The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (15 page)

“Now, do take a look at Hollis’s hand for me, will you,” Iva said, leaning toward Fiona just after their round of drinks was delivered. Her grin sparkled. “He doesn’t put any credence into any of this, and I want you to tell him something that will change his mind.”

“Now, Iva, really, I—”

“Please, dear, just indulge me, won’t you?” Iva patted his hand and gazed up at him with such an endearing expression that Fiona could see him melt into a puddle of wax right before her eyes.

They must have been married a long time.
An uncomfortable feeling jetted through her mind. What would it be like to be attached to—responsible to—another person for decades?

She risked a glance at Gideon, and found that instead of paying attention to his grandparents’ byplays, he was staring at her with a cool look in his eyes. Their eyes clashed for a mere second, then he quirked a grin and raised his short glass as though to say, “You asked for it.”

“It’s been around for centuries, you know,” Iva was saying earnestly to Gideon Senior. “And there is some scientific proof to it. The Hindus are credited with its inception—and it’s believed that the people we know of as gypsies originally came from India.” When she caught Fiona looking at her in surprise, Iva shrugged. “I’m a librarian,” she explained.

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Nath, I would like to take a look at your hands. I’ve been admiring them all evening,” she said truthfully.

They were the kind of hands she loved, with long, well-shaped fingers, well-defined lines, and a solid, square palm—easy to read and interpret. “And never fear, Mr. Nath—I don’t tell fortunes. One’s hands are merely an insight into the personality of a person, and, sometimes, their potentials—or lost potentials. Now, if you’re right-handed, I’ll need to see that hand.”

The blustery man was really a soft old teddy bear, as Fiona was beginning to learn, and he set his glass down to extend his hand across the table toward her. It rested in the center of the round table, and Iva hastily moved the vase of astromeria out of the way.

“You have a generous nature, but an ambitious strain as well,” she commented, smoothing her thumb along his palm. She was surprised when she saw the marriage lines on the side of his little finger and looked up at him suddenly. “How long have you two been married?”

“Less than a month,” the older man replied, and moved his free hand to pat Iva’s. “She’s the love of my life—but I didn’t find her until I was seventy.”

“And this is your—what marriage?” Fiona asked.

“I thought you were supposed to be able to tell that from looking at his hand,” Gideon said snidely.

“I’m his fourth wife,” Iva replied, giving her grandson a glare.

Fiona relaxed—there were only four marriage lines. “And you’ll be his last,” she said. “And only one child? A son?”

He nodded, although some of the light went out of his face. “Yes, that’s right.” Then he smiled at his wife. “I doubt we’ll be having any of our own, hmm, dear?”

Fiona looked at his thumb—how it angled away from the rest of the hand, its length, and the way the top curved back from the nail. Many palmists felt that the thumb was the best indicator of personality, overall, and she liked what she saw. “You’re ambitious and organized, not willing to take too many risks. You’re not easily influenced.”

She was murmuring to herself more than anything now. She moved her attention to his long middle finger, the Saturn finger, and continued. “This indicates that you’re serious and down to earth—but not overly inclined to pessimism. It’s slightly inclined toward your forefinger, the Jupiter, indicating your assertive personality toward business…but,” she looked up at him, “you’re much more tentative about your emotional life.”

She could tell by the his expression—and Iva’s—that she was accurate in her suppositions. But, feeling the heavy, sarcastic weight of Gideon’s gaze on hers, Fiona forbore to continue her thoughts and released Gideon Senior’s hand.

“Well,” she said lightly, “that was just a quick look. Hope I didn’t spook anyone.” She gave a pointed look toward Gideon, who was all but glaring at her. Yet, heat simmered beneath his look and caused her stomach to flip slowly over and around like a lava lamp.

“Why don’t you take a look at Gideon’s hand?” Iva suggested.

Gideon snorted, but Fiona, feeling the devilish imp prodding her once again, turned to look at him. “I’d be happy to see what secrets he’s hiding.”

Chapter Seven

“Absolutely not.” Gideon tightened his fingers around his drink as though she was trying to pry them open.

“But why not?” Fiona looked at him, training her big, brandy-colored eyes on him in such a fashion that he became warm all over. “I’d love to look at your hands.”

Her voice was a purr: intimate without being too suggestive, the depth of it meant for his ears only. He felt himself drowning in her gaze—right there, in front of his grandfather and grandmother, in the middle of Blackthorne’s—frozen, enraptured.

Never mind that she was nearly begging to read his palm, for Christ’s sake, like some charlatan gypsy. Never mind that she’d come from the back of the shop with Dylan, the god, with her hair all mussed. Never mind that she’d probably had fewer serious thoughts in her lifetime than his screwed-up father…he couldn’t resist her.

He set his drink down and extended his hand.

“You’re left-handed, yes?” she asked as her fingers closed over that hand. When he nodded, she continued, “Good.”

She held his hand, brushing her thumbs over the inside of his palm, right there in the restaurant…and he felt as though she were undressing him. There was something about the intimacy of fingers slowly, carefully touching fingers…. Even though they’d kissed—their bodies smashed up against each other, every curve and hard plane outlined against the other…this was different. It was as though they’d never touched before.

She wasn’t unaffected either, if the faint trembling of her fingers was any indication. He felt the ridges of her fingertips, the finger pad whorls that made her Fiona—unique, odd, exciting Fiona—as they brushed over his own.

“It looks as though you’ll be marrying soon,” she said suddenly, breaking what had become—to him—a charged silence, but was in reality only moments of quiet. “And at least one child.”

He almost pulled his hand away as anger spurted through him. What the hell kind of game was she playing?

Iva nearly burst from her seat, barely able to contain herself, and he shot her a dark glare. “Don’t get all excited, Iva—she’s just telling you what you want to hear.”

Fiona remained cool, and her gaze continued steadily on him. “I’m just telling you what I see, Gideon.” Did he detect a hint of sadness in her gaze. Regret, perhaps? “Unless you’ve already been married?”

“No.” He snapped the word out and this time did start to pull his hand away. Her fingers held on and he relented, for, despite his anger, he liked the feel of her small, warm hand around his.

She bent to look at his palm again, her pale, slim fingers caressing the darker skin of his own flesh, straightening his digits with her thumbs, smoothing the underside of his hand where the skin was softer and more sensitive. Then she looked up at him, and he could see the surprise in her face. “Let me see your right hand,” she said, frowning slightly.

“What is it?” Iva asked, leaning forward.

“Nothing major…just one of those secrets I mentioned.” She was waiting for him to show her his other hand. “Since you’re left-handed, your left hand shows what you are or have been, while your right hand indicates potentials that may or may not have been realized.”

Gideon was just about to comply when he was saved, rescued from something that would certainly be uncomfortable, by the waiter serving their salads. By the time all of them received their plates, Gideon had managed to swing the conversation to the success of the open house for the antiques shop.

The rest of the meal passed slowly but at least without further discomfort on his part. Fiona and his step-grandmother had hit it off famously, discussing things he knew nothing about—
ta’i chi
, aromatherapy,
feng shui
and yoga.

Gideon Senior managed to bring up the Valente estate only once—when he casually asked, “How did you say you knew Nevio Valente, Fiona?”

She flickered a glance at Gideon as if to measure how she should respond, but replied, “Do you mean Gideon didn’t tell you? I only met him once when I ducked in his shop a few months ago.”

The older man shook his head, then dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “Odd man, Valente was. Even odder for a crotchety old bastard—pardon me, ladies—to do something nice for anyone, let alone someone he didn’t know. Everything going okay with the shop?” His blue eyes focused sharply on Fiona, and Gideon held his breath.

Don’t mention the light.
He couldn’t bear for his grandparents to think she was a flake—talking about lit lamps that weren’t plugged in. Obviously, it was something that had rattled her—and, odd as she was, probably for good reason…but he wasn’t sure his grandfather would understand.

In order to forestall that from happening, he reached over and, resting his hand on top of hers, said, “Speaking of the shop, I’m sure you need to get back and get closed up for the night, hmm, Fiona?”

He ignored the frown directed at him by his grandfather and kept his attention on Fiona. He was ready to get out of there—away from the suggestive looks from the older couple, and away to where he could have Fiona to himself. Lightning zipped through him as he realized exactly how much he wanted to abscond with her…and just what he would do when they did.

Gideon had his way, for, not ten minutes later, he and Fiona were strolling along the street, down the blocks toward Charmed Antiquity. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since they’d parted from his grandparents—for suddenly, now that they were alone, he didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to
do
…but not what he wanted to say.

Fiona broke the silence at last. “Your grandparents are wonderful people—and it was so kind of them to invite me to dinner.”

“Yes, well, you should know that they had an ulterior motive.” He glanced down at her as they passed under a streetlight, and saw the delicate planes of her face outlined by the stark light when she looked up at him.

“Well, of course they did, Gideon—it was pretty obvious. They’re dying for you to settle down and find happiness just as they have, so they’ll take advantage of any possible candidate for you.” The smug smile she sent him should have quirked his annoyance, but instead, he grinned at her candor. “Even an oddball like me.”

His gaze flickered away. “You’re no more odd than Iva, believing in all that New Age stuff,” he heard himself say. “You actually think that by rearranging your furniture, you can become wealthy or happy?”

Fiona laughed out loud, delightedly, and another couple passing by glanced over at them. The man’s gaze lingered a bit too long on her, then slid away as they walked past. “Do I detect a bit of sarcasm, there, Gideon? You’d best be careful—sarcasm could be mistaken for a sense of humor, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.” She laughed again, her bare arm brushing up against him as they strolled along. Then, to his surprise, she slipped one hand around his bicep, hugging it to her without breaking her stride.

They walked along, their steps matching, thighs brushing, her thick, wild hair tickling the underside of his chin, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

When she smiled up at him again, the sparkle in her eyes showing even in the half moonlight, Gideon felt an unfamiliar twinge deep inside and he almost stopped right there on the sidewalk. He must have hesitated anyway, for she looked back up, shifting against him as they walked.