by Grey, Shanon
She wasn’t so lucky with Jenn, who called on the tail end of her conversation with her mom. Her mother had insisted Morgan take the call and promised to give hugs and kisses to her father for her. Ever the romantic, Jenn jumped on the idea of sparks flying between them, even when Morgan insisted he didn’t feel them, only she did. Jenn also reminded her that he most definitely was not her brother. All in all, the conversations with her mom and Jenn lightened her mood and she grabbed the nightshirt and headed into the bath.
An antique claw-footed tub sat at an angle in the dusky beige bath. An oval mirror hung pristinely over a pedestal sink. Diamond panes set in a small window showcased the vine covered brick fence behind the cottage. She lifted the lid on a glass jar. An herbal infusion of lavender perfumed the small space. It was becoming apparent that Melissa was a fan of lavender. She looked at the tub and sighed. She was too tired. It was all she could do to climb beneath the cool sheets and turn off the light. Her last thought was how the pillow smelled of lavender.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Again. And again. Morgan pushed back the covers and padded into the front room. Meesha? She moved toward the front window.
Moonlight streamed across the garden. Something scurried through the plants, rustling leaves. A cat? She couldn’t quite make it out. Meesha barked again—from inside the darkened shop. The hair on the back of her arms stood on end. It moved again, whatever it was. She leaned into the window and squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the outline of the small animal silhouetted by moonlight. It looked hairless. Her breath caught. It stopped, rose up on hind legs and faced her. Violet slits glared at her. She screamed.
The hairless creature moved on all fours toward her, its body outlined in bluish violet. Morgan screamed again and stumbled further back into room. She saw the door of the shop fly open and Meesha and Dorian bound down the steps. Before she could turn, he burst through the door, pulled her away from the window, stopping just short of the bedroom, and pulled her into his arms. His initial contact with her sent a jolt, but before she could pull away, he gathered her close, resting his chin atop her head. The energy changed. It seemed to pulse—to catch and match a rhythm from him.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded, his voice husky from sleep. Points around the room began to glow, including the edge of the rug on which they stood. She quickly obeyed, closing her eyes. He whispered soothing words to her, his voice taking on a crooning tone. She began to relax, become lethargic. The pulse changed to a hum.
She could smell the heat of his bed warmed body. She could feel the beat of his heart. For a moment, she felt like she could hear both hearts, then one, as if they’d become attuned. She breathed him in and snuggled closer. His arms tightened around her, then loosened. Slowly, he released her. She blinked, stepped back and looked around. Nothing glowed. Not the stones. Not the rug. She didn’t hear a pulse or a hum.
He stood before her, watching her. Except for the fact that he was shirtless, in pajama bottoms, with mussed hair, he looked fine. Actually, he looked more than fine. She had an incredible urge to step back into his arms. Instead, she turned away.
She walked to the window and looked out. Nothing stirred. Warm scents wafted in through the still open door.
“What the hell was that?” She point toward the garden. “And what did you just do?”
“You were frightened,” Dorian said simply.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” she snapped at him.
His brow furrowed.
“Something happened here.” She waved her arm inclusively. “I’m not stupid.”
She faced the dog. Meesha sat three feet from the rug, ears forward, staring in rapt attention at the rug beneath Morgan’s feet, as she had the day before. Morgan hopped off the rug. “What’s that?” she pointed at the dog.
“Meesha?”
“No. Yes. But, what’s she staring at?”
Dorian stepped off the rug, lifted it to reveal the wood floor. Meesha looked up at him and moved over to the sofa where she hopped up and settled down, resting her head on her paws.
He walked over to the door. “You must’ve had a bad dream. I’ll go and let you get some sleep. Meesha,” he called. Meesha looked up at him but didn’t move.
“No!” Morgan’s voice came out in a yelp. “I’m not staying here alone.”
He smiled at her.
“You can have the couch.” She walked into the bedroom, retrieved the blanket from the bench, and grabbed a pillow. “Here,” she shoved them at him, marched into the bedroom, and closed the French doors firmly behind her.
“Oh…yeah…thanks for staying,” she called from behind the safety of the closed doors.
“Meesha, down.” She heard his command. A few grumbles followed and then silence.
Maybe he was right. It was so similar to her nightmares. They seem to be returning. She was so tired, she couldn’t think straight. She pulled the covers up and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Outside, a pair of violet eyes stared at the cottage.
****
Morgan woke sprawled across the bed, the quilt piled in a heap on the floor. A heavy fog clouded her mind. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. There was something flitting just beyond her consciousness. She turned her head. She stared at the closed French doors…and bolted upright, remembering that Dorian was on the other side.
She crawled off the bed, grabbed clothes off the bench and crept into the bathroom. Trying not to make too much noise, she bathed and got dressed, pulling her still damp red hair up off her neck and fastening a large silver clip to hold it. The jeans were a little loose, but when she tucked the chambray shirt in, they were just fine. She started out and turned back, pulled her make-up kit out of her purse. A little lip-gloss wouldn’t be going too far.
She pushed on the doors. With a thunk, they finally pushed open. There lay Dorian, asleep, one long leg hanging over the end of the sofa, while the other was bent and resting on the floor. He couldn’t be comfortable. His bare bronze chest rose and fell in an even pattern. She should cover him. She stepped over and looked down at Meesha, sprawled on her side in a nice little nest of blanket.
Her attention lifted to the window. She eased around the couch and tiptoed over to the large window. The happy faces of flowers turned upward toward the bright sun. The garden looked welcoming and safe. No animals of any sort. Maybe it had been a dream. It seemed so real. In all her dreams before, the threat was vague, the creatures undistinguished. She could still picture it, the malevolent eyes glowing. She shuddered.
“Hey.”
She jumped.
“Sorry.” Dorian sat facing her, his arm thrown across the back of the couch. His hair looked tousled and, with a night’s growth of beard, he appeared quite the rake. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She couldn’t help but stare at the muscles rippling across his torso. A shimmer of heat coiled in her belly.
He looked into her eyes. The shimmer of heat turned into a flame.
She looked down, letting her bangs curtain his view, then remembered his comments at dinner, looked up and brushed her bangs back.
He glanced at the mantel and was off the couch in one swift movement. “Crap. It’s almost 7:30. I need to open the shop. Meesha, come.” He was at the door with a panther’s grace before he turned back. “Give me a few moments. Then come on over.” He opened the door and turned back. “Coffee?”
“I can make some.”
“No, I meant do you want some? I always get a pot going in the morning. Not the most herbal smell for the shop, but I’ve found I have no desire to go without my coffee.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I will be over in a little while.”
Without another word, he walked out the door with Meesha on his heels. Through the window, she watched him cross the garden to the shop—watched his magnificent muscles flex as he walked. “Down, girl,” she admonished her thudding pulse. Instead, she concentrated on Meesha, who had
raced off to the side and now bounded up the steps behind him and yipped as he opened the door to let her precede him.
Morgan turned and retrieved the blanket from the floor. She shook it and folded it, laying it over the back of the couch. She grabbed a throw pillow, used her fist to fluff it, and caught the scent of him. She stopped and inhaled. He definitely had an effect on her. A few bars from “Music of the Night” played. Jenn! Morgan raced into the bedroom and grabbed her cell phone.
Jenn, lovable geek that she was, had installed show tunes on Morgan’s phone for several people who called her regularly. Her father got, “If I were a Rich Man,” and her mother, “I Will Follow Him.” Morgan chose, “With a Little Help from My Friends.” Rob had not been impressed with “The Nutty Professor” and insisted it be deleted. She should have known then.
“Hey, girlfriend,” Jenn piped.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“I hope it’s not too early. I wanted to catch you before you talked to your mom and dad today.”
“What’s wrong?” Her apprehension escalated.
“Nothing. I just wanted to let you know they were at your place when I went by to check on Mrs. T. We had a nice little chat.”
“And?”
“Morgan, they’re worried about you. I mean, about how you feel about them.”
“Mom didn’t say anything last night. I thought we’d cleared all that up before I left.” She sat on the bed and thought of the fine lines around her mother’s eyes. “I told them not to worry.”
“Well, I did too. But, they are who they are.” Jenn paused. “I just wanted to tell you that I sense that they feel like all this is somehow their fault.”
Morgan closed her eyes. She felt like she was doing a juggling act and she didn’t even know for sure what she was juggling. She wasn’t sure if Dorian wanted her here. He was being kind—now. There was something under the surface she couldn’t quite figure. Now, her parents.
“I’ll call them later,” she said.
“How’s Dorian?”
She smiled. If there was a male within ten miles, Jenn was ready to hear all the details.
“Not much to tell,” she said, waited a beat, then added, “except that he spent the night here last night.”
“What?” Jenn voice became shrill.
Morgan laughed. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Yes, he did. And no, we didn’t. I will explain later. I promise. I have to get over there now.” She stood and started smoothing the quilt back on the bed as she spoke. “Gotta run. Bye.” Smiling, she hung up on a flurry of questions.
She took her time putting the cottage to rights. She lifted the top of the glass jar in the bathroom and let the lavender perfume the space. By the time she opened the door to leave, the cottage sparkled and smelled inviting.
****
The temperature was already climbing into the eighties. A warm breeze ruffled the morning glory along the back fence. She studied the gazebo. The swing stirred in the air blowing through the bright white structure. Tea roses trailed upward, climbing the latticework, their delicate fragrance wafting around her. She took a step toward the gazebo when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. A quick glance in the direction of the shop showed her there was nothing where she’d seen the creature last night. The hair on her arm prickled. She swallowed and willed herself not to run as she hastened to the back door of the shop. When she tapped on the screen door, Meesha gave a welcoming bark.
“I’m in front. Come on in,” Dorian called.
She looked back at the garden. The picturesque cottage was nestled in a cornucopia of summer color. Her unease momentarily squelched, she followed the voices. Dorian stood behind the counter, wrapping dried herbs in brown paper. Deftly, he formed a small packet and secured it with twine. Five women clustered on the other side, tittering. All eyes turned to her. She smiled, but kept her eyes slighted averted.
“Ladies,” he said, amusement in his tone, “this is Morgan Briscoe, co-owner of The Shoppe of Spells.”
They rushed forward, surrounded her, touching her arm, shaking her hand. A bunch of chattering squirrels would have been less disturbing. She nodded, smiled, and was assailed by a flurry of comments and questions.
“You look so much like her, dear.”
“We are so glad you are finally here.”
“Will you be staying?”
“Where have you been living?”
“They never said anything about you, did they, Dorian?”
The bell above the door tinkled. All chattering stopped. Morgan looked up. A tall, svelte woman with short raven hair seemed to flow in, her eyes never leaving Morgan. She proprietarily moved around the counter, stepped up to Dorian, slid one bronze fingernail under his chin to turn him toward her and planted a kiss on his lips, which he rigidly returned.
Morgan noticed the muscle in his jaw tighten. The vixen took no notice. She flowed back around the counter and invaded the small circle of women surrounding Morgan, extending a hand full of long bronze fingernails.
“I’m Jasmine. But, I’m sure Dorian has already mentioned me.”
Morgan felt the tips of the nails dig, ever so slightly, into her hand. Determined not to acknowledge the discomfort, she tried to ignore the pressure. “No. Can’t say that he has,” she said, looking the other woman directly in the eyes. The battle lasted mere seconds before Jasmine let go. Morgan saw fire flash in her eyes before they turned, petulantly, toward Dorian.
“Jas, she just got here last evening.” There was no pretense in his tone.
Jasmine moved back around the counter and sidled up next to him, letting her fingers make a long, smooth stroke down his arm.
Morgan watched them. Every time she came in contact with him, an electric current sparked between them. To her vexation, Jasmine didn’t have the same problem. Now, why would that bother her?
The little group of woman moved as one toward the door, quietly, trying not to draw Jasmine’s attention to them.
Too late. “Leaving, ladies?” The vixen’s voice dripped venom.
Not turning, the smallest of the five whispered, “We just stopped by for some herbs.” “Sure you did,” the viper hissed. The little group scuttled out the door.
Morgan raised her head and looked directly at her.
Jasmine turned her full attention to Morgan. “Why look Dorian, she has the same weird eyes Melissa did.”
“That’s enough, Jas.” Dorian took her arm and led her toward the door.
“But, darling,” she purred.
“Morgan and I have business to discuss. I’ll call you later.”
Jasmine reached up and kissed him, narrowed her eyes, and glared at Morgan.
Morgan flashed her best smile.
Dorian reached around Jasmine, eased himself out of her clasp, and held the door.
“Until tonight.” She smiled a seductive promise.
Dorian didn’t answer, just closed the door behind her.
He thrust his hand through his hair. “Well…that went well,” he muttered to himself.
That one statement—one made often by her father—totally disarmed her.
“Coffee?”
“Sure.” She followed him into the kitchen.
Chapter Four
Morgan slipped into the same chair she’d occupied the night before and watched him pour the piping hot brew into two mugs. “Scone?” he asked, not turning around.
“Okay.” She shrugged. The little scene in the front of the store had robbed her of her appetite.
He set a white china plate in front of her. “I think they’re still warm.”
“You made scones?” she asked just before letting the warm cinnamon play on her tongue.
Her eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Teresa brought them down. She seems to think I’ll starve if she doesn’t bring something in the morning.”
She saw the pain, still fresh, cloud his eyes as he sat across from her.
“I’m so sorry for your
loss,” she said softly.
He acknowledged her with a nod. Meesha gave a whimper. Dorian broke off a small piece of scone and offered it to the dog. “Your breakfast is over there,” he said. As if in understanding, she gave his hand a quick lick and moved over to her food bowl.
“I’m sorry about in there…earlier,” he said.
“It’s okay. They didn’t mean anything.” She made careful reference to the group of women.
“Them?” he choked back a snort. “I don’t apologize for them. They are what they are.” He shook him head. “And, they’ll drive you crazy with their good intentions.” He rose and took her plate, talking back over his shoulder. “I was referring to Jasmine.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Actually, no.” Dorian turned back around and leaned against the counter. “She would like it, if—”
The bell tinkled. He looked relieved. “Back to work.” He pushed away from the counter. “Come on, I will try to give you some shop initiation as we go.”
Morgan wondered what he would have said had they not been interrupted.
The next few hours passed quickly. For what it was, the little shop seemed to do a brisk business. Or, everyone in town was curious and wanted to see her. Items were purchased, introductions made. For Morgan, it was nice to be active in a shop again. Before long, she was able to find what someone needed and ring it up without asking Dorian for help. She loved the smells of the products and wanted to ask for the recipes so she could incorporate some into her own scents when she got home.
As the hours passed, Morgan began handling more and more up front, allowing Dorian to do more apothecary work. He would disappear through the door under the stairs, take ingredients into the kitchen and come out with the compounded item. She had so many questions. Occasionally, she caught him watching her. At first, she thought he was evaluating her work, but it was more than that. It was as though he was studying her, not just her work. Before she could ask, someone would come in and interrupt them. Each person was very pleasant and tended to linger, visiting with her until another customer took her attention.
