Alluring Tales

Vivi Anna, Sylvia Day, Delilah Devlin, Cathryn Fox, Myla Jackson, Lisa Renee Jones, Sasha White Alluring Tales

© 2008

Lover’s Locket by Cathryn Fox

To Mark,

who loves me enough to accompany me to Atlanta

to hang out with two thousand other romance writers.

I love you.

One

“So…how did your date with Brian go?”

Caira glanced up from the three-tiered wedding cake she’d just finished icing and watched her best friend, Nikki, breeze in through the back entrance of her bakery.

Blue eyes wide with anticipation, Nikki rubbed her palms together and grinned. “Tell me everything. I want all the juicy details. Every last drop.”

Caira quirked her lips and gestured toward the cake. “Let’s just say I won’t be making one of these for myself any time soon.”

Nikki plopped herself onto a nearby stool and scrunched her nose. “Was it that bad?”

“I think the word bad is an understatement.” Caira brushed powered sugar from her fingers and continued. “Try painful. spent hours listening to Brian recite stories about how wonderful he is, and then he intimately introduced my tonsils to his tongue when he tried to give me a good-night kiss.”

Nikki bobbed her head in agreement. “Yeah, I guess he does think highly of himself. But he’s cute enough, and I heard he has a huge co-”

With a wave of her hand, Caira cut her off. “If one can get past his overinflated ego, one might enjoy his other attributes.” She paused and carefully placed the groom onto the top layer of cake. “Unfortunately, I am not that one.”

Caira stood back and admired the finishing touches on the wedding cake. As she adjusted the small groom figurine she sighed regretfully. Would she ever find her very own Prince Charming? She’d made enough cakes over the years to know other women discovered their true love. The one man they were destined to be with. Why couldn’t she? Was she too picky? Too set in her ideas of what qualities her Prince should possess?

Was it too much to want a man with deep soulful eyes that looked at you, not through you? A man with long, midnight hair, a strong angular jaw, quiet confidence, richly bronzed skin, and a body that oozed strength and sexuality.

A man like the one in the portrait hanging in her living room. The one that had been handed down in her family for generations.

With his blond hair, blue eyes, and boyish twin dimples, Brian was the antithesis of her ideal man. Surely Nikki knew that.

Knitting her brow together, Caira glanced at her best friend. “Whatever gave you the idea that we’d hit it off?”

Nikki shrugged. “He’s a wedding photographer.” She paused and waved her hand through the air. “And you own your own bakery shop specializing in wedding cakes. I just thought you had a common interest.”

“The only thing we have in common is we both breathe oxygen. And for a while there I wasn’t even too sure about that. I had a sneaking suspicion he came from another planet. Planet Narcissist to be exact.”

Nikki chuckled and jumped from her stool. “Come on, let’s go shopping. I’ll buy you something nice to make up for it. I hear there’s a new boutique that opened up on Fifth Street and I’m just dying to check it out.”

Caira uncoiled the apron straps from around her neck and eyed her friend. “No more blind dates okay?” She pulled the plastic clip from her nape, letting her blonde curls tumble over her shoulders.

Nikki raised one brow, a wry grin curling her lips. “Not even if he has a huge co-”

Groaning in exasperation, Caira nudged Nikki toward the back door. “No, not even if he has a huge cock.” She tossed her apron aside, and followed her friend outdoors.

A short while later Caira found herself peering through the frosted, curbside door of a store called The Magic Boutique.

She shadowed the afternoon sun from her eyes and turned to Nikki. “What is this place?”

Nikki shrugged. “Let’s go find out.” Tiny bells jingled overhead when she pulled open the thick, opaque glass door and stepped inside. The small store was overcrowded with unique, antique items, rich in history, and undoubtedly, family secrets.

Caira’s senses were immediately enticed by an exotic blend of jasmine and vanilla incense. Soft rays of light from an overhead beaded chandelier bathed the room in a golden glow, creating a cozy, somewhat mysterious atmosphere. Gusts of warm air from a ceiling fan rattled the dangling beads, the resulting noise similar to the soothing sound of raindrops falling on an old porch roof. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the dim light, Caira glanced around the room and noted the dark shadows dancing across the crimson-colored walls.

“Come closer, ladies.”

Caira and Nikki both turned in the direction of the aged, smoke-roughened voice coming from the other side of the room.

In an attempt to avoid banging into any of the expensive items, they pressed their bodies together and carefully moved across the wooden floor until they found the old woman with the deep, gravelly voice.

Dressed in a silk chiffon flamenco skirt with a cut velvet ruffle and a peasant style top, wrapped and knotted at the waist, the woman looked more like a traveling gypsy than a store owner.

Sitting on an oversized stuffed chair, with her legs folded underneath her, she pressed her lips together and stared at Caira for a long silent moment. Her eyes bore into her with a gaze so intense and probing, Caira feared the woman could see into the depths of her soul. She found it most difficult to hold the woman’s stare.

With weathered fingers the gypsy-woman lifted her hand and took a long, slow drag off her menthol cigarette. Tendrils of smoke billowed around her braided, waist-length gray hair.

Not wanting to appear rude, Caira blinked the smoke from her eyes, weaved her fingers tightly together, and restrained herself from fanning the fumes away.

When the woman finally spoke she leaned forward and said, “Ma Petite Princesse. It is you. You have come.”

Did this woman somehow know her? To Caira’s knowledge they’d never crossed paths before.

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Caira asked.

Her question was left unanswered.

The woman barely spared Nikki a glance as she unfolded her legs, crushed her cigarette into a pink flamingo- shaped ashtray, and rose. Her joints moaned like a wounded animal with each jerky movement. Using small,