by Marina Myles
“Oh?”
“You know my birthday, but I don’t know yours.”
He settled back in his chair and sighed. It was obvious that he didn’t like to talk about himself. “I was born on July twenty-fourth.”
“Ah, what a coincidence! The birthday of my favorite author.”
“Alexandre Dumas?”
“You enjoy his novels, too?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
They smiled at one another and discussed the genius of Dumas as they waited for the escargot to arrive. Drago explained that his fascination with The Count of Monte Cristo lay in the fact that its lead character, Edmond Dantès, walked among old acquaintances completely unrecognized after many years of incarceration.
“By changing his physical appearance and social status he was able to fool everyone,” Drago said enthusiastically. “Dantès was an understated magician. Yet he couldn’t deceive the greatest love of his life, Mércèdes. It shows that true love can transcend the test of time. Don’t you agree?”
“Only if both participants are willing,” Rose countered wisely.
Drago didn’t seem pleased with her response.
She was grateful when the waiter appeared with the delicious-smelling snails. Famished, she began to eat, but noticed that her companion consumed nothing. “Aren’t you hungry?”
The illusionist shook his head. “My performances usually start at this time and I’m accustomed to eating very little before them.” He watched her devour her appetizer, then smiled at her empty plate. “Tell me, my charming Miss Carlisle, how is it a suitor hasn’t snatched you up by now? Is there no one in your life?”
At first, the question seemed intolerably bold, but then again, they’d skipped over many polite formalities. “As a matter of fact,” she replied as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin, “there is someone in my life. His name is Patrick O’Leary.”
Wearing a curious expression, Drago rested both elbows on the edge of the tablecloth. “And what does this Patrick fellow do for a living?”
“He’s a police officer.”
Drago seemed impressed. “An honorable profession; there’s no denying that.”
Rose took a sip of the full-bodied wine. She was unaccustomed to drinking alcohol, so her head felt light very quickly. “Patrick is extremely proud of his work. He was recently put on the Coney Island murder case. In case you haven’t heard, women have been attacked there three years in a row . . . on the same night.”
Drago’s expression remained stoic. “Yes, I read about it in the papers. Those poor girls. Assaulted by someone—or something. Do the police have any leads?”
“No,” Rose glanced down. “But they don’t think the murders were theft-related because there’s never anything missing from the girls’ handbags.”
“The police are probably right,” Drago said as he sat back in his chair. “I often wonder, is it difficult being involved with an officer of the law? What I mean to say is: don’t you worry?”
She shook her head. “Patrick and I are not really that involved.”
Drago cracked a smile.
The waiter arrived with Rose’s lobster bisque—which looked just as delicious as the escargot. She took several spoonfuls before she turned the conversation back to Drago. He was drinking in her every move.
“When I asked you earlier about your birthday,” she persisted, “I was hoping you’d divulge the year you were born.”
“My, my. You are an upfront young woman, aren’t you?”
She felt her cheeks grow hot again. “You said that before. Is bluntness something you disapprove of?”
“Not at all. And to answer your question, I am thirty years old.”
Her eyes must have grown wide because her dinner companion threw his head back in laughter. To Rose it was a magnificent sound—and when his strong features softened in the moment, she felt herself being pulled beneath his seductive canopy like a helpless animal.
“Does thirty seem very old to you?”
“No,” she lied. He was the oldest man she’d ever associated with, but she wouldn’t dream of making him feel self-conscious.
After a brief pause, Drago sipped his wine. “I don’t mean to appear mysterious, but I believe a magician cannot help the fact. I came to America three years ago—and began performing in a side show in Coney Island’s Bowery.”
Rose made a face and he laughed again. “I know. It’s a horrible place. Thank heavens an agent spotted me and brought me to the Sunshine Theatre. The rest is history, as you Americans say.”
It was Rose’s turn to laugh. “We ‘Americans’ must seem uncultured to a refined European such as yourself.”
“I’m European, but my beginnings were hardly refined. My parents were farmers and I helped tend to their fields for many years.”
Rose’s heart skipped a beat. This dashing, well-dressed illusionist seemed a far cry from a rustic plowboy.
“Does the fact that I come from nothing alarm you?”
“No,” she said firmly.
“I must say, America amuses me,” Drago drawled, his lips glossy from the deep Merlot. “The people of this country have a unique zest for life I find contagious.”
Rose finished her fillet of sole. After she refused dessert, she and Drago waited for the waiter to deliver the bill. Drago leaned in to the flickering candlelight. “Tell me, did you find your last birthday gift?”
Her expression brightened. “Yes. However did you manage to get the key and the box all the way to my doorstep? Did you send it ahead with someone?”
Drago made a tsking sound.
“I know. A magician never reveals his secrets.” Rose pouted. “But you promised to let me in on one of your secrets if I agreed to have dinner with you. You’re not going back on your word, are you?”
“I always keep my promises, Rose. In order that I may do so, you must accompany me to my workshop. Are you willing to be alone with me for a few moments in the basement of the Sunshine Theater?”
Caution escalated inside her. Only Anthony knew she was at dinner with Drago. What if dark secrets lay in wait for her there?
His eyes twinkled. “I can assure you it’s perfectly safe. I won’t turn you into some wild animal—or make you disappear. For very long, anyway.”
Against her better judgment, Rose agreed to accompany him. Obviously pleased, Drago settled the bill and stretched a hand in her direction. She accepted it, and as they exited the restaurant with all eyes on them, excitement barraged her.
CHAPTER 9
Drago emerged from the cab in front of the Sunshine Theater with Rose on his arm. His regret at having to lie to her about his age was quickly replaced by his delight at being alone with her.
Nerves humming, he unlocked a side door and led her down a narrow flight of stairs—to a shadowed basement with a low ceiling. Once he illuminated the gaslights, he watched her take in his sea of props with awe. Wooden boxes of all shapes and sizes awaited their next chance to be onstage, while a slew of draped birdcages littered the room.
Rose maneuvered around several card tables, brushing her fingertips over their felt-covered tops. “Do you spend much time in here?”
“I come here every day—right before my show,” he replied. “It’s important to perfect my illusions down to the last detail.”
As he watched her, Drago considered how sophisticated she’d become since he’d first seen her in his vision. Gone was her girlish lack of confidence. Now, her seemly neck and womanly curves lent her a timeless beauty.
She stopped in front of one of Drago’s works in progress and questioned the piece with her violet eyes.
“I know it looks daunting,” he said, “but it’s really about illusion.”
She looked uneasy anyway. “It’s a guillotine.”
“It is—and I promised to show you how one of my illusions is done, didn’t I?” Removing his jacket, he joined her in front of it.
She held her breath, then said, “Perhaps yo
u can show me something that doesn’t involve chopping someone’s head off.”
He smiled as her eyes flashed a host of emotions his way: fear, doubt, and above all, interest. She flicked a pink tongue over her dry lips and Drago felt a pang of arousal.
“Wise choice,” he replied. “This illusion isn’t perfected yet.”
Exhaling with relief, Rose continued to meander around the dimly-lit workshop. As she moved, Drago decided it was time for him to reveal a bit more about himself and his strange existence. “In my eyes, magic is the crossing of a special boundary—the boundary between reality and illusion. It’s the closest thing we have on Earth to another dimension.”
She stopped. “Can magic re-direct someone’s fate?”
“Perhaps,” he replied cautiously.
“In that case, maybe there’s something you can help me with.” Color rose in her fair cheeks. “But first, I want to know if the talk about your being in league with demons and supernatural forces is true.”
“What do you think?” As he spoke, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and unfastened his tab collar. Rose, too, was forced to remove her wrap due to the stifling summer heat. When she leaned back against a large wooden cabinet, Drago walked toward her and pinned her against the structure by stepping in close and leaning over her.
He sucked in a breath, entranced by her beauty. Beneath the glow of the gaslights, her lily-white shoulders shimmered and the soft rise and fall of her creamy cleavage captivated him. He eyed the Egyptian amulet that rested in the cavity between her breasts—and it was all he could do to resist pulling her into his arms for a passionate kiss.
“Frankly, I don’t know what to believe,” she said in a whisper.
He took her hand.
“I’ve seen your illusions first-hand,” she added, “and I’m more confused than ever.”
“Confused? Perhaps I’ll show you something to clear your mind.”
She seemed relieved.
He took a step back. “When a magician performs a trick he suggests something extraordinary to his audience. Take for instance, the infamous ‘bullet catch’ trick.”
Dropping her hand, he reached over to a small table and retrieved a velvet bag from its ledge. By loosening one of its drawstrings, he opened the cinched bag and removed a gleaming silver pistol.
Rose gulped. “Is that a real gun?”
“It’s very real.” Drago stroked the metal of the firearm. “Would you like to examine it?”
She did just that. Then she handed the pistol back to him.
“During the bullet catch trick,” he explained, “the firearm is loaded with gunpowder and ragging while a bullet is stuffed inside the barrel with a ramrod. But the trick is: the ramrod takes the bullet out when it’s extracted. Therefore the bullet is never really inside the gun when it’s fired. The magician, who appears to be anxiously waiting to be shot across the stage by his assistant, hides a stooge bullet inside his mouth all the while. The shot is fired and the magician reveals the bullet he supposedly caught between his teeth to a very impressed audience.”
“So,” Rose considered, “every magic trick is just that—a clever farce? A fraudulent act meant to fool the audience?”
“Yes. Are you relieved, or disappointed?”
“I’m not sure,” she said softly.
Drago wasn’t ready to tell her that his illusions were real. No doubt she would flee and deem him a sinister wizard.
“But you’re so good at what you do,” she protested. “No one seems to perform their tricks better. Perhaps you’ll share one more secret.”
He stepped in again and lifted a hand to her cheek. It felt like silk against his palm. “Very well. I shall reveal one more. This one pertains to you, my dearest Rose. I wanted nothing more than to find my soul mate. And when you appeared to me in a dream, you stole my heart.”
She rasped a breath inward.
“Your astonishing beauty is unparalleled—as is the purity of your heart. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to meet someone like you.”
Dazed, she stared at him. Her eyes gleamed like the petals of an orchid. “I’m intrigued that you saw me in a dream, but that isn’t the kind of secret I was talking about.”
“I know.”
She tilted her face to the side, as if to prepare for the kiss she knew would come. When her eyes fluttered shut, Drago seized his chance. His stare shifted from the perfection of her complexion to her raspberry lips. Running a finger along the delicate bones of her jaw line, he snaked his other hand around her tiny waist and gathered her close. With a quick intake of breath, his lips came crashing down over hers for a kiss that, oddly enough, wasn’t a kiss of two strangers. Instead, it was so scorching, so intimate, and so connected, it felt as though they’d known each other forever.
Desiring to possess every inch of her, Drago used his tongue to invade her sweet mouth. It twisted and turned with hers in hasty fervor—and he found that she tasted more delicious than he remembered melted caramel tasting . . . more savory than the finest cut of meat.
Driven by his pent-up lust, he gripped the exposed nape of her neck, damp with perspiration. And as he plundered her mouth, he felt grateful that Rose hadn’t withdrawn from him. In fact, she seemed to relish their burning chemistry.
He pressed his abdomen forward, certain that she could feel the uncontrollable jut of his shaft. Her firm but curvaceous body responded by heaving forward. Their tongues made contact and entangled again—stoking the fire that’d ignited between them.
Rose moaned against Drago’s mouth before she drew away, gasping for air. With cheeks flushed beneath the tendrils that had escaped her coif, she looked embarrassed. “I can’t believe I allowed you to kiss me like that.”
“I hope it wasn’t unpleasant,” he said.
She put her gloved fingertips to her mouth.
“I, for one, will never regret kissing you, Rose. You’re very special to me.” He took her hand away from her face and raised it to his lips. Kissing one finger and then another, he offered her a smile.
She didn’t return it. “You scare me when you talk like that.”
Regardless of her mesmerized state, it’s obvious she maintains a degree of self-will.
“Please forgive me,” Drago said solemnly. “Frightening you was never my intention. It’s just that your beauty makes it difficult for me to resist you.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp and plucked her wrap off the table.
“I hope you’ll agree to see me again,” he said.
“I . . . I don’t know,” she paused. “It’s late and I have to go.”
“I’ll see you safely home,” he replied, hoping that despite her self-consciousness, he’d gotten a little closer to capturing her heart.
CHAPTER 10
The more Rose reflected on her encounter with Drago, the more she wanted to burst. Giddy and guilty at the same time, she simply had to tell someone about the kiss they’d shared last week. Titillating—and so deliciously sexual—she swore it stole her innocence away.
“Olivia,” she said in a rolling gush, “I need to tell you something.”
Olivia, who was brushing her teeth at the vanity, nodded.
“I let Drago kiss me.”
Olivia nearly choked on her paste. “Are you mad, Rose? The fact that you snuck out to have dinner with a stranger was bad enough, but allowing him to kiss you?”
“I didn’t sneak out to have dinner with him.”
The petite brunette rinsed her mouth before she swung around and placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, you did. Anthony told me.”
Rose rolled her eyes. “Anthony! He has it out for me lately.”
“He cares, that’s all.”
“Sometimes I wonder.” Rose leaned against the wall and fondled the thick braid hanging over her shoulder. “I know I shouldn’t have agreed to meet Drago that night, but I couldn’t resist.”
Olivia cocked her head to the side. “You keep saying that.”
Olivia did and Rose unclasped the top three buttons of her nightgown to reveal the Egyptian amulet.
“It’s beautiful,” Olivia said. “But why are you showing it to me now?”
“I think Drago used it to hypnotize me.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“Gracious, Rose! Do you know what you’re getting yourself into with this man?”
“You don’t understand,” she replied with an eerie quality to her voice. “I feel commanded by him.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely. The worst part is he makes me want to do such dirty things—and then I feel guilty about it.”
“Listen to me.” Olivia took both of Rose’s hands. “You’re not under a spell. You’re just infatuated. You need to forget about this mysterious magician. No one seems to know anything about him. It’s as if he appeared in New York City from another galaxy.”
Rose smiled. “He’s not from another galaxy. He’s from Romania, where he left all of his friends and family behind. He’s thirty years old and his favorite author is Alexandre Dumas. As is mine. So you see? He’s hardly a stranger to me.”
Olivia exhaled with frustration. “He’s practically an old man!” “He is not,” Rose protested.
“Anthony used his position in the police force to look into Starkov’s background.” Olivia said. “Do you know what he came up with?”
“What?” After Rose pinned her braid into a chignon, she walked to her wardrobe.
“Nothing,” she heard Olivia call out from behind her. “He came up with nothing. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“Not at all.” She shrugged as she pulled out her clothes. “Drago admitted that he comes from humble beginnings. Perhaps he wanted to make a fresh start here in the States. Besides, lots of documents fail to come through Ellis Island.”
“Forget Starkov’s lack of credentials and forget his good looks,” Olivia pleaded. “Isn’t there something else about him that frightens you?”
