Annette Blair (7 page)

Jason opened his notebook with a hard flick of his wrist. “Had this talk,” he said. “Didn’t appreciate it then.
Don’t
appreciate it now. Moving on.”

JASON
took the sofa opposite Kira while she reviewed her notes. An art deco coffee table stood between them, but he suspected that a referee would be a smarter bet.

Over the next hour they discussed the Rainbow’s Edge Ghost tour, disagreeing often.

The last time he felt this exhilarated, Jason thought, he was gearing up for a championship game.

The ghost tour quarrel led them to his giving the boys at St. Anthony’s hockey lessons, over which they outright battled, Jason playing offense loudly, Kira playing defense brilliantly.

“Bottom line,” she said. “They’re boys in need, and you’re an adult who can help them. So, you’ve been benched for a while. Tough cookies. Suck it up.”

With those words, she’d kept him from scoring. The game ended at one-to-nothing in her favor. Jason was beginning to see his coordinator in a whole new light, while trying not to imagine her in a lot less clothes.

His luck. He had himself a sexy “witch” with a brain, a heart, and a smart mouth.

She argued for the sake of the boys, for foundation ethics and good planning, which could only spell success in the end. He’d never admit she was right, but he respected the hell out of her feisty spirit.

By the time they finished, Jason felt justly pleased with his first day’s work. He’d survived an invigorating battle of wits, and made strides to benefit both the foundation and the boys at St. Anthony’s, but not without the witch’s annoyingly excellent input.

She was right, damn it. Hockey lessons would be good for the boys.

Every clock chimed six as he stood in the dim upper hall of Castleton Court locking his office door, satisfied and impressed with his adversarial coordinator, while she locked her own door, twenty feet away.

Gram had chosen well. Kira Fitzgerald knew special events, and Jason could already tell that she gave her work 110 percent, even if it meant being a pain in the ass.

They discussed their projects as they walked through the mansion, parting at the base of Castleton Court’s sweeping staircase. Jason headed for his Hummer, in a reserved spot out front, Kira, for her car in the employee lot out back.

He arrived at Cloud Kiss and headed for the family garage while she drove around the house to park out back. They met at the elevator and rode up together.

The dim, Gilded Age old box had always reminded him of a canary cage, still bearing the fussy traces of its era, though its guts were now state of the art. The scents of nutmeg, cinnamon, and apples permeated the air inside. “This goes down to the kitchen,” Jason said. “I’m guessing Rose baked apple strudel today.”

Kira chuckled. “No wonder I’m always starving when I walk into my apartment.”

“Good day,” Jason said.

“Is that a good-bye,” she asked, “or an observation?”

Jason shook his head at her nonsense. “An observation, and you may as well take it as a compliment.”

The witch clapped a hand to her heart. “Such exalted praise. I’m all aflutter.” Her emerald eyes danced.

He could drown in those eyes, Jason thought, eyes as green as a stormy sea, a good way to describe Kira’s sudden presence in his life. A storm. A wreaker of havoc . . . and magic.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped onto the fourth floor, its black-and-white diamond-shaped tiles gleaming.

Their respective “front” doors, at opposite ends of the family apartment, opened to foyers and living rooms. The “back” door sat between the two and led to the neutral zone, their dreaded community kitchen.

That
door, they avoided like the penalty box. He’d starve before he’d breach the sanctum that separated them, and he thought she might, too.

When she turned her key in her lock, their gazes caught and slipped away. Jason bit off an invitation to supper as she disappeared inside. A narrow escape, but at least
he
could go down and beg from Gram.

An hour later he regarded the witch across the linen-covered expanse of Gram’s long, polished mahogany dining table, with its gargoyle-carved chairs that had scared him until he was seven.

“Isn’t this cozy?” Gram said. Like a queen, she presided, while Jason faced his nemesis in black. On Kira, tights and an oversize hoodie looked sexy, because her zipper stopped at her ample cleavage, and she wasn’t wearing a blouse . . . maybe not even a bra.

Jason fumbled and dropped his fork.

Her red curls fought their confinement, as unruly as the witch herself, while her haphazard ponytail made her look young and innocent. Hah!

Not having expected her presence, Jason felt gauche and embarrassed in faded gray sweats with a hole in one knee. “I would have dressed,” he said sharply, “if I’d known we were having company.”

Gram squeezed Kira’s hand, taking the bite out of his words.

“Our Kira’s not company.”

He hadn’t meant to be rude and she wasn’t theirs. She lived in a world of magic wands and—“Wait!” He skewered the witch with a look. “Where’s your wand?”

She whipped the man-drooper from her pocket and held it up.

Jason raised a staying hand. “Stop!”

The wand-bearer froze, mocking him.

“Now put it on the table where I can see it,” he said. “Nice and slow, no false moves or sudden swishes.”

Eyes twinkling dangerously, Kira did as she was told.

“What was that all about?” Gram asked.

Jason cut his steak. “I don’t want her waving it under the table when I’m not looking.”

Laughter burst from Kira, the first Jason had heard, and she couldn’t seem to stop any more than he could look away.

Napkin to her lips, the witch’s eyes were as bright as the amusement she failed to suppress.

Gram looked pleased by her display.

And him? Well, he was straight-out bewitched, or enchanted . . . or both, damn it. He’d move out tomorrow, he was so spooked, except that Gram would be hurt if he did.

He now had proof of two things. Kira hadn’t waved her wand beneath the table, because everything down there worked fine, thank you very much. And this was indeed going to be a long, hard six months.

THE
following morning Kira noted the difference between Goddard’s ebony Hummer and Billy’s exotic toy
cars, which gave her a bit of insight into her new boss. For one thing, she suspected that a scratch would not put Jason into cardiac arrest, which is what she’d always suspected would happen if one of Billy’s cars got maliciously keyed.

“Is this the only vehicle you own?” she asked as they drove toward Rainbow’s Edge.

“You like the Court Jester’s stable of cars, do you?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I do.”

“Well, sorry, but this is what I drive, and it’s the only vehicle in my garage, besides the Zamboni, of course.”

“Of course.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I wouldn’t mind taking a spin on the big Z someday, though. Can you drive it?”

He gave her a double take. “Who else? Gram?”

She was comfortable in his company today, Kira thought, relaxed.

“I’m sorry about dinner last night,” he said, surprising her. “For acting as if you were unwelcome. I was embarrassed for dressing like a slob.”

“I liked you as a slob. I like a guy in torn sweats better than a super-jock stud.” She could curl into Jason the slob, and sleep . . . or not.

He perked up. “Stud?”

“Did I say stud? I meant dud.”

He chuckled. “So,” he said, hanging a right turn. “Do you own a pair of skates or do we have to buy you a pair?”

“Skates?”

“You’re helping me give hockey lessons, right?”

“Who? Me? I haven’t seen a hockey game since my twenty-six-year-old brother quit playing in high school. I thought I’d sit on the sidelines, kiss the boys’ boo-boos, and hand out hot chocolate and . . . tissues.”

“Some of those boys are no more than babies, so you’ll have to wipe their noses
for
them, and anything else that needs wiping, and that’s strictly written under
your
job description. I’m not happy about giving hockey lessons, but I am resigned. Gram gets what Gram wants. And I get an assistant who’s gonna pay for her bright idea with grunt work up the Zamboni, got that?”

“I’m shivering in my sandals.”

“You think you’re sassing me, don’t you? But you’re shivering because it’s fifty degrees outside. Aren’t your feet cold?”

“I like sandals. My feet can breathe in them. I like being barefoot better; makes me feel rooted to the earth. I can’t even stand to have my feet covered when I sleep,” she added. “The Penis said I was hot-blood—”

Jason did a double take, and Kira realized her statement could be taken two ways. She shrugged. Let him think what he wanted. She’d already admitted to being an Ice Maiden.

Jason regarded her so long, she was afraid he’d drive off the road. “Hot blood is good,” he finally said. “You won’t mind the ice time. We’ll buy you a pair of skates.”

“Fine.” Kira bit her lip, wondering whether to confess her shortcomings or let him find out for himself. “If I could skate.”

“What? Did you have a deprived childhood or something?” Jason sighed. “I guess I’ll have to teach you, but you should watch a couple of hockey games with me, too, so I can give you pointers. Here we are.”

“Crap!”

“What?” he said again. “You don’t want to hunt ghosts today?” He put the Hummer in Park.

They were already at Rainbow’s Edge? That was fast, she thought.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

She huffed. “I never thought watching
sports
would be part of my job description. Yuck.”

“Just hockey, no baseball.”

She faced him in the seat. “How did you know? Bessie
can’t remember the dick-wad’s name, never mind what he did for a living. How did you know he was a ballplayer?”

“I went through your stinking trashcan yesterday, all right? I was nosy. I think it was the penis thing. I’d like to keep mine in good working order, if you don’t mind.”

Kira snorted. “Going through my personal possessions was
not
a good way to begin.”

“It was trash,” Jason said. “I might be wrong, but I don’t think trash is considered private property.”

“Crap,” Kira said, laying her head back and closing her eyes. “You know everything. I’m such a loser.”

“Why? Because Tillinghast couldn’t keep it in his pants? Please. He was compensating for his other shortcomings. He’s never gonna move up from the minors. Everybody in sports knows that. He’ll be off the farm team and out of Pawtucket in less than a year.”

That cheered Kira big time. “Really?” She couldn’t keep from grinning.

“What’s with Dick-wad, by the way? I thought you called him the Penis.”

“Hey, give me a break, thinking up crud names for the scum-sucker is the only pleasure I have left.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Jason said, putting his weight on his good leg as he got out of the Hummer. He grabbed his cane, then came around to open her door.

“A gentleman wolf,” she said. “Retro.”

“Remember that the next time you’re tempted to point your wand.”

“You really aren’t spooked, or turned off, by the fact that I’m a witch, are you?”

“Only insofar as the well-being of my penis is concerned. I don’t judge nor do I appreciate being judged. Besides,
fascinated
would be a better assessment, about your witch status, I mean, but don’t let it go to your head. Gram told me you’ve sworn off men, and I’m here to tell you that
I’ve sworn off women, which in my estimation makes our working relationship perfect.”

“Commitment-phobia? No kidding,” she said. “Now, there’s a cause I can get behind.”

“I get the distinct feeling you’re pleased to hear it, unlike every other woman in my memory.”

Kira extended her hand. “Welcome to the club.”

“But you were engaged and about to be married.”

“Yeah, engaged and screwed over. That’s why I joined the club. It was a close call, and I am
not
going there again.”

“Got it,” Jason said. “Great.”

Kira looked up at Rainbow’s Edge. “Thirty rooms,” she said. “Hard to believe it’s the foundation’s smallest mansion. I love it, though.”

“Pure Gothic Revival,” Jason said. “Our only mansion made of wood. Nate Winthrop, who built it, was a true visionary. This was open farmland, but Nate saw its potential and bought the land to the sea. He used to watch his ships sailing to and from the Orient.”

“Then why is that house standing between the Edge and the ocean?”

“You said you read the history.”

“Of this place, not that one.”

“One of Winthrop’s heirs sold the land to maintain his opulent lifestyle.”

“How long have we owned the Edge?”

“Bessie started the foundation to acquire this house in the early sixties to keep it from being torn down. She fixed it, gave tours herself, and discovered she could preserve history and support St. Anthony’s at the same time. Thus her crusade to acquire more houses was born. Since this is your first visit,” Jason said, “I’ll give you the grand tour.”