Tapestries 05 - Embroidered Fantasies

Embroidered Fantasies

N.J. Walters

Fifth in the Tapestries series.

Roxanne Sykes is a divorced waitress, trying to carve a life for herself after escaping an abusive marriage. Her quiet life is shattered when her ex-husband finds her. Before he can harm her, a magical tapestry whisks her away. She finds herself in a strange land, in the presence of a man straight from her erotic dreams.

Radnor Craddock’s life has been one of violence and brutality. He never expected the tapestry of Javara lore would bring a woman to him and his brother, Sednar. They only have three days to try to convince Roxanne to stay, and both use their considerable seductive skills to do so.

The erotic encounters are like nothing Roxanne has ever experienced. Yet she cannot trust her judgment. After all, she married a man who abused her. Then there are the dark hints and innuendoes of the Craddocks’ violent pasts. But when her ex-husband threatens her, Radnor and Sednar risk their lives to save her. Will she leave them? Or stay and claim these wounded warriors as her own?

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Embroidered Fantasies

ISBN 9781419924569

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Embroidered Fantasies Copyright © 2010 N.J. Walters Edited by Shannon Combs

Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book publication March 2010

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

N.J. Walters

Thank you to all the fans of the Tapestries series. You all keep asking for more and I can’t seem to stop writing them.

As always, my thanks to my husband, who inspires me daily with his love and support.

Trademarks Acknowledgment

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Dorothy: Turner Entertainment Co.

The Wizard of Oz: Turner Entertainment Co.

Roxanne Sykes stood in the middle of the crowded field and smiled. Such a small feat for most people but such a huge one in her world. There was a time when she’d thought she might never feel happy again.

Her smile faltered. She would not think about him. Not now. She summoned all her mental strength and pushed all thoughts of her ex-husband and her life with him into the dark recesses of her mind. He was in prison and couldn’t hurt her. Not any longer.

She now lived life on her own terms, doing what she wanted, when she wanted. And right now her plan was to enjoy the gigantic flea market spread in front of her like an exotic feast for the senses.

Michael would never have allowed her to go to such an event. Buying other people’s garbage, he called it. Not that her ex-husband had either taste or style. He’d figured a large-screen television and a leather sofa held together with duct tape was the height of decorating.

“Stop it,” she muttered. She didn’t want to think about her ex. The day was warm but not too hot. There was a breeze off the ocean that kept it cool enough to be enjoyable.

She checked her purse for the tenth time. She had one hundred dollars she’d saved in tip money from her waitress job at Joe’s Diner to spend on anything she wanted. It was all for her. Hugging her purse closer to her body, she merged with the crowd.

Artwork was on her list of things to look for today. Over the past year, she’d managed to furnish her small efficiency apartment with flea market and thrift store finds. She’d sanded and painted a bistro table and two chairs, and refinished a bookshelf, coffee table and an end table. She’d also refurbished a davenport, which doubled as both a couch and a bed. She’d collected a variety of dishes and cookware.

Every item she’d chosen had suited one criteria—she liked it.

She took a deep breath and her nose caught several delicious aromas—sugar and deep-fried food. Shopping first, food after, she reminded herself. That was something else that had changed over the past year—she ate whatever she wanted. No more worrying about what Michael was going to say if he saw her eating something he didn’t approve of, which was just about everything. He liked his women model thin.

She’d always been naturally skinny, but for the first time in her life her hips actually had some curve to them. Her chest had never been a problem. She’d always had more than enough in that area.

Squaring her shoulders, she hitched her purse higher and waded into the fray, wandering up and down the long lines of vendors, searching for just the right pieces for her apartment.

6

Two hours later, she had a purple glass vase and a pink Depression glass bowl tucked safely in the cloth shopping bag she’d brought along to carry her treasures. Still nothing for her walls.

Her stomach growled, reminding her of her earlier promise to feed it. What did she want? There was so much to choose from. She contemplated a hot dog and French fries but she finally settled on a warm, soft cinnamon pretzel and an ice-cold lemonade. She juggled her purchases and food as she continued to roam through the long lines of sellers.

The pretzel filled the empty hole in her belly quite nicely and the lemonade quenched her thirst. When she was done, she located a garbage can and deposited the remains of her snack. It was time to get back to serious shopping.

Some people might find it lonely to shop by themselves. Roxanne loved it. There was a sense of freedom that came from having to please no one but herself. She could come and go as she pleased, spend as much time as she desired looking at an item.

Maybe someday down the road she’d want someone with her, either a friend or, heaven forbid, a boyfriend, but for now, she was more than content with her own company.

She reached the end of a long row of vendors and turned to head back up the other side. An elderly lady was situated on the corner with a smattering of items spread across a rickety table. It was impossible to tell her age. Her hair was snow white but her face was smooth and unlined. There was a timeless beauty about her, which was even more apparent when she smiled. “Morning.”

Roxanne was startled to realize it still was morning, just after eleven. She always lost track of time at the flea market. “Good morning,” she returned.

“What are you looking for today?”

Not wanting to be rude, Roxanne stopped and perused the woman’s items for sale.

“Nothing in particular. I’m searching for something to brighten up my apartment.” The older lady indicated a pile of dusty rugs in the corner behind her. “Maybe you’ll find something here.”

Roxanne didn’t think so but she decided she’d have a quick look to be polite and then move on. “Thanks.” She walked back to the stack of rugs and crouched down. Her purse bounced off her hip as she set the bag with her purchases on the ground. The rugs on top were dusty and old, but as she dug deeper, she found some that had true potential. She could attach hooks to it and hang it on a rod on her wall if she found something she liked. Instant art.

It took her a few minutes to work her way to the bottom of the stack. She had to move a dozen or so to one side to lighten the pile. Dust smudged her jeans and her T-shirt, but she didn’t mind. She’d dressed for comfort, not style. Flea marketing could be dirty business.

At the very bottom of the mound she hit the jackpot. A small tapestry, not bigger than about two by three, came into view. It was medieval in style. She pulled it closer and bent to examine it. A small castle sat in the middle of the piece, surrounded by 7

craggy mountains and a thick forest. It appeared dark and forbidding, yet she couldn’t look away.

It was the two men in front of the stone structure that caught her attention. They weren’t dressed in armor as she’d half expected them to be, but were naked from the waist up. No, that wasn’t quite true. They were wearing thick armbands and wristbands, which emphasized the massive muscles that corded their arms and chest.

Roxanne shivered as a cloud moved over the sun, momentarily obscuring it. She glanced over her shoulder, feeling as though someone was watching her. The elderly lady was serving another customer and everyone else was minding their own business.

It was only her imagination.

Her gaze was drawn back to the tapestry, or rather the men in the center of the piece. They each wore leather boots that came to just below their knees and tight leather pants that molded to their thighs. They were impressive, to say the least.

Each man had an enormous sword strapped to his waist. That was more like it. In a medieval-style tapestry, you expected to see a castle and men with swords. The colors were a bit faded but she liked the piece.

She picked it up and started to cough when a cloud of dust poofed up. Okay, maybe it wasn’t faded but dirty. She could work with that. Clutching it in her hands, she turned to the lady selling the items. “How much?” The woman squinted at the tapestry and shook her head. “You sure you want that old thing? There are nicer tapestries in the pile.” Roxanne’s hands tightened around the cloth. Now that she’d decided on it, she wanted it badly. “No!” Appalled at herself for yelling, she softened her voice and offered a smile. “I like this one.”

The woman smiled. “If you’re sure. There are no refunds.”

“Positive.” Roxanne picked up her shopping bag and headed toward the woman.

“How much?”

The elderly lady chewed on her bottom lip for a moment and Roxanne prayed she had enough money left in her purse. “Ten dollars.” Roxanne felt like celebrating, but a year of bargaining at flea markets and tag sales had taught her not to show her emotions. The price went up whenever a seller knew how badly you wanted something. Usually, she haggled. Today, she dug into her purse and drew out a rumpled ten-dollar bill. “Here you go.” She handed the money to the woman and stuffed the tapestry into her bag. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Concern was etched on the woman’s face. “Are you certain you want that particular one?”

Roxanne nodded and hurried away before the woman changed her mind. As she flowed back into the crowd, she thought she heard the woman whisper “good luck”.

8

Clouds continued to roll in, obscuring the sun. Roxanne shivered and decided to call it a day. She’d gotten a few items for her apartment. She’d come back again next week and try again.

That was part of the fun. The search for buried treasure. The never knowing when you’d find something you absolutely loved.

She walked to the edge of the grounds and was lucky enough to catch a bus almost immediately. She had to transfer once, but in record time she was exiting the second bus and starting the ten-minute walk to her apartment. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she didn’t think it was due to the pretzel she’d eaten. She couldn’t wait to get home and examine her newest finds, especially the tapestry.

The first raindrops hit her face just as she reached her destination. The four-story building was faded pink stucco with white trim. It had probably been beautiful once.

Today, it just looked worn and more than a little tired. But it was home.

She hurried up the short set of stairs and opened the door to the lobby, ignoring the chipped tiles and the peeling paint. The elevator was out of order—again—so she took the stairs. Thankfully, she only lived on the second floor. She pitied the folks who lived on the fourth.

Unlocking the door to her apartment, she pushed her way inside. It always gave her a small rush of pleasure no matter how many times she entered. She could see the entire place at a glance. A small table was situated to the left just inside the door and it was there she dumped her keys and purse. To the right sat the davenport, which was facing a bookshelf that was pushed up against the wall. A coffee table sat in front of the davenport and a small chair sat on the far end of what she called her living room.

Barely five feet from the end of her davenport, her bistro table and two chairs sat beneath the only window in the place. The kitchenette was off to the left. It was tiny, but she’d painted the entire room a cheerful yellow that made it seem brighter.