Mad About You

moves?"
    Ladden's face flamed next to his white shirt. He loosened his tie and looked away. "Yeah."
    "You mean it lies on the floor and vibrates?"
    "Not exactly."
    "Then what, exactly?"
    "I hung it on the wall, it fell down."
    Her shoulders sagged. "Is that all?"
    "Then I put it on some trunks and it moved to a table, then to a doorway. I rolled it up and set it in a corner, and it moved to the showroom."
    Incredulous, she asked, "You actually saw this rug levitate and move around?"
    "No—I turned my back and the next thing I knew, the rug was somewhere other than where I left it."
    "Okay, now you're scaring me," she said, holding up a hand and attempting a laugh.
    "Gene said it was a magic carpet."
    "We're back to Gene again?"
    Pressing the heels of his hands into his temples, he said, "It sounds insane—I'm just telling you what I know."
    She ticked off the situation on her fingers. "So far we have an old copper lamp, a mysterious earthquake, a man who claims to be a genie who is shadowing both of us, two so-called wishes that have been 'granted,' a disappearing note, a missing newspaper headline, and a flying carpet."
    Ladden said nothing.
    She angled her head at him, her heart expanding. "Is this what you were leading up to this morning when you asked me if I believed in magic?"
    He looked away and didn't answer for so long, she stepped toward him.
    "Ladden?"
    "I wanted to tell someone," he ground out. "Forget it, Jasmine, if I had the money, I'd commit myself."
    Even as she tried to think of comforting words, Jasmine experienced a disturbing realization: She couldn't bear to see Ladden so unhappy. "Hey," she said, reaching around to touch his arm, "everyone feels crazy at one time or another." Muscle moved beneath her fingers and the soft cotton of his shirt as he turned toward her.
    "I'm sorry you were dragged into this," he said quietly, his brown eyes serious. A shadow of whiskers darkened his jaw at this late hour, and he looked unbelievably handsome with his black hair curling around the stark white collar of his shirt. She couldn't pull her gaze from his.
    "Looks like we'll be here for a while," she murmured, all too aware they were only an arm's length apart. A slow, sensual song was wafting from the intercom, echoing off the hard, flat surfaces in the small room.
    "How's your blister?" he asked with a soft smile.
    Jasmine blinked and dragged her gaze down to inspect her foot, wriggling it. "Fine, without shoes."
    "Fine enough to dance?"
    Surprised, she looked up, her breath catching in her throat.
    "I’m a little rusty," he said quickly, "but I'll do my best not to tread on your toes."
    She searched his eyes and saw warm affection shining in their depths. She told herself she shouldn't—she couldn't—accept a dance from a man she knew had a crush on her, a crush that had somehow led to several strange events, which together now posed a threat to Trey's reelection. Yet even as she mentally reviewed the list of reasons to say no, she stepped closer and shyly lifted her left arm to his shoulder, then waited for him to clasp her right hand.
    He smiled, then angled his body toward hers, gently taking her hand and sweeping her into a slow, sweet waltz. Yet even with the chaste distance between their bodies, Jasmine's skin burned where his hand curved around her waist and where his palm met hers. With perfect timing and a light touch, he led her around the close room in small circles.
    "Where did you learn to dance?"
    "In Aunt Silvie's kitchen," he said. "But I warn you—I can't talk and count at the same time."
    She laughed and leaned into him involuntarily. Without missing a beat, he took up the slack and reduced the distance between them.
    "You look very nice," she said, and meant it.
    "You," he said quietly, "are breathtaking. Unfortunately, I can't stare and count at the same time either."
    Relaxing further into him, she told herself she shouldn't be having such a good time, but she didn't want it to end. Without warning, the waiter's words, which she hadn't given much thought to at the time, came back to her. Beyond those trees, you will find what you are looking for.
    Jasmine looked into Ladden's eyes, which were too honest to hide his desire for her. Her breasts grew taut and her thighs warmed in response. Had she? Had she found what she was looking for? Or was theirs simply a strong physical attraction, elevated by their odd circumstances and sudden proximity. The song faded to an end. Their