Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(71)

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.