Daddy Warlock

“A first grader was suspended from Palm Mesa Elementary School today when a teacher claims she saw him cause a flying fork to change course in midair,” the reporter announced. “Let's talk to the boy's mom.”

The camera cut to a tall slender woman trying to steer a boy down the front steps. Chance's breath caught in his throat.

It was his lady. Even after all this time, there was no mistaking her.

“Mrs. Blayne?” asked the reporter. Chance's heart sank. Apparently she was married. But wasn't that obvious, since she had a child? “What do you think of the claim that your son has mental powers?”

“Harry's a normal kid,” she snapped. “I think everyone is making too much of this.”

As she led the boy away, he glanced back, and for the first time, Chance saw his face. Small and impish, just like his mother's, except for his eyes. Chance sat bolt upright.

Impossible. Unthinkable. He looked closer. Unmistakable. As the child looked up, his eyes glimmered silver. Just like Chance's own.

Jacqueline Diamond has led past lives as a journalist and a television columnist. She wishes she had led a past life as a financial wizard. She and her husband live in Brea, California, with their two sons, Ari and Hunter, who have no magical abilities, but get into plenty of mischief anyway.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

218—UNLIKELY PARTNERS

239—THE CINDERELLA DARE

270—CAPERS AND RAINBOWS

279—A GHOST OF A CHANCE

351—BY LEAPS AND BOUNDS

406—OLD DREAMS, NEW DREAMS

446—THE TROUBLE WITH TERRY

491—A DANGEROUS GUY

583—THE RUNAWAY BRIDE

615—YOURS, MINE AND OURS

631—THE COWBOY AND THE HEIRESS

642—ONE HUSBAND TOO MANY

645—DEAR LONELY IN L.A….

674—MILLION-DOLLAR MOMMY

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The house looked like a castle, with its stone walls, battlements and turrets. But what was it doing in a canyon in Southern California, and what kind of man would own such a place?

“You're sure this is the right address?” Tara Blayne asked as she and her friend Denise approached in the moonlight. Nearing the rounded front door, they roused no reaction from the two guards in beefeater uniforms who stood with lances crossed, and she realized the pair were holograms. “Could you have mistaken the number in the dark?”

“I don't think so. But I'm not sure whether the street sign read Achilles or Apollo.” Denise huddled into her witch's robe.

It was more than half an hour since they'd turned off Sunset Boulevard onto a series of narrow canyon roads that wound around until Tara no longer remembered which way was north or south. A narrow driveway had brought them to this castle half-hidden in a grove of eucalyptus.

Lanterns flickered from the trees. No lights shone from inside the castle, perhaps because there didn't appear to be any windows. Only the presence of a dozen cars
parked along the driveway provided some reassurance of normalcy.

Denise eyed their surroundings uneasily. “It's a private home, obviously, but even for the Hollywood Hills it's kind of strange. Maybe we should leave.”

“You're kidding! After that long drive? And the trouble we went to, finding costumes?”

Tara had splurged more than she could afford on her long skirt, low-cut blouse and black bodice. If she had to work as a serving wench in real life, she might as well look like one on Halloween. “Besides, I'm starved. I spent so much on my costume, I had to skip dinner.”

The money she earned waiting tables didn't stretch far, especially since it had to cover business classes. But even though Tara had resolved to accept her father's urging and pursue a serious career, she couldn't resist indulging in pure fun once in a while.

“I can't understand why I let you drag me into situations like this.” Denise, a hairdresser, was invited by her clients to numerous parties but rarely accepted without prompting. “We don't even know who lives here. He might be some kind of weirdo.”

“You said he was a friend of a client,” Tara pointed out.

“More like a friend of a friend of a client,” grumbled her pal. “And what does that prove? Even criminals' friends get their hair cut. And permed and colored, in this case.”

Tara decided to try a new tack. “Look at all the trouble he's gone to.” She patted one of the walls, which on close inspection was made of foam. “He's transformed the whole front of his house. The guy must be rich, which means the food probably is, too.”

Denise straightened her peaked hat. “Okay, I'll go as
far as the refreshment table. But if the people act peculiar, we're leaving.”

“If they're that strange, I'll get out and push the car to make it go faster.”

In spite of herself, Tara felt a tremor of uncertainty as they stepped through the open door. Inside, the room was dark. From the echo of their footsteps, she gathered that it must be large, but how large, she couldn't tell.

Tiny lights marked a meandering pathway across a smooth wooden floor. On either side, skeletons dangled, shrunken heads grimaced and pumpkins leered in rotating flashes. Something slimy trailed across their necks, making them both shriek.

“This guy's got a sick sense of humor,” Denise muttered.

“Or he's a real party kind of guy.” Tara hoped she was right, and their host was simply getting into the spirit of the holiday.

Voices drifted from beyond the room, and a moment later the two women stepped into a courtyard full of people. The atrium, open to the sky, was filled with lanterns, long tables of food and costumed partygoers.

Soft music—Tara recognized it as
Symphonie Fantastique
—soothed her anxiety, and the scents of nightblooming flowers mingled with the tantalizing aroma of spicy food. Their host was clearly both generous and sensual.

He also owned a house that might have come from her dreams. In the lantern glow, arched windows and undulating stucco walls made it resemble a palace from the Arabian Nights. As if to complete the fantasy, a curving staircase led to a small tower atop the rear wing. It seemed to have been transported from a magic realm, a
place of sorcery and surprises where anything could happen.

She bit her lip to stop the unwanted musings. As her father always said, the people who succeeded were the ones who kept their noses to the grindstone. After dropping out of college and wasting several years on lowpaying jobs, Tara intended to make more responsible choices from now on.

“You were right! It's a terrific party.” Denise gave a little hop that set her bushy red hair bouncing. “Look at the cute guys! What do you think of that one over there?”

“That one” was a blond surfer-type. “Just your style,” Tara observed.

In fact, most of the men were Denise's style—freshfaced and cheerful. Handsome, too, in their disguises as superheroes and swashbucklers.

The women were striking enough to make Tara feel clumsy by comparison. Whether dressed as Pocahontas or harem dancers, they moved with easy self-confidence, and several were downright voluptuous.

All her life, people had told Tara she should be grateful for her tall, slender frame. Well, those people didn't have to do daily battle with elbows and knees that had a mind of their own.

Not to mention mouse-brown hair so limp that, in desperation, she'd had Denise cut it into a short mop. Even so, it could only be tortured into shape with massive infusions of mousse.

A sudden hush drew Tara's attention to the top of the staircase. On the balcony stood a commanding figure in a tuxedo, a black hat and a scarlet-lined cape.

What riveted her was not the costume but the man himself. His features were chiseled, and even the tailored
restraint of the tuxedo failed to disguise the power of his shoulders and upper body.

Beneath a half mask, silver eyes raked the assembly. He stopped abruptly, focusing on someone as if startled. With a jolt, Tara realized he was staring at her.

Conquering the urge to retreat, she shot him her most mischievous smile, the one that had always cut short her father's tirades about irresponsibility. Inevitably, it would send him storming away, but at least he would leave her in peace.

This man, however, had no intention of leaving her in peace. His mouth twisted wryly and, his eyes fixed on her face, he descended the steps so smoothly, he might have floated just above the surface.

“That's a neat trick,” murmured Denise. “I wonder how he does it.”

“Enchantment,” Tara said as the man approached.

Bending over her hand, he brushed it lightly with his lips. Heat danced across her skin and radiated deep inside her.

The man was dangerous. And irresistible.

His silver gaze caught hers, and Tara read a question there. It made her breath catch in her throat.

She didn't know why she was reacting this way. In her twenty-two years, she'd never felt as completely engaged by a man as she did by this one.

His mind seemed to reach inside hers, brushing across her inhibitions and dismissing them. With a rush of excitement, she felt him touch the private places that she shared with no one.

He was there in a field of wildflowers that had grown behind her childhood home outside Louisville, Kentucky. A spring breeze ruffled her cheeks as she lay against him, feeling the tautness in his muscles as he pulled her close.

Then they were walking arm in arm along a path in an ancient forest. Ahead of them, in a glade, lay a tiny thatched cottage. Tara had never seen this place before, and yet it was home.