Mystical Love (6 page)

“The trade papers have dubbed him the darling of Las Vegas, but I think heavy is the head that wears that crown,” Lloyd stated.

“Amen.” Janice said, giving a sudden shiver. Seeing it, Lloyd commented.

“You'll get used to the chill in the hallways, Jan. We all did. Trust me, your sleeping quarters are comfy and warm.”

Janice gave a grateful nod. She was feeling a strange chill all of a sudden, but she didn't think it was from the cold air in the halls. Something … someone … damn! Why did she keep thinking that someone was involved in shaking up her senses?

Fifteen steps later, they had reached the new landing and entered a mammoth art gallery filled with elegant but understated paintings and furnishings. Lloyd set down her suitcase and signaled to the far side of the room.

“Over there, Jan. I've saved the best for last.” He pointed to a wall painting a few yards from where they stood and Janice found her curiosity bubbling over. It was sweet of Lloyd to remember she was partial to historical paintings. And by the look of things, he had inherited a magnificent set of portraits when he had purchased the chateau. Stopping at the second portrait she came to, she could almost feel the artist's brush strokes saturating the canvas.

“Do you know who they all are, Lloyd?” she asked, scanning the masculine face outlined. He came to stand alongside her, studying the painting as well.

“They are the past masters of Witchwood and their families.” He pointed to a painting down the way again. “Come meet Baron Aubert Dumas.”

Janice found herself following eagerly. It had been a long time since enjoying a painting just for the sake of art, and if the paintings in front of her were any indication of the ones to come, she was in for a treat. A moment later, standing in front of a gorgeous oil painting, her heart did a gigantic flip-flop. Good Lord, it was him! The rake from her oil painting! He stood looking out at her, an exquisitely handsome man with the same dark eyes and devastating smile, yet in this painting, his dress was richer. Janice immediately sensed he had a monopoly on virility, knew it, and enjoyed flaunting it. She could feel his masculine charm clear to the tips of her toes.

“My God, Lloyd, I know this man. I have been painting his portrait for weeks. He's Baron Dumas?”

“Yes. He built the chateau as a wedding present for his bride, the Princess Lisette Fantine.”

Janice's gaze scoured the surrounding paintings. Which lady had captured such an exquisite man's heart? She scanned the female faces assembled and couldn't imagine the handsome baron drawn to any of them. They were overstuffed, overdressed, pampered dowagers, not one under the age of forty. All too quickly, she let her imagination run wild. The baron had lost his heart to a wild, sultry vixen who had kissed him hungrily and welcomed him into her body. A sharp nudge to her ribcage brought Janice back to earth.

“She's over there.” Lloyd pointed to a section of wall further down the gallery. Janice sped away, eager to have her imaginings confirmed. When she laid eyes on the face and figure captured in oil, she gave an enraptured sigh. Now, this was a woman made to lie beneath a naked male torso.
Janice Kelly, whatever possessed you to think such a starkly, sexual thought?
It must be the damn lightning, she silently answered. It had short-circuited her brain waves, shoring up her libido. Or was it the sight of the woman with flaming red hair to equal her own that made her senses tingle? Janice studied the hair. Shade for shade, they were a match. But there the similarity ended. Lisette had a slim wild beauty, with jutting breasts and narrow waist. Her wedgewood blue eyes glowed with an inner excitement, as if she had recently been thoroughly and magnificently kissed.
Brother, Janice,
she admonished herself,
you've got sex on the brain and it's all Bibi's fault!
She started it with her infernal teasing about making love with perfectly total strangers.

Janice turned away from the portrait annoyed that her senses could be shaken so readily by a mere look at an oil painting. She found Lloyd studying her face. They shared a smile.

“Quite a beauty, eh?”

“Ravishing,” Janice agreed.

She saw Lloyd cast a wistful glance at the portrait.

“Wish I knew more about her. I can't seem to find any reference to her in the old wing library. She reminds me a little of you, Janice.”

“Balderdash, as Bibi would say. We're as different as night and day — except for the hair.”

“I don't know.” Lloyd shook his head. “She has something I can't put a name to.”

“I can. It's called chemistry, the sexual kind.” Lloyd's laugh was buoyant and seeing his honest enjoyment of her remark, Janice wondered why he didn't laugh more. When he did, the lines in his face vanished, making him appear years younger. Responding with a wicked smile of her own, Janice linked her arm through his and, together, they retrieved her suitcase and exited the gallery door to the next staircase.

“Tell me about the other guests, Lloyd. What made you decide to bring us all together?”

He shrugged and Janice thought he didn't intend to give her an answer, but as they climbed, he seemed to think better of his silence.

“Actually, I wanted to do it several years ago but couldn't work out the scheduling.”

“Just as well. I couldn't have come.”

“Neither could Adrian or Muriel. He was knee deep in ugly divorce headlines and her television series was in the top ten … here we are.” He broke off, taking the last two steps at a leap. As before, Janice found herself in a newly decorated floor of the chateau, this one more contemporary in design. Beneath the overhang of the double arcing staircase, two doors beckoned.

“Your suites are here to the left, Jan. Adrian's there on the right, and Ginger is in the middle.”

“Ginger?”

“Adrian's assistant. Although, between us, I think she's more his girlfriend than assistant. Pretty thing.”

Janice gave another wicked smile. She ignored the distinctive click that sounded in her head. A torrid love affair going on right beneath their very noses! Just like olden times, wives, husbands, mistresses … light questing kisses, rough aggressive kisses … bodies surrendering to overheated senses … her thoughts derailed to find Lloyd staring at her with a questioning glance. She came back to reality immediately.

“Sorry, I spaced out, didn't I?”

“It's okay,” he nodded “This place is a psychic's dream. Stimulates the senses and the libido.”

Janice had the grace to blush.

“I suddenly felt a strong sense of yin and yang.”

“We've all felt it at one time, Jan.”

“And you said there were no ghosts here, Lloyd?”

“There aren't. Just strands of time to tap into and relive. But only in our heads. So don't go having any foolish, romantic notions and start searching for secret passageways.”

“I'll be discretion itself, I promise. Where are the Grisombs staying?”

Lloyd swung around, gesturing to a pair of twin stairways down the corridor.

“The West wing is a half floor up. My suite of rooms is there as well.”

“And above that?” Janice craned her head, able to view the decorative ceiling at last. It appeared to end within another two floors.

“More sitting rooms, a bona-fide chapel, an indoor palatial roof garden. This way, Jan.” She felt a tug on her arm and followed.

Janice gave a squeal of delight at the sight of the bright yellow room. Lloyd had remembered her favorite color after all these years. She surprised him with an enthusiastic hug as he set down her suitcase.

“Thank you for remembering I'm partial to yellow, Lloyd. And the crackling fire is heavenly.” She slipped her coat from her shoulders, reveling in the warmth emanating from the burning wood.

Lloyd gave a hoarse laugh, clearly amused by her sudden, contented sigh.

“Well, I see you've done all the exploring you're going to do for the moment. Dinner will be served at six thirty, cocktails at six. We'll be using the dining room at the left of the first floor staircase.”

Janice dropped into the plush settee in front of the fireplace. That was an hour away — plenty of time for a nap. Her head dropped to the sofa arm with a will of its own and she stared into the glowing embers.

“Watch the time, Jan. Can't have you missing dinner.”

“You won't. I'm ravenous.” Her eyelids drifted downward. Ummm, the room was marshmallow toasty. She was totally exhausted as well as sensually disturbed. Lloyd's chuckle reverberated around her head.

“I mean it, Jan, don't be late.”

She gave a leisurely wave and heard the door close softly a moment later. The click became the second-to-last thing she remembered as she nestled deeper into the cushions. The last thing she remembered was a fan of air along her right cheekbone. Contented, she gave a sigh and drifted off to sleep.

FRIDAY — 6:00 PM

Tuning out the lively conversation around him, Adrian leaned back and let his gaze scour the room's speckled wallpaper. Why in the name of Holy Vegas had he allowed himself to be lured to this blasted seminar? He loathed reunions. He'd rather try to win a dog-sled race with a team of Chihuahuas than be part of a new-age seminar. He despised no-win scenarios even more, detested those who got caught up in them. And yet here he was — caught in one of his own making. For more than twenty minutes, he had been spouting all the polite words to his companions and hating himself for doing it. To make matters even more intolerable, he was cold. Why didn't Marks turn up the heat?

Switching his focus to the blazing candelabra ensconced in the furthest corner of the room, Adrian realized it was more than the chateau's coldness he detested. It was the vastness. It made him feel inferior. Threw up in his face how little in life he had accomplished in his thirty-five years. Sitting here made him ask vast questions of himself that he didn't give a rat's ass about the answer.

He let his eyes sweep the frescoed ceiling and gilt furniture. Marks had become a wealthy giant over the years. Everything in the room spoke of money and class. His taste was excellent, hundred proof. Returning his gaze to the whiskey glass in his hand, Adrian gave a tight smile. Marks' whiskey was hundred-proof, too, and extremely enjoyable. He tossed the last shot down, savoring the burning fire as it scorched his throat and lungs. And then dropping the glass to the table, he tugged his pullover down. He was underdressed for dinner but at least he was warm.

Slowly, he turned his attention to the sideboard table filled with steaming dishes of hot food. Would they ever get around to eating? He was starved. The gurgles in the pit of his stomach had been churning for at least fifteen minutes. He took a quick peek at his watch. How much longer would their host keep them waiting? He glanced a second time and caught himself. Jesus, he was on edge! He was becoming a god-damned shit-ass clock watcher!

Angered by his own foul mood, he took a deep breath. His jaded sarcasm was working double time, his obscenities worse than usual. Why did he feel compelled to know the time? He didn't care a rat's ass for time. Why should anyone? Time was merely a manmade word that catalogued man's physical realm within limited parameters. Physical parameters that stung and hurt and fed on the soul like hungry piranha.

Not liking the slant of his dark thoughts, Adrian turned to find something more pleasant in the room. Ginger seated beside him was a pleasing eyeful in her red wool gabardine pantsuit. The material hugged her ample curves in all the right places.

He liked her blond hair piled on top of her head in lacy ringlets. He wondered if she had done it to please him. He banished the thought immediately as absurd. Ginger had no need to stroke his ego. He had been the one to pursue their relationship, not her.

Catching a whiff of her special brand of peach perfume, Adrian knew he had gotten the best part of their bargain. She was gregarious by nature; he tended to dark mood shifts. Her honest, open friendliness combated and, most times, quelled his jaded sarcasm. She was truly Beauty to his Beast.

Ginger was overly animated now as she and the spry woman across the table argued over favorite smoky cafes along Bourbon Street. Twirling his glass, he listened to their cheerful banter. He had never seen his assistant so relaxed or talkative. Did being around him and his increasingly sour moods dampen her natural, lively exuberance? He frowned thoughtfully. When they returned to Vegas, he would have a talk with her. Clear the air. Perhaps, finally offer a commitment. It was time to let the past go, cut the umbilical cord of dreams that chained and kept him from moving forward into the future.

At the thought of the future, Adrian found his gaze slipping to the couple across the table. Muriel and Jasper Grisomb were perfect together. As content with each other as field mice in a harvest bin. She was small and plump; he was big and compact. He liked their obvious respect for each other and he especially liked the way they shared secret threads of communication. The lift of her hand to his to gain attention, his return smile holding an emotional resonance that lingered long after she had found something new to draw his attention to. It had taken a lifetime of growing together to build those kinds of threads. He felt a slight ache above his ribcage and knew that he was envious of their happiness.

He set his glass down abruptly, ice clinking. He should never drink when he was feeling melancholy. It unleashed too many unpleasant memories. He felt a sharp jab in his side and slanted his gaze to his right. Ginger sat looking at him, a suggestion of annoyance hovering around the edges of her mouth.

“For heaven's sake, Adrian, where are you? Muriel has asked you a question.”

Adrian's mercurial black eyes narrowed, and tilting his head back, he peered at the older woman who sat with a sweet smile, patiently awaiting a reply.

“Sorry, Muriel, what were you asking?”