hand to push it down. And, distracted for a crucial instant, caught her toe on the underside of the wooden step.

The next thing she knew, she was pitching forward, trying desperately to hold on to the gift package and trying equally hard to avoid doing a face plant on the deck. When the door opened before her, she gave up, dropping the box and groping for the door handle as though it were salvation. The shower gift would survive; her nose might not. Somehow she missed the door anyway, though, and instead found herself doing a four-point landing on the cedar.

“Falling at my feet again, Lainie?” The voice was lazy and mocking, and she recognized it instantly, even before she looked up to see the hand before her eyes.

J. J. Cooper, golden-boy ski racer, finding her sprawled before him just as he had fourteen years before, on the mountain where she’d tumbled into the snow with a broken binding. Then he’d been her knight in shining armor, helping her up, dusting her off and, to her infinite astonishment, piggybacking her down the mountain on skis, his shoulders strong under her fingers.

Was it any wonder that her twelve-year-old self had fallen madly in love with him? She’d pined, positively pined over him for the four long weeks that stretched from that Thanksgiving weekend encounter to Christmas vacation. Writing his name in her notebooks, she’d dreamily imagined how he’d look at her with those denim-blue eyes and hold her hand when he came back from his ski academy for the holidays, her grown-up high school boy.

Of course, when he had, he’d demonstrated quite clearly that he had no interest in a skinny little kid like her. He hadn’t insulted her, he hadn’t been mean. He’d just been…oblivious. Ski god J.J. was exclusively interested in the very curvy and very grown-up blondes who buzzed around him like a bunch of flies, Lainie had thought ungraciously. He hadn’t even bothered to snub Lainie when she’d hung around, desperate for his attention. He’d barely recognized her at all, until she’d crashed before him, trying to daredevil ski in a desperate attempt to attract his attention from the inept ski bunny he was escorting around. “A little kid like you shouldn’t be up here,” he’d scolded, hauling her up like a sack of potatoes. “You could get hurt.”

“You’re so sweet to help that poor little girl,” the ski bunny had cooed as they’d schussed off, leaving a redfaced, furious Lainie to watch them go. Clearly, J. J. Cooper had no use for Lainie.

And from that moment forward, Lainie had had zero use for J. J. Cooper.

She scowled and rose, ignoring the hand and smoothing down her skirt. “Well, well, well. Speed Racer. How lucky can a girl get? Here I figured you’d be in training by now.”

He raised a brow. “Why, Lainie, I didn’t realize you kept such track of me.”

“I prefer to keep an eye on minor annoyances. It helps me avoid them.” She dusted off her hands. “Let me guess. You’ve broken training to show up here.”

“Considering that, as best man, I’m the host, it seemed like the right thing to do.” He leaned over to pick up her box, tucking it under his arm. “Want an escort in?”

Lainie folded her arms and stared at him. It wasn’t fair that he’d been genetically gifted with the blond-haired, blue-eyed looks of a careless beach boy, the crooked grin of a man who didn’t sweat the small stuff, a chin and jaw only sharpened by his Vandyke. He’d also wound up with the preternatural athletic talent to be one of the top skiers in the world, a millionaire, a media darling.

And with, of course, the preternatural ego to go with it.

“I’m fine. Why don’t you go inside and find your posse?”

His eyes crinkled irritatingly. “You should know I’d never bother with a posse when I have you.”

Scorn radiated off her. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere in New Zealand embarrassing yourself on camera?” She could cheerfully have bitten her tongue the minute the words were out.

As for J.J., he just grinned. “And here I didn’t think you cared.”

“News bulletin,” she told him, reaching for the package he held just out of reach. “I don’t.”

He lifted the box just a few inches higher. “But you do keep track of me. I’m flattered.”

“I keep track of nor’ easters, too, mostly because I’m hoping they’ll go somewhere else. And if you’d give me back that box, I’d go somewhere else myself.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, Lainie, life just isn’t the same when you’re not around.”

“That’s funny, life’s always the same when you’re around,” she said sweetly. “You’re nothing if not predictable.”

That wiped away the smile. “Maybe when it comes to going fast.”

She shook her head pityingly. “Oh, Speed, everything you do is predictable. Where do I start? Let’s see… I’m betting that your last six girlfriends—the ones for this season, I mean—bought their lipstick using euros.”

“Give me a break. I live in Europe seven months out of the year. Who else am I supposed to date? After all, you never come to visit me,” he said with a leer.

Lainie folded her arms. “Okay, how about the CD changer in your car?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s got at least one oldie disc by Lynyrd Skynrd.”