The Shop of Shades and Secrets (Modern Gothic Romance 1) by Colleen Gleason Page A

little crazy sometimes. “Was someone here? Was something stolen?”
     
    He saw the slim column of her neck—bare except for a few tendrils of hair that had escaped from the high pony-tail she wore—convulse as she swallowed. “No. No, no one was here. Nothing’s been taken that I can see. But the lamp…”
     
    “You’re certain you switched it off? Maybe the cat turned it on accidentally.” He turned to look toward the back of the store, where her gaze seemed to be glued. “Which lamp? Let me take a look at it.”
     
    When he swiveled back toward her, wariness had replaced the uncertainty on her face. “That must have been it,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. “The cat.”
     
    “Which lamp?” he persisted, sensing there was something she was not telling him. “Maybe I can take a look at it—”
     
    “No. That’s all right, really. It’s…not on anymore.”
     
    Fiona turned resolutely to the front of the store, trying to control her churning stomach. The lamp had turned off since she went barreling out of the shop, and there was no sense in telling Gideon what she had seen…what she had felt. He’d listen to two sentences from her, then be ready to admit her to the funny farm.
     
    H. Gideon Nath the Third was not the kind of person who believed in the metaphysical. Fiona wasn’t sure she was herself, but she knew he wasn’t.
     
    Passing a hand over her face, she bit her lip and took staunch steps on, away from the eerie alcove and toward the front door. Gideon must be following behind her…what would she tell him if he persisted?
     
    He already thought she was a total flake, and the desire to needle him further had vanished at about the same moment his lips had touched hers three days earlier. To be honest, she would rather just stay away from him…far away from the danger this rigid, pretentious, self-assured, intelligent, handsome, passionate man portended.
     
    He must have sensed she felt awkward about the situation, for he asked no further questions about the incident, although the look in his steely grey eyes was sharp. Instead, he seemed to become a bit self-conscious when they reached the entrance to the shop.
     
    Fiona busied herself turning on the lights. Somehow her terror had vanished since she was no longer alone. It occurred to her to ask why he’d come, but, for the moment, all her scattered mind could handle was the mundane task of flipping light switches, pulling on lamp cords, and turning metal knobs.
     
    Gideon wandered aimlessly, hands stuck in his pockets, appearing to examine the various furnishings that crowded the floor. She noticed that he was wearing dark mahogany slacks with a perfect crease down each leg, a linen shirt under a jacket, and fine leather shoes. Ever the GQ-professional.
     
    Her mouth quirked. Obviously, her panic was subsiding if she were able to notice such details. At that moment, he directed his attention at her, catching her bemused expression.
     
    “Is something amusing?” he asked, walking toward where she stood by the messy desk in the center of the shop.
     
    As he drew his hands from the pockets, she noticed again how fine they were—how solid and square and masculine, the long slimness of his fingers, and how smooth and rounded his nails were. They were beautiful hands, and, she remembered in a split second of recall, they had been all over her body only days ago. A shiver jetted up her spine, but she ignored it and chose to respond to his question.
     
    “I was just wondering if that was your way of dressing down,” she smiled, looking pointedly up and down his clothing. “Do you even own a pair of jeans? What about shorts?”
     
    He looked down at his garb in surprise. “This is casual,” he replied, then, as he looked back up at her, his gaze lingering over her plain white t-shirt and jeans, a sudden, devastating smile flashed over his face. “Ah. I see your point.”
     
    Fiona had to steady herself by leaning against