I was still trying to decide if this was prison or a hotel. My current bored-out-of-my-mind consensus was hotel disguised as a prison. I was actually ready to admit my first priority was to escape. Defeating this evil man was a little farther down my list of things to do at the moment.
When I heard the knock I nearly pitched myself into the arms of whoever dared to rescue me from the madness. Thank goodness it was Quentin.
I didn’t even let him speak. “Do you know what it’s like to be cooped up in there?” I pointed back over my shoulder. “There’s nothing to do. Nothing.”
He glanced over my shoulder without a change in expression. “Did you check the closet? You could have picked out what you wanted to wear to the gala tonight.”
Oh, that just bites the big one. “Clothes? In the closet?” And God only knows what else I could have found. I tried to reassure myself I would have resorted to that sooner or later.
Quentin slid past me, pausing as our bodies rubbed. I didn’t step back, enjoying the static. His eyes darkened, just enough for me to know he was well aware of my reaction.
He crossed the room and pulled open the double doors. My jaw hit the floor at the colors and fabrics I could see from here. I had to run over and get a close up look. Amazing.
“You didn’t even open it?” Quentin looked at me like I’d grown antlers. Or maybe “Here’s my sign” had appeared on my forehead.
I shook my head. Maybe it’d fall off. I didn’t need anything confirming what I feared he thought already.
“What’s this about a gala? Isn’t that quite contrived? I arrive, there’s a closet full of formal dresses, which I’m sure are just perfectly fitted for me.” I waved down my body, disgusted by the filthy clothes I’d slid back on after my bath. “And then, and then there’s a gala?”
Quentin tilted his head and stared at me some more. I felt my head and face to see if there was something amusing there. It must have been my own ignorance shining through. Or else. Wait! I had it! This was all planned, it was all part of this mastermind plot to make me think I really was losing my mind. So I wouldn’t try to get to the jewels or stop Quentin or even try to warn anyone about what was to happen. That had to be it.
Quentin had turned back to the closet. His shoulders were shaking. It looked uncontrollable.
“What?” I placed my hands on my hips. “What in God’s green creation is so funny?”
“You,” he sputtered and fell into another peal of laughter.
I threw up my arms with a sigh. Another part of the plan, I told myself, nodding my head. I was too smart for this. I could stay on top of things. Of course, I’d play along. After the day I’d had, I wasn’t staying in this room when there was a gala somewhere.
“You’re a fruit.” Quentin sat on the bed. The spasms had stopped, but occasionally a half-cough, half-laugh emerged from his lips. His eyes sparkled with the danger that he might go over the edge with hysterics again.
“Just call me Anna Banana. Or wait. Mary Strawberry. No, I’ve got it…”
He held up a hand. I set my lips in a tight line and pulled a blue satin gown from the closet. Uh, no. There was no back to speak of in that dress.
I slid it back in and pulled out the dark purple shimmering material. It was long, and had a halter top, but it looked like it covered all the right things.
“Can you live with purple?”
“Try it on.”
The mirror made me look…good. I strained to look over my shoulder and judge the size of my butt. The clingy material of the dress was bad enough, but the glittery thread woven throughout would accent any extra bulges. And I had a feeling I might have a few of those. Especially since I wasn’t one to dash off to the gym at five every morning.
I hiked my boobs up one more time and surveyed the faux cleavage. I’d need duct tape if they were ever going to stay there, but hey, it was fun imagining.
Quentin knocked at the bedroom door.
“Just a minute.”
I slid my hands down my sides and decided he’d seen me naked. It’s not like he’d laugh. At least not if he ever wanted to see me naked again.
But it wasn’t Quentin who was the recipient of my pose in the doorway. I shrieked and immediately covered my chest with my arms.
Bergestein laughed and clucked his tongue. “You do look dashing, dear. I’m sure Quentin would find himself quite enamored with you in that dress. But it’s a little more flashy than I had in mind.”
I looked up, one eyebrow nearly scraping the ceiling, as Mr. B fingered the dresses on the other side of the bed.
“Here.” He handed me a fuller, old fashioned gown in a deep rose color. It was satin, with off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves, a sweetheart neckline and full long skirt. I swear it was a cross between my prom dress and Cinderella’s gown. It was not something a woman in her late twenties would pull over her head.
“Are you sure? It’s kind of…”
“High school?”
“Uh, yeah.”
He winked and took it back to the closet. The next one he pulled out was a little better. I could actually wear it if I had to.
I took it from his hands. “I’ll try it on.” I ran to the bathroom and locked the door.
It made me look fat and short. With no chest and no waist.
“I don’t think the tight oriental dress thing works for me.”
To my relief, Mr. B wrinkled his nose and nodded his head.
“Anything in green?” I asked when I saw his fingers pause over a bright yellow garment. I was not going to be Shelly Sunshine. No freaking way. It totally would clash with my skin tone.
“Wear the one you had on. But you can’t keep your hands crossed over your chest the whole time.”
I narrowed my eyes. So what was the point of all this? Some kind of test?
If he was thought reading, he ignored my puzzled questions. “Quentin will be back to fetch you at six. You’ll have a private dinner and he’ll fill you in on the details of the rest of the night.”
“Uh, sir?” I didn’t think I should call him Mr. B to his face, but Bergestein seemed like such a mouthful.
He stopped near the doorway.
“Shoes? Stockings? Are they all in the closet?”
“You’ll find everything you need here. Cosmetics are in the drawers of the vanity.”
The problem with that dress, I soon realized was the inability to hide the gem. The solution? I threaded a piece of dental floss through it and attached it to the charm bracelet I’d chosen for my wrist. Too bad there wasn’t a matching one for my ankle. Then it’d really be out of the limelight.
Quentin’s eyes shone like dark emeralds. We stood on either side of the doorway and devoured each other with our eyes. He looked dashing in the black tuxedo. He hadn’t shaved, but I was glad. The hint of shadow gave him just enough bad boy appeal to have my mind rethinking the no sex clause I’d added to our relationship.
I mean, what would one fling mean? It’s not like we hadn’t done it already.
I licked my lips and invited him in. His eyes remained on my mouth, but he shook his head. If he came in, we’d never make it to the gala. We weren’t fooling each other for a moment.
“Let’s go.” His deep voice was husky. In the room? Pshaw, I was ready to pounce on him in the hallway.
I didn’t taste dinner. I declined to drink any of the wine. I needed my head clear. Or at least as clear as possible. I still had reservations about Quentin’s part in this. Mr. B had me puzzled. I still couldn’t make heads or tails from his earlier visit.
And being a gala it guaranteed I’d rub shoulders with all the other big shots from the darkside. A chance to take notes and…
I didn’t know the and part of it. But I knew I’d need the notes later.
I really had expected something right out of the movies. Boy was I failing to give credit. This was larger and more intense than any ballroom full of beautiful people waltzing together.
“My God,” I wh
ispered to Quentin. “There has to be three hundred people here.”
He just frowned and nodded. “Probably.”
We circled the room and greeted the people Quentin knew. I’d need a notebook to remember everyone’s name. Even magic couldn’t help my brain.
Mr. B. stood on the stage where a big brass band was assembled and did the perfunctory thank you for coming speech. I tuned out his monotone voice and instead listened to the conversation behind me.
“All the money from the bank is wired through my service. I can get you whatever you need. Adjusting the interest rate and holding fees won’t be problem.”
“Let’s start with two and go from there. I think that should be enough to keep the FBI from investigating.”
It might as well have been Greek, but I understood this party was full of very powerful, very bad people. I shuddered.
“…Enjoy.” Bergestein bowed and stepped off the stage. As the band started, dozens of couples stepped out onto the dance floor. What was this, ballroom dance competition? I didn’t know these steps! Try the electric slide or the YMCA and I might be able to keep up.
“We have to.” Quentin pinched the nerve in my elbow when I ignored his efforts to lead me to the circling throng.
Says who?
“I can’t,” I hissed back even as I gave in. “I don’t know how.”
“Just follow my lead.”
Did I say, anywhere, I could dance? Was it in my contract? No and no. What this was could be described only as ankle torture. Step back then forward, no side, side, wait—back? I was crossing my ankles and stumbling like I was walking on marbles. Quentin, on the other hand, moved smoothly and gracefully. Quentin totally didn’t seem to be the type who could dance, much less would want to. It might have been my jaw I was tripping over. Just something about a man who could dance…
Unfortunately, I couldn’t master it, no matter how hard I tried. Before the song was half over, I think even Quentin was ready to admit I had been right. But it was too late. Mr. B himself walked up and held out his hand to me. I gripped it, and nearly fell when he lifted mine to his grossly full lips and kissed the back of it. “Shall we waltz?”
Quentin snickered and stepped back.
“Oh, I couldn’t. You see, I don’t—”
“Nonsense, darling, you were doing wonderfully. I suggest you just imagine a layer of air between your feet and the floor and let me lead.”
I guess that’s why he was the mastermind of this whole thing. I didn’t have the brain cells to think of using magic to save Quentin’s toes.
I still held back.
“Go on. You can’t deny the host a dance. It would look bad. He could have had you killed you know.”
And the downside was?
I stepped onto the polished wood floor and pretended to know what I was doing. Everyone look at Ella, Mr. B’s marionette, I felt like shouting.
When the dance was over, we faced the band and clapped. I turned without so much as a curtsy, eager to hide behind the congregation that lined the dance floor.
“Just a moment. I thought we might talk.”
Mr. B’s plump fingers bit into my arm. I jerked away. His finger slid down my arm and caught on my bracelet. The strain broke the rope and chain that held it together and sent charms and beads scattering on the shiny floor.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, my eyes searching for one bead in particular. Damn, Shit! Why me? Why?
Chapter Thirteen
I put my hand down and used magic to pull all the pieces toward my hand as if it were a magnet. The guests around me had retrieved some of the pieces but stopped and stared in awe when the pieces moved on the floor.
“Cease!” Bergestein clapped his hands. Everything stopped. Including my breath.
A gentlemen cleared his throat and rose from his kneeling position. His hand was in his pocket. He turned his face before I could see his features. I just knew he’d snatched something from the floor. And I still hadn’t found the gem.
“Ella?” Mr. B’s eyes had sunk in his head and shrunk. I was looking at a vile creature, a snake, poised to strike
“Yes, sir?” My voice quivered. I didn’t try to hide it.
“Your parlor tricks have no place at my party. I told you that you must stop practicing the optical illusions you are so fascinated with. Look at the scene you’ve caused. Someone could trip on these trinkets.”
Pig. Asshole. I bowed my head. “I’m sorry, sir.” So magic was a secret? I nudged the pile with my toes. “I’ll clean it up and be off to my room then.”
“Negative.”
The tips of my ears were ready to spontaneously combust. “I need a drink.” One was pushed into my hand.
I downed the contents and grunted. Wow. That was strong. I used the empty glass to hold what was left of the charm bracelet and found Quentin.
“This was his fault, you know.”
His tight lipped smile curved upwards. “No one will believe you. Mr. B’s more powerful than the President.”
“With all these people around, I’m surprised the Prez isn’t here tonight.”
Quentin just winked and slipped my hand through his arm. I left the cup of mangled bracelet on the table. It was truly worthless to me. The gem was gone and so was my party spirit.
I did realize I’d learned something in Hollywood. No, not how to vamp, after all I didn’t have the figure for it. I could act, though. I smiled and laughed and pretended it was the best night of my life. And I wanted to puke.
Mr. B’s influence was huge. And since I’d managed to make a fool of myself on the dance floor, I was practically a celebrity. More than once I’d threatened Quentin with various forms of castration or other torture if he didn’t get me out of there. He didn’t believe a word I said.
I got my second wind the instant Quentin caved and agreed to take me back to my room.
“Now? Really?” I could barely refrain from throwing my arms around his neck.
“Yeah, I think we’ve done enough socializing. I know you must want out of those heels and fancy clothes.”
I shrugged. My feet had gone numb hours ago and I found I was dressed quite modestly in comparison to some of the other guests. I’d have looked pretty silly walking around trying to hide the hint of cleavage in the deep V of my dress front when there was one woman wearing a dress cut to the navel…and beyond.
He opened the unlocked door and waited for me to enter. I stopped and twirled at the telltale sound of the deadbolt sliding home. “Why? We left it unlocked while we were out, why lock it now?”
“Because we don’t have a do not disturb sign to put on the knob.”
“Why would—”
He shook his head and crossed over to me. His eyes were black and worked their magic, freezing me in place. “Quentin,” I breathed.
“Ella. I’ve missed you.”
I snapped my head back and blinked. “I can’t do this, Quentin. I won’t.”
“Shhh. This is the safest place you could be. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“But—” He silenced me with his lips on mine.
I gasped as his flesh sizzled against mine. That just gave him more room to maneuver. His tongue plunged into my mouth, stirring my senses until I couldn’t remember why I had said no.
He tasted of sweet cream frosting and uncut scotch. I was drunk already. His hands slid up and braced either side of my face, but the room didn’t stop spinning. “Crazy,” he murmured. “You make a man crazy in that dress.”
I put a hand out to steady myself and met with the contradiction of his clothes. Sleek lapels, starched cotton and a rock solid foundation that radiated heat through the layers. I wanted to claw the clothes out of the way and get my hands against flesh.
I shouldn’t be doing this, my sanity reminded me when he paused to allow us a breath. I stepped back. His mouth claimed mine again. I fisted his shirt, but continued to walk.
His hands skimmed down the bare skin of my neck and trace
d the dip of my dress with the touch of butterfly wings. I shivered.
“Quentin, no. This isn’t a good idea right now. I really can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Your body says so. Your mind is tired, confused. This will relax you.”
“No.”
I jerked my mouth away from his and fell back onto the couch. “No.” I stated again with more emphasis.
His crooked grin did nothing to help the frantic beating of my heart. He smoothed his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re turning me down like this.”
Poor baby. “I am. Things have changed, I’ve changed.”
“The only thing that’s changed is the place. This isn’t the North Pole.”
“And you’re not the only man in five hundred square miles.”
“I really wasn’t—”
“Shut up. Just…” I squeezed my fingers so hard my nails dented my palms. “Go. Please. You don’t understand what I’ve been through.”
“You’re doing that female analogy thing. Trying to make order and sense of things.”
“What’s so wrong with a little order?” I stood toe-to-toe with him again, this time pulling myself up to my full height in my heels and pressing my fists onto my hips. Even if I wasn’t anything threatening, I felt bigger.
“You can’t categorize the magic.”
“Magic?” I pointed at the candleholder on the side table and held it above Quentin’s head. It was heavy brass with lots of sharp edges. Real damage potential with that one.
“I think you should put that back where you got it.”
“Make me.”
He dove at me just as I let go. It fell with a thud to the carpet. In the meantime I was trapped under Quentin on the sofa. The draft tickling my thighs meant my skirt had crossed the line of decency. I had a feeling border patrol was on its way to investigate.
Quentin’s deep gaze connected with mine. There was something paralyzing about it. Isn’t there a snake that has the same technique—?
“Oh.”
His fingers rested mid-calf and stroked the sensitive skin there until shivers chased one another up to my core. I knew where I wanted his hand to go.
“Quentin.” Why was it so much more of a struggle to push his name past my clenched teeth?
Believe the Magic Page 17