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Anca looked up as the bell on the door tinkled. Her eyes slid to the clock near the cash register, and she bit back a groan. Four minutes until closing. She plastered on a smile as her potential customer came into view. The fake smile faded as she got a
glimpse of him. She forgot how to breathe as the finest specimen of
manhood she had ever seen strode to the front counter. He was well over
six feet tall, with rippling muscles, a lean build, and silvery-blond
hair that was a sharp contrast to his tanned skin and dark eyes. The
perfect cut of his suit emphasized his magnificent physique, while
contributing to his aura of power. Or perhaps the suit had nothing to
do with it. She swallowed heavily as he stopped in front of her. His
chiseled lips didn’t curve into a smile. Her mouth parted, and she
couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from him. Her nipples tightened against
the lace of her bra, and she blushed, wondering if evidence of her
arousal showed through the silk Nehru-style jacket she wore. She glanced down and was relieved
to see a barely discernable protrusion of her nipples against the pink
fabric, silk-screened with roses. Her gaze returned to his when he
cleared his throat. “Good evening,” she said, pleased she didn’t
stumble over the words in her flustered state. “Are you Anca Draganescu?” His
voice was crisp and businesslike, but the accent underlying his words
lent them a husky sensuality. He could make a discussion on
weather turn her on. She almost giggled at the thought and strove to
compose her features into a professional mask. “Yes. I’m the
proprietor of Dragan’s Whimsy.” He nodded. “You are a psychic,
no?” She shrugged. “I can’t always
control the gift—” He interrupted before she could
give her standard speech about no guarantees. “You will read me.” Her eyes widened at his imperious
command. “The store will be closing soon, sir. I’d be happy to
schedule an appointment for you tomorrow. I had a cancellation just this
afternoon.” He shook his head. “Impossible,
Miss Draganescu. Now, please.” She took a deep breath, struggling
to maintain control of her temper. Even though he looked as though
he’d stepped from a GQ ad, that didn’t give him the right to
be rude. “That is impossible. Tomorrow.” “I will be home by tomorrow. My
flight leaves at midnight.” He glanced at his watch as he pushed back
the cuff of his suit and light-blue shirt. “I took the liberty of
flipping your closed sign and locking the door.” Anca’s mouth fell open.
“That’s unacceptable. How dare you?” “I will pay any amount.” His
eyes softened. “You must do this.” She frowned, disconcerted when the
anger forming banked at his gentler expression and lowered tone. “Why
is it so important?” He shrugged. “I must appease my
curiosity.” She sighed. “Fine, but I’ll
expect double the standard fee.” Anca turned the key to lock the
register and slipped the ring in the pocket of her silk slacks.
“Please make yourself comfortable while I brew tea.” He walked to the beige suede sofa
and chairs in the corner of the store without responding. Anca watched
him take a seat before she left her post behind the counter and went to
the tea cozy in the opposite corner. The water in the pot was still hot,
and she selected her special blend of jasmine, chamomile, and lemon
verbena tea, used to enhance consciousness. She added two scoops of the leaves
to a small ceramic pot. She measured water from the metal pot on the
warmer and added it to the teapot decorated with roses and ribbons.
While it steeped, she added matching teacups and saucers to a silver
tray. When they were arranged aesthetically, she put the small steeping
pot on the tray and carried it over to her customer. He had chosen the sofa, and he was
leaning back against the cushions. There was an aura of grace about his
movements as he shifted to sit up straight. “What’s the tea for?”
He eyed the pot as though it contained something less innocuous than
tea. She smiled at him as she lifted a
cup and saucer to pour the brew. “It aids in relaxation. The more open
you are, the more I’ll be able to pick up.” He lifted a brow as he took the cup
she had filled. She watched with amusement as he
sniffed the contents before sipping it. He frowned, but didn’t thrust
it away. She poured a cup for herself and took the chair closest to him.
“May I ask why you want a reading, sir? What do you hope to learn
today?” She sipped the tea, waiting to hear
the standard questions: When
will I be promoted? Will I get married? Should we have children? Are my
wife and I drifting apart? Her eyes sought out his left hand and saw the
ring finger lacked a gold band, but that didn’t mean anything. His gaze was forthright when he met
hers. “I want to see if you’re who I think you are.” She swallowed without thought, not
expecting such an answer, and unable to form a coherent reply. The hot
tea burned her tongue, and she gasped. Who did he think she was? “Are you alright, Miss
Draganescu?” She waved her hand before setting
the cup on the tray. “I’m fine. Shall we begin, Mr.…?” The
sooner they finished, the sooner she could get him out of her shop. Once
she was upstairs in her apartment, her unease would fade away, she
assured herself. “Demi Golina.” He didn’t
offer his hand to shake. “May I see your hand, Mr. Golina?” His eyes narrowed. “Are you a
palm reader, Miss Draganescu?” His tone bordered on scathing. She shook her head. “No. I simply
find touch the easiest way to read someone.” He extended his hand. Anca folded it between hers,
careful not to rake his flesh with her long nails. She cried out as soon
as they touched. Visions raced through her mind in a dizzying array of
colors and sound, with little form. She had never experienced anything
like it before. She tried to jerk away, but only
succeeded in freeing one hand. He tightened his grip on the other. She
cried out again, begging him with a jumble of incoherent sounds to
release her. “Tell me what you see, Anca,”
he purred. He looked intense, but there wasn’t a trace of cruelty on
his face. He didn’t seem to receive any pleasure from prolonging the
contact or causing her fear. “A-a ch-chalice,” she
stuttered. “Gold, antique, with a ruby in its handle…” She shook
her head as the cup left her mind, replaced by a vision that had color
sweeping up her neck. She was bent backwards over a
table, moaning as Mr. Golina sucked on her nipples. She was bare from
the waist up, as was he. Pressed together, they struggled to get even
closer. She heard a moan escape her, and it held the same passion as in
her vision. “What is it?” She shook her head, unable to
describe the scene. When she met his eyes, she saw a half-smile curved
his lips, and his eyes had darkened. Was he experiencing the same
vision? She had never shared one with another person before. She had
only relayed what she saw in the past. She broke eye contact and closed
her eyes. Anca shook her head, struggling to dispel the vision. She
counted slowly to ten, which was usually enough to break her
concentration if a vision became too vivid. This time, it only increased
in clarity. As he continued to suckle at her breast, his hand slid down
her stomach, into the waistband of her pants, and over her panties. She jerked in the chair as he
stroked her pussy in the vision. She grew wet in real life, and she was
already dripping with need in the vision. Her pussy spasmed with
yearning as his fingers explored her. The experience was disconcerting
enough to cause her eyes to fly open. Anca tore her hand from his. “No
more, please. I don’t see anything at all.” He chuckled. “Didn’t your
mother raise you not to fib, Anca?” “You must go now, Mr. Golina. No
charge for the reading.” Anca bounded from the seat and began stacking
the cups haphazardly on the tray. She stiffened when he touched her arm,
but the visions didn’t return. She breathed a small sigh of relief. “I can’t just yet.” “Why not?” A flash of the
vision returned to her, along with a quiver of fear. Did this man plan
to rape her? She frowned, remembering how aroused she was in the vision.
It didn’t fit. “My purpose in coming here
wasn’t for a reading. I was sent to find you, Anca.” Her eyes widened. “By who?” He took a deep breath. “Your
father.” Anca dropped the tray she had just
lifted, and it fell with a small clatter onto the wooden table.
“That’s a lie. My father is dead.” Mr. Golina shook his head. “No.
He lives, and he’s anxious to meet you. He’s waited so long.” Her mouth fell open, and she
struggled to speak. “That’s another lie. I’ve been here in New
York the past twenty-six years. He could have found me.” He ran a hand through his short,
blond hair. “He’s dying, Anca. He needs to see you now.” She shook her head. “He’s dead.
My mother told me he died before I was born.” “Katrine was trying to protect
you.” Suspicion clouded her eyes. “My
mother’s name is Kathryn, and you’ve just blown your entire scam.
Get out of here before I call the police.” He sighed heavily. “It is no
confidence game that brings me here, I assure you. I’m acting as the
emissary of your father, whose dying wish is to meet his daughter. Will
you deny him?” She tilted her chin. “I don’t
believe you.” “You wear a ruby pendant around
your neck,” he said softly. “You never take it off.” Anca frowned at his knowledge, but
she bluffed her way through. “That’s no big secret. Last year, one
of my clients tried to buy it from me. When I wouldn’t sell it, she
hired someone to steal it. It was in the papers.” His brow furrowed, and he muttered
something that sounded like a name under his breath. “Yes, I’m sure
it was her,” he said more loudly. He looked thoughtful, but then he
blinked, and his expression returned to one of earnestness as he
dismissed the topic of the attempted theft. “At different times of the
year, the pendant seems to glow with an internal light. It warms to the
touch.” “I…” She broke off, unable to
reply. She hadn’t told anyone about that, fearing they would think she
had gone nuts. “You’ve always had the
pendant.” She nodded, not able to remember a
time when she didn’t wear it. “Your mother took it with her
when she fled the castle and Corsova. She knew what it represented, and
she knew it was your birthright.” “What are you talking about? My
mother is an immigrant from the Ukraine.” Mr. Golina shook his head
emphatically. “No, she was born in the Corsovan village of Rij, at the
starting point of the Bulgain Mountains. Romania and Moldova border our
country, as does the Ukraine, but she never visited that country, to my
knowledge. She spent her whole life in her village, until she married
your father when she was seventeen. She ran away after they had been
married four years. That was the first time she left the borders of
Corsova.” Anca clapped her hands over her
ears. “That isn’t true. I know my mother.” He grasped her wrists and pried
away her arms. “She left your father, who had much affection for her.
He worries about her even to this day. She loved him deeply, but she
took you from him, to protect you.” “What kind of monster is my
father then, that I would have to be protected?” she asked stridently. “Valdemeer is a good man. She
fled from…others who would do his heir harm.” Anca wilted and slumped forward. He
still held her wrists, and she was inches from touching him. “I
don’t want to know any of this.” His expression didn’t hold a
shred of pity. “You must know the truth. You have to come back with me
to meet your father, before it’s too late. Time grows short, Anca. We
have less than a month.” He released her wrists. Anca sank into the chair she had
vacated. Automatically, her hand went to the pendant under her shirt.
She lifted it by the chain, until the stone rested against her hand. It
was warm to the touch, and it glowed softly. Specks of gold illuminated
the stone, and she frowned. It had never done that before. Mr. Golina knelt beside her chair.
“Will you come? I have us booked on a midnight flight.” She bit her lip, torn between the
chance to meet a man she had thought was dead and the opportunity to
hurt him as he had hurt her, by rejecting his dying wish. She sighed,
knowing there would be little satisfaction in denying him. Her pride
would be cold comfort after his death, when it was too late to meet him
if she changed her mind. She nodded slowly. “I’ll
come.” A small smile lifted his lips.
“Excellent, Anca.” She frowned at him. “What’s he
like, Mr. Golina?” He shrugged. “Valdemeer is a
difficult man to describe. You will see for yourself soon enough.” He
rose to a standing position and offered her a hand. She took it reluctantly, preparing
herself for an onslaught of visions. Nothing happened. She stood up, but
when she tried to loosen his hold, he grasped her hand more firmly. She
stared up at him with confusion. “We will be good friends, Anca. I
would very much like it if you called me Demi.” She nodded, grateful she didn’t
blurt out what she was thinking. If the revelation were true, they would
be more than friends. A lot more, indeed.
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