by Vivien Dean
Fred and Ginger never had it this rough.
Maddy Cardinale loves her art restoration job at a prestigious New York museum. She wouldn’t even mind working the night shift if it wasn’t for her annoying colleague, Cash Vinci. Charismatic, confident to a fault, sexy as hell…Cash seems bound and determined to get under her skin.
Cash’s specialty is ancient weaponry—knives, swords, clubs—but when it comes to sharp, nothing comes close to Maddy’s icy wit. If only she’d learn to lighten up, she’d see that appearances are deceiving. Just thinking about touching that amazing skin of hers makes him break into a sweat.
An unusual painting’s arrival provides a welcome distraction—until a fleeting touch unleashes a magic that flings them out of their workshop and into the 1940s nightclub portrayed on the canvas. They’re dressed to kill, and so are the mobsters and molls who surround them. Worse, they learn all too quickly that the club sells more than drinks.
Trapped in a deadly dance, they race to unravel the spell that traps them in a world where the only safe place is Cash’s bed. On that fragile foundation, they forge a trust that just might grow into something lasting. If their dance isn’t cut short…
Warning: Contains dashing men in tuxes, glamorous women in ballgowns, and more magic than you can shake a stick at.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Two Lives in Waltz Time
Copyright © 2010 by Vivien Dean
ISBN: 978-1-60504-995-3
Edited by Laurie M. Rauch
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: May 2010
www.samhainpublishing.com
Two Lives in Waltz Time
Vivien Dean
Chapter One
It came out of nowhere.
One moment, the dusky sky glowed radiant and warm. The next, sheets of rain swept across the streets, blacking out the heavens as the gales whistled over the cars, distant rolls of thunder adding their bass voices to the storm’s song. A cat tried dashing to safety under an SUV, only to find itself caught by the wind, tumbled around until it was muddied and more than a little dazed. On unsure feet, it disappeared into the growing darkness.
Pulling her very non-waterproof jacket closer around her slim frame, Maddy Cardinale bent her head against the rain as she raced for the building’s back entrance. One of these days, she was seriously going to have to invest in an umbrella. People had warned her about New York winters before she’d moved from Arizona to take a job at the prestigious Regent Museum. It was just too bad not one person had mentioned the way the sky opened up without warning, soaking you to your skin and ruining the new shoes you’d saved money from four paychecks to buy. Weren’t all those tall buildings supposed to protect those unfortunates stuck on the sidewalks? What made it all worse was knowing she would get teased unmercifully about wearing the stacked heels to work in the first place. There was no way Cash would be able to resist such an easy target. Fashion over function, he’d start with. Then he’d probably recant and make some snide comment about her needing the extra inches and who cared if they were a little wet?
Maddy was bristling by the time she stepped inside the museum. That wasn’t a good sign. Usually, she didn’t start getting edgy until after Cash had shown up for his shift.
Her heels clicked along the tiled floors, her steps short and staccato. The skirt she wore would have normally floated around her toned legs, but the rain made the flimsy fabric stick to her skin, outlining her hips and the full curve of her bottom. She blushed at the security guard’s naked appraisal, ducking her head as she quickened her pace. This was going to be a very long night.
Though the rest of the museum was dark, the corridors leading into the back storage rooms were brightly lit. With the exception of the guards and a small cleaning staff, the building was completely deserted after hours. That was the way Maddy liked it. Peace and quiet made her job as a conservator infinitely more enjoyable. It didn’t matter that she spent all her time working. Not having many opportunities to appreciate her labors of love after they left her care didn’t lessen how much she loved her job. She made things beautiful for the world to see. That was all she needed.
The fact that she had to share it with someone who drove her absolutely bonkers was another issue entirely.
The door to the main storage room was ajar, and she paused before entering. At the workbench inside, Ava Reisman, her day shift counterpart, was bent over the microscope, the dark fall of her shoulder-length bob falling across her full cheeks. Maddy stepped as quietly as she could, hoping she could sneak in without being detected, but as soon as she crossed the threshold, Ava looked up. The girl’s hearing was eerily sensitive.
“Oh my God, what happened to you?” she cried, leaping to her feet.
“About a million buckets of water.” Maddy started to slide onto one of the stools around the worktable, only to jerk back upward when she audibly squelched.
“C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Allowing herself to be led around the periphery of the room, away from all the work areas and the shelves of waiting artifacts, she grimaced when she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her long blonde hair was plastered to her head and shoulders, all signs of the curls she’d spent hours creating gone. While her skirt clung to her legs, at least it hadn’t gone translucent like her blouse had, revealing the plain white bra she wore underneath. No wonder the guard had been leering at her.
“It could be worse,” Ava offered. Her wide brown eyes were sympathetic. “Cash could’ve actually been on time tonight and seen you walk in like this.”
Mention of the man she spent her nights working with made Maddy groan. “Does it matter? I’m still going to be modeling the latest in wet gear when he does get in. His mouth isn’t going to stop until I push him out the door in the morning.”
“It won’t be that bad.”
Maddy’s brows shot up. “And in what universe are you currently living? Because that’s where I want to be. The world where Cash Vinci isn’t the leading cause of every bit of misery in my life.”
“Oh, please. It’s not like he ordered it to rain tonight. And Cash can be really sweet sometimes.” She pinked under Maddy’s unwavering gaze. “I said sometimes.”
“Yes, when sometimes equals never.”
With a weary sigh, Ava shook her head and stepped out of the bathroom. “Did you ever think that maybe you two bring out the worst in each other?” Maddy could hear her rustling around, but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the train wreck of her reflection to see what her friend was doing. “If either one of you ever bothered to take a step back and look at the other like you were normal human beings, you might just find out that—”
“Don’t say it.”
Ava appeared in the mirror again, holding a pile of folded clothes. “One of these days, you’ll have to let me actually finish that sentence.” She tossed the clothes to Maddy, who caught them effortlessly. “I was planning on going to the gym after
work, but I think this is a little more important than those extra crunches I hate anyway.”
It wasn’t much—just a faded white T-shirt that said, “I’ll show you my motherboard, if you show me your hard drive” and a pair of navy cut-off sweats. Maddy chewed at her lower lip as she held them up.
“No offense, but if I wear these, I’m going to look like a clown.”
Ava smiled brightly, steering Maddy so she was forced to look at her reflection again. “Yes, but you’ll be a dry, non-transparent clown.”
“And suddenly I see the appeal.”
Ava left her in privacy, allowing Maddy to peel off her wet clothes and drape them over the wall of the shower cubicle to drip dry. She was right about the clothes. With the difference of seven inches in height and a cup size, the shorts came to Maddy’s knees, while the T-shirt almost made her breasts disappear. In the end, she decided that was good. It was one less thing for Cash to make inappropriate comments about.
When Maddy finally emerged from the bathroom, Ava was slipping on her coat. “There’s still no sign of Mr. Personality,” she said. “Can you let him know he got a package today?”
“Is it interesting enough to keep him out of my hair all night?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t open it. It came addressed specifically to him, and you know how weird he gets about his stuff.”
Maddy knew. She and Cash had had more than one row about that particular topic. Spying the flat package at the far end of the workbench, she padded over in her bare feet to give it a closer inspection. Cassius Vinci. No wonder he insisted on the nickname. She found it impossible to hide her smirk.
“God, you’re so twelve,” Ava commented. “I’m outta here. See you tomorrow!”
Maddy waved without looking up, while the door clicked shut behind Ava. The package was rectangular, no more than four inches thick. If she hadn’t known to whom it was addressed, she would have automatically assumed it was a painting, which was her specialty, not Cash’s. He worked with weapons. Knives, swords, clubs. If it could be used to kill or maim, Cash knew about it. Who would send him a painting? And why?
There was no return address anywhere to be seen. Casting one last surreptitious glance toward the door, Maddy made the decision that whatever hell she was going to catch would be worth satisfying her curiosity.
The sound of the ripping paper seemed to boom in the wide space of the storage room, driving her to strip the package even faster. Inside was a plain box, and when she broke the seal on that as well, she bit back her grin. A painting. She knew it.
Then she looked at it. Really looked at it.
It took her breath away.
On the surface, it looked like a simple rendition of a forties’ nightclub. Dancers were frozen in time as an orchestra played in the far background. But, beyond that, there was something more. The colors almost glowed in the artificial light of the storage room, the figures practically leaping off the canvas as they stood locked in mid-swirl, smiles plastered on their beautiful faces as the unheard music filled the air around them. Scarlet. Sapphire. Gold. Emerald. Each had a life of its own, whether in the women’s flowing dresses or the floor’s checkered tiles. Even the black of the men’s tuxedoes came to life, providing a midnight satin she ached to touch.
Maddy’s fingers traced the gilt frame, dancing along the whorls, her attention fixed on the elegance of the painting. It didn’t have any age, or if it did, someone had done a hell of a good job cleaning it. Still, considering the subject matter, it couldn’t have been more than sixty years old. Even if the artist was well-known—and the lack of any recognizable signature kept her from determining that easily—it was hardly museum-worthy. It made no sense whatsoever for Cash to get something like this here at work.
“Did I miss a memo about dress for the gym day?”
The amused baritone from the doorway made her jump, and Maddy jerked away from where she’d been examining the painting. “What?”
Chuckling, Cash dropped his umbrella by the door, and his backpack on the nearest stool. He was dressed as he always was, long legs encased in well-worn blue jeans, broad shoulders clearly outlined by a plain, dark T-shirt. There wasn’t a speck of rain to be seen on him, not even in his short, dark hair. It had that slight bed-head look he always favored—probably because an unfortunate girl told him it was attractive years and years ago—and his light green eyes danced with some unknown amusement. His smile was wide, his dimples deep as his gaze swept over her. “You still haven’t bought a brolly, have you?”
Maddy pursed her lips together. He did this on purpose, used terminology to heighten his British accent. While she was immune to it, the other female employees in the museum loved the way he spoke. She spent a lot of her time trying to convince them that he wasn’t the sexiest thing to hit New York since Hugh Jackman performed on Broadway.
“You’re late,” she said, her voice like ice.
“Noticed that, huh?” He sauntered around the table to lean against the edge at her side. “Miss me when I’m not around?”
“In your dreams, Cash.”
“And here I thought Ava would never tell. At least tell me she didn’t mention the part with you in the black leather cossie.” His gaze swept over her again, this time lingering on the T-shirt’s wording across her chest. “On second thought, I think I might like this better. Just tell me this isn’t your notion of pillow talk. That would be sad, even for you.”
With a cry of disgusted alarm, Maddy stormed away from the workbench, her hands over her ears. The sound of Cash’s laughter still managed to filter through, but the image of the pair of them wrapped up in some BDSM fantasy was already burned on her brain.
He’d done this from the start. The first time he’d flirted with her, she’d actually been flattered. At least, until she saw him turn around and do the same with Ava. And an intern from Shipping. And the female security guard who’d been on duty when they’d left the following morning. Her embarrassment at believing him genuine had tainted everything he’d said and done since. She only wished he hadn’t made it his personal mission to push her buttons every opportunity he got.
“Lighten up,” she heard him say. When she risked a glance back, his clear gaze rested on her. “We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. If you’re going to turn into an uptight bitch this early, we’re never going to make it.”
She glared at him as she retreated to the project she’d left the previous night. “That only works if you don’t talk to me.”
“Actually, it works just as well if you learn how to take a joke.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep back the retort. They could go on like this all night if she didn’t put a stop to it right now.
The room fell silent while Maddy turned her attention to the tiny fresco she’d spent the last three days cleaning. Though the small panel had been her joy when it had first arrived at the museum, the colors now seemed flat and lifeless, devoid of the same type of light that filled Cash’s painting. Empty faces stared back at her, and she had to fight not to push the thing away and return to staring at the Fred and Ginger extravaganza.
“What’s this?”
Cash’s question was enough of an excuse to look up from her work. “A present from one of your secret admirers,” she said when she saw him appraising the painting. At his frown, she clarified, “It came in today’s mail for you. No return address.”
Taking a step away from the table, Cash scanned the nearby area until he saw the discarded brown wrapping paper, then bent to pick it up. Laying it out on the table, he smoothed down the edges while his green eyes flickered across its surface, ascertaining the veracity of Maddy’s claim for himself.
“You opened this?” he asked.
The guarded tone of his voice set her on edge. No good humor left. Shit. He was going to be pissy about this one all night.
“Actually, Ava—” The way his eyes shot up to bore into her made her halt in mid-fib, and Maddy’s cheeks heated under
the intensity. Somehow, he always saw through her when she tried to lie to him. “—told me about it,” she finished lamely. “It looked like a painting, and I thought it might’ve been mislabeled, since you don’t do those. I don’t suppose it rings any bells for you.”
Cash shook his head, his gaze shifting back to the painting. “No clang-clang for this trolley,” he muttered.
Maddy rose from her stool and ventured back around the workbench to stand at Cash’s elbow. “I can tell you it’s not old. And not done by any artist I’m familiar with. That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful, though. Like a snapshot out of an old movie, where everyone dresses to the nines and nobody has a care in the world except to dance.”
Though she meant every word, it was said hoping to distract him. Something about the painting was making Cash jittery, and the last thing she wanted was for him to be more unpredictable than usual. His next few words, though, confused her even further.
“Appearances can be deceiving, Maddy.” It was barely above a whisper, his attention rapt on the figures before him. As she watched, his hand reached out to touch the gilt frame, a single fingertip etching the curls and swoops before drifting closer to the painting itself.
“What’re you doing?” Her hand shot forward, grabbing him by the wrist to pull him away. “You never touch the canvas without a glove on. You idiot, you know that.”
But she couldn’t move him. His muscles were locked rigid beneath her grip. And, for whatever reason, her fingers wouldn’t uncurl from him, either.
“I…know…” Cash said through gritted teeth.
Her gaze flew to his face. Beads of sweat were popping on his brow, and the veins in his neck stood out from some unseen strain. He was struggling with something, but it wasn’t until she looked down at his hand on the painting that she understood exactly what it was.
His fingertip rested against the hem of one of the women’s dresses. The rich indigo of the oil was leeching into Cash’s skin, bleeding a path up his index finger, past the first knuckle, into the second. Within moments, other hues raced to join it, suffusing his flesh in a riot of color that would have been pretty under any other circumstances. Now it was merely panic-worthy.