The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (28 page)

A pang twisted deep in his middle and he became breathless with the intensity of emotion that swamped him.
Jesus, but she always manages to get me off-guard.
“And what might that be for?” he asked, knowing full well what that coy, sensual look on her face meant.

“Well, cinnamon is also a wonderful massage oil—it has warming elements, and it has antiseptic purposes as well.”

Cinnamon—like her hair, her lips, her eyes, the faint freckles on her creamy skin…. Cinnamon wasn’t just warming to him. It burned him.

“Oh?” he asked, deftly unwrapping the thick tuna steaks they’d purchased and trying to hide the fact that he was just in a maze of desire and some other deep-seated emotion that he would not name.

Fiona scooped the ginger into a haphazard pile and went to work on peeling and chopping garlic cloves. Ginger, cinnamon, citrus, and Fiona all combined—along with the wine—to make his senses sharp and hazy at the same time. His mouth watered, thinking about the meal they were preparing together, and about tumbling her onto the old-fashioned, white, wrought-iron bed she kept piled with pillows…and about waking up next to her in the morning.

“It’s also good for other things.” She still had that look on her face—that slight smirk that tipped her mouth to one side. She turned to pour a bit of oil into a pan, then pivoted back toward him and the tuna steaks. “Brush these with the oil,” she directed, handing him the bottle.

“What other thing?”

“Oh…dry heaves….” She shot him a look that told him she was enjoying this keeping him in suspense, even though they both knew where it was leading. When she reached up past him to pull a jar of sesame seeds from the cupboard, he slipped his free hand around her waist and pulled her up against him.

“And what else?” he murmured, tasting her lips, savoring the hint of wine on them.

A ginger-and-garlic-scented hand reached up to stroke his cheek as she kissed him back. “Foot fungus,” she gasped a laugh against his mouth and he smiled too.

“How appropriate, since I ran out of foot powder yesterday. Aren’t you sweet—always thinking of me.”

“Sexual stimulation.”

She started to pull away, but he held her tightly with the one hand. “What? Should I be offended that you think we’re in need of that,” he said with mock indignation. “And I know you certainly don’t need that. Unless…” some of the teasing note crept from his voice as a bit of insecurity wafted in, “you do need it.”

“Gideon—” She snapped her gaze up at him, surprise lighting her eyes, and he felt better—and foolish for his moment of nerves.

“Just kidding,” he said, smiling. He released her and she slipped away to continue making their dinner.

But all the rest of the evening, all during the wonderful meal of broiled tuna steaks with spicy Asian noodles, sesame seeds, and green beans sautéed in garlic and ginger, and even that night as he tenderly undressed her and made her cry and keen with passion, he wondered.

He wondered why he’d worried so. Everything was fine.

“So, what about that new Thai restaurant for dinner tonight?” Gideon spoke into the phone as he scrolled through his latest batch of email. “That new one over on Locust? One of the guys at the gym said it was great.” Another email from Gordon Borowy? Did that man ever let up?

“Oh, no thanks,” Fiona replied.

“All right. Well, we could just stay in, make something at my place. I saw some great-looking crab legs at Reading Terminal yesterday. How about surf and turf? I’ll do the turf, you do the surf? You can pick up some wine on your way over.” He opened another email, scanned it, and deleted it. Then, he froze as her words sunk in.

“I have plans tonight,” she was saying casually…very casually.

“Oh.” He paused then asked, “Well, are you going to be late? You could come by afterward.”

There was a short silence, then she replied steadily. “I’m not sure how late I’ll be—but, anyway, Gideon, I think I’m just going to head home afterward.”

He let out a long breath—silently so that she wouldn’t hear—and told himself to ignore the unease rising in him. It was, after all, Friday night. “All right, then, darling,” he said with forced casualness. “Have a good time tonight, whatever you’re up to, and I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

There was obvious relief in her voice when she replied. “You too, Gideon. Good-bye.”

He placed the phone deliberately back on its cradle and swiped a hand over his hair.

Dammit. He shouldn’t be surprised. He
wasn’t
surprised. But that didn’t ease his apprehension. Was this her way of putting space between them? Was this how she was going to blow him off? Or was he just making a big deal about nothing?

Why should it bother him that she’d made other plans? It didn’t…except that she’d waited until he called to tell him. Almost as though she’d wanted to catch him off-guard. Gideon felt his mouth tighten and his shoulders tense.

Then, practicality swept over him and he forced the tension away. Fiona was the most guileless person he knew. She probably didn’t know the meaning of the word manipulation. And, besides, it was only one night. The first night they hadn’t seen each other since the attack on Fiona two weeks ago.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He did. It was just that he’d been looking forward—expecting—to see her all day…and now he was just disappointed. With a frown, he gamely returned his attention to the latest barrage of emails from Gordon Borowy.

~*~

Fiona slid the phone onto its cradle with a flourish of satisfaction. That had been easier than she’d expected. Perhaps it had been too easy. Perhaps she was making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps—

“Fiona,” she exclaimed aloud, forcing her mind to stop its runaway path. “Don’t be an idiot!”

She knew darn well that Gideon had expected her to be available tonight…as he had for the last two weeks. It gave her a sense of control—control which she’d felt slipping in the last two weeks, especially since she’d been attacked in her own shop—to decline to see him.

“Did you say something?” Dylan poked his head around the corner from the back room.

“I was just talking to myself,” she told him without a hint of shame.

“So what time is the man coming by?” he asked, sauntering about with his lambs wool duster. She wondered if he just carried it around to make him look useful—for he truly hadn’t a clue how to use it—or if it was a ploy to make unsuspecting female clients think he’d be a good partner.

“He’s not.” Her reply reverberated with satisfaction.

Dylan’s bushy brows rose as he looked at her. “Wasn’t that him on the phone?”

Fiona glowered at him, wondering how he’d known. “Yes. But I told him I had plans tonight.”

Dylan looked at her with pity in his eyes. “Getting cold feet, huh? Better be careful—I don’t think he’s the type that plays hard to get.”

“What are you talking about?” she flared, her heart bumping nervously. “I don’t have cold feet about anything—and I’m not playing hard to get. I just…needed a break.”

He leaned against the desk and looked down at her. “So you lied to him. You don’t have any plans, do you?”

Misery flowed through her. “No. I just needed to…make sure I could still do it.” That she wasn’t relying on Gideon to make herself feel safe, and whole, and happy.

“Still do what?”

Fiona shifted uncomfortably. “Still spend time without him. Not count on him or need to see him….” She pushed her hair out of her eyes, tamping down the anxiety that welled inside her when she thought about being dependent upon someone, especially someone as strong and overwhelming as Gideon. It would be so easy to relinquish control, to let such a capable man take care of everything. Of her.

Dylan reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. “Well, I think you’re playing a little dangerously…but let’s not make a liar out of you. I’ll take you out to dinner and to a movie so at least you can have a clear conscience about that.”

She smiled, a bit shakily, and said, “That would be great. And let’s make it a comedy, all right?”

~*~

“What are you still doing here on a Friday night?”

Gideon lurched in his seat, dropping his feet from the credenza on which they’d been resting as he stared out the window over Locust Street. Spinning in his chair, he turned to face his grandfather.

“I should ask what you’re doing here so late. Aren’t you still considered a newlywed?”

Gideon Senior strode into the room, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “Ah, Iva had some psychic party she was going to tonight—said she wouldn’t be home until later. Thought I’d catch up on some work I’ve been putting off.”

“Psychic party? You mean you actually let her go to those things?” Gideon rolled his eyes and opened the drawer of his desk to retrieve a cigar.

His grandfather chuckled as he handed the younger man his cigar guillotine. “There’s no ‘letting her go’ about it. Iva does what she wants to do—and I let her. What do I care?”

“Doesn’t she come home spouting all kinds of nonsense about what the future holds, and tall, dark strangers and lots of money, et cetera, et cetera?” Gideon snipped the end of his cigar with vehemence and leaned forward to light it from his grandfather’s proffered lighter.

“Nothing more unusual than hearing that you’re to get married and have a baby.” Gideon Senior spewed a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Hope the damn smoke detector doesn’t go off in here.”

Gideon didn’t have the energy to deny the path his grandfather’s thoughts were obviously taking. The truth was, the thought of getting married—someday in the future—had occurred to him once or twice in the last week. And the possibility didn’t unsettle him the way it would have only a few months ago. He wondered, with a start, whether Fiona’s palm-reading that portended his future actually put the possibility in his mind.

“I take it you’re not going to see your young lady tonight,” his grandfather asked casually.

“No.” Gideon couldn’t help his voice sounding clipped.

“She’s a lovely young woman.”

“Yes. Yes, she is.” For a moment, warmth surged through him…then ebbed back to be replaced by the faint chill that had descended upon him since their phone conversation.

“Well, why don’t we go grab something to eat—your place is closer. Let’s go over there and order a pizza. Or ribs. Or Chinese.” His eyes danced in their crinkled pockets.

Gideon raised his eyebrow. Pizza did sound good. “I’ll meet you there—why don’t you stop and get a couple of six packs?”

“Deal.”

Several hours later, Gideon Senior’s cell phone buzzed. Iva’s name came up on it and he reached across the coffee table littered with empty pizza boxes to grab the sleek black instrument.

His grandson watched in amusement, noticing that apparently Gideon Senior knew how to work his phone when his wife was calling.

From his casual position on the leather sofa, Gideon watched his grandfather’s face relax. “Hello, darling…. No, I’m at Gideon’s.” There was silence, then his attention flickered to Gideon and away. “No, no—they didn’t have any plans. I’m not imposing . . .What did I do for dinner? Uh…oh, nothing much—just some pasta and a big salad. Light dressing.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows and gave a short laugh, which he smothered into his beer. He was feeling pleasantly warm and buzzed, even relaxed—though his mind continued to wander to Fiona.