The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (6 page)

It was a very sunny day, and the result was that the shop did not seem as dim and still as it had on Friday. As well, the tenant’s shop next door was also open, and as Fiona fit her key into the lock of her own store, a pair of customers let themselves into Glad’s Rags, the fashionable clothing boutique that adjoined Antiques Shoppe.

Fiona frowned. She really did have to change the name of the establishment. Could it have a more boring name?

The little bell jingled overhead as she pushed the door open, and again that aged smell assailed her senses. Quickly turning on as many lights as possible in the front area, Fiona looked around, her heart thumping steadily in her throat.

Nothing seemed amiss, nor did the strange lamp appear to be illuminated in the back of the store. She walked further in, turning on more lights automatically, and soon the shop was aglow in the same manner it had been the first time she’d entered it.

Fiona left her heavy leather bag on the huge desk that was located partway back into the shop. It was still cluttered with papers, writing utensils, and the telephone, just as it had been the day she’d entered the store, seeking refuge from a storm. Clearing that off was one task she promised herself she’d handle today.

Strolling purposely past the desk, now, she continued to turn on lights without pause—to keep from thinking about that weird lamp. Even though she’d talked herself into several different explanations for it—a battery pack, most likely—Fiona still felt odd about the store and the light. There had to be an explanation for it. Her mother would say that it was just the energy from the shop, or her own aura…but, as much as she was her mother’s daughter, Fiona didn’t believe it was that simple.

When she made her way past the staircase and into the low-ceilinged portion of the shop, Fiona fixated on the lamp that squatted like an old toad.

It was an unexceptional piece. Stocky and white, the base had small nodules texturing its milk glass curves. The shade had faded to a yellowish satin, but the fringe that edged it was still white.

Fiona didn’t take her eyes from the lamp and was watching breathlessly to see if it would come on again when a faint jingle from the front of the store startled her.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Fiona pivoted in surprise, banging her shin on a heavy chest, and paused, wincing in pain. Stifling a groan, she called back, “I’ll be right with you!”

Limping slightly, trying to ignore the throb of pain in her leg, she hurried back to the front. On the way, she noticed the shards of porcelain from the clock she’d broken on her last visit, and knew she’d better find a broom somewhere soon.

When she reached the front, she was surprised to see the tall figure of Gideon Nath looming in the aisle. As usual, he was wearing a tie and an expensively cut suit, and he stood leaning casually against the doorway. He must have noticed that she favored her leg, for he asked, “Are you limping?” in that cut-to-the-chase, professional way of his.

“When you called out, you startled me so that I slammed my leg into the corner of a chest,” she told him, wondering what he was doing here. “Do you have more papers for me to sign?”

Gideon shook his head, then turned his gaze from her to span it around the shop. “I’ve only been in here once before. It looks like a fascinating place.”

Fiona looked at him in surprise. He seemed to be the last person who would find an old, musty shop like this fascinating. Antiques would be out of place in his life: he’d be all chrome and black and white decor, with smooth lines, sleek leather furniture, and perhaps red or cobalt accents throughout. The illumination in his high-rise condo, she imagined, would consist not of interesting lamps, but of recessed lighting, wall sconces, and halogen bulb lamps hanging from narrow black cords.

Abruptly, he returned his attention to her and caught her staring at him. Fiona looked away, controlling a smile, and jammed a hand through her thick hair to push it back from her face.

“I think you dropped something at my office the other day,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out her gold compact, proffering it to her.

Relief surged through her as she reached for it. “Oh, thank you so much for finding this! This was a gift from my grandmother—and I didn’t even know I’d lost it.”

She took the compact from his long fingers, noticing how warm it was from being in his pocket, and clutched it to her chest, heaving a sigh of relief. Her grandmother had died five years earlier, and this was her favorite keepsake from the fiery, outspoken woman.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here to return it, though.” She raised her eyes and found that he was looking at her with more than cordiality, and an unexpected warmth rumbled through her.

Gideon shifted his gaze away and straightened his stance—as if he could stand any taller—and said, “How about a tour of your place while I’m here? Are you open for business yet?”

“No. That’s why I was so startled when you came into the shop. I thought the sign said it was ‘Closed Due to Death’.” She smiled teasingly.

“I figured you’d be here, and I wasn’t sure the compact was yours.” He didn’t even crack a smile.

Fiona looked at him, tilting her head to one side. She wondered why he was so uncomfortable. “It was certainly nice of you to take the time from your busy schedule to stop by. I’d be happy to show you around, although, honestly, I haven’t seen the whole place myself yet. Come on back with me, won’t you?” She turned, gesturing for him to follow her toward the rear of the store.

Gideon shoved his hands into his pockets and walked behind her. He found that he was more interested in watching the shift and sway of her hips in the long, flowing skirt than in examining the shop’s wares.

That surprised him, because Fiona wasn’t at all the type of woman who normally caught his eye. She wasn’t polished or professional, her auburn hair looked like it reeked of static electricity.  He’d never seen it sleek and styled, and she wasn’t a sharp, ambitious businesswoman. She was as different from Leslie as a White Zinfandel was from an oak-barrel Chardonnay—or more like a fruit punch compared to a blush Moscato: colorful, sweet, and punchy—but not what one would serve to guests.

Yet, she had been drifting into his mind more often than she should…and he felt as though he had no choice but to try and figure out why.

Pulling his mind from those unfamiliar thoughts, Gideon forced himself to look around the shop more closely. It was rather intriguing, he admitted, with the glow of light and the ambience of history and age. Fiona led him past a large desk, where papers and writing utensils were scattered, and a telephone sat buried among them.

“What happened here?” he asked when he noticed a pile of ceramic shards scattered over the floor about three-quarters of the way back into the store.

Fiona stopped to see what he meant, and he fancied she looked a bit uncomfortable. “I—uh—backed into that table and knocked it off,” she explained. “I haven’t located a broom yet, so there it sits.” She gave a little laugh, then continued to walk along the aisle into the rear of the shop, where the lighting became dimmer and the ceiling lower.

“It’s like a cave back here,” Gideon commented, watching her turn on lights as they went. The sleeve of her casual blouse fell back to the elbow as she reached for a pull-cord. He admired the long, graceful line of her arm and allowed his gaze to continue its logical path over her shoulder, then to wander over the swell of her breasts. In the low light she looked elfin and ethereal with her halo of burnished hair, flowing clothing, and tall, slender build.

“It is,” she agreed, and for a moment, he forgot what it was she was agreeing to. “It’s a little nerve-wracking coming back here alone in the dark when you don’t know where you’re going,” she continued after a pause.

“I can imagine.” He followed as she turned a corner, and noticed a large desk with three lamps on it, sitting just at the juncture of the bend in the aisle. Something about the walnut secretary caught his attention, and he paused, peering at the wall behind it. Fiona had only switched on one of the lights. He reached to pull the cord of the middle one, the one with the cream-colored shade decorated with fringe.

He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath from Fiona, and when he glanced at her, she was staring at him and the lamp as though waiting for them to draw swords.

Her eyes seemed fixed on his hand. “Is something wrong?” he asked, yanking the lamp cord. The cord clicked, and nothing happened.

She puffed out the breath she’d been holding, making him even more confused. “Is this some kind of rare light?” he asked. “It’s not working.”

“Why don’t you check to see if it’s plugged in.” Her voice sounded thready.

“All right.” Still confused by her sudden change of demeanor, Gideon shifted around the massive desk and followed the cord, which, sure enough, dangled to the ground. He found a plug, shoved it in, and pulled the cord. The light glowed.

“Thank you.” Her words were fervent, and the expression on her face still appeared drawn.

“Are you all right?” he asked again.

“I’m fine. Fine now. What were you looking at back here?” Indeed, she sounded more like her easy, informal self.

“I just was looking at this desk a bit more closely.” He couldn’t explain why he was interested in the ugly piece of furniture. It wasn’t his style at all. Heavy-featured walnut with tarnished silver pulls and nicks throughout did not turn him on.

But Fiona did.

Gideon stepped away from her abruptly, wondering if she sensed his suddenly raging testosterone. Good Lord, he hadn’t felt this randy just standing next to a girl since he was fifteen.

“When I came here last Friday, that same desk caught my attention too. Maybe it’s because of where it’s situated, here in this little corner, kind of under the stairs.” She smiled up at him, and for the first time, he noticed the tiniest little dimple near the corner of her full lips. His mouth went dry. “I found what looks like a storage room back here—the door is locked, but I bet the key is in that mess you gave me the other day. I’m hoping to find a broom in there so I can clean up that porcelain. I just have to go back to the front and get the keys.”

Gideon allowed her to pass by him in that narrow aisle way, and he caught the same spicy scent that seemed to filter in and out of his office since Friday—which was ridiculous. There was no way her perfume still permeated his office. He was imagining things.

He followed her on along the aisle toward the rear of the store. Along the way, the shop morphed from the neatly cluttered arrangement of merchandise into the disorganized array of a back room. There was no door that led to the behind-the-scenes area, nor even any indication that one had left the store and entered a domain available only to the proprietor—but this part of the establishment was clearly not for the eyes of the customer.

Boxes and crates were stacked against the walls and on top of pieces of furniture, most of which were old tables or chests with nicks in them, or broken legs. The lamps were fewer, but he noticed work lights hanging over a long counter that held everything from screwdrivers, nuts, bolts, and hinges to Styrofoam cups, paper towels, papers, and masking tape.

He felt a whisper of movement behind him and turned to find Fiona approaching, a mass of keys jangling in her hand.

“It’s a mess back here, isn’t it?” she asked ruefully. “It looks as though Valente just brought new inventory in and left the old stuff, and all of its garbage, back here. I’m sure the fire marshal would have a field day if he or she came in.” Shaking her head, she gathered her hair back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, then released the mass of curls. He watched in fascination as they sprang back into her face, even more out of control than they’d been a moment before. “I certainly have my work cut out for me.”

Gideon had to agree. “I hope you’re planning on hiring some help,” he added.

She had walked over to a door on the side wall and was busily trying, key-by-key, to find the right one. He switched on the work lights, and suddenly the area was lit by glaring fluorescent bulbs.