The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (10 page)

He hadn’t contacted her himself since then because…well, because he’d assumed he wouldn’t have to. He’d never had to chase a woman before. That was one thing—about the only thing besides their name—he and his no-good father had in common.

Gideon’s mouth tightened there in the darkness and he felt uncomfortable with his own honesty. He smoothed his thumbs through the hair on his chest, suddenly remembering the warm weight of her hands splayed over his shirt. Apparently, she was playing hard to get. After all, she had kissed him back just as passionately as he’d done to her.

His brows knit together and he shifted his legs, trying to ignore his body’s reaction to a mere memory. He was tired of playing games. Tomorrow, he’d pay her a visit.

~*~

The lamp was on when Fiona let herself into the shop on Sunday.

She’d dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt and pulled her hair up in order to do some heavy cleaning in preparation for a grand re-opening. But when she saw the light on, all thoughts of what she would accomplish that day vanished.

The lamp’s glow was visible from the front of the store. Setting her heavy leather bag down, Fiona started toward the little alcove, her heart thumping solidly in her chest.

Indeed, there it was. The lamp was on, sending a small circle of light that followed the angles of the heavy walnut desk and the darkly-paneled wall behind it.

The stillness of the shop ate into her bones, but this time, there was no chilly draft to raise the hair on her neck. She saw neither hide nor hair of Gretchen, but the shade wasn’t askew today. Only the light was on, on the lamp she’d made certain to turn off—
and unplug
—before leaving the day before.

Then, suddenly, it struck her.

Great laughter welled up inside her, suddenly bubbling forth and echoing off the high ceiling and brick walls. Fiona laughed so hard, tears sprang to her eyes and her middle hurt. She laughed with humor, with awe, and, mostly, with relief.

She’d been had.

“All right, you all. You finally got me!” she exclaimed, wiping the tears from her eyes and leaning against the desk in relief. “This is the best joke ever!” She rubbed her hand over her jaw, knowing there was no one about to hear her—unless they’d also arranged for a video camera, which was more than possible. She would call Chris and give her the news that Fiona had been had…had been toppled from her throne of jokedom.

As she pushed herself upright, away from the desk, she was already mulling a way to reclaim her title. But first, she had to see how they did it.

“They’ve got to have some kind of remote control or battery on this thing,” she murmured, pushing the heavy chair out of the way so that she could step closer to the desk.

She could see that it wasn’t plugged in, so she pulled on the pull cord.

The light didn’t change.

It burned, steadily, mockingly. There was no sign of a battery pack anywhere in the base of the lamp. There was nothing that could be construed as a remote control receiver either. The Lamp was just…
on.

As this realization sunk in, Fiona felt as though she’d been plunged into freezing water—for a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t react. A blast, a full-fledged
gust,
of chill wind blasted over her, rifling the top of her hair.

She backed away from the alcove, moving toward the front of the shop. The smell of roses and cold, staleness purged through her and the chill in the air froze her fingers.

Without looking back, without even hesitating, she opened the door. The tinkling of the bells above barely registered as she rushed through the front door and slammed into something solid.

Chapter Five

Fiona plowed into Gideon with such force that the breath was knocked out of him.

His hands slid up from her elbows to grasp her upper arms, steadying her as she lost her balance. She looked up, her face pinched and white, her eyes startled and disoriented as she tried to brush past him.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” he demanded.

The frantic look in her eyes lessened and she seemed to focus on him. When she just stared, obvious bewilderment making her speechless, he set her aside and pushed through the door, into the shop.

It was dim inside. The only illumination came from the front windows, which, he noted, were still in need of a good cleaning. A faint scent of lemon polish filled his nostrils, but was overwhelmed by the dust and staleness of the shop and its contents. He tripped over the heavy leather bag that lay on its side just inside the doorway. The hair on the back of his neck lifted and tension settled over him, his muscles taut and ready as he started toward the back of the shop.

Could she have been attacked? Was there someone lying in wait?

Whatever it was, it had terrified her.

Several feet into the store, he felt a presence behind him and turned to find that Fiona had slipped into his wake. “Are you all right?” he asked, pausing to look down at her. He noted her slim-fitting jeans and curve-hugging t-shirt with appreciation.

She looked less shell-shocked, although her gaze continued to leap around without landing anywhere. “I’m fine. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What happened?”

Now, her gaze settled over his shoulder, anchored toward the back of the shop. “There was a light on when I came in today,” she replied. “I had turned them all off when I left last evening. But there was one on today. And there isn’t a timer on it.”

Gideon frowned, looking about again. This was not a safe place for a young woman alone. South Street could get a little crazy sometimes. “Was someone here? Was something stolen?”

He saw the slim column of her neck—bare except for a few tendrils of hair that had escaped from the high pony-tail she wore—convulse as she swallowed. “No. No, no one was here. Nothing’s been taken that I can see. But the lamp…”

“You’re certain you switched it off? Maybe the cat turned it on accidentally.” He turned to look toward the back of the store, where her gaze seemed to be glued. “Which lamp? Let me take a look at it.”

When he swiveled back toward her, wariness had replaced the uncertainty on her face. “That must have been it,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. “The cat.”

“Which lamp?” he persisted, sensing there was something she was not telling him. “Maybe I can take a look at it—”

“No. That’s all right, really. It’s…not on anymore.”

Fiona turned resolutely to the front of the store, trying to control her churning stomach. The lamp had turned off since she went barreling out of the shop, and there was no sense in telling Gideon what she had seen…what she had felt. He’d listen to two sentences from her, then be ready to admit her to the funny farm.

H. Gideon Nath the Third was not the kind of person who believed in the metaphysical. Fiona wasn’t sure she was herself, but she knew he wasn’t.

Passing a hand over her face, she bit her lip and took staunch steps on, away from the eerie alcove and toward the front door. Gideon must be following behind her…what would she tell him if he persisted?

He already thought she was a total flake, and the desire to needle him further had vanished at about the same moment his lips had touched hers three days earlier. To be honest, she would rather just stay away from him…far away from the danger this rigid, pretentious, self-assured, intelligent, handsome, passionate man portended.

He must have sensed she felt awkward about the situation, for he asked no further questions about the incident, although the look in his steely grey eyes was sharp. Instead, he seemed to become a bit self-conscious when they reached the entrance to the shop.

Fiona busied herself turning on the lights. Somehow her terror had vanished since she was no longer alone. It occurred to her to ask why he’d come, but, for the moment, all her scattered mind could handle was the mundane task of flipping light switches, pulling on lamp cords, and turning metal knobs.

Gideon wandered aimlessly, hands stuck in his pockets, appearing to examine the various furnishings that crowded the floor. She noticed that he was wearing dark mahogany slacks with a perfect crease down each leg, a linen shirt under a jacket, and fine leather shoes. Ever the GQ-professional.

Her mouth quirked. Obviously, her panic was subsiding if she were able to notice such details. At that moment, he directed his attention at her, catching her bemused expression.

“Is something amusing?” he asked, walking toward where she stood by the messy desk in the center of the shop.

As he drew his hands from the pockets, she noticed again how fine they were—how solid and square and masculine, the long slimness of his fingers, and how smooth and rounded his nails were. They were beautiful hands, and, she remembered in a split second of recall, they had been all over her body only days ago. A shiver jetted up her spine, but she ignored it and chose to respond to his question.

“I was just wondering if that was your way of dressing down,” she smiled, looking pointedly up and down his clothing. “Do you even own a pair of jeans? What about shorts?”

He looked down at his garb in surprise. “This is casual,” he replied, then, as he looked back up at her, his gaze lingering over her plain white t-shirt and jeans, a sudden, devastating smile flashed over his face. “Ah. I see your point.”

Fiona had to steady herself by leaning against the desk, taking care not to knock off a pile of papers. How could anyone who seemed so imposing and rigid become so gorgeous with only a smile? And how could the mere weight of his gaze cause such a surge of heat through her?

“You know,” she said flippantly, “you should smile more often. It makes you seem much more human.” She turned away before her meltdown could become obvious, and busied herself by straightening a stack of handwritten purchase requisitions that were scattered on the desk.

As she nonchalantly reached for a pen, she felt his presence close in behind her. Fiona jerked and nearly knocked the phone off its stand as he spoke, purring into her ear, his breath wafting warmly over her bare neck. “Aren’t you wondering why I came by?”

“To save me from the phantom lamp?” she replied lightly, moving away so that he couldn’t hear the thundering of her heart.

“No.”

That simple word hung there—deep, husky, radiating layers and layers of meaning—and caused a shiver to work its way along her arm, raising goose bumps in its path. If nothing else, he was patient, for it was Fiona who finally turned to face him after an impossibly long silence.

“For what then?” But she didn’t need to ask the question, for the narrowing of his silvery eyes and the tautness of his fine mouth spoke volumes.

“Surely you don’t expect to walk away from a kiss like the one we had without wondering what more there could be?” Arrogance laced his words as his eyes traveled the length of her body.

Fiona allowed her brows to rise and a smile to quirk her lips as heat flooded her body. “Kiss?” she said, teasing, trying to appear unruffled. “I don’t remember any—”

Suddenly she was in his arms and the rest of her words were smothered by his very skillful, very adamant mouth. With a sigh of capitulation—for she had wondered if it had, indeed, been as good as she remembered—Fiona sagged against his solid body, sliding her hands up into the thick waves of his hair.

As lips fit to lips—tasting, caressing, slip-sliding—his hands formed to her body, smoothing down the length of her back to cup her rear, pulling her up and to him so that she was in no doubt of his arousal. A sharp pang of desire low in her groin bloomed into tingling, sparkling heat, and she pressed back into Gideon, sliding her hands to his shoulders, savoring the taste of him.