The cat made short work of the fish. Purring contentedly, it strode to Damon and pressed its flattened face against his. The moment it did, his brain burst with an image. Tiles. No. Mosaic. Intricate puzzles of glass and ceramic that formed artistic renderings like no other.
Rogan had been particularly proud of his, themed with tales of Gypsy legend and lore. Why hadn’t Damon remembered? Why hadn’t he recalled? He could not remember the exact locations of the mosaics, but he’d conjure them sufficiently…once he called upon the magic.
Twenty
“Here’s your necklace, repaired as you requested.”
Alexa looked up from the cost projections and for the first time this morning made eye contact with her assistant, Rose. She closed the report and focused on the young woman standing so eagerly in front of her.
“Thank you, Rose.”
“The jeweler said the necklace looked very old. Is it a family heirloom, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Alexa slipped the magical charm into the pocket of the bag she’d take with her later to the island. “Definitely a family heirloom.”
Just not her family.
“It’s very unusual,” the young woman said, her voice haunting.
“You have no idea.”
Rose glanced at her watch. “Is there anything else, Ms. Chandler?”
Alexa stopped to think. Her world had resumed the calm, focused pace she’d grown accustomed to, likely because Rose had hopped the first plane to Florida with her highly organized and irreplaceable skills packed in a single carry-on suitcase. Alexa had nearly succumbed to the madness of discovering first the castle and then the ghost inside, especially after Damon’s strange behavior this morning. But by logging a full day’s work, she now felt surprisingly refreshed and balanced. In her element.
Crown Chandler meant the world to her. It was her world. Was that sad or incredibly lucky?
“How long have you been with Crown Chandler?” Alexa asked.
Rose’s eyes widened. Her eyes were blue. Had Alexa ever noticed that before?
“Excuse me?”
Alexa stacked the cost projections atop the collection of files on the polished teak desk Rose had had delivered to her suite-turned-office and wondered how often, if ever, she smiled at her assistant. Sure, she said her “pleases” and “thank-yous.” Her father had drilled the polite words into her everyday speech since before she’d uttered her first full sentence. But did she make it a habit to look Rose in the eye when she spoke to her, or was she too distracted by her computer, her BlackBerry, her reports, files and phone calls?
She pushed the papers away from her and folded her hands gently on her desk. “How long have you been working for me?”
“Two years, ma’am.”
Two years. Two years and Alexa had no idea how old Rose was, if she was seeing anyone or, heck, if she was married. Did she have children? A mother she took care of? A father who came over to her apartment to fix broken pipes? Heck, did she live in an apartment or did she own a house?
“Is there something wrong?” Rose asked.
Alexa leaned back and exhaled deeply. So she wasn’t good at interpersonal relationships. Wasn’t like she didn’t have any. There was Cat. Jacob. The members of her upper-management team. She knew all sorts of things about them. Of course, that was more for security reasons than for friendship. Still, the fact that her assistant had been running her office like clockwork for two whole years without Alexa knowing more about her was inexcusable.
“Nothing a chat wouldn’t fix.” She gestured toward the chair in front of her desk.
Rose eyed her warily. Poised, efficient and smart, Rose reflected the best of Crown Chandler. Alexa wrote Rose’s performance reviews in appropriately glowing terms and gave her regular raises and bonuses, but she couldn’t remember ever telling the woman in clear and simple terms that she appreciated all her hard work.
“I’m sorry you had to come down to Florida on such short notice,” Alexa offered. “Flight okay?”
Rose’s mouth dropped open, and she snapped closed the PDA in her hand while she hesitantly made her way to the chair. She didn’t sit down immediately.
“Flight was very nice,” Rose answered. “The first-class ticket was a nice treat, thank you. And the suite down the hall? It’s breathtaking. Bigger than my apartment.”
Alexa smiled, relieved. Okay, so she wasn’t the twenty-first-century equivalent of Leona Helmsley. Her usually guarded employee was gushing. Gushing was good. Still, there was so much she didn’t know.
“Do you have family in Chicago? Someone we should consider bringing down here while you work?”
Rose shook her head and finally lowered herself into the chair. “No, just my cat. I have a friend watching her while I’m away.”
“Cat? I like cats,” Alexa said. Even ghostly ones with spooky amber eyes and a master who despised him. A master who’d threatened her and her workers with enough conviction that she was chatting with an employee rather than confronting the man, er, phantom, who could waylay her.
“I’m sorry you had to leave your pet,” Alexa lamented. “Please let me know if you need help with a pet sitter or boarding. It’s really not fair that I dragged you down here with no notice.”
Rose’s smile was shy but genuine. “I don’t mind, Ms. Chandler. I think this project is extremely exciting. A castle! Imagine. What little girl doesn’t pretend she’s Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty at some point?”
A jolt of enthusiasm shot through Alexa, reminding her of why she’d originally set her life in Chicago aside to fly to Florida and explore this dream. This…fantasy.
“Let’s hope scores of people will be willing to pay premium rates to stay in an old castle without having to whip out a passport.”
Rose had leaned forward, her tone eager. “Ooh, I think they will.”
Ambition glimmered within the soft blue depths of Rose’s eyes, and Alexa wondered how much else she’d missed about her assistant. “Let me ask you, Rose. Where do you see yourself with Chandler…in the next five years, say?”
Suddenly, Rose’s posture snapped straight. She didn’t answer immediately, which even Alexa noticed was completely out of character.
“I’m blindsiding you with these questions, aren’t I?”
Rose swallowed deeply. “No, I mean, yes. I mean…I’ve always wanted to have this conversation with you. I really love working for you, Ms. Chandler—”
Alexa coughed to hide her snort. She couldn’t imagine anyone loving anything about working for her. She supposed she was a fair employer who paid well, but she was also distant and unobservant. She’d never realized. Not truly. Not until Damon had forced her to feel things she hadn’t since her accident. Not just sexual desire and pleasure, but empathy and fear. Even the triumphs she’d experienced at work and the loss of her father had been dulled by the walls she’d built around her heart. She hated to admit, even if only to herself, how this phantom of a man had somehow invigorated her hunger for life.
She’d been so sure after her accident that her love of living had pushed her through the surgeries, the therapy, the pain. Now she realized she’d simply been too programmed for success to do anything besides live.
Now she wanted more. She wanted love. In all forms.
“—design really interests me.”
Of course, she could start by listening attentively to her employees when they were finally pouring out their hopes and dreams at her urging.
“What perfect timing, then,” she declared. “We’ll only have a skeleton crew on this project for the time being, until the logistics and materials are in place. Mainly, we’ll be planning the furnishings and the layout. If you’d like, I’ll have you work closely with the design team.”
Rose’s face blossomed, and she managed—barely—to contain a squeal of delight. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”
“No, Rose. Thank you. This project, if handled correctly, will be magical. I’m sure of it.”
Alexa glanced out the ceiling-to-floor picture window behind her and realized the sky was darkening. Soon, Damon would be solid again. She had no idea if he was still in the same foul mood as he had been this morning, but she couldn’t imagine letting a night pass with such animosity between them. Besides, she had a little more than a week to calm him down before the first team of workers descended on the castle. She understood his anger, felt for his dilemma—but she still had her own goals to fulfill.
“Let’s meet tomorrow morning around ten,” she told Rose as she stood to leave the office. “I’ll tell you what I envision and you can bring my ideas to the designers.”
Rose practically floated across the room, the vividness of her smile rivaling the colors now streaking across the sky. “Thank you, Ms. Chandler.”
“Please,” she said, wondering why she hadn’t insisted on less formality sooner, “call me Alexa.”
Rose’s ears perked. “The document is finished printing,” she announced, beelining toward the outer office.
Alexa stood and listened while Rose retrieved the papers from the printer. “What document?”
“The one Ms. Reyes sent in the encrypted file.”
Ten minutes later, Alexa held a spiral-bound copy of Sarina Forsyth’s diary in her hands. And two hours after that, she was headed back to her island, the leverage she needed to assuage Damon tucked tightly in her backpack.
***
With a flashlight clutched in her hands, Alexa pushed her way through the palmetto bushes that blocked the path from the wall to the front door of the castle. She’d just had the plants chopped aside the day before, but apparently, they regrew rather quickly. Either that or Damon was manipulating the magic in order to keep her out.
As if some ancient Gypsy curse could stop her.
She kept her flashlight aimed directly in front of her, focused on the front door, ignoring all the creepy crawlies inside the plants and vines around her. Behind her, the buzz of the retreating boat engine competed with the whine of the mosquitoes swarming through the air. She quickened her pace, cursing the fact that she hadn’t thought to include bug spray with her supplies. Oh, well. She wouldn’t remain outside for long.
She jogged up the steps and pulled the latch, yelping when the lock did not yield.
“Damon!” she called, banging her fist on the thick door. “Let me in.”
Silence whistled into the trees and rolled off the palm fronds, then echoed into the ocean swirling on the other side of the wall. Darkness had descended all around her, though jewel-toned light glowed bright behind the castle’s stained-glass windows. He was inside, of course. Denying her entrance.
Well, she’d just see about that.
She put down her backpack and from the pocket withdrew Sarina’s necklace. Only Rose could have gotten the chain fixed so quickly. Alexa fastened the jewelry behind her neck, took a deep breath and tried the latch again.
Nothing.
“Damon!”
She banged on the door, but then realized that even if he wanted to let her in, perhaps he could not. In fact, judging by his last attempt at escaping his prison, he’d likely stay as far away from the exit as possible.
So, how did she get in the first time? And the second?
Closing her eyes, Alexa concentrated on the night before. She’d been drawn to the castle because of Damon, because of a powerful lust that drove her to ignore all reason, all logic. All caution. She’d craved entrance to the castle more than anything else.
And on the morning she’d first come in, she’d also been driven by the intense need to find the man in the window, the ghost whose hand had passed through the window without cracking the glass. Both times, she’d wanted not just entrance to the house but access to the man inside.
Tonight, her motives had been skewed away from wanting either Damon the man or Damon the phantom. She’d simply wanted entrance to her castle. Her anger with him over his attitude this morning had tempered her desire, forcing her to focus more on manipulating him rather than seducing him.
Maybe that’s where she went wrong?
Alexa dug deeper into her bag, this time retrieving the filmy lingerie she’d purchased in the hotel’s boutique. Without a thought to the blood-sucking bugs buzzing around her, she undressed and slipped into the gown. The slinky silk slid down her body, igniting every nerve ending with anticipation for when Damon spied her in this sleek black confection. The dark color highlighted her pale skin and the cut emphasized the curves in her breasts and hips. She ran her fingers through her hair, which she’d loosened during the trip from the mainland, and loved the windblown feel of it. How would Damon resist a woman whose entire body thrummed with need?
Licking her lips expectantly, Alexa touched the latch. This time, it pushed open with oiled ease.
She dragged her bag inside, retrieved the diary, and then slammed the door behind her. She looked up and gasped.
While she’d expected Damon, she’d been wholly unprepared to see him standing in the archway to her left, scarlet banners edged in shimmering gold unfurling behind him from the beams crisscrossing the forty-foot ceiling of the dining hall. He was breathtaking in his snug breeches, polished boots and stark white shirt. She swallowed deeply even as her body shook with intensified arousal.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his volume low but his voice thunderous.
She crossed the distance between the entryway and the hall, the copy of the diary hanging loose at her side, as if unimportant.
“This is my castle,” she replied. “I’ll come here whenever I damned well please.”
With nothing but a sideways glance and a smirk, he turned back into the hall. “Then you are a fool.”
Well, that wasn’t the greeting she was expecting, was it? Nonetheless, she followed him deeper into the room, which he’d clearly been rebuilding with the aid of Rogan’s magic. On the wall between two room-sized fireplaces, a thousand tiny tiles scrambled in the air, adhering to the stone randomly or hovering and darting, as if searching for their proper places.
They were creating a mosaic. She watched until a picture emerged—a Gypsy marketplace, complete with artisans, musicians and scampering children running underfoot with the chickens and cats.
Though the unfolding creation was utterly fascinating, she focused on Damon. “You’re a big jerk,” she announced.