Cursed by Love

by Jacie Floyd

  Hah! Not bloody likely.

  Then, he pictured all the different methods of sweet-talking he could attempt with Molly, with or without the aid of the Sleeping Lotus. That train of thought brought up even more heady fantasies.

  “Well, what do you say, boy?” Granddad demanded.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Gabe wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. “Before I call her and make a monumental fool of myself, tell me everything you know about provenance.”

  Molly lugged two large boxes of Nonna’s memorabilia home with her. On her second trip through her bright, colorful kitchen, she nearly tripped over her white-faced, black kitten, Houdini. He squeaked his disapproval at the close call and pulled his famous disappearing act. Just like all of the other men in her life.

  Only after Molly filled his bowls with fresh food and milk did he deign to return and offer a standoffish greeting. Oh, sure, he expected her to earn his affection.

  While Houdini crunched kitty chow, Molly changed into yoga pants and a T-shirt, fed the fish, watered her plants, and then fixed a glass of iced tea. When she lowered herself to her living room floor and began sorting, Houdini climbed into her lap to supervise.

  Molly worked through the box one paper at a time. Each bill of sale and newspaper article created fascinating glimpses into her grandmother and great-grandmother’s lives, but examining every one of the bits and pieces got old fast.

  Stroking Houdini’s soft kitty coat, Molly devised a strategy. She’d refrain from reading any of the individual items until after she’d sorted the contents of both boxes by decade and category.

  An hour later, stacks of papers littered the floor around her, and still, the first carton remained half full. And Houdini’s persistent curiosity hampered her efforts.

  Molly wished her mom had been interested in helping with this project, but after a half-hearted effort, she’d claimed fatigue and a desire to turn in early.

  With her nose twitching, she reached for a bundle of red-and-blue bordered letters tied with a blue ribbon. A glance at the postmark and a US Military address grabbed Molly’s interest.

  “What’s this, Houdini?”

  He pushed his nose between her hands for a sniff.

  “It’s correspondence addressed to my grandmother, Lorena Eckert from...” She peered closer at the handwritten return address. “Captain John Eckert.”

  Houdini batted the ends of the ribbon. Molly scratched between his ears. “That’s right, you clever kitty. John Eckert was my grandfather.”

  Her grandmother’s husband. The father who had died shortly after Mom’s birth.

  Goosebumps marched up her arms as she flipped through the packet. It contained half a dozen letters from the time her grandfather had shipped overseas until the scandal of his 1960 death, shot down over Russia as a military spy. She traced a fingertip across the fading script, listening with her heart for echoes from the past.

  “Do you think it’s possible that the Sleeping Lotus came to us during the Cold War when my grandfather worked for the government? It’s possible, isn’t it? If my grandfather was in Russia, God knows where else he might have been. And don’t you think Mom would love to read these letters, whether the Lotus came from him or not?”

  The kitten yawned in agreement.

  “I think so too.”

  Abandoning the sort-first, delve-later plan, she pulled the top letter from the stack, unfolded it, and leaned back against the sofa. The correspondence had obviously gone through censors with pertinent information blacked out.

  My darling Lorena, her grandfather had begun. After a hellish journey, I’ve finally arrived in—

  Tap.

  Fingering the charms on her bracelet like a rosary, she cocked her head. She strained to hear the faint noise outside the window.

  What was that?

  Not Houdini, curled up in her lap. Well, not so curled up anymore. He’d assumed stalking position, hunched back and flattened ears, his hunter’s gaze fixed on the window.

  Probably just kids playing pranks. Or moths, beating their wings against the glass.

  Tap.

  Clearly, possession of the Sleeping Lotus petals was making her jumpy. Tomorrow, she’d take the jade and put it in her safety deposit box. Then, she would quit worrying.

  Nothing for it but to check out what kind of boogeyman was lurking outside. No reason to be stupid though. First, she’d arm herself with her baseball bat from the hall closet. Just as she set Houdini aside, her cell phone blew up.

  She jerked in surprise. The stack of letters cascaded around her. Houdini darted down the hall. Darn! Why didn’t she ever remember to get the stupid thing out of her purse and keep it close by? Should she check on the noise, or sprint for the phone?

  On the off chance Freddy Kruger prowled around outside, she’d be a jump ahead on a cry for help if she had her cell. She pulled the phone out of her purse, noting the number as the same one on the card Gabe had given her earlier, but too late. The ringtone stopped. She redialed and waited for him to pick up.

  “Gabe. It’s Molly. From the show today.”

  “Molly.” The warmth of his voice in a reasonable decibel level came across the line. Sweet, but potent, like a shot of hot chocolate laced with brandy. “I just tried to call you. My grandfather had some information about the Sleeping Lotus, and I did some Internet research. Is this a good time to report in?”

  She eased over to the back door and set the security alarm. Her over-protective dad had insisted on installing the latest technology when she moved in. But she normally felt so safe, she didn’t bother activating it. “It’s fine. I was sorting through a dusty box of Nonna’s things, but I could use a break from all the sneezing.”

  “Run across anything interesting?”

  “Tons of interesting things from the past century.” She dug through her storage closet to arm herself with a baseball bat. “The price of bread. The latest dance crazes. The hottest gossip. Letters from the past. Whether any of it’s relevant to the Sleeping Lotus is a different story. Have you had better luck?” Feeling more secure with Gabe’s voice in her ear and her Louisville Slugger in her hands, she made the rounds of the house, checking locks and peering out windows.

  “It’s complicated.” He breathed out a weary sigh. “Want to get together and compare findings?”

  “What? Tonight?” She threw a quick glance at the Tweety Bird clock on the kitchen wall. Surprised at how much she’d like to get together, at how much she wanted company just now—with ghosts from the past visiting inside the house, and who knew what tiptoeing around outside—she shook off her uneasiness and embraced her inner Ninja.

  Whoever, whatever had been out there was probably long gone. Neighborhood kids playing, squirrels gone mad, who knew what innocuous thing had spooked her? “Sorry, it’s late and I have to be at school early in the morning.”

  “School?”

  “Third grade teacher.”

  “Thought so,” he murmured.

  “Hey.” The comment sounded like a shot at her less-than sophisticated appearance. She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “Based on?” She cringed, remembering the school clothes she’d had on earlier. She attempted to make her work clothes interesting, but sexy, sophisticated, or form-fitting, they weren’t. Comfortable and sexless was the ticket for playground duty and story-time. But not so perfect for making a good first impression on a complicated techno-geek with a mouth perfect for kissing.

  “The checkered tote bag with smiling apples pretty much ruled out stripper. And hard-hitting business executives might not worry about kids seeing something inappropriate on television. ‘Course, there’s still a lot of ground between CEO and exotic dancer.”

  “Very observant, but what do you do for a living? No, wait, let me guess. The way you were glued to your over-the-top smart phone and laptop, I’d say something with computers.” Sh
e also remembered the impeccable neatness of his appearance—sharply-creased pants, pressed shirt, neatly trimmed hair, no hint of beard scruff—and knew he had to be anal about details. “Programmer, maybe?”

  “You got that off my card.”

  “Could have, but didn’t.” She pulled it from the tote she’d left on the counter. “Contract Communications, Incorporated. Gabriel Shaw, President. What does something called Contract Communications do?”

  “We’re a contract agency for businesses that prefer to outsource their programming needs.”

  “Fascinating.” Molly’s eyes glazed over as she lied. She owned a laptop, of course. She used it competently. Used computers in her classroom all the time. But after she powered them up and downloaded her software, she didn’t care about how the technical magic occurred behind the screen. Computers seemed cold and detached, and much to her mother’s lifelong dismay, Molly didn’t give a flip for the kind of restrictive logic that ruled them. “And you’re the president? Impressive.”

  “Family company. The title makes the position sound better than it is. Believe me, the role is by default only.”

  “How many people work for you?”

  Gabe gave a little snort. “That’s open to debate. The number of people on the payroll and the number who actually work don’t always balance, but that’s another story. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about it tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Right, I was thinking maybe we can meet tomorrow about six and grab a bite to eat.”

  His persistence appealed to her. The memory of his rock solid chest pressed against hers loomed before her eyes. His lips nibbling hers, and his hands cupping her rear appealed even more.

  She fanned her face and reminded herself about the yelling. Her more practical self advised her inner hedonist to keep her distance from a man who failed to use his inside voice for phone conversations. No matter how beckoning his voice sounded at the moment. “After dinner might be better. Seven, maybe.”

  “Great. Where?”

  Not here, despite how tempted she was to offer the suggestion. Somewhere in neutral territory. “The downtown library?” One of her favorite places. Big, roomy, but cozy at the same time. “We could research the provenance and the curse while we’re there.”

  “We don’t need the library for research, but if you want to meet there, that’s fine.”

  “The second floor reading room?” Molly suggested. “You know the one?”

  “I’ll find it.”

  Still feeling a little jumpy, Molly dawdled. She considered telling him about her possible phantom night visitor, but decided against it. No way would she give the impression she was some wimpy, hand-wringing female, afraid of the dark. “Is there anything you can tell me tonight?”

  “Umm... About what?”

  “Provenance?”

  “Right, provenance.” A self-conscious little chuckle from him preceded a moment of hesitation. “I could, but if you’re going to keep secrets, I’ll keep mine too. For now.”

  Chapter Four

  A half-hour early for his meeting with Molly, Gabe camped at an isolated table in the reading room’s corner. He powered up his laptop intending to enter the coding for the next level of the computer game he was developing.

  But first, out of habit and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, he opened the Contract Communications financial folder and crunched some numbers. The same thing he’d been doing off and on all day, with the same dismal results. No matter how creative his input, the sums remained spectacularly insufficient.

  The possible twenty thousand he could raise with Granddad’s half of the Sleeping Lotus would keep his company—er, their company—afloat for another few weeks. They needed another six weeks, at least, before they’d get paid for the current Quigley project that kept half his staff busy. If they got lucky, maybe another big, or even not-so-big, contract would come in before then.

  Right. And maybe pigs would fly.

  Disgusted with their prospects, he dumped out of the spreadsheet to check his e-mail.

  Holy moly! One interesting possibility jumped out at him.

  He scanned an inquiry about a small systems project that would be perfect for his cousin Terry. With cautious optimism, Gabe shot off a response, suggesting an appointment for the next day.

  Now, if he could find something to keep Uncle Harold and Cousin Lenny busy for the next month, they’d be all set. But the chances of that were slim to frigging none.

  Not for the first time, he brushed aside regrets about quitting his dependable, salaried, bill-paying job last year as one of Procter and Gamble’s top programmers. Even then, he’d known starting his own business so he could employ his brilliant, lovable, and unreliable assortment of relatives hadn’t been his brightest idea.

  But what else could he do? Each of them possessed their own mad skills, with mad being the operative word. They were too eccentric, neurotic, or independent to land or hold down traditional nine-to-five jobs in Corporate America.

  Most of the time, their system worked fine. He beat the bushes and accepted assignments with the conservative local companies that would look askance at someone like his grandfather or his cousin Terry. Then the relatives went to work—behind the scenes and with his supervision, of course—and completed the jobs. Usually on schedule and successfully. But not always.

  He kneaded the tense muscles in the back of his neck and shuddered over the close call they’d had on the Pronto Printing account last month. By pulling an all-nighter before the project deadline, he’d managed to retrieve lost data from some cyberspace graveyard and save their collective butts.

  Everything always worked out eventually, his grandfather liked to say. Gabe knew it would this time, too. He’d damn well make sure of it, even if that meant spending every waking hour seducing Molly Webber into selling the Sleeping Lotus.

  After all, he’d handled worse assignments.

  He looked around the nearly empty reading room in search of the delightful Miss Molly. Still no sign of her.

  With another ten minutes to kill, he turned his attention to the subject of the Sleeping Lotus, launching a ‘net search for twelfth-century Huang Dynasty Chinese erotica. There were about a thousand more matches than he would’ve imagined before yesterday. That number had to be narrowed if he hoped to make any progress.

  Now what had been the name of that artist?

  He pulled up the notes he’d made on his phone and checked. Li-Wang. Yep, that drilled the field down.

  Based on the first image that popped up, he’d swear he’d stumbled onto a porn site. Sighing, he clicked through other Sleeping Lotus examples and positions, glancing occasionally over his shoulder.

  He paused in stunned appreciation of a woman standing on her head with her petals draped over her kneeling partner’s stem. Interesting. He admired the athletic ability. But with his recent dry spell in the sex department, it seemed like a good time to switch over to researching the Sleeping Lotus’s history, instead of fantasy shopping.

  The sound of flip-flops flapping across the tile floor forced his gaze away from the contortionist lovers. A faint orangish scent wafted above the library odors of paper, glue, and dust. His deprived libido went from sexual alert straight into carnal overdrive.

  “Oh, my!” Molly’s library-whisper cooed behind him. “Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt.”

  He flipped the laptop’s screen down. He hadn’t blushed since age ten when his uncle had explained the facts of life with Playboy pictorials, but the prickly heat of embarrassment marched up his neck now. He tugged on his collar. “You know what I’m doing.”

  “Yes, it’s pretty obvious.” She didn’t bother to hide her smirk.

  He turned to face her and had to work to keep his mouth from dropping open. The prim school teacher he’d met yesterday had vanished in favor of a temptress dressed to set off her figure to best advantage. Not in a slutty, sultry, over-the-top way, but more in a healt
hy, open, totally desirable way that drew his attention and left him eager to touch.

  The bottom of a stretchy pink knit T-shirt exposed an inch of smooth skin above the waistband of hip-hugging Capris that allowed her pierced bellybutton to play peekaboo with the rest of the world. The form-fitting outfit confirmed the perfection of the body he’d groped at the taping.

  A small attention-grabbing applique of an American flag decorated the front of her shirt, but it wasn’t patriotism that urged him to stand up and salute.

  An attempt must have been made to control her chin-length blond hair, but some irrepressible curls defied the effort. Her lush mouth matched the shade of her shirt and a delectable sprinkle of freckles dotted her cheeks.

  While his gaze ate her up, her wide blue eyes twinkled at him and drew him under her spell. She nodded toward the laptop and back to his face. “I thought you were researching the Sleeping Lotus. But if you were indulging in a kinkier interest, I can give you some alone time.”

  He wanted to indulge in some kinky interests with her, but that would have to wait. “I’ll save the kinky stuff for later.”

  “Promises, promises.” Dropping a couple of thick, dusty volumes onto the table, she sank into the chair beside his. “What did you find out?”

  Mostly, he’d found out that ancient Asians had been a lot bendier than he thought possible. He wondered about Molly’s proficiency at headstands. “To be honest, I hadn’t gotten beyond the visuals.”

  “I meant from your grandfather. About provenance. Last night.”

  “Right. Granddad.” He groped to pull his thoughts back on track. The erotic imagery and Molly’s presence had sucked all rational thought from his brain. Leaning back and crossing his arms, he focused on the rapt expression on her face, not on the face itself. On the words coming out of her mouth, not on the mouth. On the pleasure of her company, not on the body seated beside him. “Granddad’s father, Jonas Shaw, inherited the Sleeping Lotus from his father, Jebediah.”

  “Jebediah Shaw?” She wrinkled her adorable nose. “Why does that name sound familiar?”