The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (22 page)

Gideon frowned, pausing in his route toward the hall leading to his office, just as Gideon Senior came barreling from the back, moving much faster than his grandson had seen him move in years. “Gideon! What happened? Is everything all right? I just saw you pull into your parking place.”

“Yes, everything is fine. Why do you ask?” He looked at the others—Mrs. Montgomery, who looked concerned, Claire, who looked extremely wide-eyed and innocent, and his grandfather, who seemed to be fighting a grin.

“It’s nine-thirty—we were worried about you.”

“I know what time it is,” Gideon replied, suddenly feeling the weight of their stares.

“But you’re over two hours late,” his grandfather continued, rubbing his hands together as if pleased about something.

“Two hours late? The office opens at nine, I didn’t have anything going on—what’s the problem?” He began to edge toward the hall, suddenly desperate to escape to his office.

“You’re always the first one here,” Mrs. Montgomery said earnestly. “Seven o’clock, sure as the sun rises, you’re here. We were afraid something had happened to you!”

Gideon began to feel even more uncomfortable. “I decide to come in late one day and you automatically assume something’s wrong?”

“I even tried to call you on your cell phone to see if you were all right, but all I got was voice mail,” his grandfather added, watching him closely.

Gideon’s neck heated. “I—uh—forgot to charge it overnight.”

That wasn’t the only thing he’d forgotten in the whirlwind of lust and emotion last evening. Thank God Fiona explained later—after he’d re-gathered his brain and put some sense back into it—that she was on the pill, or his forgetting the condom would really have been a problem.

Gideon shook his head, stepping away from the group. That was so unlike him—he was always prepared, always thinking ahead.

“—was just getting ready to come over and check on you,” Gideon Senior was saying.

Gideon jerked to look at him, suddenly immensely grateful that Fiona had hustled him out the door so she could get to her shop before he coaxed her back to bed again. Having his grandfather show up and finding Fiona there would only open a huge can of worms. No, a basket of rattlesnakes would be more like it.

Was that a damn twinkle in the old man’s eyes?

“Why didn’t you just call me on the land line?” he asked, his voice short and annoyed. He managed a few more steps before his grandfather replied.

“I tried, but no one answered.”

The flush rose up Gideon’s neck and over the back of his skull. He must have called while they were in the shower. The heat intensified as he remembered the short exchange afterward with Fiona, and he had to firm his lips in order to keep from grinning like a schoolboy.

She’d stepped out of the shower, her hair a mass of sexy, wet zigzags plastered to her head and neck. A smile quirked her face when she caught his reflection in the mirror. “Somehow I pictured you as a Norelco man.”

Gideon allowed a grin to curve his lips, taking care not to crinkle the skin he was shaving. “No, I’ve always been a blade man.” He smoothed his fingers and thumb over his chin. “Much closer shave.”

Fiona wrapped her towel closer around her, and stepped over to touch his chin. “Mmm. Yes, I see what you mean.” Her hand slid from his chin down to the damp mat of hair on his chest, sending a renewed wave of heat through him.

He pulled her closer and her other hand came up to wrap around his neck. The thick towel slipped away, crumpling to the floor, and suddenly, they were skin to skin.

Something his grandfather was saying forced Gideon’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“—skeleton in the closet.”

“What? How did you know about that?”

The older man crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Not too difficult when it was on the six o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven o’clock, and early morning news. Not to mention all over Yahoo! and MSNBC.com. Weren’t you watching?”

That did it. Gideon tossed a last annoyed, faintly embarrassed glare at his grandfather and stalked off to his office. He thought for sure he heard a snort of laughter just before he slammed his door.

He sat at his desk, turning to the credenza behind him to flip on the laptop someone had had the wherewithal to turn off yesterday. The computer sizzled and hummed as it booted up, and Gideon moved back to the stack of files on his desk that had to be attended to.

He opened the first beige file folder and began to peruse the contract, looking for anything that might be a problem for his client.

What a night.

The thought popped into his head, right in the middle of a clause about indemnification, and he smiled. Actually, it was more of a goofy grin than a smile.

The words on the page in front of him faded away as he sat there, smirking like a fool, remembering…. It was only the chime on his computer indicating that he had email that pulled him back into the present.

Gideon shook his head and closed the file folder. He could look at that later. He spun in his chair to face the laptop and began to work his away through the programs to open his email.

He got through the first three messages, memories and sensations from sharing his bed with Fiona hovering in another layer of his consciousness. Then he remembered what she’d said about his drawings.

The warmth curling in his middle expanded, seeping up into his throat and heating his face—like he was a high school kid who’d just made the honor roll
and
was receiving kudos from the sexiest teacher at school.

She liked them.

She loved them.

She wanted him to sell them.

His thoughts plummeted. There was no way he was going down that path. It was certain to lead to trouble. He’d lose focus at the office, he’d spend all his time drawing, sleeping, drinking—trying to find that combination that would give him his Big Break, his Breakout—wealth and fame….

Foolish man. He let his forehead sink into his palm.

He wasn’t his father…but he could be. Very easily.

There was no chance of that. He wouldn’t do that to himself, or to his grandfather. He had to stay on the straight and narrow—work hard, be successful, find a woman to marry—maybe—in five years or so….

But his art.

“It has nothing to do with…Us.”

He’d spoken aloud, and without meaning to, he’d capitalized them, making it official. That, at least, he had no qualms about—no qualms whatsoever.

Damn. He wanted to see her again—tonight—five-year plan or no.

~*~

What if he wanted to see her again? Soon?

Fiona dragged a hand through her hair, yanking mercilessly through the thick curls. She sat at her desk in the middle of Charmed Antiquity, examining—or, rather, trying to keep her mind on examining—some bills of sale from the open house.

She pushed away the warm, mellow feeling that crept over her when she thought about lying in bed next to Gideon, touching his smooth, sweaty skin after making love with him. This was so very unlike her—to dwell on the memory, to think of nothing but a man. Her mother would be so displeased. Frowning, Fiona drummed her fingers on the glass-topped desk and glanced up at Dylan, who was humming something perky and irritating.

He flicked a lambs wool duster over the top of a buffet, then whisked it down a corner étagère, barely touching the shelves and certainly not disturbing any dust that might have collected there. Fiona sighed, glad to have some distraction from her terrifying thoughts, and pulled to her feet from behind the desk. An expert on priceless furnishings, yes, he was. An adequate shop-cleaner he was not.

“Dylan, I’ll finish that if you want to check in the back and finish uncrating that big box.” She took the duster and went over to re-dust the buffet and étagère.

“They sure made a mess back there,” he commented, running a hand over his perfect blond hair.

Fiona noticed the natural bulge of his bicep, and allowed her attention to wander over the rest of his very trim, very buff body. Now why couldn’t she be attracted to someone like Dylan—easy-going, laid-back, pleasant, and not overly bright…someone who didn’t have the capability of expecting too much from her, of representing a world that she didn’t like and didn’t want to live in…who wasn’t so much like her father?

“You ought to send the police department a bill for the mess they made,” he continued, smoothing his hand down over his chest and abdomen.

Fiona shook her head—in disgust with herself as much as with Dylan’s blithe suggestion. “I guess when you find a fifty-year-old body in someone’s establishment, they don’t expect you to mind them destroying the place.”

Charmed Antiquity had remained closed today because it had taken until well after lunch for the two of them to clear out the mess that was left behind from yesterday’s investigation by the police, and also because of the news and public interest generated by the finding of the skeleton.

Curiosity-seekers had already had their noses pressed to the slightly-dusty windows when Fiona arrived that morning. She’d been so high in her clouds that she hadn’t noticed the small cluster of people around the front door until she came around the front to change the sign.

Calls poured in from reporters, and the six o’clock news stopped by for an interview during the midst of Fiona’s and Dylan’s cleaning rampage. Although she was the proprietress, Fiona was more than happy to allow Dylan to handle most of the interview—as the reporter was female and unable to hide her obvious attraction to the blond hunk. The more publicity and attention the shop got, the better it would be.

Just as she slid the lambs wool duster onto a discreet shelf near the middle of the shop, a loud rattling at the front door caught her attention. She jerked up to look at the impatient, insistent customer and saw a tall figure half-shadowed by the covered alcove. Her heart leapt before she could stop it, and Fiona had to plant her feet firmly on a faded wool rug to keep from skipping to the door.

Gideon.

Quelling her anticipation and pleasure that he had, indeed, wanted to see her again, even though it went against her very grain to wish for that, she sauntered casually to the front door. She had every intention of throwing open the door and saying, “Can’t you read the sign? The shop’s closed,” and giving a coy smile. Then he would sweep her into his arms for the kiss he’d been waiting for all day….

It wasn’t Gideon.

“Barnaby?” Fiona opened the door to the politician, ignoring the way her heart now sank to her knees. Of course it wasn’t Gideon.

“Fiona. Can I come in?”

As her brain processed that it wasn’t Gideon, but Barnaby, standing there outside her front door, Fiona blinked, then realized the chain-lock kept the door from opening all the way.

She pushed the door shut, her antsy stomach settling from its bubbling anticipation, and slipped the clattering chain from its mooring, then pulled the door wide.

“Hi Barnaby. Guess you heard about my little surprise, hmm?” She adjusted the wide, paisley scarf she was using as a headband, then gestured for him to come in.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw it in the news.” His attention skittered over her as though he was assessing her reaction to the situation. “You should have called me,” he berated gently.