Chapter Three

The dream was always the same. She was on stage, about to get into the water, smiling and waving at the crowd. She wasn’t sure that Zoe, her sister, would be in the trunk at the bottom. Her father smiled, but, underneath the smile, she saw the look in his eyes. She knew better than to disobey him, though she so badly wanted to, and she stood there shivering on the hot July day.

She glanced at the water, which had turned into the roiling seas that she’d only seen in movies about boats caught in hurricanes. She shivered again, looking over at her father, hoping he’d give the kill signal that meant the trick wasn’t going to be performed. But instead, he walked toward her and nudged her into the water. Unprepared, she started to panic and then made herself calm down as she’d been taught and turned to face the glass front, waving at the audience before the black curtain came around the tank. Normally there was a glow-in-the-dark pebble at the bottom of the tank so she’d know where to go, but she couldn’t find it. She was running out of air, and the decorative seaweed tangled around her legs as she struggled.

She jerked upright in bed.

“Hell’s bells,” she said, fumbling for the light on her nightstand. She was covered in sweat, and her breathing was jagged.

The water chest.

She should never have purchased it for the shop. She’d known from the moment she’d seen it that memories of her past weren’t as buried as she’d thought they were. Instead, she got to her feet and walked through her tiny house to the kitchen, pulling a ladder-back chair from the kitchen table and moving it to the high cabinet above her stove. She climbed up, reaching back until her fingers brushed the bottle of tequila at the back, then pulled it forward and almost lost her balance.

She steadied herself before she climbed down, realizing she was crying. She wanted to say that it was because of the near accident or even the dream, but she knew it was more. She was crying for what she’d lost the day her family had collapsed. The day the illusion had become too real and decades of magic arrogance hadn’t been enough to save them.

She thought of Zoe, living her quiet life in the Keys, and herself, here in Vegas. A country apart from her twin—the other part of herself…until that night. That trick. That hot July day.

They had taken Houdini’s famous water escape and made it into their signature act. The act had featured the fictitious Suria Waterstone—actually herself and Zoe. One of them would appear at the beginning of the trick, wrapped in ropes that resembled seaweed, and then she would be lowered into the tank smiling.

Zoe had been hidden at the bottom of the tank in a secret compartment, and as Zelda dropped lower into the water, Zoe would be making her way up. But one hot July day, tragedy had struck, and Zoe had been trapped in the mechanism that should have freed her. She was left paralyzed. And Zelda, who had skipped rehearsal that day to meet a boy, had never been able to forgive herself. She had always known she was to blame.

Once they were revealed to be twins, the family’s reputation had suffered. Her father stopped performing, and, two years later, died of an overdose. Their mother had died years earlier from cancer.

At the time the incident happened, there hadn’t been many people who wouldn’t have recognized her last name—Waterstone. But today, living in Vegas under her grandmother’s maiden name, she was obscure. And she intended to keep it that way.

Zoe had never forgiven her, and admittedly, Zelda hadn’t been able to forgive herself. She’d kept her relationships light because she hadn’t wanted to risk falling for someone who would eventually find out what she was—weak.

Zoe hadn’t wanted to do the trick, but Zelda had been afraid of disobeying her father. She’d guilted her sister into performing even though they were both off their game and hadn’t even done a run-through in weeks. Shortcuts had cost them everything.

She shoved her hand through her hair, then put the tequila bottle heavily on the countertop and went to find a shot glass.

The doorbell rang, and she glanced at the clock to confirm that it was after midnight. Who would be at her door?

She knew some people thought bad news came at night, but every bit of bad news she’d ever received had come straight up in the middle of the day.

She flipped on the porch light and then glanced through the peephole. Nicholas.

He wore another tightly fitted shirt and skintight jeans. Of course he did. She put her forehead on the doorjamb and just stood there.

Not tonight. Not when her defenses were down and she needed to forget her past sins.

“I saw your light on,” he said. “If you don’t want any company, I’ll leave.”

She opened the door but moved to stand in the opening, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t going to invite him in.

“What are you doing here? I mean, I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but this is kind of stalker behavior.”

He held his hands up at his shoulders, and she noticed the ring he wore on his middle finger and the tattoo on the inside of his wrist that was an old magic family sigil. Something only those in the inner circle would know. She had one as well, but she’d covered it up with a black rose.

“I stopped by to drop off an apology gift to Stetson,” Nicholas said. “I remember what it was like to be young and expecting an adult to do something. I’m sorry that I had to disappoint him tonight.”

Of course he had. Nicholas was that kind of man. She wanted to believe he was all illusion, smoke, and mirrors, but from the beginning, she’d seen something more in those bright blue eyes of his.

She’d always believed in the inherent goodness of people, and Nicholas Pine was a good guy. He had been brought into her life for a reason. “That’s really sweet. He was cool about it, but Molly was annoyed.”

“I have no doubt she was,” he said. “It was unavoidable.”

His lead on the chest. His priority was his show and she knew what that was like from personal experience. She’d have to try to protect Stetson from a grand illusionist like Nicholas. He could mesmerize with his charm but when the chips were down, his show was always going to come first.

“So, are you going to invite me in?” he asked.

Was she?

The vestiges of guilt and sadness she’d woken up with had disappeared when she saw him on her doorstep, and she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She knew that sleep would elude her for the rest of the night, and even though he was a magician, she couldn’t help liking him.

“Okay, but no judging.”

He arched one eyebrow at her in a questioning way. “Why would I judge you?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I was in the process of making myself a good old-fashioned home remedy.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” he said. “Trixie, my show manager, has been teaching me some meditation to help me rest.”

“I’m more old-school,” she said, stepping back to let him enter her house. He walked inside, glancing at the dark hallway and the light that spilled from her kitchen.

“How?”

“Tequila.”

“I like it,” he said. “This way?”

She nodded, closing the door and leaning back against it, watching Nicholas Pine, illusionist, turn into her kitchen. She believed in karma and had seen it at work in her life more than once. Like when she’d met Molly—a found sister to replace the one she’d lost. And when she’d started selling her antiques online but then had heard about an opportunity to turn her business into something bigger. But Nicholas… She couldn’t figure out if he was her chance at redemption or just another form of torture.

…

Nicholas stood in Zelda’s kitchen, wondering what the hell he was doing. He’d come out here not because of the kid… Well, maybe a little bit, because Stetson reminded him of himself in some ways. But also for her. Her house felt homey, comfortable—the kind of place he imagined normal families lived.

He’d grown up in a brick and stone 12 bedroom mansion with a kitchen that had been meant for a large staff of workers, and he and his grandfather had always eaten in the master suite to be near his grandmother. He’d grown up believing that his parents had died when he was a baby. His grandparents had raised him in their big mansion, treating him like he was a special gift in their lives. It had only been after they’d died that he’d realized everything he’d known had been an illusion. He’d been an adopted baby they’d used to replace the son they’d lost as an adult.

He shook those thoughts off. He rarely allowed himself to indulge in remembering the past.

There was something sunny about the room, much like the woman who owned it. She followed him into the kitchen, her bare feet making a soft rubbing sound against the tile floor. He waited for her, looking around and realizing he was as out of place here as he was in her life. He wanted to tell her he’d come for the chest, but he knew that was a lie.

While he always acknowledged that everyone lied to a certain extent—even himself—he tried to avoid it. There was no use buying his own illusions. That had led him down the path to mistakes like Jade. Mistakes he wasn’t planning to repeat.

He wanted to blame his anxiousness on the fact that he’d lost his talisman. That water chest was more to him than just a collectible. It had been something he and his grandfather had purchased and then taken the time to restore. The chest had been in rough shape when they’d found it, and because his grandfather had been in his eighties, it had taken a long time to bring the chest back to its former beauty. The two of them had worked on it, taking breaks to visit with his grandmother, who’d always been bedridden, and in those long conversations, the seeds of the man he was today had been born.

In more ways than one, he thought ruefully.

His belief that life was an illusion had been planted in his seemingly idyllic childhood. He saw the chair over by the stove—used, he assumed, to reach the top cabinet—and then the tequila bottle on the countertop. There was more to this shop girl than he had imagined. He had been busy filtering through his spectrum, trying to figure out if she’d been complicit in the theft of his water chest, never once seeing that she had her own demons.

Fair enough, he thought. They were strangers, but tequila could change that. Was he making a colossal mistake? Of course he was.

Did he care?

The police station lead had been a bust. The shipment had been full of knockoffs that weren’t anywhere near the quality of his chest. So he still needed to see the one she’d purchased. But he wanted more than that.

He wanted the woman.

Zelda.

Even her name seemed magical. And, well, he couldn’t deny the sexual energy that flowed through him every time he thought about her.

“Uh, yeah, I was just getting started when you arrived,” she said. “Since you’re here, can you grab two shot glasses.”

She gestured to a cabinet, and he easily reached them as she took a lime from the bowl on the counter and sliced it up. She took the cutting board with the limes to the table, and he picked up the bottle and followed her. She went back for the salt and the chair, but he took it from her, easily hefting it and setting it down at the small table that was nestled into the nook.

“Thanks.”

“I was raised to be a gentleman.” It had been his grandfather’s belief that no one resented being treated with kindness and good manners.

“You were?” she asked, sitting down on one side of the table. He took a seat opposite her.

“Yeah,” he said. “So, are we just doing shots?”

“I wasn’t planning on anything else,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

“Twenty questions.” Twenty questions? What was he thinking? Leo would be shaking his head if he saw him right now. But he didn’t care. He hadn’t met a woman who affected him this deeply since Jade. He wasn’t going to lie about it—Zelda intrigued him.

“Okay. Are you sure about this?” she asked. “You might not want to answer mine.”

“Fair enough. Every time one of us wants to skip a question, we take a shot,” he said.

“How about we set a limit? You can only skip one out of three questions?” she suggested.

Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. She had a direct way of looking at him that made it seem as if she could see through him. But he knew she couldn’t. He knew what kind of illusions to use to protect himself.

He nodded. “Okay then. So, are you game?”

She tipped her head to the side, studying him, and he couldn’t help noticing the way her long red hair fell across her shoulder to curve on the upper slope of her breast. She wasn’t wearing a bra under her T-shirt, and he knew he should look away, but he couldn’t.

He wanted to believe she was as guileless as she appeared to be. It was a little scary how much he wanted that. But he simply smiled at her, looking forward to this. He was already thinking up questions he shouldn’t ask, just to see how she’d react.

He realized this moment was a unique one. They both liked each other but could easily walk away if things got too dicey. This drinking game was his chance to find out the stuff she might hide later.

“I guess you’ll have to ask me something and see,” she said.

…

She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up with Nicholas in her small kitchen, but she liked it. Maybe fate was giving her a gift on the other side of her table. It sure felt like a big sign. She hadn’t read her tarot cards lately—maybe it was time to do it again, see what influences were governing her world right now.

He leaned back in his chair again, crossing his arms over his chest. Because he wore his shirts fitted, she could see the bulging muscles of his pecs and upper arms. That turned her on. Upper body strength had always been irresistible to her. She didn’t bother to dissect it. She just liked men who were built, and who cared why.

She should have suggested truth or dare so she could ask him to take his shirt off. She had seen pictures online of him wearing only chains and a pair of tight leather pants, and she’d had to take a moment to cool down even though she’d thought the muscles had been air-brushed… Were they?

“Would you like to do that?” he asked.

She shook her head. What was he talking about? Hell’s bells, she couldn’t allow herself to get distracted…well, more than she already was.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“That we could start with easy questions,” he said, arching one eyebrow at her.

“Oh, yeah, sure. That sounds good,” she said. “Are you going first?”

“I will,” he said. “Did you grow up in the Vegas area?”

She smiled over at him. This was easy. “No.”

“Are we doing just one-word answers?”

“Is that your second question?” she asked.

“No, it’s not,” he said firmly.

She smiled at him. “I grew up on the east coast. My family had a place in Boca Raton and in Maine. What about you?”

“I was raised here, near Vegas. My grandparents raised me. Um, I was adopted but didn’t know that until after they passed. They lost their own son when he was forty years old, and so they adopted me.”

“Wow. How did you find out?”

“They died when I was sixteen. My guardian was ticked off that I had inherited everything and told me one day.”

“That sucks,” she said.

“It does. What about your family? Any dark secrets lurking around?” he asked.

“I’ll pass,” she said. No way was she getting into that with him. She licked the back of her hand and shook some salt on it before taking the shot that he poured. She followed a lick of the salt with a gulp of tequila, which burned going down, and then hit it with a bite of lime. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

“So, your family is a no-go area?” he asked. “You sort of seem like Little Miss Sunshine. I mean, when you aren’t accusing me of being a stalker. What could you have to hide?” he asked with a slight smile on his lips.

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she said with a wink.

He just shook his head, laughing. “Fair enough.”

“What’s the secret to the newest illusion in your upcoming show?” she asked.

“I can’t reveal that,” he said.

“Drink up, then,” she said, thinking it was a good idea if he drank when she did so she didn’t end up doing her drunk thing and sleeping with a guy she found attractive.

She groaned as he licked the back of his hand and tipped the salt shaker over it. His gazed locked on hers, and something electric passed between them. He licked his hand again, and even though there was no way she could feel it on her skin, she sighed as he lifted his shot glass and slowly tipped the pale gold liquid into his mouth. He swallowed and then followed it with a squeeze of lime. She licked her lips. God, he was hot.

She made up her mind to ask him easier questions. No more playing around with this man. If she watched him do another shot, she’d be tempted to straddle him and let him lick the salt off of her.

She bit back a moan and it came out as a squeak, and he looked over at her. “Sorry. Sometimes tequila makes my throat achy.”

What the heck? She sounded like a lunatic.

“My turn, I believe. Why do you sell magic antiques?” he asked.

Of course he would keep asking about magic. She shook her head. “It seemed like a good fit for Vegas.”

One little white lie that was sort of the truth. Now she was lying to herself.

“It is,” he agreed.

“How did you get into doing magic?” she asked.

“My grandfather. He showed me tricks, and we’d put shows on for my grandmother, who liked them. She was bedridden. It was fun for me, and it made her laugh, which was nice for all of us.”

“That’s so sweet,” she said.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, trying to picture a young Nicholas earnestly standing in front of his grandmother’s bed to show her his latest trick.

“What was your childhood like?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. Did she dare answer this? But there were other things she could talk about. “I think I’ll take another shot.”

“The mystery deepens. What are you hiding, Zelda?”

She just did her shot and shook her head. “Why did you decide to open a casino?”

“I was tired of travelling around all the time, and my friends were ready to come home as well,” he said.

Over the next half hour, they both learned a lot about each other. She learned that he wouldn’t reveal the sigil tattoo’s meaning, and he had to take a second shot. They both loved country music, karaoke, and watching the sunrise. Both of them declined to talk about their first time, which she’d asked him about after he’d done his second shot, seeing if the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions.

“Your turn,” he said.

She was feeling a bit tipsy herself and wasn’t shy at all now. She wanted him naked or at least half naked. She wanted to know if those muscles she’d seen flexing under his shirt were as hard as she imagined.

“Would you take off your shirt?”