

# ESCAPE MAGIC

# By Michelle Garren Flye

### Copyright 2013 Michelle Garren Flye

### For those who led the way

### and for those who willingly followed.

### In Appreciation

Many, many thanks to my magician friends who have not only encouraged me in my ambition to write romances starring magicians, but have even gone so far as to read Close Up Magic.

### As usual, thank you to my family and friends, who've stood in as editors and publishers or just put up with my obsession. My friend Lisa and my wonderful husband Chris, in particular, who helped me get this project in under the wire.

### Finally, my kids, Josh, Ben and Jessi. It's your wonder about the world and your courage in confronting it that continues to inspire me.

### Chapter 1

It looked real. The bride and groom posed in front of the waterfall, palm trees and beautiful tropical flowers framing them. Her smile was radiant, and her groom couldn't take his eyes off her. The wedding photographer—the only photographer allowed past the yellow tape barrier that held back the paparazzi—directed them to face each other, and when she tilted her head to look at her husband, it was obvious to anyone within sight that these two _wer_ e for real. What they had would last.

Of course, not all of it was real. Bride and groom, paparazzi determined to capture something of their happiness in their cameras...those were real. The waterfall and palm trees and lavish surroundings were part of a garden in a climate-controlled, high-end mall outside a Las Vegas casino. But in that moment, it was an oasis of perfection. Maybe it was the solid reality of the love between the two that made it easier to accept the practiced falsity of Vegas.

Tony looked on at the happy couple, and his heart swelled with satisfaction for his brother. Three years and lots of trust-building and soul-searching had passed since Andre met Stacey. If they didn't have a solid foundation to base a relationship on, Tony felt certain no one did.

"Say, man, you know who's getting married?"

Tony glanced to his side. A heavyset man in a gold suit with pompadour-style hair and dark gold-rimmed sunglasses stood next to him. He must have ducked under the barrier. Tony shrugged. Didn't really matter. Andre and Stacey were so happy they wouldn't mind sharing a little of it... even with an Elvis impersonator. That actually _was_ why they'd chosen Vegas for the wedding. They both loved its unpredictability and unique aura.

Not to mention the fact that they'd met there.

_At least something good came out of my failure._ Shaking off the feeling of uneasy guilt those memories always brought with them, Tony smiled and gave the beautiful couple by the waterfall a last look. Then he took Elvis by the arm and led him back behind the barrier. "My brother. Andre Hawke. If you don't mind, though, we'd prefer you watch from back here."

"Sure, man. No problem." Elvis watched in silence for a few minutes. "Hawke? Isn't he that magician fellow? Saw his show once. The one where he pulled her on the stage, I think. Did an amazing card trick with her. And everybody was in tears by the time he was done. Really cute. So he's marrying her? Finally?" At Tony's nod, Elvis shook his head, dark hair flopping over his eye, rhinestones catching the glimmer of the mall lights and reflecting back rainbows. "Vegas, man. You never know what'll happen."

Tony couldn't help but grin as the other man melted into the crowd. As he turned back to his brother and sister-in-law, his eyes were caught by a flame-haired, leather-clad figure standing on the upper level of the mall. He paused, frowned, and the truth of Elvis's words hit him. "Nope. You just never know."

****

Lydia wasn't watching the happy couple. Her gray-green eyes were fixed on Tony. She knew it was Andre Hawke getting married, of course. She'd heard about it before she'd even gotten back to Vegas. Andre was the darling of the media anyway, and his nuptials had gotten almost as much attention in the entertainment world as any British royal's.

Yeah, Andre was getting married, and as a former friend and current colleague, she'd been curious enough to stop by. She'd planned to catch a glimpse of him and move on. Andre wouldn't want to see her, considering they'd parted on less than amicable terms, and she didn't want to disturb anything.

But it wasn't Andre or his lovely bride she couldn't take her eyes off of. Holy hell, was that really Tony?

She hadn't seen him in ages. Years. And when she'd last been anywhere near him, he'd been in the throes of his addictions. Darkly handsome, but weak and skinny and nervous. Twitchy. She saw none of that in the well-built, confident young man giving instructions to photographers, pausing to speak politely to reporters.

_He's better._ She tried to be happy for him, but she sensed something underlying his overt healthiness. Not weakness. Something else. She leaned a little further over the guardrail to catch a better glimpse of him. As she did so, he glanced her way and paused. Their eyes locked and she felt a little thrill of discovery. Just as she did, though, a very large man dressed in Bermuda shorts ( _in Vegas, really_?) bumped into her and she lost her balance, tipping over the rail.

She caught the guardrail as she flipped over it, hearing shrieks of terror all around her. Her own heart rate never even sped up. She tightened her one-handed grip on the rail and looked around, enjoying the scenery and the momentary breather away from the press of bodies. A crazy urge to let go passed through her. It was only thirty feet up, after all. She'd probably break something if she fell, but it wouldn't be the first time. But no, she had no intention of falling.

Of course, if she didn't intend to fall, she'd better get busy before some well-meaning schlub tried to rescue her. With a little internal sigh, Lydia swung her legs back and then forward, gathered enough momentum as she engaged her well-trained abdominals and executed a neat little flip over the guardrail and onto the landing.

She straightened, making a big show of pulling on her jacket sleeves to get them straight and looking around when she realized she'd lost an earring. A young man who still had acne on his chin handed it to her with a shaking hand. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, sweetie."

The kid looked like he'd won the lottery, and the little crowd on the balcony burst into belated applause, which was unfortunately cut short by Tony's arrival. The crowd parted for him as naturally as if his sheer presence were a force field. He folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. "I thought that was you. You trying to ruin my brother's wedding?"

"That was an accident." She fastened the earring and turned away.

"Oh no, take a bow, Lydia. You earned it." He caught her arm. "Ladies and gentlemen, you've just enjoyed your own private performance by Lady Lydia. Trust me when I say her show is full of even more thrills and chills."

"Hey, you're that escape artist, aren't you?" A particularly good-looking young man grinned at her. "Kinda sexy."

Before Lydia could reply, Tony caught her arm and pulled her away. "Sorry, you'll have to catch her show. Ask your concierge. Andre wants to see you.'" His last words were directed toward her ear.

The warmth of his breath made her tense a little. She swallowed hard, resenting the feeling that she was being managed by a man who had no business managing her. She shook him off as they approached the escalator. "Why the hell would I want to see Andre?"

"Doesn't everybody want to see Andre today?" Tony motioned around at the packed mall. "Doesn't everybody want a piece of his happiness? Why would you be any different? Why else would you be here?"

"I was just passing by." She tried not to sound defensive. "In fact, I would've been gone before I could've been shoved over the balcony if—" _If I hadn't seen you. If I hadn't wanted to see more of you..._ She broke off and blushed.

He gave her a curious look and shrugged. "Look, I'm sure Andre just wants to make sure you're okay. And Stacey, too. You sort of shocked everybody." He paused, turning completely toward her and putting his hands on her arms. "That was an accident, really?" At her mute nod, he tightened his grip on her arms for a second, just a slight pressure that nonetheless warmed her. "Jesus, Lydia. I sort of thought maybe you just did it for publicity. You know, that is your kind of thing."

"Escape. Right." She nodded and turned away, remembering that wild moment of freedom and the frightening impulse to just let go. "Well, I wouldn't want to steal Andre's spotlight on purpose."

"No. Of course." His voice sounded colder and she regretted the necessity of holding him at a distance at the same time that she sensed that underlying _something_ that she'd noticed from a distance. What was it?

Still pondering, she stepped onto the escalator and he ushered her past the waterfall and through a door she'd never paid much attention to. She paused inside the little room. Andre and his bride stood on the other side of the door, obviously discussing something, but when the door opened they both turned.

"What the hell, Lydia?" Andre's voice carried an edge she was fairly certain was not a carryover from his conversation with the beautiful woman whose hand he still held.

Although his irritation wasn't totally unexpected, she couldn't help flinching a little at his tone. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't intend—"

"Didn't intend?" Andre rolled his eyes. "If you'd wanted a little publicity for your show, you could've just asked."

"Right. I'll keep that in mind next time I almost fall over a balcony."

"She says it was an accident."

Everyone looked at Tony. He shrugged. "Well, it's possible. They're pretty packed in up there trying to catch a glimpse of you two."

"We probably should've gone somewhere a little more private." The bride stepped forward, holding out her hand. "Lydia? I'm Stacey. I'm so sorry for what happened. Are you sure you're all right?"

"She's fine. If you're gonna knock somebody over a balcony, she's the perfect choice." Andre's voice had lost its sour edge in weariness.

The silence that fell was almost palpable. Lydia noticed Stacey widening her eyes impressively at her new husband as she put a protective arm around Lydia's shoulders. Andre opened his mouth to prevaricate, but Lydia snickered and Tony clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Well stated, man. I can tell marriage is gonna soften you right up."

"I only meant she's used to it." Andre grinned a little sheepishly. "I mean, who _hasn't_ wanted to shove Lydia over a balcony or two?"

"Don't be ridiculous, please, Andre." Stacey turned to Lydia. "Are you sure you're all right? That _was_ an impressive feat of gymnastics. You should really join us for the reception this afternoon."

"I wouldn't want to—"

"Intrude?" Andre raised an eyebrow and Stacey hit him. "Ouch!" He frowned at his bride, but with an underlying affection.

"Exactly." Lydia felt uncomfortable. She slipped out of Stacey's grip as easily as she had ever slipped out of ropes, chains and "trunks of doom". She turned to Stacey. "Thank you...really. For the invitation and hospitality and..." She cast about for another word.

"Forgiveness?" Tony grinned at her discomfiture and she would have hit him if he'd been standing in range.

She couldn't let it go. "I didn't know I had anything to be forgiven for. Not by anyone in this room."

Andre had walked over to the far corner. He swung around. "You may be right."

"She's what?" Tony looked incredulous.

"It was a long time ago, Tony." Andre glanced at Stacey and smiled. "I just can't seem to hold grudges today."

Stacey took a step toward him and he closed the gap, taking her hands in his and bending to kiss her lightly. When he looked around at them, his expression was as unreal and foreign to Lydia as real magic. He looked... peaceful. And she actually believed he had forgiven her.

"Whatever you say, Bro." Tony took Lydia's arm. "C'mon, Lady Lydia, let's give the happy couple some time alone."

Before he could get out the door, however, Stacey caught Lydia's hand. "I do hope you can make it tonight."

"I'll, um, do my best." Lydia let herself be pulled away by Tony's iron grip, but she glanced back one last time to satisfy herself that Stacey had turned back to Andre.

****

Tony kept his grip tight on Lydia's arm until he'd walked her all the way back to the resort lobby. Only then did he loosen his hold on her, swinging her around to face him as he did so. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything, and that _hurt_!" She rubbed her arm and frowned at him.

He dismissed her theatrics with a roll of his eyes. "Give me a break."

"Fine." She dropped her arms to her sides and glared at him. "But it really was an accident. I thought you believed me."

"I did until I saw your face in there. You're jealous as hell. Did you come back here to break up Andre's wedding?"

"I'm not jealous!" She folded her arms over her chest in a defensive posture. "There's nothing to be jealous of! And it _was_ an accident."

_She's hiding something._ "A fortunate accident, I guess."

"Yeah." Her eyes skittered to the side. "And I'm glad he's happy. Really. I just...guess I never figured that ever happened outside of fairytales." She gave him an almost shy glance. "It was kind of sweet. And I don't say that lightly."

"I know." He regarded her for several seconds. He couldn't deny she sounded sincere. Could the whole thing have been what his mother would have called a "calamitous concatenation of events"? He sighed. "I still don't trust you."

She shrugged, giving him a flirtatious look from under her thick eyelashes. Those gray-green eyes peering at him from under her strawberry blonde fringe did things to his body that he didn't want to admit. Breathlessness, heart palpitations, the whole bit. Tony didn't get that way about women. When he wanted a woman, he found one, but one would do as well as another, and they were almost always willing. He'd held himself aloof from the kind of mind-bending, heart-breaking, soul-searing love he'd seen between Andre and Stacey. That way lay addiction, and no way was he going down that route again.

Although it might be difficult to resist Lydia. Damn it. Things were going so well, and she marched back into his life. The one woman who could mess it all up for him.

He stepped away from her. "Seven o'clock, then?"

"Sure. Where?" She straightened her shoulders and looked more like herself. Brash, sexy, confident. He could handle this Lydia.

"I'll pick you up about six-thirty." He turned to leave.

"You don't know my room number." She raised an eyebrow.

"I'll find you." He waved as he turned away. He didn't dare stay longer because if he did, he might realize how much he was looking forward to seeing her later on. He might even talk her into showing him where her room was, and if he did, would he want to leave?

Of course, she might throw him out. Literally. Lydia had a fiery temper. The memory of it made him smile, but the smile faded. Memories of Lydia were always tainted by what she'd done to Andre. She'd betrayed him.

_So did you_. He silenced the qualms of conscience sternly. It was weakness and he knew he couldn't afford it. He could never afford to be weak again.

### Chapter 2

The blackness covered her, smothered her, she couldn't breathe and as consciousness receded, she knew she never would again...

Her cell phone jerked her out of the restless sleep she'd fallen into and she rolled over, punching the button to answer it. "Yeah?"

"I saw you on the news!" Her manager Bess's voice sounded thrilled and entirely too chipper for Lydia's frayed senses. "That was _so_ cool. But why didn't you tell me you were going to do it? I could've made sure there was a camera pointed the right way. As it is, they barely caught the last half, and that was because somebody turned their iPhone your way at the right moment."

Lydia sat up and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I didn't plan it."

"You didn't?" Bess sounded surprised, but then she seemed to recover. "Oh, so you were just there and saw the cameras? Well, good thinking—"

"Jeez, how come nobody believes it was an _accident_?" Lydia frowned at the phone in her hand. "Really, those _do_ happen, you know. Lucky it was me, that's all."

"Don't get all in a snit." Bess laughed out loud. "Fine, it was an accident. But listen, we're back in Vegas, Baby! We need to do something to celebrate your new gig. What are you doing tonight?"

_I'll pick you up about six-thirty._ "Oh shit. What time is it?" She looked around for a clock.

"Five-thirty. Why, what's up? Got a hot date?"

"Damn. I barely have time to get ready." Lydia jumped up and began rummaging her suitcase.

"Ready for what? You _do_ have a hot date. God, you work fast. I want to hear all about it tomorrow. Let's meet for coffee. Before rehearsal. Don't be late!"

"Sure. Whatever." Lydia found the little black cocktail dress she'd been searching for and headed for the bathroom even as she hung up the phone. A quick shower, some makeup and she'd be ready to face Tony again.

Except that forty-five minutes later she was still dissatisfied with her appearance. She'd changed dresses twice and finally ended up back in her original choice. But then she'd had to select accessories and she'd changed from large silver hoops to long dangly openwork gold before deciding on her favorite earrings with open lotus flowers at the bottom of a string of multicolored, semi-precious stone beads. Swarovski crystals hanging from the open lotus blossoms gave the earrings a little extra sparkle.

Just as she located the last earring, the phone rang. She picked it up. "Yes?" As if she weren't expecting anyone special. She smiled at the thought.

"I'm here." Tony wasn't buying it, obviously. His tone was casual, almost bored.

"Be down in a few. Make yourself comfortable." She hung up, and only after surveying herself from all angles in the mirror did she finally locate her bag and trot downstairs.

He was seated casually on a couch, his arms spread over the back, looking unhurried and amazingly good in his all-black tuxedo. He stood at her approach, his gaze sweeping over her. She thought she caught a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "You look...respectable."

"What did you expect? Leather mini?" She spread her arms and twirled. "I save those for anniversary parties. Preferably fiftieth."

He didn't bother trying to hide his amusement. "Remind me to call you up in fifty years."

"Ha. In your dreams." She tossed her fiery head. "So where is this reception, anyway?"

"Top secret location." He grinned and took her hand. "Limo's waiting."

"Oh, I _am_ impressed." She followed him out into the arid but still warm desert evening.

She actually was a little impressed, in spite of herself. It was an actual limousine, not the Town Car she'd half been expecting. The interior was clean and smelled of leather instead of cigarette smoke and spilled liquor. She let herself relax as Tony took the seat across from her instead of next to her as she'd half expected, half dreaded. She felt a little wary being this close to him. He'd made no secret that as far as he was concerned, their past wasn't buried. Added to her completely understandable attraction to him, it made for a sense of nervousness she was not used to feeling around any man.

They rode in silence for several minutes before he broke the silence. "Your show starts in a couple of weeks?"

"Yeah." She shot him a cautious look. "If you're going to be in town, email me. I'll be happy to get you some tickets."

He looked thoughtful. "I haven't actually made up my mind what I'm doing next."

"You're not going to stay with Andre? He's still touring, isn't he?"

"I'd be a fool to think that's going to last." He shrugged. "He's marrying Stacy, getting more involved in television, settling down a little. He's become sort of a machine, in a way. Not in a bad way, just...I doubt he'd miss me much."

"I don't think that's true." She searched his face, hoping not to find any signs of weakness there. But the strength and determination she'd sensed earlier was still obvious. She took a deep breath. "Any magician would be lucky to have you." Heat rose unbidden in her face at the way her words sounded.

He laughed. "I never thought I'd see you blush, Lady Lydia."

Her heart skipped a beat at the slightly husky sound of his voice speaking her stage name. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" He leaned forward, closing the distance between them a little but not touching her. Just hinting that he might.

God, he'd gotten good at this. She gathered her scattered senses and folded her arms over her chest as if to keep something close to her heart. "Because you don't mean it. You're practically insulting me when you say it."

"Is that what you think?" He looked a little surprised, although whether it was that she was right or that he hadn't expected her to mind, she couldn't be sure.

"I don't blame you." The words came out a little more apologetic than she'd intended. She cleared her throat. "I mean, it wasn't like I started out trying to betray anyone. And I think you both overreacted."

"Overreacted?" He snorted incredulously.

"It was a trick, Tony. Not the Hope diamond. I figured out how it worked, that's all. And I was young and didn't even realize what I was doing. I mean, I'd taught Andre a thing or two about escapology. I just figured turnabout was fair, you know?"

He frowned a little, looking away, then he sat back in his seat, his face half-veiled in shadow. "You're right."

"I am?"

His lips curved a little. "Yeah. You weren't right _then,_ but you are now. I guess that's what Andre saw...why he forgave you."

"You sure he's not just feeling sentimental on his wedding day?" She raised her eyebrows, wishing he would sit forward again so she could see his eyes.

He didn't oblige, however, and his chuckle sounded almost eerie coming from the shadows. "You could be right."

She shivered a little. "Yeah. Maybe."

"What's the matter?" Abruptly, he switched seats so he was next to her, too close. Close enough to touch.

"Nothing. A chill." She wrapped her arms around herself more firmly. "And I'm still a little jet-lagged."

"When did you get back in town?"

She hesitated, wondering if her answer would make it look like she'd been stalking Andre. She wished she could clear that up with Tony. It was important to her that he know. Curiosity had led her to peek in on her old friend and the woman rumored to be the love of his life. And then she'd been so startled by the change in Tony she'd stayed...

_The truth is, I wanted to say good-bye._ The thought felt like truth, and she didn't want to lie anymore. It took too much energy. "This morning."

He shifted a little in the seat next to hers. "That makes sense."

Before she could answer, he looked out the window. "Looks like we're almost here."

"Should I be nervous?" She straightened her dress, fussed with her hair, wished for more light to check her reflection.

"Only if you're still hung up on my brother."

The words startled her into looking at him. He held a pack of cards in one hand. As if he wasn't even thinking about it, he began shuffling the cards, letting them spin weightlessly through the air between his fingers. He'd always been good at that, although he didn't have the same showmanship his brother did. Still, Tony must have picked up a few tricks through the years. You couldn't be that close to the world of magic for that long without wanting to hold a little bit of it in your own hands. Her eyes flickered up to Tony's and she caught her breath. "What makes you think I'm hung up on him?"

"Isn't that why you came to the wedding portrait session?" He raised his eyebrows, paying no attention whatsoever to the cards floating between his hands.

"No." She shook her head, hoping he couldn't see her breathlessness. "Andre and I were never more than friends. Ever. I was just curious, is all. I wanted to see who'd finally gotten Andre to commit himself to more than a show."

"Were you satisfied?"

Damn him. Those words and the tiny smile that accompanied them called to mind all the ways she _wanted_ to be satisfied. But no _way_ was she going to give Andre's little brother the satisfaction of knowing she was attracted to him. Jeez, the last time she'd seen him, he'd been a skinny little addict.

_And now he's an attractive, powerful man with a darkness that's got_ me _buzzing for him._ She brushed off the thought with a toss of her head. "Aren't we here?"

"We're always _here_." He accompanied his cryptic reply with a snap of his wrist that brought all the cards back into his left hand. "What's your point?"

"I mean, aren't we—" She realized she didn't know where the reception was and shook her head in irritation. "— _here_. The reception? The limo stopped. Shouldn't we get out?"

He glanced at his watch. "I suppose. They'll be here soon. Or not. They are newlyweds." He opened his door and held out a hand to her.

She didn't take his hand. "You know I wouldn't even be here if Andre's wife hadn't insisted."

"Are you getting out?"

"I haven't decided."

He looked at his watch again. She noticed it was a nice watch. Not flashy, but obviously expensive. Heavy, but not too heavy to be supported by his wrist...and arms. She let her eyes travel up his arms to his broad shoulders and puzzled face. She blushed when she realized he'd said something she'd been too distracted to hear. _Damn it. I need to stop this._ "Pardon?"

"I _said_ , would you like to call me when you make up your mind because I really do need to get inside now, but maybe I should just have the driver take you home."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" She snorted and got out of the car without taking his offered hand. They stood in front of a brightly lit country club. Other well-dressed people were chatting happily and going in the front door. Her gaze fell on one fabulously beautiful blonde woman holding the arm of a portly bald man. They would attract attention anywhere with her beauty, but Lydia did a double take, recognizing a well-known magical duo. "Mariella? Mark?"

The woman turned first, her expression changing from detached to thrilled. "Oh my God! I didn't know you were going to be here." She glanced at Tony and back at Lydia with a wink. "I guess you've been forgiven, then?"

"Not sure I'd go that far." Lydia hugged the other woman and smiled at Mark. "You might call it parole, I guess."

Tony stepped forward. "We're considering it, anyway. Good to see both of you. I'm glad we caught you off tour. That's getting tougher to do."

"For the moment." Mariella gave her husband a shy smile. "We're going to take a break in a few months."

Lydia frowned. "Pardon? Your show is really taking off. Why would you take a break _now_?"

Mariella smiled a little, a secret smile that lit her eyes in a very lovely way. Mark slid his arm around his wife's waist. "It's a good thing." He smiled at Lydia and Tony. "See you inside."

Lydia continued to frown at their backs, puzzled. What on earth could two of the world's greatest illusionists see as a "good" interruption to a show that was finally getting the recognition it deserved? "I don't see how—"

Tony snorted, and Lydia turned to glare at him. He took her arm. "Let's go in before you embarrass yourself further."

"I just don't..." Her voice faded as a thought struck her. "Oh."

"And it dawns!" He laughed. "You're very career-centric, aren't you? But then, of course you are. You threw away our friendship for one trick."

"It _was_ a good trick." Still pondering her sudden comprehension, she spoke absently. Realizing how it must have sounded, she looked at him quickly. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound callous. I guess at the time I didn't see why I couldn't have both your friendship and the trick. I did figure it out, after all."

"You have an interesting system of morals."

She winced. "I'm not saying what I did was right."

"First time for everything." He grinned and tucked her hand into his elbow, pushing the door to the club open and letting out a blast of air-conditioned coolness filled with music and laughter.

### Chapter 3

He felt her hesitation as they entered the ballroom of the clubhouse. It _was_ an overwhelming sight. Andre and Stacey had made many friends in the field of magic over the past couple of years, and many of them were in attendance, mixed in with the more run-of-the-mill journalists and the somewhat bemused family members.

Tony had long ago found that when his brother's friends got together, most of them couldn't resist the temptation to outdo each other with their newest tricks. Which explained the flashes of fire and bright colored scarves and the sound of cards shuffling emanating from all over the room. He smiled a little. It promised to be a lively and interesting night, and his brother wouldn't want anything less for his wedding reception.

He glanced at the beautiful woman on his arm and realized her hesitation had been more out of delight than anything else. And rightly so. A woman of her talent should fit right in. These were her peers.

"Can I get you a drink?" He gestured at the ballroom. "You can make yourself comfortable. Andre and Stacey didn't bother with seating arrangements or a big meal. There's a buffet on the terrace and servers will be by with smaller stuff and drinks."

"This is superb!" Lydia clapped her hands and looked around with anticipation. "Oh, why didn't you tell me? I'd have brought some chains or cuffs or something."

He arched an eyebrow. " _That_ would be why." He looked around. "Besides, we didn't plan it or hire them or anything. They're just Andre's friends. If they arrived with a few tricks to show off, well..." He shrugged.

She snorted. "Right. Well, I'll improvise." She started toward one of the flashes of light.

He caught her hand. "You didn't say if you wanted that drink."

She waved him off impatiently. "There's fun to be had here. I'll see you in a bit."

He shook his head, looking around for a waiter to see if he could get a seltzer water. Just something to hold in his hand while he circulated. _One day at a time._ He found a waiter with soda and snagged one, turning just in time to run into Mattie, Andre's second in command. "Hey, where's Andre?"

"Who knows?" She threw her hands out wide. "He's throwing the party of the decade here, paying out the nose for it, and he and Stacey are nowhere to be found. Thank God for Bella. She's been keeping their parents out of my hair."

He smiled, taking a sip of the soda. "Never thought I'd _ever_ hear you say 'thank God for Bella' after what she did."

"What she did nearly cost us all Stacey, and she's the best thing to happen to Andre since, well, _me_." Mattie glared at him. "That's plain soda, right?"

"Yes, mom." He squelched a rush of irritation.

"Well, after having to babysit Lady Lydia, I'm not sure I'd blame you—totally—if you did add a little rum, but don't do it, anyway. How is she? She isn't going to cause any problems, is she?"

He shook his head. "She's good. I don't think we'll have any more displays." _Well, nothing like that, anyway._ He remembered her wish that she'd brought her chains or cuffs and had an unexpected craven impulse to fulfill that desire...just maybe not in public. He frowned at his own internal conflict. Did he dare believe she had grown up? And what about Andre? Had there really never been anything between them? He wished he dared believe it.

"You okay?" Mattie looked at him sharply.

"Yeah, fine. Really." He immediately wished he hadn't tacked on that "really". Mattie was smart and fast and usually knew everything there was to know about a situation about a minute after she walked into it. He figured his minute was up. "Hey, is that Logan? It is. Sorry, Mattie, I'll catch up to you later. Gotta go say hey."

Ian Logan had always been an imposing figure. Well over six feet tall, dark, handsome and brooding, he often had the effect of making Tony feel short, pale and commonplace. Logan had once been an important figure in the field of magic. Until he retired to the Caribbean and turned his back on the whole industry.

Logan had had his own tragedy to deal with at the time, and Tony hadn't seen much of him in the intervening years. The man still cut an imposing figure, though, and Tony imagined if he ever returned to the stage, he'd be a force to be reckoned with in the magic world.

"Whatever you're doing, it's working." Tony shook his friend's hand warmly. "What's your secret?"

"Nothing but sand, sun and beautiful women." The hint of melancholy in Logan's eyes belied the light words. "What about you? I've been hearing rumors about you and Lady Lydia arriving together tonight." He indicated the red-haired beauty watching raptly as another magician broke his glass on the table and began to eat the shards.

"Don't remind me." Tony snatched a seltzer water with a lime twist from the tray of a passing waiter. He studied it with an internal sigh. Fancy looking, but no bite. He took a sip. "My brother invited her."

"Umm." Logan sounded noncommittal. "Well, she's a beautiful lady. A little on the wild side and hard to keep down from what I hear, but it's part of her charm." He raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of the wine he had barely touched. Alcohol was not one of Logan's sins, Tony knew. But he had others.

"She's hard to figure out. She pulls that stunt after Andre's wedding—you heard about that?" At Logan's affirmative, Tony continued, "—and I thought sure she was trying to get Andre's attention. Or promote her show. But she swears she was just curious and it was an accident. Says something, doesn't it?"

Logan raised his eyebrows and took another sip before answering. "Says more to me that you believe her."

"That's—" _not relevant._ But it was and he knew it. When did he start believing Lydia? She _was_ a magician after all. Magicians dealt in half-truths and misleading. _Hell, so do I._ He laughed at himself. _I'm such an idiot. She's a beautiful woman and I want to sleep with her and I'm trying to make it okay._

And why wouldn't it be okay? Tony had never been a master of restraint, but since going on the wagon, he'd worried a lot less about other, less harmful, pleasures. If he wanted to sleep with a woman and he could get her into his bed, he did it without hesitation. He enjoyed women, and they enjoyed it, too. And that was the key as far as Tony was concerned. _As long as I don't hurt anyone, what's the problem?_

What indeed? Maybe this. Maybe not being able to resist the temptation of _her_ , the one woman in the world who might actually best him in more ways than he could count. Lydia was strong, talented, brave and far too intelligent to be trusted. She'd already proven she would betray him. But she was attracted to him. He'd seen it in the light blush on her cheeks. He'd seriously considered kissing her then, finding out how far he could push things, but he'd passed up the moment. That didn't mean that if it were to present itself again, he'd do the same.

"Earth to Tony." Logan grinned and shook his head. "Good luck, man. I think you've got it bad for her."

"That's impossible." Tony glanced Lydia's way again, then turned resolutely away. "I haven't see her in years."

"You know love at first sight exists, right?"

" _Love_?" Tony shook his head. "Nah. Not me."

Logan shrugged. "Think what you want. Love can hit anybody at any time. I believe that. What takes time is finding out if it'll last and if you're suited to each other."

"You think two people who are unsuited to each other could fall in love?"

"Oh, hell yeah. Happens all the time. Just don't run off and get married. If you do, you'll more than likely be contributing to the divorce statistics in this country." Logan sounded bitter, and Tony knew his friend had plenty of reason to wish _he_ was just a divorce statistic. He wanted to say something wise and comforting, but could only settle by gripping the other man's shoulder for a second.

They both cleared their throats and Logan straightened. He gave Tony a wry smile. "Well, at any rate, it's always a fun ride, whether it works out or not. Enjoy it."

Tony nodded and took a sip of his drink as his friend turned to greet another acquaintance. Tony intentionally let himself drift away, thinking. _A fun ride_. He wouldn't know. He'd never been in love. Not even when he was a kid. Even in high school, his prom date had been someone to party with, another human being engrossed in herself and her own pursuit of pleasure.

Not that he believed all that crap about love at first sight, but he knew any relationship with Lydia could be more than just a one night stand. What would it be like to pursue someone else's pleasure instead of his own? The thought both frightened and intrigued him. It suggested a loss of control like he'd had with drugs and alcohol, and he wasn't sure he could afford that.

Maybe he was wrong about his attraction to Lydia, anyway. Surely it was too soon to tell whether or not it meant more than any other attraction to a woman. But he couldn't find out if he didn't confront it. With a new sense of purpose, he started toward the corner where he'd last seen Lydia.

Just as he did so, however, Mattie came over and grabbed his hand. "They're here."

He gave her a puzzled look. "Who?"

"Your brother." She frowned. "Are you all right?"

_Crap. Nice timing, Andre._ He nodded, casting another look at the corner of the room, then shrugged. He had a definite feeling his brother would only be getting married once, and he honestly didn't want to miss a minute of it.

There's still plenty of time to find Lydia.

He joined the group of well-wishers gathered by the front door tossing flower petals and shooting silly string at the late-arriving couple. Hoots and laughter at their unapologetic lateness mixed with some slightly off-color and very juvenile jokes about the reason for it.

"Did your car break down, Andre?"

"Why would his car break down? Oh, maybe it was all the rocking!"

"If the car's a rockin' don't come knockin'!"

Tony fell into step with Andre and Stacey as they ducked the good-natured jibes on their way into the ballroom. Stacey took his arm and smiled her lovely smile at him. He hadn't known her when she was a blonde, but he had a definite feeling he liked her natural brown better. "You're pretty quiet. Everything okay?"

"Sure." He flashed her a smile and squeezed the hand that held his arm. "Just off in my own world. Sorry."

"Well, it _has_ been a long day." She glanced at her new husband with a youthful fondness that contradicted her attempt at making it sound as if she were tired. "You know, all that wearisome getting married and such."

"Not to mention the picture-taking production with all the press." Andre smiled, reclaiming his bride from Tony by snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. " _That_ got old fast."

Before Andre could pull her all the way to him, however, Stacey gasped. "Oh! You were going to pick up that girl, the magician, what's her name?"

"Lydia." Tony spoke the name grimly enough to make his brother chortle.

He clapped Tony on the back. "Sorry, little brother. Everything go okay with that?"

"Okay?" Tony blinked. Okay seemed almost like a cheap shot. He swallowed. "Yeah. Of course. Picked her up, she's here. Having a great time last I saw."

Stacey and Andre exchanged glances and Stacey nodded a little. "Well, all right then. But I'd feel better if you went and found her. You know, make sure she's really okay? For me?"

Tony wondered if he'd ever be able to refuse his sister-in-law anything. He certainly couldn't now, when she was glowing with bridal joy. _And asking me to do the very thing I_ want _to do._ He nodded. "Sure. But put that shit away, okay? I love you guys and I'll do anything for you. No need to pull the whole wedding mojo on me."

She laughed and the next moment, Andre had twirled her into his arms and out onto the dance floor where they molded together enough so it was obvious the dancing was just an excuse to hold each other.

"Right." Tony snagged another soda from one of the passing waiters. He watched Andre and Stacey for another minute, then went in search of Lydia.

****

Lydia was in seventh heaven. Eighth, if there was one. She loved hanging out with other magicians, exchanging trade secrets and challenging each other to figure out others. She hadn't had this much fun since the International Magic Convention in Prague two years before. And making this event even better were the mixed in "marks". Fooling another magician was fun, but what they'd all gotten into the business for was the look of wonder on the audience's face.

Good thing I was invited. If I'd known it would be like this, I would've crashed the party.

She found a group of magicians she knew by reputation displaying their favorite card tricks with dog-eared decks and sipped wine as she watched. She finally excused herself to go to the restroom, swaying a little as she stood and realizing the wine wasn't going to help her own dexterity at all. _Time to slow down._

In the restroom, she passed a woman sniffling and dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Lydia brushed past her, a little irritated. She had little patience with women who cried in public restrooms. In her experience, they seldom had much to cry about. As she washed her hands and splashed a little water on her cheeks another woman came into the little waiting area.

"Oh jeez, are you still at it?"

Lydia grinned a little, deciding the conversation could be worth listening to, and turned off the water, examining her reflection in the mirror.

The crying woman dabbed at her eyes. "Well, yeah. You know, it's the end. He's married now."

"Huh. Like you had a chance with him. You guys went on, what? Two dates?"

"Three. And I always thought—"

"Well, maybe you'll get lucky and he'll get divorced, though I wouldn't count on it." The speaker, a beautiful Asian woman with long, shining dark hair, marched over to the sink next to Lydia without seeming to notice her. "Besides, there's still Tony."

"Oh, right. Tony." The first woman sniffled and joined them at the sink, sarcasm weighing down her voice and turning her mouth into an unattractive slant. " _He's_ a real catch, right?"

_Did Andre really date_ her _?_ Lydia found it hard to imagine. When the other woman caught her stare in the mirror, Lydia smiled, unabashed, and returned her attention to her own reflection. _Your fault for making a scene, chickadee._

Her companion hadn't noticed the exchange. "He would be—"

"But you can't do it. Nobody can." Slant-mouth turned her fury on her friend. "Face it, Jana, You were his flavor of Wednesday three months ago. And you haven't heard one word from him since." She turned and flounced to the door, pausing for one last parting shot. "And you won't. Ever. Nobody ever does!"

Jana glanced at Lydia, and Lydia couldn't help a little smile. Jana shrugged. "Well, she _is_ right. Tony's a player, but I knew that." She sighed a little, closing her eyes. "I don't actually even hold it against him. He wasn't a jerk about it or anything."

"Well, hopefully he was worth it." Lydia adopted a detached tone and pulled out her lipstick.

Jana opened her eyes and the little private smile playing on her lips spoke volumes. "Let's just say, I wouldn't mind repeating it, and I wouldn't give up that night, either. Even knowing I never would."

After the other woman disappeared into one of the stalls, Lydia finished perfecting her makeup thoughtfully. So Tony had sex for fun, and he was good enough at it the women he played with didn't even mind. Was that what she'd noticed about him when she'd stood on the balcony overlooking the tableau below? Maybe.

To be honest, she didn't really know what Tony was really like. She'd never known him sober. As far back as she could remember—or at least as far back as her relationship with the Hawkins brothers went—Tony had been dependent on one addiction or another. Drugs, alcohol, gambling. Seeing him sober and strong was a new sensation, and he was like a stranger to her.

_And not altogether unpleasant, either._ Lydia exchanged a glance with her own reflection, thinking that she'd done worse things than spend a pleasant night in the arms of a strong, skilled lover. _Yeah, but this_ Tony. She frowned at herself. _You've just barely got back into the Hawkins' brothers good graces._ But it wasn't like she was looking for a relationship, either. There was no chance she would break his heart if he was used to playing the game with women.

_I can't afford anything else, either._ She glared at the woman in the mirror who glared back just as sternly. She tossed her head and started for the exit. "I deserve a little fun."

****

Tony worked his way slowly around the dance floor, ducking an acquaintance here, pausing to give a friend a quick greeting there. Everyone seemed happy. Except one woman whose red eyes were evidence of tears. _And Andre leaves another heart broken._ He edged past the woman who was arguing with another woman. As he did, the companion of Broken Heart turned and caught his arm. "Tony Hawkins, I know you're not going to just walk past me."

He hesitated, searching his memory, and fortunately found the appropriate one. "Jana."

His former conquest smirked triumphantly at his memory. "I really need someone to dance with. Won't you help me out?"

"Actually, I was just—" Tony hesitated, uncertain how to get away from the woman he'd had sex with and find the woman who had so intrigued him, he wasn't even certain what he wanted from her. A one-night stand with Lydia seemed out of the question, but sex would have to figure into it somehow or other. He wasn't even sure he could reconcile one thing with the other. So what the hell was he doing out looking for her like this?

Jana pouted and tugged on his arm. "Oh come on! One dance. What's the harm?"

He scanned the crowd one last time, then sighed when he didn't spot her face. He returned his attention to the woman at his side. "Okay, fine. One dance."

She led him onto the dance floor where she slipped her arms around his neck and swayed against him enough so he had to tighten his grip on her waist more than he'd actually intended. "So." She peered up at him through almond-shaped, light brown eyes.

He raised his eyebrows, guiding her further onto the dance floor and trying not to look around for Lydia. "So?"

"You look like a man on a mission. What's up?"

"Nothing." He cleared his throat, surprised he'd been so obvious. "Just, uh, looking for someone."

"Really? A female someone? Cause, you know, if you're not too specific, I could fit the bill." She gave him an unabashed grin.

He snorted a little laugh. "If it wasn't a specific female someone I was looking for, I'd take you up on it."

"But it is." She shook her head and whistled softly. "And she's staying out of sight? That's different."

"Yeah." He drew in a breath. "It is."

"Well, in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my dance." She laid her head on his shoulder. "And if you spot her before it's over, don't disturb me."

"Sure." He scanned the crowd. He couldn't explain the growing concern in his chest that he was going to be too late if he didn't hurry up. And because he couldn't explain it, he ignored it. Lydia wasn't going anywhere, after all.

****

Lydia watched Tony twirl Jana across the dance floor, her head lying on his chest as if it belonged there. She tried to convince herself that it didn't matter. So Jana got there first. Didn't mean, if she read the situation correctly, that Tony would be unavailable later on.

"Hey, girl. Having fun?"

Lydia looked to her side and found Mariella. Was it her imagination, fed by the knowledge that her friend was pregnant, or was the other woman actually glowing? "Hey. How are you?"

"I'm great, but I'm guessing by that question that you figured out why I'm retiring from the public life for a while." Mariella's smile teased her friend, but then she sobered. "I can't really blame you. I was a little surprised, too."

"Yeah, I guess so." Lydia spoke absently, her eyes trailing back to the dance floor. Was this really the same dance? Was it going to go on all night? Maybe Jana and Tony were enjoying it so much they'd let one dance lead to another. And that one might lead right into Tony's bed...

Mariella's voice interrupted her thoughts. "I don't mean I was surprised by the pregnancy. I mean, we weren't trying _not_ to conceive, you know? I was surprised by how I felt when I found out."

The words caught Lydia's attention and she turned. "Really? How did you feel?"

Mariella's smile was very gentle. "Complete. Like it was what I'd been waiting for."

"Oh." Lydia searched for something deeper to say but couldn't find it. She reached for her friend's hand. "Well, congratulations. Really. I'm very happy for you both."

"Thanks." Mariella gripped her hand for a second, then let go with a yawn. "I better go find my husband. I get tired early these days."

Lydia watched her go and realized she wanted very much to have what Mariella had. A sense of fullness and completion. Like you didn't have to keep chasing that perfect show or trick or whatever. Or you could chase it all you wanted, but if you never achieved it, it was okay. Because of the more important things in your life.

She frowned at the intrusive thought. She'd never let anything get in the way of her ambition before. Why was she considering it now?

"Hey Lady Lydia, you gotta come show these guys a few of your tricks. They don't believe that you can get out of any knot."

Lydia turned, glad for the intrusion, and gave the little man next to her a bemused look. At least six inches shorter than she was with a dark and prematurely wizened face, Phil wasn't much to look at and she suspected his character matched his appearance, but his prestige as an illusionist was uncontested. "Who doesn't believe it?"

Phil grinned, looking a little like an elf with his head tilted to look up at her. "Coupla new fellows. Illusionists, but they've done some escape work. They reckon they can outdo you."

"Right." Lydia tossed back her glass of wine and set it aside. She motioned for Phil to lead the way. "I guess I'd best go defend my reputation, then." As Phil started away, Lydia glanced once more at the dance floor, then turned with more resolution than she felt. She had the oddest feeling that she'd lost something precious in just those few seconds, and it left an empty, aching feeling in her chest.

A waitress happened past, and Lydia grabbed another glass of bubbling champagne as she followed Phil.

### Chapter 4

Tony finally broke away from Jana after a second dance. He brought her a glass of wine. "I have to go."

"To look for this girl?" She raised her eyebrows over the glass. "Why bother? Really?" She reached for his tie.

He backed away. Why, indeed? He made up his mind. "I need to be sure she's okay. And because I want to."

"You want to." She frowned, then sighed a little and kissed his cheek. "I hope she knows how lucky she is."

Lydia was not easy to find. He finally located her in a knot of cheering male magicians. She was seated on a table with her legs crossed and her arms bound behind her. A handsome, dark complected man teased her with a wine glass. "C'mon, Lady Lydia! Get loose and it's all yours."

Lydia pretended to have trouble with the knot. "Oh, you might just have me with this one."

The dark man smiled a little lasciviously and leaned on the table so his body half covered hers. "Oh, I _really_ hope so. But give it a try anyway."

Lydia remained perfectly calm. Tony knew she'd probably already worked her way out of the knot, or at least knew how to, but she gave no indication of it. "How on earth could I possibly—oops!" She held up her hands with the rope dangling from one and gave him a little push away from her. "Did you lose something, Samir?"

"Just his pride." Tony recognized the little toadlike man who spoke as Phil, an illusionist. He frowned, searching his mind. Had Phil even been invited? Before he could speak, Phil made a beckoning motion. "Everybody pay up."

"Not the right venue, Phil." Tony stepped forward as Lydia took the wine from the handsome magician's fingers. Tony noticed a line of empty wine glasses on the table next to her. It wasn't the first bet, then. His resolution to put a stop to the illicit activities strengthened into an almost protective resolve. "Lydia."

She glanced at Tony as she sipped the wine. "What? You want to go next?" She dangled the rope in front of him. At his disbelieving look, she laughed. "Sorry, don't have any cuffs. You have to bring your own."

He gave her a suspicious look. "Are you drunk?"

"Probably not nearly enough." Her voice sounded clear, but her words made him uncertain.

"Well, I'm not playing, and neither are any of you." He glared around at the others in the group as he took Lydia's arm and half helped, half lifted her off the table. "You're not messing up my brother's wedding day this way. And Phil, were you even invited?"

"I figured my invitation got lost in the mail." Phil grinned toothily.

Tony understood. _Dear God, there but for your grace..._ He stopped himself. "Get out. Quietly. And the rest of you should call it a night, too, probably." He gave them all a scathing glare then turned away, pulling Lydia along with him. "Stupid sons of bitches. And what the hell, Lydia? I thought you had better sense."

They were in the lobby by this point and she yanked her arm away from his grasp, turning to glare at him. "What's your damage? I wasn't doing anything wrong. It was just a little fun."

"A little fun that looked like it was well on its way to being a gang rape."

"It was no such thing. You're projecting." She glared at him, her hands on her hips.

"Projecting _what_? Disgust?" He faced her.

Just then, a door opened to the side and a couple came out. Lydia's head swiveled to watch them and they both ducked, half hiding their faces. Tony frowned at the cloakroom door as it swung closed behind them. "You're joking."

She chortled. "Nope. Looks like they were having a little fun, too. C'mon."

"What?" He held back as she grabbed his hand and started that way.

"Come _on_." She tugged at his hand. "If they've just come out, it's available. Let's go." She grinned, waggling her eyebrows at him. "I'll show you what you were projecting. You can't tell me you don't want to."

Her words brought on a surge of unexpected desire. "Jesus." He hesitated a second more. _Why the hell am I hesitating?_ He let her pull him in the door and shut it behind him.

The cloakroom was large and airy, far from the stuffy confines he'd expected. No cloaks or coats or even sweaters hung on the long pole that stretched from one end of the room to the other. A few mittens and scarves and other articles of clothing littered the countertop. Of course, there were no cloaks, Tony reminded himself. No one had cloaks in Vegas. "Why the hell does this place have a cloakroom?"

She reached onto the shelf and pulled down a silk scarf, probably long forgotten. "For this." She turned, twirling the scarf in her fingers, winding it into a rope. "I challenged you earlier."

"That was a challenge? I thought you were just flirting with me." He let her loop the scarf around his neck and pull him closer. "You're drunk."

"Not really. Not so much I don't know what I'm doing, anyway." She met his gaze. "Kiss me, Tony. I dare you."

Unable to resist the temptation, he tasted her lips. The contact sent a jolt through him he hadn't expected, however, and he wanted more. He turned his head a little without breaking the contact and her mouth opened to him, warm and wet, welcoming his tongue with her own. He lifted her onto the counter and she wound her legs around his waist, her hips grinding against his. "Dear God."

She drew away. "I really want you to tie me up."

He shook his head. "No."

She leaned forward and kissed his neck. "Why not?"

He drew in a sharp breath and pulled back, startled by the intensity of the desire her soft kiss started in him. "Because you're drunk and I don't want to take advantage of you." The absurdity of his statement hit him as she cocked an eyebrow at him and took his hands in hers and placed them on her breasts.

"You think you could tie a knot I couldn't get out of?" She looped her arms around his neck again. "Really?"

He turned his head and swept in to cover her mouth with his again, felt her lips part, her thick hair a fragrant fall over his face as she gave in to his kiss. They parted, both breathless, and he searched for something sane to say. "I could tie you up, but only because I can tie a knot."

Her lips curved. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means I don't know why you even want me to try." He pulled the scarf from his neck.

She looked thoughtful. "I have yet to find a man who can tie a knot that'll hold me."

He considered, sliding the scarf through his fingers, enjoying the silky texture, thinking that it was but a pale echo of what her skin must feel like. "Why would I try?"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "You tie a knot that'll hold me and I'll let you do...anything..." she drew one long red nail over the silk of his black tuxedo shirt and her eyes flickered back up to his. " _Anything_ you want to me."

_Jesus, help me._ For a second, he honestly couldn't breathe, then he managed to suck air into his lungs and reply. "I didn't know you were into that kind of thing."

"I'm not. Why do you think I'm an escape artist? No man will ever have that kind of power over me." Her voice sounded breathless, too. "In fact, it says something that I am willing to let _you_ try."

"If you can get out of any knot, what's the draw for me?" He raised his eyebrows. "Seriously, why try if I'm going to fail?"

She appeared to consider, then leaned forward. Her lips teased his, skimming, tasting, then moving away. "I think it's because I believe you can tie a knot I won't _want_ to escape from."

"We shouldn't be doing this. You're not what I need right now." But even as he spoke, he dug his hand into her red-gold mane of hair, pulling her roughly into a deeper kiss, feeling as if he'd like to devour her. He could smell the scent of her shampoo mixing with the heady fragrance of her perfume and the musky smell of her skin. Combined with the taste of her mouth, she was sweeter than any alcohol, more potent than any drug, more addictive and frightening than any gamble.

And more dangerous than any of the above.

****

He was so right. Even drunk off his kiss and surging from his caress, she knew he was right. They weren't what each other needed. But that didn't stop the _want_ , and right then it was the want that she felt able to follow. Besides, what did it matter? It was one night. One night of satisfying the craving and she could move on.

She pulled away. "You're right. We can't do this here. Take me back to my place."

His eyes narrowed, his hands on her shoulders. "I'll take you to _my_ place."

"You don't have a place. You have a room."

"A suite, actually. And I didn't want to mention it, but it's nicer than yours. And closer." He stepped away, pulling her off the counter and into his arms. He bent his head and kissed her again, the warmth of his embrace and taste of his mouth enough to meld her objections into a reluctant acceptance.

"Fine. Just get me there. Soon." The last word came out in spite of her attempt to hold it back and she blinked. Damn she wanted him. And she refused to look at her desire any closer.

He led her through the front lobby and out to the valet stand. When the valet approached, he held up his hand, motioning at the approaching limo with authority. She wondered how he'd done that. She hadn't noticed him making a call. But then, she was still feeling the effects of the wine...and him.

In the back of the limo, she let him draw her into his lap and kiss her, his hands trailing down her arms...she felt the silken touch of the scarf on her wrists and smiled against his mouth. "I knew you couldn't resist."

"The opportunity to tie up Lady Lydia? No way in hell." His own hands were busy tying her hands. A simple figure of eight knot. She smiled a little.

"You're not taking this very seriously."

"You said it all depended on how much you _wanted_ to get loose." He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her down against him, letting her feel the steel of his erection. "I thought I'd put it to the test."

She sucked in her breath with a soft moaning sound and pressed down against him, longing to feel more of him. But her eyes caught the look of triumph that passed over his face and she forced herself to slow down. She could slip the knot easily, throw the scarf back into his face, but he knew she could do that. What didn't he know?

Keeping her smile internal, she moved her hips over his, sliding rhythmically as she covered his lips with hers. Her hands were bound behind her, but she had other resources. "Touch me." She whispered the words against his mouth, commanding when she should have submitted to his will.

His lips parted with a soft sound. A whoosh, a sigh, almost a groan...almost a word. Acceptance of her power. His hands moved over her abdomen, her ribcage, her breasts, caressed her nipples through the fabric of her dress. And she could feel him wanting more.

When had the limo stopped? She looked around in bewilderment, crashing back to earth. God, did they really have to stop _now_?

He'd already reached for her zipper. "It's okay. He won't disturb us. No one will."

"Oh." At the first touch of his hand on her back, she jerked away. "Maybe, but I will." She held up the loosened scarf. "Not here, Tony."

A flash of irritation, a reluctant grin. "Jesus, Lydia. You're going to drive me insane." He shifted and pushed her off his lap. "I'm going to need a minute."

They sat in silence for a few seconds, then she turned toward him, running a teasing finger along his jaw. "Why is it we haven't we done this before?"

He caught her hand and kissed her fingertip. "You're not helping."

She laughed. "If you only knew what I'm _not_ doing that I would _like_ to do..."

" _Really_ not helping." He sighed. "And I guess we never did this because I thought you had a thing for Andre."

"Really?" She paused, thoughtful. "I _admired_ Andre. I could tell how good he was. And we flirted a little, but I never really...and I don't think he did either."

His green eyes fixed on her face for a moment, and she felt like he was searching her for the real truth. Finally he nodded and moved toward the door. "Okay."

"Okay?" She held back, but he opened the limo door and reached back to grasp her hand and pull her out with him.

He pinned her against him with one arm, lifting his hand to brush her hair back with gentle fingers. "Okay. I accept that you're not hung up on my brother and never really were. And believe me—" he bent his head and kissed her, a long, deep, probing kiss as if they were already in the bedroom instead of at the front door of a swanky Vegas hotel with several guests and a couple of valets looking on. He drew away and looked into her eyes again, "—I'm grateful, because it's gonna make this night much less weird for me."

### Chapter 5

When she stepped inside his suite, Lydia looked around in wonder. Everything was glass and shiny metal and black leather. It glittered and shone, glamorous and lovely. She let out a low whistle. "Well, you're right. This is nicer than my suite."

"It's the difference between getting what you pay for and what management feels you'll earn." He tossed his key card onto the marble entry table and pulled her back into his arms. "Can I get you anything? Wine?"

"I think I've had enough wine." She looped her arms around his neck. "I had something else entirely in mind."

"Thank God." He lowered his mouth to hers, found the zipper at her back and pulled it down. His warm palms explored the smooth skin of her back and she arched against him, her nipples aching for his touch. He laughed. "You're still wearing entirely too many clothes."

"Me?" She ran her hands over his chest and pushed the tuxedo jacket away. It dropped to the floor, joining her dress.

"Yes." He slid one finger under each of the thin straps of her simple cami slip and pulled them down over her shoulders. "You." His eyes on hers, he continued the process, inch by inch revealing her breasts. He smiled a little as if at his own powerlessness to resist the temptation and dropped his gaze just as her breasts were completely revealed. "My God, you're beautiful."

_Why_ did those totally unoriginal words have such power? Maybe it was the way he spoke them, as if they were the only thought he was capable of having in that moment. Certainly the reverently tender way his hands explored her body made her feel as if his entire attention was taken up by her. He wasn't thinking of box scores or stock quotes or anything else but how to please her.

_Dear God, this is what Jana was talking about. I could get used to this._ As his lips explored her neck, finding the sensitive areas beneath her ears, she felt her normal reserve giving way to a consuming desire to give in to his touch. She began to work at the buttons of his shirt, impatient to feel his skin against hers, but to her surprise, he captured her wrists in one large hand and then she felt the silken scarf winding around them, tightening just enough so she could feel it.

She looked at her hands, bound in front of her this time. "Again?"

He laughed at her outraged tone. "You did say if I tied a knot you didn't want to get out of, you'd let me do—" he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands trailing down, teasing her breasts and catching hold of her slip to pull it the rest of the way off "—anything..." He smiled up at her, his expression devilish, and checked the knot. "What do you think?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I _could_ get out of this one. No offense, but it's pretty amateurish."

He kissed her belly button, his tongue sliding over the tender skin just above her black lacy panties teasingly, causing her to suck in her breath in surprise. He laughed. "That's not what I asked. I asked you if you _wanted_ to get out of it?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On what you're going to do while you're down there and how bad I want to participate in it."

"Hmm." He hooked a finger on the lace of her panties, pulling them down just a bit, kissing the exposed skin. "This." His voice sounded muffled and her consciousness seemed to have both shrunk and expanded, partly concentrated on the movement of his lips and tongue over her skin, partly at one with the universe, perfectly happy and content to let him kiss and caress and—her eyes had been partly closed, but at the first contact of his tongue between her thighs, they opened—"Oh, God!" She reached for him with her still-bound hands, burying her fingers in his thick hair.

"Oh yes. This." He stroked and lapped and she felt his hands on her thighs, his fingers sliding into her. "You're so wet, Baby."

She moaned, leaning against the cold wall, letting her hips move against his hand, pressure building inside her. She felt him stand, his fingers still inside her, and her hands slipped from his hair, coming to rest between them, still bound, in almost a prayer position. His eyes fixed on her face with a hungry expression. "Come for me, Baby. I want to see you."

Too far gone to resist now, she did, thrusting against his hand in total abandon as her orgasm shook her. She heard him make a soft sound, and he caught her when she might have fallen, unable to support herself with her hands bound. She opened her eyes, half ashamed of her loss of control, but his expression had become fevered with desire of his own, and she surrendered herself again to his lips, willing to do anything to give him the same pleasure he'd just given her.

****

He'd never seen anything more beautiful than her face when her orgasm hit her. He wanted to see it again, almost as much as he wanted to relieve the throbbing desire in his own loins. He lifted her, still kissing her, and carried her down the short hall to the bedroom. The privacy shades had not been drawn so the room was well lit by the neon of the strip. He laid her on the bed, realizing only then that she'd undone the knot on the scarf, leaving it trailing from one wrist.

"So you've decided to participate?" He stood at the foot of the bed looking at her lovely body as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it away.

She laughed, coming toward him on all fours. "Oh yes." Her hands reached for his belt buckle and she stood up on her knees, lips teasing his and moving to his neck, then lower, her tongue flicking over his left nipple and causing shivers of goosebumps to course through him, belying the white heat that built in his core. He reached for her, wanting nothing more than to discard his remaining clothing and cover her body with his, but stopped when he found his hands were bound by the same silk scarf he'd used on her.

"Dammit, Lydia." He couldn't decide whether to be irritated or aroused. His confused feelings mounted when she laughed at him, grasping his bound hands and pulling him onto the bed with her.

"My turn." She straddled him, undoing his belt and pants with nimble fingers and sliding down his body as she helped him kick them off.

"I'm at a distinct disadvantage since you're the escape artist." He breathed in deeply.

She paused in trailing kisses over his thighs. Everything about her teased him. Her very breath was a caress on his erection. He could feel her smile against his skin, a red-hot curve of mischief that maddened him. She planted one final kiss on his right thigh and raised herself enough to look him in the eye. "It's a simple knot, and it's not very tight. You should be able to get it loose...if you _want_ to."

He gasped in surprised gratification when she took him into her mouth, her lips and tongue and even teeth such capable instruments of immeasurable pleasure he nearly forgot everything else. But the desire to see her face during orgasm again resurfaced as he felt himself nearing the edge. He began to work the knot she'd tied, cursing himself for not staying in practice. Escape was a part of so many of Andre's illusions, and Tony had picked up enough so he knew he _could_ untie the knot. He just wasn't sure he could get it undone before she undid him.

Just when he thought for certain he'd never manage it in time, he felt it part and he worked his way free, grasping her by the shoulders and rolling them over so he could see her face against the pillows. Her eyes sparkled at him like wicked emeralds. "So you've decided to participate?"

His breath came in short gasps and he couldn't coordinate his tongue enough to form words. Instead, he positioned himself, barely managing to fumble a condom on before he slid into her with a sweet relief he couldn't ever remember having experienced. _Dammit, Lydia, what have you done to me?_

****

She'd just begun to hope she hadn't pushed him too far, but the expression on his face when he entered her assured her she hadn't. An unexpected feeling of tender protectiveness accompanied her relief and she slid her arms around his neck, feeling him tremble at her touch. She stroked his hair, kissed his face, caressed his back as he held still. She reveled in the sense of power she had, loving the strong feel of his body. She knew it wouldn't take long to reach another climax, but she didn't want to push him.

Slowly he began to move again, gently at first, as if afraid of breaking some precious connection between them. He supported himself on his forearms, kissing her in the tempo of his thrusts, bringing her closer and closer to the brink of another pleasurable spiral. She clung to him, but he drew away, whispering, "You're so beautiful when you come. I want to see it again."

The words were all she needed and she gasped as another orgasm seized her with unexpected force. Her climax spurred his and she felt his timing change, becoming more urgent, propelling them both forward until he came and collapsed, pulling her into his arms as he rolled onto his side.

Very gradually her heartbeat slowed, her breath became less labored, and she felt herself relax into his embrace, breathing his scent, enjoying the embrace, for as long as it lasted. It saddened her a little to think it would end. The perfection of those moments with him outshone any other time she had ever spent with a man. He really was good at this.

He kissed her forehead. "You're amazing."

She laughed at his echoing of her thoughts. "Thanks, you too."

"I really mean it." He sighed. "I guess I always knew you were an incredible girl, but _that_ ..." His voice trailed off.

Suddenly uncomfortable with his tone, she sat up. "Yeah, well. You know, everybody has a night every now and then. It'll be something to look back on."

"Look back on." He repeated her words in an expressionless tone. "Yeah, I guess." He frowned.

"Oh, come on, Tony. You're the love 'em and leave 'em type. We both knew that. I knew it going into this. If I hadn't..." She stopped herself, uncertain if she should go on.

"If you hadn't, you wouldn't have agreed to it." He spoke the words with certainty. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the little frown. "That's right, isn't it?"

"I'm not looking for a relationship, Tony."

"I wasn't either."

She caught the past tense and raised her eyebrows. He sat next to her, and she tried not to admire the way the light limned the perfect lines of his body.

"I've always cared about you. I'm not sure I knew how much. Back when I knew you before I wasn't much of a man." He cast her a half questioning, half shamed glance. "In fact, if I'd been a better man back then, maybe you wouldn't be so sure of who I am now."

She didn't want to think about the regret behind his words. Maybe he'd believed she'd betrayed his brother, maybe he'd just felt obliged to go along with Andre's outrage because he'd been so dependent on the security Andre offered him while he'd been consumed by his addiction. Not that it mattered any more. Whatever was in their past, this night needed to join it. She groaned and lay back on the mattress, pulling the sheet around her. "Did I ever tell you why I got into escapology?"

"I always figured it was because you didn't want anyone to be able to tie you down." He lay next to her but didn't touch her.

She rolled her head to the side and looked at him. "I saw it happen. My mom wanted to be an actress. She was really beautiful and talented. Maybe she really could have made it. Instead, she got pregnant, got married, and I spent my childhood watching her wither and die. Like something inside her just faded away. I always knew she wanted to escape, and I decided to make sure that no matter what I _would_ be able to."

"You aren't your mother. You're an accomplished, talented woman whose career is finally getting the recognition it deserves. Nothing can hold you back now."

"No." She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing but love." She reached up and brushed her hand across his cheek. "I could love you. I know it. But that wasn't what I was looking for right now. I can't afford to be like Mariella, at the peak of my career and taking time off to have children. "

He turned his head and kissed her palm before she could pull it away, and when he looked back at her, his eyes smoldered. "When I was in rehab, I kept hearing the counselors talking about not replacing one addiction with another. They were referring to replacing alcohol with drugs or gambling with smoking, but I saw it happen in other ways. My roommate, a 20-year alcoholic, got addicted to exercise. He started running and, hell, I don't know if he'll ever stop. One 5k after another. One girl who'd been addicted to heroin had a baby and all of sudden it was all mommy all the time. She was the best mother I ever saw, but it was because she was addicted to it. A great thing, a healthy addiction."

The fire in his eyes darkened. "I tried exercise. It helps. Sex, too. I like having sex. But I'm not addicted to it. I know what addiction feels like. Intimately." The way he said it gave her a glimpse into the strength it took for him to resist his daily temptations. Impulsively, she reached for his hand, and he closed his fingers around hers. " _You_ I could get addicted to, and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't."

She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or not. Did he mean he _wasn't_ in love with her? And was she sure that was what she wanted? In the middle of a confused rush of feelings, he rolled over and pulled her against him. "That doesn't mean I'm letting you go anywhere tonight."

"No?" Her heart skipped a beat and she let herself relax against him, feeling delightfully lazy. The idea of falling asleep in his arms appealed to her, as did the possibility of waking and making love again. _Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea, this falling in love thing._

****

The darkness closed in, sweltering, black and smothering...she heard her name and a crash but part of her knew she'd never get away now. The blackness held her and she huddled in it, afraid to speak because if she did it might sneak into her mouth and down her throat before she could scream...

Lydia jerked upright, the covers tugged back by a heavy body. She yanked away, pulling the sheets with her, uncertain for a moment where she was. Memory returned and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to let go of the dream, and opened her eyes to see Tony sitting up in bed. His bed. She'd spent the night with him. She lay down facing away from him, willing her racing heart to slow, her breath to stop coming in gasps.

"Sorry. Nightmare."

He slid his arms around her and kissed her shoulder. "Tell me about it."

"Don't."

He stilled behind her. "Don't what?"

"Don't act like you really want to know about my nightmare. It doesn't affect us. Tonight."

He remained silent for several long minutes, but his arms didn't loosen their grasp on her. Finally, he said softly, "What are you trying to forget?"

A shudder of surprise and a little horror that he could see her so well passed through her. "What makes you think I'm trying to forget something?"

"Don't do that."

"What?" She turned to face him, shoving her tangled red mane out of her face. "Don't act like this was more than it was, Tony."

"What was it, then?" He removed one hand from his hold on her and brushed her hair back, kissing her softly. "Don't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere." She leaned against him. "Let me go." Her voice came out sounding more breathless than authoritative.

He laughed against her hair. "You are a study in contradiction, you know that? And anyway, can't you get loose? Isn't that your area of expertise?"

"Mmm." She wound one arm around his neck, tilting her head to accept his lips. After a moment, she broke off the kiss and smiled at him. "I can get loose. Just not without hurting you. And I had much too much fun with you to want to end the night that way."

He grinned. "You might actually mean that. It warms the cockles of my heart. And I'll let you go, but only if you really _want_ me to."

She ran her tongue over her lips, her mouth curving in a teasing way. "That depends. Are you going to keep talking?"

"You have a problem with talking?" He didn't move as she caressed his chest with the palm of her hand, enjoying the silky feel of the hair, the warmth of his skin.

"Only when there are better things to do. And let's face it, we're both here to do better things." She cast a look at him from under the fringe of her bangs. "Aren't we?"

Instead of answering, he tightened his grip on her, burying his face in her neck. "God, you smell so good."

She laughed. "I think you're getting the idea."

"You're talking too much," he growled and rolled them over so he propped himself above her.

When he entered her, she knew she'd escaped yet again, and this time he didn't even know she'd done it.

### Chapter 6

_My own damn fault, anyway_. Tony stared at the ceiling and cursed himself. _Of course she's gone. She was skittish as a kitten, anyway._

Somewhere in the middle of making love to her a second time, he'd come to the realization that he didn't want to let her go, and that frightened him. He'd fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around a woman whose beauty and talent combined with a stubborn power of will to challenge him at every turn. And woken with nothing but memories.

Don't act like this was more than it was, Tony.

But what was it? He still couldn't put his finger on what it was about her that made him willing to give in to addiction for the first time in more than two years.

A knock on his door startled him, and he sat up, looking at the clock. Ten o'clock. Damn. He was supposed to meet Andre for coffee before his brother took off on his honeymoon. He reached for clothes as he started for the door, grabbing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and pulling them on just as he reached the door.

Andre gave him a dubious look. "Getting a late start this morning?"

"Yeah, well, you throw a hell of a party, Andy." Tony used his mother's old nickname without thinking about it, then grinned. "Like old times, huh?"

"Old times." Andre slapped Tony on the back. "Mom wants to see you before she goes home, by the way. She's pretty pissed that you took off last night without saying good-bye." He frowned, his eyes noting his brother's tousled appearance. "Where _did_ you go, anyway?"

Tony sighed. Of course, Andre would be suspicious of his disappearance on finding him disheveled after a night of unknown revelry. Hell, he was a little suspicious himself. If Lydia wasn't a drug, she certainly acted on his system like one. Already, he could feel the longing for her taste and smell and the silky feel of her skin. He closed his eyes, remembering.

"Tony." Andre's voice broke in, a stern but almost panicked tone. "What's going on, man? You didn't—"

"I didn't." Tony waved away the weakness of drugs and alcohol. What did they matter now? "Not a drop. Never even wanted a drink." He sighed. "I think this one's worse."

"What do you mean?"

Tony sank into one of the chairs at the full size dinner table. Why the hell had he bothered with such an enormous suite, anyway? When was he going to _use_ a full size dinner table in Vegas? He looked up as Andre sat across from him and took a deep breath. "Lydia."

" _Lydia_?" Andre looked dumbfounded. Then he nodded. "Well, yeah. Okay. Lydia. I guess I saw that coming. You left with her last night?"

"Yeah." The relief of sharing some of this burden allowed Tony to straighten his shoulders. "It was amazing, Andre. The most incredible night of my life. I felt—" He shook his head, unable to come up with a word for what he'd felt. "But I wasn't counting on that, you know? I thought I'd just...that it would be like the others." He gave his brother a helpless look. "But it wasn't... _she_ wasn't. I feel like I used to when I was jonesing for another new drug." At the shameful confession, he dropped his gaze for a second, then looked back at his brother.

Andre folded his arms across his chest and gave his brother a severe look. "Are you saying what you're addicted to this time is a woman?" Before Tony could react, his face broke into a grin. "Relax, little brother. Lydia's a catch."

"I wouldn't say I've caught her." Tony shifted uncomfortably. "But she's sure as hell hooked _me_."

"Well, I don't think there's a cure for this one, bro." Andre relaxed and reached behind him onto the minibar for two bottles of water. He passed one to Tony and uncapped his, taking a deep swig.

"You're telling me this is how you feel about Stacey?"

"I can't tell you that." Andre shook his head. "All I can say is that love is an addiction, but if it's with the right person, there's nothing to be afraid of."

"And if it's not? What then?"

"Why would you think Lydia isn't the right person?" Andre raised his eyebrows.

"Well, for one thing, she seemed pretty intent on keeping it casual. Which was fine, at first. But then she had this nightmare and practically jumped out of bed. I asked her about it, and she..." He paused, thoughtful.

"She what?"

Tony returned his attention to his brother. "Escaped. How the hell am I ever going to manage a woman who knows every escape trick in the book, Andre?"

Andre shrugged. "Good question. But I don't think I'm wrong in thinking you know a few of those tricks yourself. Could be you're the only one who ever could deal with her."

"Yeah." Tony considered his brother's words for several minutes. Even after Andre clapped him on the back, wished him luck and left to catch his plane to the Caribbean, Tony's brain was still working. Only after a long while did he feel the pieces slide into place like the workings of a lock.

He had the skills. He could beat her at her own game. But he couldn't fool himself into thinking he could do it if she didn't want him to.

And that was just a chance he needed to take.

****

Lydia stood outside the theater door for a moment, gathering herself. She still felt hungover from her night with Tony. _Why_ after taking a thirty-minute shower did she still smell him on her skin? Why had she turned at the sound of a certain timbre of male voice as she walked through the lobby?

Why the hell couldn't she shake this man?

_Maybe it's magic._ She brushed the thought away impatiently and entered the theater. What she really needed was to work, and she was already late for rehearsal.

Bess was seated in the center of the stage, legs crossed, reading a newspaper. She looked up with a dry smile on her too-red lips and swept her blonde hair over her shoulders. "Well, look who decided to show up." She batted her eyelashes at Lydia and folded her newspaper. "What's the news, sweetpea?"

Lydia looked around in befuddlement. There should be at least a handful of crew drinking coffee and waiting more or less patiently for the star of the show. "Where is everybody?"

"I told _them_ to come at ten-thirty."

"You told _me_ nine-thirty." Lydia looked at her watch. "And it's a quarter to ten now."

Bess shrugged. "I was a little off. But I'm still the best manager in the business, right?" At Lydia's puzzled look, Bess added, "I heard you didn't spend the night here, and you left the party with Tony Hawkins. I figured you'd want to sleep in some and I didn't want you to start the show off on the wrong foot with the crew, so I sort of...built in some cushion time." She sat back and waved her hand in the air as if with a magic wand. "And presto! You're not late, you're early."

Lydia laughed. "Yeah. I guess you're right. Pretty sneaky, Bess."

"And that's a secret between you and me." Bess nodded firmly. "But pull up a chair and tell me about it. What gives? I didn't think you and Tony were even on speaking terms, really."

Lydia took her time finding a chair and pulling it over to center stage with Bess. And even then she found she didn't want to sit in it. Instead she stood behind it, her hands clutching the back of the chair with a firm grip, as if it might take off into the air if she didn't hold it to the ground. She mulled the events of the evening over in her mind, trying to come up with anything she wouldn't mind sharing with Bess.

Her best friend produced a thermos and two Styrofoam cups, filling both with hot coffee and passing one to Lydia. "Well, if you won't sit, at least drink with me. We've got forty-five minutes to discuss the night you spent with one of the sexiest men in magic, but you seem strangely reticent to share. What gives, girlfriend?"

"I just—" Lydia thought back over the events of the night before. When had she last known a man who could make her passion flare out of control like that?

You I could get addicted to. And I'm pretty sure I shouldn't.

Why was he so sure? In fact, she was pretty sure they'd be good together. So why had she left this morning before he got up? Why had she snuck away?

"Lydia." Bess's voice caught her attention and she looked up, but her friend was looking at the theater entrance. Tony stood there.

Lydia straightened. "Hey."

He raised his eyebrows and strode in. "Hey. Am I interrupting?"

"Actually, rehearsal doesn't start for another half hour." Bess stood. "And I've got a few errands to take care of before that. Coffee?" She held out the thermos.

Tony waved it away, his eyes turning back to Lydia. He remained silent until Bess had disappeared backstage. "So I've made a decision. You want to know what?"

"What?" She took a sip of her coffee, cool and casual as if her heart weren't skipping alternate beats.

"Next time we're using your place." He stepped onto the stage and leaned over to kiss her. He drew away, a little smile playing on his lips. "You want to know why?"

"Why?" She could still feel the warm pressure of his lips on hers.

"Because at least you'll have to wake me up to throw me out."

"You said next time."

"I did." He met her gaze.

"What makes you think there's going to _be_ a next time?"

He smiled, bringing her fingers to his lips. "This." He dropped her hands and pulled her into his arms, lowering his mouth to hers.

Only after he'd released her did she realize she hadn't thought to escape from him. Why wasn't she running? Her heart was pounding, but she didn't want to run away anymore. She didn't want to escape from what he made her feel. She wanted to lean into his embrace, enjoy his caress.

He stroked her hair away from her face. "Tell me why you ran away."

She shook her head. "I don't think thirty minutes is enough for that."

He laughed. "Fine." He caught hold of her chin and looked in her eyes for a second. "Tell me about your dream, then."

She drew in a deep breath and let it out. "Okay." It felt good to let even that small part of her reserve go. She nodded. "Okay, then."

He sat in Bess's chair but she didn't join him. Instead she paced to the edge of the stage and turned. "When I was little, I played hide-and-seek all the time with my brothers. I had two older brothers and they teased me and I wanted to keep up with them. So I got really inventive with the hiding places." She paused, caught up for a minute in the past, almost as if she could see those children running past her in a golden flow of time. She shook it off. "I got really good. I was little and could squeeze into some pretty damn unexpected places. Like a box in the attic or a tiny space in a packed closet. I beat my brothers most of the time. They had to shout 'olly olly oxen free' just about every time."

Tony's expression hadn't changed. His eyes and attention were fixed on her. She gave him a little half-smile and continued. "My dad had an old toolbox downstairs in the basement. Nobody ever thought I could fit in that."

"But you did."

"I did. But I couldn't get out and nobody thought to look for me in there. At least not after they'd already been in the basement twice looking for me and then when they yelled olly olly I couldn't get out. I panicked and yelled but nobody heard me, and by the time my brothers told my parents they couldn't find me, I'd already passed out. I still don't know why my mother opened that toolbox. She said she thought I was dead at first." She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. "I only remember bits of it. The dark and cold and the helpless feeling that I _couldn't_ get out and I never would be able to." She shrugged. "I guess it makes sense that I got into escapology after that, huh?"

"Yeah." He stood and walked toward her, taking her hand. "The addiction's kind of like that. Like a dark, cold place that wants me to come back to it. Only it's inside me. Hard to escape from." He played with her hand, not looking at her. "Last night I was afraid I could fall back into that place." He looked up, catching her gaze. "At first."

"At first?" Her voice trembled a little.

"Yeah." He smiled, twining his fingers with hers. "You. I told you I could get addicted to you. But I don't think you'll take me back to that place."

"Why not?" She couldn't take her gaze from his face.

"Because that's not what it's about with you. It's not about losing myself or trapping you in a place you don't want to be. It's about finding us." He raised the hand that wasn't twined with hers to her face. "If that's what you want."

"I think..." She searched her feelings, everything she'd felt since she'd left his bed that morning. The reluctance to move away from him as she'd slid from the sheets, the fear she'd never have such a night with anyone again, the joy when he'd appeared at the theater. She nodded. "Yeah. I'll try."

"Good." He grinned and raised the hand that held hers. To her surprise, she felt a silken tug on her wrist and glanced down. Somehow he'd tied one end of the scarf on her wrist and the other on his while they stood together. "Just remember. You can escape, but only if you _want_ to."

She shook her head. "Jeez. Is this what it's going to be like dating a magician?"

He tsked. "No. I'm not a magician." He kissed her again and waggled his eyebrows at her. "I just know all the tricks."

## About the Author

Michelle Garren Flye is an award-winning romance author. Reviewers have described her work as: "an engaging novel with charming and likable characters", a story that "will make you believe in love and second chances", and a "well-written and thought-provoking novel."

Michelle placed third in the Hyperink Romance Writing Contest for her short story "Life After". Her short stories have been published by the romance anthology Foreign Affairs, Opium.com, SmokelongQuarterly.com and Flashquake.com. She has served on the editorial staffs of Horror Library Butcher Shop Quartet and Tattered Souls.

Michelle has a Bachelor's degree in Journalism and Mass Communication from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and a Master's degree in Library and Information Science from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, three children and their rapidly growing collection of pets.

Also by Michelle Garren Flye:

Sleight of Hand Series:

Close Up Magic

Escape Magic

Island Magic

Carolina Wine Country:

Ducks in a Row

Saturday Love

Agapi Mou (Coming...someday)

Published by Carina Press:

Where the Heart Lies

Published by Lyrical Press:

Secrets of the Lotus

Winter Solstice

Also set in the North Carolina Mountains:

Weeds and Flowers

Synchronicity Series

Out of Time

Time Being (Coming January 2017)

Did you enjoy this book? Consider leaving a review on GoodReads!

I love hearing from my readers.

Here's what reviewers have said about some of my other work:

"Michelle Garren Flye is a wizard with words and I completely enjoyed her voice."

—LAS Reviews

"...a well written sweet story that renews our faith in happily ever after."

—Michelle Bowman, We Love Kink

"I highly recommend this unsettling book."

—Lauren Strait, Amazon Reviewer

"...well-written and thought-provoking novel..."

—Book Reviews & More by Kathy

"...a poignant story of loss, grief, secrets, love, redemption and second chances."

—Jersey Girl Book Reviews

"...a book that will take you on a trip where failing or giving up is NOT an option."

—Bunny's Book Reviews

"This book has so much depth on so many levels. The thought process, and how everything played out was so great!"

—We're Jumpin' Books

"Readers will feel good and happy about this story... it made me smile."

—Guilty Indulgence Romance Review

"Michelle has a way with words, she draws you into the small town life of these characters and keeps you hooked until the last page." — Stitch Read Cook

"...a well-written romantic novel with an unusual amount of depth."

—Book Addiction

And finally, a treat for those who missed the first installment of the series:

Close Up Magic

By Michelle Garren Flye

Chapter One

Stacey Matthewson plucked her smartphone from her pocket the moment the plane touched down, well before the pilot turned off the sign banning the use of electronic devices. It killed her to be out of touch, especially at a time like this. She hit the call button and said two words. "Tell me."

"Jeez, could that flight have been any longer?" Bella's smartass young voice greeted her. "You're gonna have to hoof it if you're gonna make the show."

"Forget that. I'll make it. Tell me you got me a ticket." Stacey fought to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

Her nineteen-year-old sister and part-time assistant made her listen to a sharp crack of bubblegum before she answered. "Of course I got you a ticket. It's waiting for you."

_Thank God._ "Good. I guess you're not fired." She hit the end button before Bella could tell her she couldn't fire her own sister. She was exhausted and exhilarated at the same moment. In an hour or so, she'd be in the same room with Andre Hawke.

Stacey had met a lot of celebrities, most of them much further up the A-list than Andre Hawke was yet—possibly further than he ever would be. As a free-lance entertainment reporter, she'd written stories exposing the secrets of movie stars, capturing the worst moments of the idols who, in the end, proved themselves to be only human after all. Andre Hawke was small potatoes for someone like her, but she'd found her sources drying up after what she privately referred to as "the incident"—at least, when she allowed herself to think about it at all.

_I screwed up. I didn't check my sources and I'm paying for it._ She winced at the memory, and, not for the first time, wondered how she'd ever even gotten into this aspect of reporting. Her college professors had expected great things of her. They probably wouldn't be thrilled to know she'd degenerated into a bloodhound looking to shake down the latest celebrity to fall off a wagon.

Stacey straightened her spine, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped seat and reminding herself she'd made a good living off the sensationalist reporting, at least until recently. And what other choice would have allowed her to support herself and her little sister for the past few years? What really sucked was that after so many years knocking other people's idols off their pedestals, she finally had to do the same thing to someone _she_ admired.

She thumbed through the web pages she'd bookmarked on her smartphone. Hawke was an up-and-coming magician, a definite rising star on the horizon of celebrity. Fortunately for her, he wasn't there yet, so the scandal that had rocked his little camp right after his first big appearance in Las Vegas hadn't reached most reporters in the industry. Which meant she had the opportunity to write the story and get it out there before anyone else caught on.

She paused on a picture of Hawke and felt another tinge of regret that it had to be him. She'd actually seen one of his magic shows at a tiny theater in New York and had followed his career with interest since. He had it all: he was good-looking, skilled, and had an air of sincerity that sort of made you not even mind being the victim of his act.

She didn't have time for regret, though. She clicked her phone off and stuck it into her pocket, reaching for the only bag she'd brought—a little overnight bag small enough to fit under the seat in front of her. Her purse was large enough to accommodate her laptop, so she didn't have to wait for baggage claim. As soon as the pilot clicked off the fasten seatbelts sign and the crew opened the door, she'd be out and hopefully arrive in time to catch Andre Hawke before the show. Just because no one else had picked up the story yet didn't mean it wouldn't happen.

She banished the last of her guilty feelings. _It's not like I'm the president of his fan club or anything._ _And Andre Hawke is a big boy. He can handle a little press. Even my kind._

Andre Hawke studied his reflection in the mirror. The lean, handsome face that looked back reminded him of the few memories he had of his father. He still had a hard time associating that reflection with himself, although the thick, curly dark hair and deep blue (some women said almost violet) eyes had always been his, even when he'd been a dorky kid. He smiled and the reflection smiled back, white teeth flashing. His brother had suggested the teeth-whitening. The thought of Tony made the smile fade.

Andre turned from the mirror, reaching for the leather jacket he wore instead of a cape when he was onstage. Softened by time, the jacket had belonged to his father. One of the things he'd left behind and Andre had adopted as a prop, a reminder of the family whose history was half true, half part of the act.

On cue, his cell phone rang and he punched the button. "Hey Mom."

"How'd you know it was me?" His mother's lazy southern accent made him smile.

"Who else would call me right before a show?" He picked up a white tipped cane, studying it with amused interest before tossing it aside. The producer had left several artificial-looking magic props laying around in the hopes Andre would choose to adopt some of them, but Andre had no interest in stereotypes. He wanted nothing to do with what people would expect. He reached for his Oakley sunglasses and imagined his mother sitting on the front porch of the little home where he'd grown up. Were the crickets still singing? Was it really October? He'd lost track of the seasons since he'd been in the Nevada desert, where the weather was hot and dry, just as it had been two months before, although maybe not quite as hot now as it had been early in the summer.

"Andy, you know I wouldn't do anything to mess you up. I just wanted you to know how much we all love you. We're proud of you, son. Really proud." She fell silent for a moment and he closed his eyes, knowing what would come next. "Your brother's really sorry, you know."

"I know." Andre tried not to sound too bitter. Tony's antics had put him in a bad spot financially, although he'd been able to work it out professionally. What really hurt was the betrayal by the brother he'd always thought he could count on. After all, they'd only had each other and their mother after their father left them as children. He sighed. "His timing leaves a little to be desired. Just make sure he stays in the program."

"I know you're hurt, son, but try to look at it from his point of view. You've always been the success of our family...don't interrupt!"

Andre shut his mouth, which had opened to protest automatically. He frowned at the phone. How did she always know? "I wasn't going to."

"Of course you weren't. What I was saying is that Tony's always felt he had to live up to you. You've got to give him a break this time. He failed. He's sorry."

"And when he's better, we'll move on." Andre took a deep breath, then covered the phone with one hand and exercised some of the same misdirection he used in his act. "I know I have to be on stage in thirty, Sara. There's plenty of time." He uncovered the phone. "Sorry, Mom. They employ overachievers exclusively here."

"It's okay, honey. I know you're busy. I just wanted you to know we're thinking about you tonight. We're right there with you."

"Yeah." For a moment, he wished it were really true. Or maybe he wished he could just pack everything up and go home. Maybe he envied his brother for giving in to his weakness, something Andre had never allowed himself to do. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, baby." The click of the line sounded strangely emptier than usual.

He stood for a second in the empty dressing room. Any moment it would fill up with assistants and stagehands seeking last minute direction. He'd never thought about the complications of losing his agent during his first big show. A six-month run at a large—if rundown—casino/resort on the Las Vegas strip was the stuff dreams were made of if you were an up-and-coming magician. It was the last thing Tony had pulled off before he got drunk and gambled away the advance. All of it. Not just his share. Andre had had to deplete his own savings to pay his few employees and Tony's extended stay in the rehab facility had zeroed it out. Andre was broke until the ticket sales surpassed the advance and his crew's expenses.

_Damn it._ Andre turned grimly, feeling like a caged animal. The loss of the money didn't hurt half as much as the loss of the one person he'd always thought he could rely on. He'd trusted Tony. Goddamn him. From the day they'd left their mother's tiny home in Bath, N.C., Tony had busted his ass to get Andre through the days of busking on the streets of New York and table-hopping at little cafes. He'd gotten Andre's first real gig at a tiny theater in New York and from there the theaters had gotten bigger, the audiences more enthusiastic. And it all had led to this engagement in Las Vegas. Tony should be here.

He shook off the lingering regret. He had Bobby to take care of the day-to-day stuff and the show revenue would soon be enough to tide them over if they kept selling out. The one thing he didn't have was a public relations person. Neither Bobby nor Mattie had the expertise to handle press, and he was beginning to feel the need for one urgently. He needed to take his time, find somebody he could trust, but he knew it was only a matter of time now before the vultures of journalism smelled decay and swooped in on him to get at the bones of the story about his brother.

As if on cue, a sharp rap sounded on the door. A second later, a woman dressed in a figure-hugging black sheath dress with a bleached-blonde mane of hair falling around her shoulders entered the room without waiting to be admitted. Andre was used to women barging into his dressing room, but this woman left him speechless. She might have been one of the million young women looking to cut loose for a Vegas vacation except for the sharp intelligence in her hazel eyes. His brain screamed for caution, but he ignored it, stepping forward to take her hand. "Good evening. I'm Andre Hawke. How can I help you?"

_He has no idea who I am._ Good. That meant he wasn't being flooded by journalists. If she could be the first to gain his trust, maybe she could get an exclusive about the dismissed agent... Stacey smiled her sweetest and tried not to be too thrilled that _Andre Hawke_ was holding her hand. "Mr. Hawke." She wished she could have freshened up a little more. She'd stopped at the airport bathroom, taken off her wrinkled blazer, changed her jewelry and washed up a little. She tilted her head with as much confidence as she could muster, glad her last dye job had turned out so spectacularly her hair sparkled even in dim light, let alone the bright lights of the dressing room. "So good to meet you."

He tucked the sunglasses he held in one hand into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "My pleasure." His eyes scanned her up and down and back again.

Her heart gave an odd thump, but she was prepared for that, too. She'd watched countless videos of his stage performances on YouTube, and she knew his reputation for womanizing. The Great Andre—on stage _and_ in the sack, evidently. She summoned her best flirtatious smile, but his next words caught her off guard enough so she faltered. "Who exactly are you and how the hell did you get back here?"

She'd paid off a security guard but he didn't have to know that. "I snuck in. I wanted to catch you before the show." She fluttered her eyelashes and lowered her gaze, on cue as usual.

"Are you here to see the show, then?" He didn't release her hand, his eyes intense on hers when she looked back.

"Of course I am." She shot him a smile. "I can't wait, actually. I've been a fan ever since I saw you at the Clemson Theater in New York a few years ago."

"I remember that show." His smile widened, revealing perfect teeth for a moment before softening again into a sensual curve, and his gaze flickered to her mouth.

"It's obviously taken you to bigger and better things." Her chest felt tight and she found it hard to breathe. Was he going to kiss her? Dear God, she felt paralyzed. Was this really just desire or did he actually know enough magic to hold her immobile while he considered whether or not to kiss her? Or did she want his kiss so bad she was willing to sacrifice what was left of her career to get it?

She cleared her throat and fought her way out of whatever spell he'd cast. "I, um, do have another reason—" She reached into her purse.

"Save it." He dropped her hand. "I don't talk to the press before shows."

She couldn't disguise her astonishment. "How do you know I'm a reporter?"

"Fresh off the plane. I recognize the smell of the soap. Congratulations, you're the first. This evening, anyway." He glanced at his watch. "I'm not expecting any more for at least a couple hours." His glare was sharp. "They probably won't catch me until _after_ the show."

"All the more reason to listen to me now." She wasn't about to give up after flying halfway across the United States just to make her pitch. "We've got at least fifteen minutes before you're on stage."

"We've barely got two before my assistant barges through that door with a dozen questions."

"Plenty of time to schedule a meeting."

He laughed. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

"Not on your life." She took a step toward him. "I wasn't lying about being a fan. I've seen every one of your shows in one form or another. DVD, YouTube, videocassette. I know you're from Bath, North Carolina, and you started your career playing banjo for square dances. I know you did magic tricks on the side, and you went to college to please your mother, but your heart has always been in show business. I know you've got a genius IQ and an engineering degree, and I honestly can't believe I'm standing here in front of you right now." She stopped, feeling a hot blush spread over her face, but she could tell she'd gotten his attention. She dropped her gaze. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

He snorted. "And you're twice the salesman I am." He started to turn away. "I almost bought it, too. A warning to my ego."

_Shit._ He was walking away. If he left without agreeing to see her again, she'd never get an interview, let alone an exclusive. It wasn't his ego talking when he said he'd have a flood of reporters after him soon, although maybe not _right_ after this show. Andre Hawke would soon be the hottest thing going. _Nobody_ could figure out how he did his tricks. His Las Vegas show was a springboard, guaranteed to propel him to bigger and better things. His agent had been an absolute fool to let himself get caught with his hand in the till at this point. His agent, who was also his brother. Stacey grasped at the last straw she still carried.

"I know about your brother."

He froze, and when he turned, his gaze was cold enough to freeze her in her tracks. His dark blue eyes were depthless, his expression stony. Her heart seized up in her chest, her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to say more, but she couldn't get the words out.

"What exactly is it you think you know?" His voice held no teasing laughter now.

"About why you fired him." She stuck her chin out and carried on, as brave as could be under the circumstances. "And don't give me that shit about he was called home to deal with a family matter. He was drinking and gambling and he's probably got a problem with one or both." She paused, making her voice soothing. "I know you don't want to go public with it, but you're going to have to sooner or later. I can help you, but only if you give me an exclusive."

His eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. "My brother is taking a leave of absence from his work. He went home to take care of some family business. Which is none of yours, by the way."

She opened her mouth to tell him that cover story wouldn't hold water for long, but the door opened behind him, startling her. Andre didn't move, his eyes still locked on hers, as a young man with a faux-hawk and a clipboard rushed in. "Andre, you're due on in ten minutes and we still don't know where you want us to put the box for..." His voice drifted off. "Oh. I didn't know you had company."

"I wouldn't call _her_ company." Andre finally dragged his gaze away from Stacey's and she found she could breathe again. "Reporter. Get her information." He stalked out of the dressing room.

The kid raised his eyebrows but took Stacey's card without further comment and showed her out the door to the auditorium. When an usher approached, she reached for her ticket for the seat located somewhere up in the balcony, but the kid shook his head and motioned the usher away with authority. "He wants you to sit up front."

"What?" Stacey still felt breathless, hungover, she realized, from the sheer intensity of Andre's presence. Had she missed something or was "get her information" code for more than "let her leave her card"?

Bobby grinned, his voice ringing with pride in his employer. "Still can't believe it, huh? That's what he does to people. That's why he can pull anyone he wants onstage. All he has to do is look at them and they sort of melt. Doesn't matter if it's a man, woman or kid. He knows how to throw them off."

"Is that his secret?" She gave him a dubious look.

"One of 'em." He pulled out a chair at the bottom of the stage. "He's got a few. But then you know that, don't you?" When she frowned, he saluted jauntily. "Be seein' you."

She shrugged and seated herself, trying to shake off the lingering effects of Andre's presence. The whole thing was starting to annoy her. Admittedly, the seat was better than the one she'd paid for, but she remembered the icy look he'd given her too well to want to be this close to him again so soon. And what was he up to, putting her in the front row? Was it the old adage about keeping your enemies closer than your friends? She doubted it was just that she knew the truth about his brother. She'd actually threatened his carefully guarded family's quiet existence, so she must be dealt with. She lifted her chin defiantly. _Bring it on, Andre Hawke._

To the rest of the world—or at least those who knew about Andre Hawke—his father John Hawkins had been a loving father, supportive of his son, hard-working and devoted to his job in the paper mill, and he'd died in a horrible accident on the job. Andre had fostered this myth carefully. The truth was that his father wasn't dead and he'd never worked at a paper mill. He'd left his family when Andre and his twin brother were six years old. Rumor was he lived off the grid somewhere in Montana. He hadn't emerged to claim his successful son as his own, and as far as Stacey knew, Andre had never sought him out. Maybe he preferred the fictional father to the real thing.

But that wasn't going to work this time. Tony Hawkins wasn't the hard-working saint Andre would like everyone to believe, and his downfall had happened much more publicly than that of his father. She hoped Andre really had listened to her, because she'd meant what she'd said. He wouldn't be able to rewrite history again, but if he'd let her, she could make sure it wouldn't ruin him.

Unlike other magicians—in fact, most live performers—Andre didn't make a spectacular entrance onto the stage. He simply walked out, bowed, and performed a magic trick. It was never the same trick. That was what made him so amazing. His repertoire far exceeded those of illusionists with twice his experience. He must constantly be developing new tricks, working them in with favorites and rearranging the show's order so every one seemed new. Stacey shifted uncomfortably in her front row seat, aware that she shouldn't be so admiring of the man whose story could revive her faltering career. She tried to renew the irritation she'd felt a few minutes before, more comfortable with that than her growing sympathy with the man.

When the music started, she glanced expectantly at the stage. Tonight he didn't appear immediately, striding onto the stage with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Instead, she heard a murmur from the audience and turned to find him standing at her elbow. He gave her a jaunty grin, grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" The gasp was wrenched from her lips. _Oh my God._ Of course he'd given her a good seat. He intended to make her part of the act. _Shit._ She tried to hold back, but he gave her hand a pull.

"Look at this, ladies and gentlemen, she's shy. Give her a little encouragement." He flashed his gleaming smile at the audience and they broke into applause. Leaning toward her as if he were bowing, he murmured in her ear, "You'll have to work for that seat."

"Am I even going to get a chance to sit in it?" She shot back. He gave her a blandly innocent look and bounded up the stairs to the stage, pulling her along in his wake.

The spotlight centered on them and she blinked in the brightness. His pupils contracted, but otherwise he seemed undisturbed. Used to the spotlight. He faced her. "Do you believe in magic?"

"No." She glared at him. "There's always a trick."

"Ah. A nonbeliever." His grin grew wider, and she heard a murmur of amusement and anticipation from the crowd. If anyone could make a believer out of her, it would be Andre Hawke. He was playing them with all the skill of a born entertainer, and she couldn't suppress her admiration. God, he was absolutely magnificent and if playing along with a magic trick could get her the interview, she better be game. She tilted her chin and his eyes narrowed. With a practiced flourish, he drew a blindfold from his pocket. "So, you're going to play?"

The words surprised her until she realized they were directed only at her and not at the audience. He must have a way of turning his mic off when he didn't want them to hear. She shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "Whatever." In spite of her response, however, the blindfold did disturb her a little. She didn't like not knowing what was happening to her. She lived her life by maintaining control at all times. Relinquishing it, even for a moment, was not something she wanted to do.

With laughing encouragement from the audience, he led her to a chair that looked like it might have come from a schoolroom somewhere and instructed her to check it out for any abnormalities. She did so, even lifting the chair and looking underneath it. Then he told her to sit and she felt him move behind her, tying the blindfold with practiced movements. Just as he finished, he leaned down and said softly in her ear, "Do you trust me?"

"Should I?" She folded her arms over her chest and crossed her legs, trying to look like she didn't have a care in the world.

The laughter of the audience let her in on the fact that this exchange had been with a live mic. He really was full of tricks. She pictured him moving away from her, pretending to be offended. When the laughter died down, he began talking about studying the beliefs of Tibetan monks and practicing their philosophies to broaden his mind. Her own mind wandered. She couldn't concentrate on his words, but she enjoyed the sound of his voice. Then he stopped talking, and she felt a light breeze soothing her hot cheeks. She thought of the look in his eyes before he tied the blindfold on her, and the words he'd whispered in her ear.

Do you trust me?

Hands touched her shoulders, tingling as if sending a light jolt of electricity through her. She jumped and he laughed. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." He whipped the blindfold from her face. "Are you all right?"

"Of course." She blinked. "Is it over? What did you do?"

"Actually, I didn't do anything. You did." He put an arm around her shoulders and turned her to face a monitor. She stared, unable to comprehend at first that the instant replay of the chair hovering near the curtains at the top of the stage was actually the one she'd just been sitting in, and that the figure seated imperturbably in it was her. He moved behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders as if to brace her, his words oddly intimate even as they echoed across the huge room. "You flew."

"Oh my God." She felt sick. She looked at the ceiling, a good thirty feet above her head. She looked at the little chair she'd been seated on. No safety buckles, no harnesses. Her knees buckled and she might have fallen had he not caught her.

She heard a gasp from the audience as he led her off the stage and handed her over to a pretty girl with a clipboard and headset. She heard him murmur instructions, but she couldn't focus. The girl nodded and half carried her backstage. Andre returned to the stage, assuring the audience she was fine and recovering from her shock. The ensuing applause seemed to indicate that Stacey's reaction to the trick had done nothing but affirm their belief in him.

Stacey recovered herself as the girl in the headphones tried to lead her down a hall. She shook off the girl's grasp. "Where are we going?"

"Mr. Hawke wants you to wait for him in his dressing room."

"Right. I'm not doing that." She turned and started back toward the stage. "In fact, I think I'm going to kill Mr. Hawke now."

"You can't go back out there." The girl moved to block her path, unperturbed by Stacey's death threat. "I'm sorry, but you have to wait here."

"You can't do that." Stacey glared. "I bought a ticket."

"And sat in the seat Mr. Hawke provided." The girl might be young, but she wasn't stupid. "He always pulls a volunteer from that seat, and it's always with prior consent."

"Well, there was no fucking 'prior consent' tonight, I promise." Stacey glared. "He never told me I was going to be flying through the air. Or in a trance. I could have been killed."

"He'd never let that happen."

Stacey frowned, looking at the girl. She obviously believed what she was saying. In fact, Stacey figured the girl would sit on any chair Andre asked her to. And go into any number of trances at whatever inopportune time Andre chose. She shook her head. "Dear God, how does he do it?"

The girl sensed she was no longer going to cause trouble and said, "Look, if you really feel well enough, you can watch the rest of the show from backstage. I'll show you. It's even better than your seat was."

"Excellent." She folded her arms. "Are you sure he'd want you to do that? He did tell you I'm a journalist, didn't he?"

"He said you were a reporter. I don't think he's particularly concerned." The girl shrugged and held out her hand. "I'm Mattie. He wants me to take care of you. Can I get you something to drink?"

_A good strong Scotch._ She shook her head. "No. I mean, just water."

Mattie turned and issued an order to a stagehand, who hurried to follow instructions. Stacey wondered who exactly the girl was. She certainly seemed to have more authority than the stagehand/groupie Stacey had first assumed her to be. Within a few moments, Mattie had installed her in a chair in the wings of the stage, a bottle of artesian water in her hand. From her new seat, Stacey had a very good view of Andre as he performed a couple of amazing card tricks, plucked a rose out of a woman's hair, and turned a paper airplane into a white dove. If he was misdirecting the audience, he must surely be a master because even from her angle, she couldn't catch the trick.

_Would they let me move, though?_ She glanced at Mattie talking to a stagehand. She saw Bobby, the kid from earlier, watching from the other side of the stage. What if she got up and started over there? Just as she considered this, Mattie placed a hand on her shoulder. "I have to ask you to keep your seat for the next few minutes. He's ready for his finale and if you move you could endanger someone."

Stacey relaxed in her seat, wondering what exactly was wrong with her, anyway. She was a tough kid from a rough upbringing. Ordinarily, she wouldn't let anyone boss her around, and if she got thrown out while in the quest for a story, she wouldn't care.

But I'm not here to find out how he does it. I'm here to find out what was done to him. That's my story, and if I get thrown out now, it'll ruin everything.

She was prevaricating, and she knew it. She didn't _want_ to know how the magic was done. If she did, she'd never be able to believe, never be able to experience that sense of wonder that, to be honest, Andre had first woken in her. She smiled a little, remembering that show. It had been a rare treat for her and Bella back during her senior year in college. She'd won the tickets on a radio show and gone, never expecting the show to work its way past her cynical exterior and touch something else, some carefully guarded desire to believe. She shook off the memory. She couldn't afford to believe in magic when she'd been given so many reasons not to during her life.

The finale was a spectacular illusion in which Andre performed an escape worthy of Houdini himself while hanging upside down over a tank of water while a flame slowly burned through the rope. A curtain was drawn around Andre, and a circle of witnesses surrounded the area. Stacey watched the rope jerk with his movements, so completely caught up in the moment that when the rope gave way and she heard a splash, she half-started out of her chair. She heard a chuckle and glanced to her side as he walked out of the backstage area, completely dry, and grinned at her. "You worried?"

"Of course not." She pretended not to be startled by his appearance. She'd been watching the entire time. He had definitely begun the illusion suspended from the rope. The audience members he'd pulled onstage still stood in a circle with their hands joined. The logistics of the trick boggled her mind. _Holy cow._ She shrugged. "I knew there was a trick."

"You have serious trust issues." With these parting words, he loped onstage, startling one female volunteer with a kiss on the cheek and taking his well-deserved bow.

He finished his bow, then shook hands with each volunteer as they were escorted off the stage. He paused to speak quietly with both Bobby and Mattie before returning to her side. "You still mad?"

"Mad?" She snorted. "Why would I be mad? Oh, you mean the little putting me in a trance and sending me floating in the rafters thing? Ha!" She glared at him. "You keep pulling shit like that and you'll have lawsuits on your hands, buddy."

"Umm." He compressed his lips, then held his hand out to her. "Let's go for a walk."

"A walk?" She blinked. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. I always go for walks after a show. Come, we won't go far."

She checked his forward momentum with an angry sneer. "I really don't have any desire to go anywhere with you. Have you forgotten you nearly killed me? _Without_ my consent?"

He looked amused. "Are you mad because I forgot to ask your consent to kill you? Would you have given it?"

"Ha. Ha." She put all her contempt into the two syllables. "That's not what I meant. Do you do that all the time?"

"Actually, that was a first." He tilted an eyebrow. "But then, you have a reputation for doing your research, so you'd know that, wouldn't you?" He started down the hall, still talking so she had no choice but to follow him if she wanted to hear what he was saying, which, in spite of her fury, she did. "I'd planned to use the trick for the first time tonight, but I didn't actually plan to open with it. You were a little easier to put into a trance than I'd anticipated." His voice indicated this wasn't a compliment, and another source of heat began to burn in her, this time from humiliation. Was that what he wanted?

But he was still talking. "I needed to get you under control, and that seemed like a good way. I figured you'd have a strong reaction to it, although I have to admit, I didn't anticipate fainting. Fear of heights?"

She gritted her teeth. "You didn't have to do any such thing. I was on my way to my spot in the back row when that kid waylaid me and put me in the front row seat you selected. And besides, I'm not here to discover your secrets. I'm not that kind of reporter."

His lips curled. "Oh, I have a pretty good idea what kind of reporter you are, Ms. Matthewson. You're here to question me about Tony. You want _that_ story. The one where I bemoan the fact that my brother and closest friend betrayed me."

Now they were getting somewhere. "Are you saying your brother betrayed you?"

He broke off. Had she rattled him? But then he shook his head, speaking in a regretful tone. "And if it weren't for the fact that this is so far beneath you, you'd've been out on your pretty little ass right after the show."

"Beneath me?" She blinked. It almost sounded like a compliment. At least it was far enough from his former line of humiliating repartee to both intrigue her and throw her off.

"Beneath you." He whirled, taking both her hands in an abrupt motion. They were on the casino floor, standing close to the windows. People at the nearby craps tables shot them curious glances. Had she followed him this far, blind to her surroundings? "I did some research. Not much, but enough to know who you are and what your capabilities are. You write crap, Ms. Matthewson."

She winced. "Call me Stacey, and who the hell are you to make that judgment?"

"Doesn't matter what I call you, you still write crap. And as your next intended victim, I think I'm pretty well qualified to make any judgments I want. You prey on people's worst moments, immortalize the shadows and sell it to the highest bidder." He paused, his lips compressing as if he didn't want to say anymore, but then he added, albeit reluctantly. "And yet...you write well."

"I write well?" She shook her head, aware he was still holding her hands. The warmth of his grasp combined with an unexpected gratitude for the compliment, and she felt a little too warm and also as if he were playing with her emotions so skillfully she was almost enjoying it. "Are you saying I write good shit?"

"Not really." He dropped her hands and gestured around them. "Life is chance, Stacey. Have you never noticed that? I wonder what chance has brought you into my path. Was it Lady Luck?" As he spoke, a woman at a slot machine near them gave a cry of delight as bells and whistles began to sound. Andre grinned. "We better move on. Management tends to blame me when things like that happen." He grasped her forearm and started toward the exit.

"Wait!" She pulled back, trying to check their forward progress. "Where are we going?"

"To talk."

"Where?" She shook her head. She felt exhausted from the yo-yoing of her emotions. "I don't..."

"There's a coffee shop in the shopping center across the street. It'll be quieter than here." He cocked an eyebrow at her again. "Of course, we could go to my suite, but then natural assumptions would be made..."

She blushed, wondering if he meant natural assumptions by him or someone else. Mattie or Bobby, maybe? "Oh. Okay."

He bought two coffees and brought them back to the table where she'd dropped. She looked drained, exhausted from traveling, probably, but he had a guilty feeling he was partly responsible. He quashed the guilt. He didn't want to feel concerned about her. She'd threatened his family, after all. But he couldn't help it. There was more to this woman than her beautiful, tough exterior showed. He'd seen it in the articles Mattie brought him before the show. Especially in the later ones, he'd sensed sympathy for the subjects. She could definitely prove useful to him.

Tossing a few cream and sweetener packets on the table, he said, "I didn't know how you took it."

As he'd suspected, she disregarded both, taking a cautious sip of the steaming liquid. "Can you explain to me why exactly we're here?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Could you please make up your mind? First you're dying to interview me, now you don't want to spend a moment alone with me."

"You've made it pretty clear you don't approve of my style of journalism." Her mouth primmed up into a thin line. He wanted to tell her not to do that. Her lips were lush and full of promise, but compressing them that way made part of her allure disappear.

"I'm curious. What was your angle, anyway?" He took a sip of coffee, studying her over the white plastic rim. "How were you going to make this appeal to the masses? I'm not exactly a star. Yet."

"Exactly." She scrubbed her face wearily. "Fine. You're not a star, but you're an up-and-coming magician doing your first big gig in Vegas. Nobody doubts you're _going_ to be a star. And your agent—who also happens to be your brother—gets caught gambling away your advance a few weeks after you get here. You kept it quiet for longer than I would have imagined you could, too." Her gaze was frankly curious. "What was it a week...or ten days ago that you sent him away?"

He shrugged. "Didn't want exactly this kind of press to overshadow me." _And you're going to help me with that._ He leaned forward. "I'm pretty good at reading people. Requisite job skill for my chosen career, I suppose. You intrigue me. You're afraid to be yourself, but you don't like the person you're pretending to be."

She looked startled, but she quickly covered it up with a slightly derisive smile. "You're grasping. You don't really know anything about me."

He brought one hand up to tick off points. "You're not a natural blonde, you drink your coffee black even though you'd probably prefer it a little sweeter, you write crap when you're capable of doing much better and you're chasing a story in Vegas when you're usually the bane of the A-list in Hollywood or New York. What's your angle? You're hunting a next-to-nobody in Vegas and even compromising the few scruples you still have. Why would you do that for me?"

She took a deep drink of the coffee. Too deep. It made her cough and sputter, and he knew she was hiding something.

He patted her on the back and continued. "I have a business proposition for you."

"B-business?" She gasped the single important word.

"I'm thinking for one reason or another you're a bit down on your luck. As you've noted, I'm down a staff member. I have no intention of hiring another agent, at least at this point. I have Bobby and Mattie for the day-to-day stuff and at least a six-month run here in Vegas. However, I could use someone to handle the press."

Her coughing stopped. Was she too astounded by his offer to remember she'd nearly choked herself? The thought made him smile, but he hid it by standing.

"I expect you'd like to sleep on it, especially considering how late it is. Where are you staying?"

She stared at him and gulped. "I—haven't had a chance to..."

He frowned. "You haven't checked in or you don't have a place to stay?"

"I came straight from the plane..." She trailed off, looking more tired than she had before, probably at the idea of finding a room at this late hour.

He glanced at the bag at her feet. He'd assumed it was a large purse, but he realized it was probably an overnight bag. Without waiting to hear her protest, he slung the bag over his shoulder and pulled her to her feet, starting toward the mall entrance.

"Where are we going?" She followed him.

Deciding she was tired enough to come with him regardless of whether he answered or not, he shushed her, pulling out his phone.

Greg answered on the second ring. Greg was the concierge in charge of keeping Andre happy, so when Andre called, he answered. So far, he hadn't had a problem fulfilling Andre's requests, and Andre hoped tonight would be the same, but considering his depleted bank account, he might be pushing his luck. As usual, however, Greg sounded courteous and ready to help. "Mr. Hawke. What can I do for you this evening?"

"Greg, I need a room. For a new staff member."

"Certainly, sir. What will your staff member's requirements be?" Greg had no doubt been anticipating this since Tony's departure.

"A queen room should serve. With a study area."

"And when will you be needing it?"

Andre eyed the woman stumbling along beside him. She needed a room sooner rather than later. She was dead on her feet. His financial position was well known at the hotel, however, and he couldn't risk being too demanding. "Could we get her something tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. Shall I phone you when it is ready?"

"Thank you, Greg." He hung up, pushing open the door to the resort. Maybe it would be better to keep her close until he had a full commitment from her anyway.

