A Little Light Magic (8 page)

Apparently, the two of them were worlds apart in music preference, too. No surprise there.

Tori sorted through a box of merchandise in the living room, but her gaze kept drifting to where Nick was working, just a few feet away. His shoulders flexed as he positioned the new fire door’s metal frame in the opening he’d cut for it. Try as she might, she couldn’t drag her eyes away. Nick was buff; that was all there was to it. There wasn’t one soft thing about his body. She’d found that out firsthand when he’d kissed her.

He turned to get some kind of tool. His toolbox was an enormous affair with about a zillion separate compartments. A place for everything and everything in its place. What, was he afraid his wrenches would do the dirty with his screwdrivers when he wasn’t looking? There were even little niches for screws, nuts, bolts, and washers. He had each and every fastener sorted by type and size.

The setup was so organized it was sick, that was what it was. That toolbox was clearly the product of a disturbed mind. She’d noticed that his truck was clean, too, inside and out. The man was pathologically neat.

She thought of her bedroom and winced.

The night was warm. Nick had been working an hour or so and his white shirt was already damp with sweat. His hair was rumpled, and he had streaks of dirt on his normally pristine khakis. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to touch him in the worst way.

Grimly, she plucked a paint scraper from his toolbox and headed toward the front door.

He shot her a look as she passed by. “Where’re you going with that?”

“I thought I’d scrape the peeling paint around the front door.”

“You don’t have to. It’s on my list.”

Ah, yes. The List.

She’d found out that anything on the List was as good as done. Which was an interesting concept. Just this morning, she’d found herself fantasizing about stealing the List and adding
make love to Tori
in between
install door
and
sand spackle joints.

But that was neither here nor there.

“I need to do something new,” she told him. “I’m sick of taking inventory.”

“Suit yourself.”

She banged onto the porch. There was still a good bit of daylight left. She jabbed at the peeling paint. It was tough work, more tedious than she’d imagined. It took all of five minutes to decide paint scraping wasn’t her thing.

But she kept at it anyway, sneaking glances at Nick through the screen. She watched as he set the tip of a long screw to the new door frame. Cradling his electric drill in his big hands, he drove the fastener home with decisive motion.

Suddenly, the air didn’t seem to contain enough oxygen to keep Tori’s lungs inflated.

Nick’s long fingers dipped into the pouch at his waist. He fingered another screw, stroked it into position, and sank it into the jamb with one hard, deep thrust.

Then he did it again.

A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts. It was a warm night, and it had just gotten hotter.

Nick glanced at her. “How’s the scraping going?”

“Fine,” she said faintly. She scrambled for something else to say. “You know, you haven’t sent me a bill yet.”

He positioned another screw. “So?”

“So, I want to give you a deposit or something.”

“Or something?” he said, chuckling.

Her cheeks blotched. “Money. I want to give you money. For all the stuff you’ve bought, at least.”

He drilled another screw home. “It’s funny. I’ve found that most clients don’t volunteer to pay their bills early.”

“You haven’t even given me a final estimate yet. And you’ve been doing a lot of extra work. I don’t know if I can afford it.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll work something out in the end.”

Door frame secure, he set his screw gun on the workbench and turned his attention to the new fire door propped against the wall. No use talking any more—Tori knew she wouldn’t get another word out of him until he was finished. If there was one thing she’d learned about Nick Santangelo, it was that he focused his full attention on every task he undertook.

He was probably the same in bed….

She set the edge of the scraper blade against a stubborn patch of paint and gave a hard thrust. It gouged the wood.

She couldn’t deny it anymore: She had it bad for Nick Santangelo.

And it was only getting worse.

Chelsea and Mags stopped by around seven. Chelsea carried Lily; Mags carried a diaper bag big enough for a trek down the Appalachian Trail. Tori waved to them from the porch, glad to have an excuse to stop scraping paint.

“We wanted to see how Destiny’s Gate was coming along,” Chelsea said, peering into the shop, where Nick, finished with the door, was taping and spackling drywall.

She did a double take. “Is that your contractor?”

“I thought you weren’t into men,” Tori groused, keeping her voice low.

“He doesn’t float my boat, but I’m hardly blind. That man’s fine.”

“Well, I don’t see how it matters,” Tori said dryly. “I’m not looking to
date
him.”

Mags snorted. Tori invited her guests in to see the house. Honestly, she was glad they’d stopped by. Not only did the visit distract her from ogling Nick, but it would serve a greater purpose. Nick was a conservative guy—once he realized Chelsea and Mags were a couple, he’d probably make some ignorant remark. And that would put the chill on Tori’s fantasies regarding her closed-minded contractor.

“The place looks great,” Mags said. “And you can’t beat the location, near Lucy the elephant. You’ll get a lot of spillover tourists.” All the while she talked, she eyed Nick in a frank, man-to-man way.

Nick’s gaze took in Mags’s spiky red hair, tailored shirt, and narrow-leg jeans before moving on to Chelsea and her flowing, flowery skirt.

“These are my friends,” Tori told him. “Chelsea Froelich and Mags Kotter. And their daughter, Lily.”

He didn’t so much as blink at the unconventional introduction. “Nick Santangelo.” He set down his spackle tray, wiped his hands on a clean rag, and offered a hand to Mags. She shook it.

“Chelsea and Mags own Healthy Eats and Treats over on Ventnor Avenue,” Tori said.

Nick replied that he knew the store but had never been inside. They made small talk for a couple minutes; then Lily started fussing.

“Time to go,” Chelsea said. “We’re taking Lily to the boardwalk.”

Tori walked the family out to the porch. When she came back in, Nick had returned to his spackling.

She frowned at his back. “Well?”

He glanced her way. “Well, what?”

“No comments?”

“About your friends being lesbians?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged and went back to work. “Not really.”

“You’re serious,” Tori said. Imagine that.

“Sure, why?”

“You really don’t care that my friends are lesbians?”

Nick worked the spackle on the tray, mixing and spreading. “Should I?” He sounded amused.

“Well, no, you shouldn’t. But I thought you would.”

“You know, that’s not very flattering.”

He was right. “Sorry.”

“I could say something crude if it’d make you feel better. Let’s see…how about, ‘Think they’d let me watch?’ ”

Tori gave him a look.

He grinned. “Every guy’s fantasy and all, you know.”

She couldn’t stop a half laugh from bubbling up her throat. “You know, you’re really too full of it.”

“Yeah, a couple of women have told me that before.”

She watched him smooth a line of spackle down the wall. Her heart was suddenly beating way too fast.

“But what’s with the baby?” he asked.

For one shocked instant, she thought Nick was asking about the sperm donor profile stashed in her dresser drawer. Then she realized he didn’t know anything about that. He was talking about Lily.

“Did they adopt her?”

“No,” Tori said slowly. “Lily is Chelsea’s biological child.”

“Really? Who’s the father, then?”

It wasn’t Tori’s place to discuss Lily’s parentage with a virtual stranger. She knew that. She should have made some vague comment. But for some reason, she wanted—needed—to hear Nick’s reaction to the truth.

“They used donor sperm. Artificial insemination.”

The truth didn’t seem to faze him.

It’s a rare teenager who follows all of her father’s rules.

Leigh almost wished she’d stayed home instead of coming to Jason’s graduation party. Karla had been underfoot all night, and she clearly had her eye on Leigh’s hot boyfriend.

Leigh watched Karla sidle up to Jason, her fingers toying with the edge of the unbuttoned denim shirt he wore over a black T-shirt. Jason frowned, but he didn’t move away, like Leigh thought he should. Encouraged, Karla eased in closer.

“Slut,” Leigh muttered under her breath.

“If you don’t like it, go over there,” her friend Stacey said.

“Oh, like that wouldn’t come off as desperate.” Leigh eyed the half dozen newly graduated seniors laughing at the water’s edge. Jason and Karla; Jason’s friend Kyle; Stacey’s boyfriend, Mike, and a couple of senior girls Leigh barely knew. Jason’s sister, Beth, had taken off with her boyfriend after buying a case of beer for her brother’s underage friends.

Everyone except Leigh had wanted to stop on a deserted stretch of bay beach to drink the first few bottles. It was a stupid idea, and Leigh had tried to tell everyone that, but no one was listening to her.

Okay
, she told herself.
Calm down.
Karla might be touching Jason, but he wasn’t looking at her. In fact, now he’d turned his back on her slightly, talking with Mike. He gestured with his beer bottle as they talked.

Leigh took a deep breath and counted to ten. Nothing to worry about. Really. A few minutes ago, Mike had had his arm around Leigh’s shoulders and Jason hadn’t gone all weird over it. She’d play this cool.

“Jason doesn’t want Karla,” Stacey said. “If he did, he’d have asked her out instead of you.”

“Karla wants him. And she’d sleep with him in a freaking minute.” Leigh was sure of that.

“You worry too much.”

“Maybe.”

Jason said something and everybody laughed.

Leigh shifted her weight in the sand. “We ought to get out of here, anyway. What if a cop drives by?”

If Leigh had been driving, she never would’ve stopped. But she’d given the keys to her Geo Tracker to Jason, since the guts of his 1986 Mustang were currently spewed all over his garage floor. He’d laughed when she’d told him underage drinking on a public beach was a bad idea. Just like Stacey, he said she worried too much.

And maybe that was true, but in this case, Leigh felt justi-fied. There weren’t many cars cruising the causeway at this hour, but if one of them turned out to be a cop, they were screwed.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She wasn’t drinking—her dad would slaughter her if she did, and Uncle Alex would freak out on her, too. At least Jason had listened when she’d told him to put the soda in her car, and the beer in Mike’s. Still, she didn’t have a good feeling about this.

Karla’s laugh was a bit too high and a lot too shrill.

“How many beers has she had tonight?” Leigh asked Stacey. “Six?”

“At least.”

They both froze as the headlights of a passing car spilled over the edge of the highway and onto the sand.

“You’re right,” Stacey said when it passed and they were breathing again. “This is stupid. Let’s see if we can get things moving.”

She tugged Leigh toward the water. The sand was wet—high tide had flooded the beach, wrapping around the low dunes to form deep pools in the hollows by the road. As Stacey and Leigh approached the knot of teenagers, Karla leaned into Jason, her breasts brushing his chest.

It was a move designed to make Jason take notice, and it worked. He looked down, his eyes widening.

Karla went for the kill. She crushed her boobs against his chest, linked her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Jason didn’t move. Was he stunned? Or enjoying himself?

“That’s it,” Leigh muttered. She marched across the sand and punched Jason’s upper arm.

“Shit.” His eyes widened, and he tried to shove Karla away. Not an easy task, since Karla had him in a death grip, and he had one hand on his beer. Somehow, he managed to peel Karla’s arms from his neck without spilling the beer.

Karla swiveled and leaned back into his chest. “Oh! Leigh. Hi. I didn’t see you there.”

Leigh met Jason’s gaze. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jason jerked away from Karla, made a grab for Leigh, and missed. “Nothing. I swear.”

“It didn’t look like ‘nothing’ to me! It looked like her tongue down your throat.”

Karla smirked.

“Whoa,” Mike said to no one in particular. “Lovers’ quarrel. Could get ugly.”

Leigh stomped in the direction of her car, then halted and shut her eyes briefly.
Damn it.
Jason had the key.

He caught up to her and grabbed her hand. He’d ditched his beer. “Leigh, wait. It’s not my fault. You saw Karla. She was all over me.”

“That’s supposed to be an excuse?”

“It’s heating up, boys and girls,” Mike said, holding his beer bottle like a commentator’s mike. “Should blow any minute. Ten, nine, eight—”

“Shut up, you jerk.” Stacey grabbed Mike’s arm and towed him toward the road. “Leave them alone and let’s get out of here. You guys, too,” she added to Kyle and the others, “before some cop stops and nails us.” She plucked Mike’s keys from his hand. “Get in. I’m driving.”

Mike made a halfhearted swipe for his key ring, then gave up and staggered to the passenger’s door. Kyle and the three girls piled into the back.
Thanks
, Leigh mouthed to Stacey. Stacey shrugged and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Mike’s taillights disappeared down the causeway. Leigh stood, arms wrapped around her waist, suddenly embarrassed. God, when would she ever learn how to play things cool? She’d come across like a clinging bitch.

Jason shrugged out of his denim shirt. “I didn’t kiss her,” he said, wrapping the shirt around Leigh’s shoulders. It smelled like him. “Karla kissed me.”

“There’s a difference?” Leigh said, hating herself for sounding so vulnerable.

“Big difference,” Jason said. “Come on.” He tugged Leigh into his arms. “Don’t be like this.”

She felt herself relax against his chest. “Don’t try to tell me you were too drunk to notice what she was doing. That was only your second beer, and you’d hardly taken a sip.”

He took her hands and guided them to the back of his neck, locking them in an embrace. “Leigh. Don’t you trust me?”

She looked up into his eyes. They were so dark, so serious. “I…I think so.”

“You’re the one I want, not Karla. Not anyone else.” His hands wandered down her back and traced a line along the waistband of her low-rise jeans. “You’re the one I love.”

The bulge in his pants told Leigh he wasn’t joking. At least not about the
wanting
part. It was the
loving
part she couldn’t quite believe. Did Jason really love her? Would he love her even more if they had sex? Would he stop loving her if they didn’t?

He bent his head and kissed her. “Ah, Leigh…”

She opened her mouth, letting him in, letting his hands explore until a passing car reminded her where they were.

“Not here,” she said, pulling away.

He pulled out her car keys and gave her a smile that promised everything. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Done scraping?” Nick asked as Tori entered the shop.

Tori was so done. Scraping paint was for the brain-dead. She’d been at it for hours, and to be perfectly honest, she wasn’t dressed for it. Just before five, she’d changed into a sundress, a purple-and-orange gauzy thing, snug at the bust and loose around her thighs. If anyone had asked her if she’d worn it for Nick, she would’ve said no. But she would’ve been lying.

“Yes, I’m done.” She plunked the paint scraper into his toolbox. In the wrong compartment, on purpose.

Nick frowned, but didn’t call her on it.

“What about you?” she asked.

He checked his watch. “Yeah, I’m about set. The wall’s almost done—I just need to sand the spackle joints and then paint. You’ll have to take down all those hanging crystals tomorrow, by the way,” he added, unbuckling his tool belt. “The spackle dust’ll get all over them.”

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I know.” She could tell he was fighting a laugh. “You know, for a fortune-teller, you don’t seem to think very far ahead. But don’t worry; I’ll help you hang them back up. Then you can repaint your clouds and start putting up your shelving. I’ve worked like a dog the past week so I could get done out here and get out of your way.”

He started off in the direction of the kitchen. She trailed after him. “Is that why you’ve been so…quiet?”

He was washing his hands at the sink. “What do you mean, quiet?”

“I thought you might be mad at me.”

“What for?” He snagged a dish towel and dried his hands.

She could tell he really didn’t have a clue. “Because of last week,” she explained, hot blotches creeping up her neck. “Because I…um, turned you down after that kiss.”

He hung the towel on its hook and gave her that slow, sexy smile she was beginning to look forward to.

“You couldn’t have turned me down. I haven’t even started asking.” He moved closer, close enough to touch her. “Yet. But believe me, Tori, when I do ask, we’ll both know it.”

He did touch her then, lightly on the cheek. His eyes were dark and steady. Intent. They stood there like that, gazes locked, as the moments around them stretched into eternity.

Tori looked away first. Then—because a little cool air sounded like a good idea—she opened the refrigerator door.

“Um…want a bottle of springwater?” She had a whole case. Chelsea had made her swear never to drink tap water again.

He exhaled. “No. No, thanks. I’ll take a Coke.”

“They’re not very cold,” she said, pulling a can out. “The refrigerator was weirding out this morning. Now everything’s warm.”

“I’ll call someone to take a look at it.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll do it. You’ve already done enough extra work.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is. And I’m really worried that I won’t be able to afford it all. But how am I supposed to know, when you haven’t given me a price, or a bill, or anything yet?”

She could feel his hesitation. “We’ll work it out once your shop is open for business.”

She took a water bottle from the fridge. “But you’ve already spent so much money.”

“I can carry it.”

“You know, I’m sure most contractors don’t work this way.”

He shrugged. “I’m not most contractors.”

“I can’t afford it,” she repeated. She tried to unscrew the cap off the water, but her palms were damp and the thing wouldn’t budge.

“Here.” Nick took the bottle and opened it. “You can afford bottled springwater, but not a lock on your back door? Or new fuses in your electric box?”

“I’m trying to be healthy.” She took a swig.

He popped the tab on his Coke. “You look healthy enough to me.”

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence. Tori was well aware that Nick had taken his cue from her, backing off when she’d shied away from the heat building between them. He didn’t seem to take offense, didn’t press for more. She marveled at that. There was nothing awkward between them now; they were just…comfortable together.

As soon as that thought came, she started feeling
un
comfortable. She’d been attracted to Nick from the beginning. When had she started liking him so much, too?

He was the one who broke the silence. “Doris told me you worked as a tour guide.”

She blinked. “Yes, I did. I was with Weird Zone Tours for the past eight years.”

He leaned on the counter and took a long pull on his Coke. “Weird Zone Tours? I’m guessing that’s not like American Express.”

“Hardly. Weird Zone specializes in tours to sites of paranormal activity.”

“Like?”

“Well, the vampire tour of New Orleans was popular. And there was an antebellum mansion in Biloxi that was haunted by Civil War ghosts. Out west we did a Native American spirituality tour on the Navajo and Hopi reservations, and a weeklong hike to the vortices around Sedona.”

“Sounds interesting.” He finished the Coke and pitched the bottle into the recycling bucket. “I’ve never been out west.”

“You’re from New Jersey?”

“Born and raised in Atlantic City.”

“You must have family nearby, then.”

“Yeah, the usual assortment of relatives.”

She became aware that he was watching her closely. His gaze kept returning to her lips. A restless feeling stirred low in her belly. Was he planning to make a move?

But he didn’t. “What made you want to wander all over creation?” he asked instead.

The question surprised her. It wasn’t the kind of thing most people asked. She set her bottle on the table. Picked it up again. Moved a step toward the window.

Nick looked like he wanted to reach out and pull her back.

“Well, I was used to a wandering kind of life. My mother and I moved pretty often. After Aunt Millie’s stroke, I lived in foster homes. Seven of them in five years. I guess I don’t know how to stay put.”

“Sounds like a tough childhood.”

“It could have been a lot worse. I wasn’t mistreated or abused or anything like that.” She threw her bottle into recycling and wet a sponge at the faucet. She pushed it along the counter, not really seeing what she was doing.

Nick came up behind her. “Tori. Do you ever stand still?”

There were dirty dishes in the sink. She plugged the drain and turned on the water. “No. There’s something safe about movement.”

“And yet you came back here to stay.” He ran his hands up and down her bare upper arms, then started a slow, deep massage of her shoulders. “Why was that?”

His fingers were magic. She let out a moan, her head dropping forward. “I…broke up with my boyfriend about six months ago,” she heard herself say. “He still works for Weird Zone. We used to lead tours together.”

“So you gave up a job you liked because of him?”

“No, that wasn’t it. Not exactly. I was tired of living out of a backpack. I wanted…I’d wanted us to quit, put down roots, but he didn’t want to.”

The other thing Colin hadn’t wanted was the child Tori had been carrying. His own flesh and blood. But she didn’t tell that to Nick.