Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(72)

She thought he might be looking at her … she could almost feel his gaze. But the lobby was full of people, and Jason wasn’t expecting her to be there. It wasn’t likely he would spot her. After a moment, she risked a quick glance at the group. They were gone.

The line moved forward, and she bent to pick up her bag.

A pair of gleaming black lace-up shoes came into view. Straightening slowly, Justine felt her heart rise in her throat. She looked up at him, her thoughts tumbling in a confusion of eagerness and need.

Jason spoke in a casual tone, but his gaze was caressing. “You can’t get a room here. They’re all booked up.”

The inside of her throat felt as if it had been coated with honey. Justine swallowed hard before replying. “I have a reservation.”

He took the overnight bag from her nerveless fingers. “It’s been canceled. You can share my room.”

Their electric mutual awareness had communicated itself to the others around them. A few gazes followed them, some curious, some envious.

Guiding Justine to the partial concealment of a tall potted ficus, Jason set her bag and his briefcase aside. He surveyed her intently. “Why are you in San Diego?” Before she could reply, he added, “Let me make it clear that I’m not complaining. I’m happy as hell to have you here.”

“You’re not ‘having’ me here. I’ve come to get the Triodecad.”

“I was going to bring it to you the day after tomorrow.”

“I couldn’t wait that long.”

“For the spellbook,” he asked, “or me?”

She had already decided in advance that she would not flirt with him, would not smile or relent or succumb to his charm. “I want my book.”

Wordlessly Jason picked up his black leather briefcase and gave it to her.

Bemused, she asked, “You’ve been carrying it around with you?”

Jason smiled faintly. “Like it’s the nuclear codes.”

Turning away from him, Justine opened the briefcase and peeked inside. She reached in to pull up a corner of the linen cloth. A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw the grimoire’s familiar cover.

Jason drew close behind her. His head bent, his mouth lightly caressing the side of her neck.

A sensual shiver ran through her. “I’m still going to fry your ass.”

“Yes, do it,” he said, right before she felt his teeth in a gentle bite. “With both hands.”

Fuming, Justine turned to face him. “You lied to me.”

“Not technically.”

“Bullshit. If nothing else it was a lie of omission.”

“It was the only way I could be with you.”

“And the end justifies the means?” she asked caustically. “You haven’t even justified the end.”

Jason studied her with outward calm, but she sensed the force of strong emotion locked beneath the surface. “This is why you got rid of the geas,” he said. “You wanted love. Now you’ve got it. I love you enough for a dozen people. Maybe there’s something I wouldn’t do to have you—some rule or law I wouldn’t be willing to break—but I’m damned if I can think of one. I know I’m not perfect. But if you—”

“You are the opposite of perfect.” Justine clutched the briefcase and stared at him unhappily. “And I didn’t want the kind of love where people get hurt and things go wrong and you’re not even sure who you are anymore.”

Jason had no right to look so sympathetic, when he was the cause of her misery. He reached for her hand, his grip warm and firm. “Let’s go somewhere, honey. I’m not comfortable discussing my innermost feelings behind a potted plant in a hotel lobby.” Picking up the overnight bag with his free hand, he pulled Justine toward the concierge desk.

Seeing their approach, a man emerged from behind the desk, radiating an air of confident knowledge befitting a concierge of a world-class hotel. It was said that a great concierge was part Merlin, part Houdini, able to solve a wide spectrum of problems with lightning speed. The issue could be anything from replacing a lost toothbrush to chartering a private jet. There was only one word that a well-trained concierge would seldom, if ever, say to a hotel guest … the word “no.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Black. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, thank you. As it turns out, I need a different room.”

“Of course. May I ask if there is a problem with your current room?”

“No, it’s fine. But I need something a little more spacious. I’d like to change to one of the beach cottages.”

“We don’t need a beach cottage,” Justine said hastily.

Jason ignored her. “One with as much privacy as possible,” he said.

“If I’m not mistaken, there is an available suite at the end next to the Sapphire pool. Quite private. It’s a one-bedroom king with its own patio, fire pit, hot tub, and gated access to the beach.”

“That sounds expensive—” Justine began.

“We’ll take it,” Jason said, giving him Justine’s overnight bag. “Would you have this brought to the cottage and move my stuff there, as well?”

“Give us half an hour to forty-five minutes,” the concierge said, “and we’ll make up some new room keys and have you all settled in. Would you care to sit at an outside terrace while you wait? Perhaps I could send out some wine and refreshments?”