Under Her Spell Read online

  On an impulse, she drew a leather-bound book from the bookcase. Its worn cover was butter soft and stained by the touch of a hundred hands. Bryony traced the title with one finger. Love Magiks, it said.

  She opened it carefully and brushed her palm over the brittle, yellowing parchment, remembering how she had found it in one of San Francisco's antiquarian book stores and felt a sudden, overwhelming need to own it. It was like running into an old friend quite by accident. Bryony had often wondered idly if the book might not possess some magical powers of its own.

  She flipped to the page marked by a silk-tasseled bookmark and read the words scratched into the paper with a quill pen, though she knew them by heart. She'd had them printed on a card she gave out with every bottle. Despite its familiarity, the warning made her shiver a little: If you will take a man for your own, give him this love philter. Yet do so not lightly, nor if you are not for each other. For that will lead only to misery.

  Underneath this inscription the author had written a neat column of ingredients and specific instructions for mixing them. Bryony closed the book and slid it back into its place. She pressed cool fingers against her throbbing forehead. Would this crazy bargain with Zachary Callahan "lead only to misery"? She didn't know, but she was about to find out.

  Bryony eased up the lid on the cedar chest where she stored extra vials of the love potion and selected one crystal container at random. She clutched it so tightly she could feel the edges of the bottle pressing lines into her palm. Pausing for a moment to gather her courage, Bryony closed her eyes and drew strength from the rhythmic sound of the ocean outside.

  She had nothing to be afraid of. If her sister's plan didn't work, the rest of the world would read Zach's column and think her a fool. But the people she cared about knew the truth. If the plan did work . . . . If it did . . . . She couldn't even think about that. She didn't dare.

  She padded down the spiral staircase into the living room and crossed to where the others sat at the table. "Bryony," Zach said, letting her name roll wickedly off his tongue. "We thought you were never coming back." He stood and gallantly pulled out her chair.

  Bryony sat down. "No such luck," she said.

  "Now that you're back, we can get going," Kevin said. He looked at Vivien. "Grab your coat, honey, or we'll miss the last show."

  "You're leaving?" Bryony said. She felt panic rise in her throat. "You can't leave. We . . . we have a guest."

  "Oh, I told them I don't mind," Zach said. "In fact, when Vivien explained how much she'd been wanting to see this movie, I urged them to go."

  "But -- but --" Bryony sputtered, giving her sister the evil eye. "Vivien --"

  Her appeal was useless. "Have a good time, you two," Vivien said, winking at Bryony. "We'll be home late."

  A moment later Kevin shut the front door firmly behind them. Bryony decided she would never speak to her older sister again. This was a rotten trick. She turned slowly to Zach, who was standing just behind her.

  "Well. Here we are."

  "Here we are," he repeated, giving the words a lascivious twist. He raked her body with his gaze, lingering on her firm breasts and the fabric skimming her hips. Bryony felt excitement begin a lazy spiral through her body.

  She tried to match his impertinent look with her own. Her eyes lingered on his broad, muscular chest. She couldn't resist dropping her eyes to the flat plane of his stomach under his button-down shirt, and then lower still. That was a mistake. His pants fit well. Extremely well. It was clear that she was alone in the house with a man. A very masculine, well endowed, sensual sort of man.

  Zachary Callahan was not someone to be trifled with.

  Earlier, she had thought she could control him, master him, make him hers. Now, watching the way he took arrogant possession of her using nothing but his eyes, she considerably less sure.

  She gave him a tremulous smile. "If you want to change your mind about this whole thing . . . ."

  "Do you?"

  "No," she said.

  "Then let's get on with it." He strode to the table and picked up his glass. It was half filled with sweet dessert wine. "Will this do?"

  Bryony nodded, speechless. She unstopped the bottle and walked to where he stood. With a quick motion of her wrist, she let the amber fluid spill into the glass and mix with the deep burgundy wine.

  Zach swirled the glass so that the two liquid mingled, and then brought it to his lips. He lowered it again without taking a sip, and Bryony's heart rose to her throat. He wasn't going through with it after all. He would tell her it was all a joke, to see how far she would go.

  Then Zach grinned. "Promise you didn't add a dash of hemlock?"

  Bryony laughed, and Zach joined her. The joke broke the tension. "It won't hurt you," she said. "I promise."

  "I believe you." He downed the wine in one gulp and set the glass back on the table. "There. Now what?"

  "I suppose," Bryony said, "we wait and see."

  He checked his watch. "While we're waiting, I'll be getting back to the Sea View Inn."

  "Oh," she gasped, before she could stop herself. Her disappointment showed plainly on her face. Until that moment she hadn't known how much she had hoped -- for what? That he would stay awhile? That they could talk? That he would cover her mouth with his in the deep, passionate kiss she ached for? Bryony quickly schooled her expression to one of unconcern, but it was too late.

  Zach closed the space between them before Bryony could flinch away. His body was only inches from her own. If she leaned forward just a little, they would be touching. She thought he might lower his head and kiss her, but instead he laughed and brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Even that brief touch inflamed her senses. It left her burning for more, but he stepped away again and moved toward the door.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, babe," he said. "I don't know what you had planned for tonight, but I've got a full day of hiking tomorrow. I don't want to exhaust myself, uh, enjoying your company. Pleasant as that might be."

  "Oh," Bryony gasped again, angrily this time. "I didn't have anything planned, as you say, and I could care less if you go." Her chin came up sharply.

  "I think you do care, but I'm leaving anyway," Zach said. His eyes mocked her, and Bryony clenched her teeth in annoyance. He opened the door and stepped out, then paused. Bryony's heart fluttered in her chest as he gave her a long, hard look and shook his head.

  "What?" she said, when she couldn't bear it any longer.

  "It isn't working," he said. "I don't love you yet." Throwing back his head, he burst into a peal of full-throated laughter at his own joke. He closed the door behind him, leaving Bryony to seethe. Long after he had gone, she could still hear his derisive laugh ringing in her ears.

  "It was all a mistake," Bryony said. "I should never have agreed to the deal."

  "Why not?" Vivien asked. "He's half in love with you already. Don't you see the way he looks at you?"

  "There's a difference between love and lust," Bryony said, rolling her eyes.

  Her sister made a noncommittal noise. "Don't worry so much," she said. "Let's just wait and see, shall we?"

  "Wait and see?" Bryony said. "I don't think I have that kind of patience." She was pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor, too agitated to eat the granola with sliced bananas she'd fixed for breakfast.

  It wasn't even eight o'clock and she had already downed three cups of strong black coffee. The caffeine wasn't helping her nerves. Every time she remembered the night before, she felt like lying down with a cool cloth over her head. Unfortunately, she couldn't call in sick. She was the boss, and her part-time clerk was in Oregon visiting relatives. If she didn't open Heart's Desire, no one would.

  As she trudged along the beach toward the center of town, Bryony tried to stem the panic squeezing her heart. She'd made a deal with the devil, and in a few weeks he would collect his due. When Zach's column appeared in the Skeptical Observer and the San Francisco papers, the curious would flock to her sh
op. But they wouldn't come to buy. No, they would want to see the silly woman who had imagined she could make Zachary Callahan fall in love.

  Zachary Callahan, the brash, handsome young magazine publisher. Voted Most Eligible Bachelor three years running. The man who made society girls swoon. Grist for gossip columns throughout the Bay Area.

  Zachary Callahan, the notorious womanizer.

  Last night, for some reason, Bryony had imagined she could change his ways. Now, in the clear light of day, she knew better. She'd seen the pictures in the paper: Zach, with a statuesque blond on his arm. Zach, with a sleek brunette from one of the city's oldest families.

  Her Zach with a hundred elegant, sophisticated women, each staring up at him adoringly. Each one cast aside as soon as the next came along. Bryony knew she couldn't hope to compete with any of those women.

  She unlocked the shop's front door and wearily flipped the sign from Closed to Open. A few early bird tourists had already gathered out front, and Bryony mustered just enough cheer to welcome them to Heart's Desire. The trickle soon grew to a flood. Bryony rushed around helping one person after another. She was glad for the work because it took her mind off her problems. Everything sold well, but the love potion nearly flew out of the store.

  A middle-aged woman in a Hawaiian shirt bought two bottles and waved a newspaper clipping in Bryony's face. "I read about you in the Los Angeles Times," she said. "I'm visiting my sister in Oakland and thought I'd drop by." She winked and added, "One of these is for my husband. I'm trying put the spark back in our marriage. If it doesn't work, guess I'll have to use the second bottle on someone else."

  Half a dozen other customers mentioned that they'd seen an Associated Press story on her love potion, in at least three different newspapers. All in all, business was brisk. By closing time, Bryony was exhausted. Her feet hurt, and she couldn't wait to get home. She apologetically shooed the last of her customers out the door, restocked the shelves, and locked up.

  The sun was slanting over the sea as she hurried up the winding steps to the house. Once inside, she gratefully shed her shoes and coat at the door and made for her room, anticipating a long soak in the tub and a quick nap before dinner.

  "What's your hurry?" a male voice drawled in her ear.

  Bryony started at the sound. She whirled to find Zach slouching on the brocade living room couch, his fingers laced behind his head. He was casually dressed in faded blue jeans, scuffed hiking boots, and a T-shirt that revealed his sinewy arms and defined his well-muscled chest. His hair, still wet from the shower, gleamed black as midnight.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  He grinned."You invited me to move in, remember?"

  "To be precise, Vivien invited you," Bryony said. "I guess I didn't expect you to take her up on it so quickly. You startled me."

  "Sorry," he said, in a tone that suggested he wasn't sorry at all. "Vivien let me in, but she had an emergency at work. A toddler with a high fever. She said I should make myself comfortable."

  "Looks like you have," Bryony said, eyeing the way he was sitting. Her scrutiny didn't seem to unnerve him in the least. If anything, he slouched more arrogantly than before.

  "She also said you'd entertain me tonight," Zach said. "All part of the deal."

  "And did Vivien have any suggestions on how I'm to do that?" Bryony asked.

  "No, but I have a few ideas," Zach said. He let his eyes drift up the length of her body, from the slim skirt that suggested the shape of her legs to the creamy silk blouse that curved over her gently rounded breasts and moved with her every breath. Bryony suddenly felt naked before him. She crossed her arms against the sensation, then noticed with dismay that Zach knew exactly what her gesture meant.

  To distract him, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. "A walk on the beach," she said. "It's a beautiful evening, don't you think, and it won't get dark for another half hour. It's my favorite time of day for beach combing, since most of the tourists have gone home already. There's usually a glorious sunset, too." She cut herself off when she realized she was babbling.

  "I'm convinced," Zach said.

  "Fine. Then let's go."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Don't you want to -- ah, slip into something more comfortable?"

  Bryony glanced down at her skirt and leather flats. "Yes, of course."

  "Why don't you do that, then, while I fix you some dinner." He saw the flash of surprise on her face and laughed. "You did just get home from work, so I assume you're hungry. And yes, I can cook. Do you like omelets?"

  "Very much," Bryony said. "Thank you."

  Zach waved his hand dismissively. "Go, then. I'll expect you down in ten minutes."

  It was more like fifteen minutes before Bryony tripped down the stairs again. She'd spent the extra five trying to decide what to wear. It was ridiculous -- she wasn't usually one to agonize about clothes. Usually, for a walk on the beach, she would have slipped into a pair of paint-spattered sweatpants and one of the faded sweatshirt left over from her college days.

  Tonight was different. She tried on a pair of jeans and two pairs of shorts before settling on soft black leggings under a thick fisherman's sweater. She piled her red-gold hair up on her head, changed her mind, braided it, then undid the braid. Staring at herself in the mirror, she wondered if she'd gone completely insane. She was acting like a teenager on prom night. If Zach didn't like her the way she was, that was just fine. She wouldn't put on an act for him, even if she lost their bet because of it.

  With that decided, she headed down the stairs. She did not, however, exchange the leggings for the baggy sweatpants.

  "You're five minutes late," Zach said as Bryony entered the kitchen. "Your eggs are getting cold." He slid the finished omelet onto the plate and set it on the table.

  Bryony picked up her fork and took a bite. "It's delicious," she said truthfully. Zach had blended feta cheese, sautéed mushrooms, tomato, and cilantro into a golden-brown pancake of free-range eggs. Bryony was surprised to find she was starving.

  "Aren't you going to eat?" she asked.

  "I had dinner already, at a restaurant in town. Cypress Grove."

  "Oh, no. Not Peter Burke's place." Bryony clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "I should have warned you."

  "I wish you had," Zach said, his dark eyes sparkling. "It was one of the worst meals I've ever had. I sent it back and asked for a hamburger instead, figuring no one could ruin that."

  "Then you haven't met Peter's chef yet. You should have heard him when he hired the guy -- imported from France, no less. Peter was so proud." Bryony shook with laughter. "The whole town thinks Peter should ship him back where he came from, the sooner the better."

  "After that hamburger, I'll buy him a plane ticket," Zach said. "It was filling -- that's about the only good thing I can say about it. But after a whole day of hiking, I was too hungry to try someplace else. Are you finished?"

  Bryony glanced down at her plate and discovered she'd devoured the last morsel. "I suppose I am. That was wonderful."

  "So how about that walk you promised me?"

  "You're not too tired?"

  "No way," Zach said, jumping up and offering his hand. "I'm not letting you weasel out of this deal. We have to spend time together, remember?"

  "Right." Bryony took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. The contact sent tingles down her spine. When he let go, she was standing just inches from him, staring at his chest. She gulped and lifted her chin so her eyes met his. Zach's face was a study in thoughtfulness. As he gazed down at her, she thought she saw tenderness in the way his mouth softened just a fraction.

  Then the moment ended.

  "Let's go," he said, dropping her hand and snatching his fleece coat from the hook by the door.

  Bryony followed him down the steep and twisting path to the beach. The grass had been worn away by hundreds of trampling feet, and the sandy soil could be treacherous. Bryony picked her way caut
iously down the incline, then relaxed a little when she had nearly reached the sand. At that moment, her foot caught a loose patch of dirt For an instant she thought she would be able to right herself. Then she realized, horrified, that she was going to fall flat on her face.

  Zach's arms closed around her, bearing her up. Bryony caught at his broad shoulders to steady herself. Her breasts brushed his chest, and she felt his hands at her waist. "I know you want to throw yourself into my arms," he said, smiling, "but that wasn't very subtle."

  Heat rose to her cheeks and she took a quick step back. "I certainly didn't stumble on purpose," she said. "How could I know you'd catch me?"

  Zach ignored her question. "Women," he said, shrugging. "Always scheming, always playing little games. I know your type."

  Bryony glowered at him. "I don't think so."

  "Oh, I do. I've met my share of women, and they're all alike."

  "Spare me," Bryony said, eyes flashing green fire. "So you had a few bad experiences. That doesn't give you the right to generalize. Most women don't play games, me included. Maybe you're spending time with the wrong women. Like your ex-wife, for example." Zach's amused smile twisted into a grimace at the barb. "That's right, I read the papers." She stopped abruptly, seeing the pain in Zach's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, more softly now. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

  "No. No, it's all right," he said. "You have a point. Since Eve left, I've been -- let's say I've been somewhat cynical where romance is concerned."

  "I can't say I blame you," Bryony said. "From what I read, it sounded like a spectacularly bitter divorce."

  Zach nodded, his rugged face ravaged by the memory. "What can I say? I was throwing every cent I had into the magazine. Eve couldn't wait for the Skeptical Observer to start turning a profit. When she told me she was leaving me for another man -- someone who could support her in the proper style -- I went ballistic."