Kathy Lyons - Under His Spell

With a grunt of frustration, she swiveled around in her seat, watching for a break in traffic and furious when she didn’t see one. She knew she was overreacting. But she still had a ton of work to do without a clue about when she’d get it in. Who put amateur night on a Thursday, anyway? She should have said no, but she needed to consult Prof. Thompson. And, oh no, she still had to do her laundry. Did she have anything clean for tomorrow? Did she have time to buy some underwear on the way to the bar?

Her phone beeped with a text just as she was finally shifting to the next lane. The pressure built in her mind and body as she stopped her instinctive jerk to answer the phone. She was driving, damn it. Any text could wait!

She steadied the car and pushed through a light, but the cramp in her stomach returned as she ignored the message on her phone. What if it was her boss? What if one of the offices had trouble sending the report? It was well after seven, but she knew at least three of her immediate subordinates worked the same crazy hours she did. If it was one of them, then she needed to get on the problem right away. Jobs were on the line, hers included. She knew there was a way to save most of them, but she had a lot of work to do to find it.

With a grunt of disgust, she grabbed her phone and hit the appropriate button. It was awkward reading and driving at the same time, but she’d mastered it a long time ago. With a sigh of relief, she saw it was from her sister Tammy and not a work disaster.

Where r u?

She stopped at a light and whipped off a response. Almost there! she texted. It was a lie, but if there were no more buses between her and the bar, she’d make it before the end of the second act. Unless another disaster hit. She tried not to think of that. She tried not to think of tropical islands either or the way her entire body clenched with frustration. If she could just get through the immediate crisis, she would deal with the rest later. But God, what she wouldn’t give to be on that tropical island now… .

JIMMY RAY DID a double take, jerking the curtain slightly as he peered out at the crowd. It couldn’t be her. That absolutely could not be Nicky Taylor, his high school fantasy walking into the bar. She’d been a volleyball star, class president and the girl voted most likely to run the country in twenty years. And he’d wanted her forever. What was she doing here at amateur night?

He leaned forward, peering into the dimly lit crowd. He couldn’t be sure it was her. Lots of women had long legs, gray business suits and that look of anxious harassment in their eyes. But only Nicky walked that way, with her hips shifting in a lilting cadence while her pointy chin dared a man to try for her. Could that really be her? The blond hair was right, but this woman had a tight lift to her shoulders that high school Nicky never had. She was also walking and trying to read on her BlackBerry while taking off her coat and scanning the crowd at the same time. That was vintage Nicky, even in high school. He bet she’d mastered multitasking by the time she was six.

He frowned as he watched the woman who might be Nicky reach her destination. There was another woman there nursing a margarita. He had to wait for a shift in the lights, but … yes! That was Tammy, Nicky’s younger sister. He was sure of it. After all, he’d lived down the block from the Taylor family for years. He knew all of Nicky’s family, had trick-or-treated at their house, had even shared a yearly Christmas potluck. He knew them the way he knew how to construct a saw-the-lady-in-half illusion. The woman at the table was Tammy, which meant the other woman—the blonde with the overstuffed briefcase—was Nicky Taylor. Here at amateur night. Of all the dumb luck!

Anticipation tightened his gut. Or was that fear? He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw in disgust. He’d gotten past the nausea that came with painful shyness the day he’d received his first six-figure check. He’d even forced himself up on stage at his brother’s bar just to make sure he could overcome his fear of public speaking. But one look at Nicky’s long legs in killer black pumps, and he was right back in high school complete with gut-churning panic. Back then he’d resorted to the fantasy of being a magician, of mesmerizing all in his path with his suave charm. Now he was a man and a millionaire. He did not need to hide in fantasy to talk to a woman. Even if that woman was Nicky Taylor, the girl who’d owned his heart since he was twelve.

He had to find a way to talk to her, to have that shot he’d missed in high school. But how? A dozen scenarios spun through his brain, each growing more far-fetched. In the end, he cut off his overactive reasoning. That had been his problem in high school: too much thinking and too little action. By the time he’d worked up the perfect plan to seduce Nicky Taylor, they’d already graduated and gone on to college. Tonight he would keep it simple.

He would magic her into his arms.

“AND NOW for my greatest trick …”

Nicky barely heard the magician’s prattle. Her attention was focused on her latest e-mail as she hit Next Page on her phone. Professor Thompson was a no-show. Or rather, he’d shown but left when Nicky was late. Tammy hadn’t told her, of course. Her little sister had this misplaced idea that Nicky needed some fun in her life. Well, duh. But sitting through amateur night at a bar didn’t qualify. Unfortunately Tammy could be annoyingly insistent, so rather than cause a scene, Nicky had sat down, ordered some wine and promptly buried her nose in her e-mail. It was hard to see in the bar/theater, especially with the flickering flash explosions from the stage, but if she held the phone’s screen about six inches from her nose, she could read well enough.

“I’m going to separate this woman from her phone!”

A hand shot out and swiped her BlackBerry right out of her palm.

“Hey!” Nicky cried out, then she had to blink against the glare of the spotlight. Laughter erupted all around her, most especially from Tammy, who waved her margarita in salute.

“Well, you were being rude,” Tammy said as she winked at the magician.

Nicky acknowledged the hit with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry … umm—” her gaze slipped over to the stage display “—Magic Man.” Was that really his act’s name? “I apologize for saving my career during your magic act.”

“That’s all right. I always forgive beautiful women.” The magician flashed her a killer, megawatt smile. This close up, she could see that he was quite the cutie, in a hometown, wholesome kind of way. Brown eyes, light brown hair, pale white skin. The stage lights weren’t doing him any favors on that score. They seemed to highlight exactly how dark and mysterious he wasn’t. And yet, she responded to him. An image of her island hottie flashed through her brain, and she found herself thinking that if this magician got a good tan and stepped into a short sarong, she could absolutely settle down in the sand next to him. The idea was so strong, her fingers actually itched to see what kind of muscles lay hidden under his tux.

But rather than fondle the main attraction right under the lights, she flashed her own version of a killer smile. “Thank you,” she said, holding out her hand for her phone. “I promise I’ll turn it off now.”

“Hmmm, forgiveness is one thing. Property is something else entirely.” He grinned as he started backing up to the stage, holding her phone hostage as he moved. “Would you care to join me onstage? Perhaps we can let you win your phone back.”

Her fantasy reluctantly faded as her body began to clench. She needed that phone. Just the thought of all the things that could go wrong if she lost it had her close to hyperventilating. “No, no, no. I need that phone.”