The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) (30 page)

“Tarot cards? Do you read them?” Fiona asked curiously as she sat on the floor next to the ottoman. “My brother Ethan has been working with a woman for years—she’s psychic and uses Tarot cards to help the FBI find criminals.”

As Fiona brushed her hand over the ottoman’s off-white suede, she remembered how it felt to be sprawled across it—over it, like a virginal goddess—the first time she and Gideon had made love. He walked into the room and their eyes met…and the heat she saw there told her that he remembered too.

She turned her attention to Gideon’s grandfather and smiled up at him from her place on the floor. “Hello Mr. Nath. It’s so good to see you again!”

“Nice of you to stop by here,” he smiled down at her. “Poor Gideon didn’t know what to do with himself tonight before you came around.”

“Grandfather—” Gideon started, but Iva interrupted smoothly, “Have you ever seen such beautiful cards?”

Fiona turned her attention to the items scattered all over the ottoman just as Gideon Senior pulled a large, folded piece of paper from the pile.

“What’s this? A map of your foot?” He glared at Iva, but, to Fiona’s delight, she merely smiled at him. “What the hell do you need a map of a foot for?”

“It’s a reflexology map,” Iva told him calmly, taking the paper from him. As she began to gather up the rest of her items, dropping them back in two shopping bags, she said, “Now, dearest, it’s time we got on our way and let these two have some time together.”

He looked at her for a moment and then a slow smile eased across his face—not unlike the one his grandson would bestow upon Fiona when his mind was on something more intimate. “Yes, m’dear, I believe you’re right. Let’s pack up your stuff and get home to our own place.”

As they strolled to the door, followed by Fiona and Gideon, Iva turned to speak to her. “Would you like to have lunch sometime soon? I’d love to talk with you about your palmistry—maybe learn a little bit from you. Salton did some palm-reading tonight and it was just as fascinating as the ones you did. And I’d like to show you these runes I picked up tonight too.”

“I’d love to have lunch,” Fiona said, meaning it. “How about on Monday? It’s usually a slow day at the shop, and Dylan comes in late, so I can take a long lunch.”

The two Gideons exchanged glances as though they weren’t sure whether to approve or disapprove of this alliance—but, Fiona noticed with a private snicker, neither of them had the nerve to say anything.

She hugged Iva goodnight, and pressed a kiss to the smooth cheek of Gideon’s grandfather—a little sorry to see them go, but very glad to have their grandson to herself.

The last thing she heard before the door closed was Gideon Senior’s blustery demand, “What the hell is a rune, anyway?”

Later that night, much later, Fiona smoothed a thick lock of hair off Gideon’s forehead, looked deeply into his eyes, and said, “I acted like a fool tonight.”

She faced him, lying on her side, propped up on one elbow.

He kissed her mouth, swollen and pink from passion, and replied, “I wasn’t surprised. I rather expected the utopia to take a turn for the worse…but I didn’t expect you to come back so soon.” He sighed, pulling back slightly, running his hand down her arm. “I thought I’d be waiting a week or two…and the thought was unbearable.”

She smiled at him, but there was more than a hint of shame around the corners of her mouth. “I was afraid. I still am, I suppose…but I couldn’t stay away—and I realized I was just playing a game with you. I don’t want to play games with you, Gideon. I can’t promise you I won’t be afraid again—because I probably will, regardless of where this goes—but I can promise you that I won’t play games.” Her voice was low, rumbling, husky, and heavy with emotion.

He looked away for a moment, gathering his thoughts, curling his fingers around her long, slim hand. “Tonight made me realize how much I care about you…and how much a part of my life you’ve become.” It was probably more than that, but Gideon wasn’t ready to push those limits.

Her eyes flickered down, then back up to look at him, and the intensity in them was gone, replaced by laughter and perhaps, in the deepest part of them, a bit of fear. “Your grandmother is so wonderful! She is the neatest lady—I’m so glad to know her, too.”

Taking his cue from her—the subject was over for now—Gideon smiled and yanked lightly on a long copper coil, then rolled onto his back. “You and she are two peas in a pod with all your new-age stuff, and that scares the hell out of me and my grandfather. I’m not sure Philly will survive you two reading runes and picking out Tarot cards.”

It occurred to him at that moment—surprising that it never had before—how alike they
were
…and how alike he and his grandfather were. Was there a parallel here? A shiver sneaked up his spine and he shoved that thought away. He was feeling amazing things about Fiona, but he certainly wasn’t ready to admit she was the love of his life. Not quite.

“It’s
picking
runes and
reading
Tarot cards,” Fiona corrected him with a giggle. She rolled backward, threw her arms flamboyantly wide and looked up joyously at the ceiling. “I think we’ll have a lot of fun terrorizing you two Naths, mark my words.”

“That’s just what I’m afraid of.” His words sounded glum, but in fact, her joy made him feel warm and expansive and so very content. It glowed onto him—from her blushing skin and over the sheets, covering him with a blanket of happiness.

But her next words whisked that blanket away.

“Gideon, tell me about your mother. And father. You never talk about them…and when I was reading your grandfather’s palm and mentioned his one child, he seemed a little—well, uncomfortable about it.”

He felt cold. He didn’t really want to talk about his parents. They didn’t matter. They weren’t part of his life any more—thanks to his father—and they certainly weren’t going to be part of his legacy.

“My mother is a hippie,” Fiona continued, her voice steady and quiet as she laid there, her face directed toward the ceiling. “She lives in a commune in New Mexico and is a mid-wife. She never married my father, or my half-brother’s father.”

She turned toward him and started to stroke his arm, lightly running her nails up and down, from wrist to elbow. His hair lifted in the wake of the sensation, and the rhythm soothed him.

“My mother raised me with the notion that men are disposable and dispensable. Good for sex once in awhile, moving heavy things, and whistling for the dog when he wouldn’t come. That’s about it.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the last part of her comment. “Very practical. Not something I’d expect from you, my dear.”

“I can be very practical, Gideon, and you know it. In fact, I’m learning to be more practical every day now that I’m a small-business owner. Look at how quickly I called you when I found that skeleton. Pretty practical if you ask me…to call my attorney when I find a dead body.” He could hear the lilt of laughter in her voice. “And please don’t change the subject on me. I really want to know about your parents. Tell me.”

“My mother’s dead. Suicide.” Even after twenty years, he could barely say the words.

“Gideon.” Her voice was just right—not gushingly sympathetic, not shocked. Just…right. It gave him the courage to speak further.

“My father’s in jail. Life in prison. Drug dealing, killed a guy during a deal once.” He laughed a grating, ironic chuckle. Fiona’s hand brushed over his chest to rest across it and onto his shoulder, half-hugging him. “He was a musician. Music was his life. He lived it, breathed for it—to the detriment of everything else in his life.

“He attracted women as most musicians do, and my mother was no exception. She loved him, but eventually couldn’t handle the gigs, the drugs, the focus on living for the moment…which was all he ever did. She took a bottle of pills when I was sixteen, and they couldn’t save her.”

Fiona didn’t speak. Her breathing had increased, but its waves still moved, soft and smooth, next to him. He was aware of the length of her body lined up along his, her breasts pressing into the side of his ribs, her arm a vee over his chest.

“My grandfather—my father’s father, of course—took me in, thank God. I wouldn’t admit it at first, but it was the best thing for me, to have a solid, stable home. He made sure I had the best education, and even though he wasn’t around much—and when he was, he was always focused on work—I felt like I had a place. I was so grateful to him for taking me in that I was determined to be a better son than his own son had been. Make him proud of me.”

“You’ve obviously succeeded.” He felt her lips move against his shoulder when she spoke and a bit of husk tinged her words.

“I’m not so sure about that. He came rushing home from his honeymoon the minute he found out about Valente’s death, as if I couldn’t handle a simple probate.”

“Gideon, your grandfather is very proud of you. I can see it in his eyes, and the way he acts around you. There is no doubt about that. What does he think about your art? Your drawings?”

He had to resist to keep from pulling away, but he knew she felt him tense because her face snapped up to look at him. “He doesn’t know about them. He…he believes it’s a waste of time, and in truth, so do I. It’s a silly hobby left over from high school.”

Gideon felt her draw her breath to speak, so he headed her off. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Fiona. Tell me what it was like growing up on a commune.”

~*~

“You are a fool, man.”

Gideon frowned at himself in the rearview mirror as he pulled into the parking structure of Leslie van Dorn’s building. What ever had possessed him to make good on his promise to escort Leslie to her company’s IPO unveiling?

He wouldn’t worry about it so much except that he was wasting an evening he could be spending with Fiona…lovely, fiery, the-only-woman-for-him Fiona…to play trophy-man at a dry, all-business dinner meeting he had no interest in whatsoever.

At least Fiona had been understanding…and she really had been. Although there had been just the slightest flare of jealousy in her cinnamon eyes, it had disappeared with his earnest explanation—stolen from Leslie’s own imploring speech not to leave her high and dry on such an important night—and she sent him off with kisses, and promises of her own.

“If it’s not too late, I’ll come by after,” he’d vowed. And he would damn well make good on that promise.

Straightening the bow tie of his tux, he took a quick, last glance in the rearview mirror before leaving the car to rush up and collect Leslie. She would be ready, and pacing her condo’s living room, as always.

A flash of familiarity washed over him as he rode up in the elevator. This would be the last time he would do so, he mused, unless he and Leslie maintained their friendship. A sudden thought caused him to grin suddenly. She and Fiona might actually get along, if given the opportunity. He did like Leslie—as a friend, and business associate.

She was, indeed, waiting for him, pacing like a caged tiger. Although she was put together perfectly as usual, he noticed tightness and stress in her face, and unusual weariness around her eyes. Her sleek black hair was pulled back into a simple black velvet bow studded with sequins that matched the sparkles on her floor-length gown.

“You look stressed, Les,” he commented as they rode down in the elevator.

She jerked and looked at him, as if pulled from some deep thoughts. “I am. But soon this night will be over.” Then she busied herself by digging through her impossibly tiny handbag—tiny, as compared to Fiona’s monstrosity.

“I can’t even imagine what you’ve been going through.”

She shook her head as the elevator doors opened. “No, you can’t,” she murmured enigmatically.