Authors: Isabella Ashe
On weekends, customers crowded into Heart's Desire in search of perfect, certain love. Others included long, heartfelt letters with their mail order requests. It was up to Bryony to bring them down gently. She felt love was far too complex an emotion to be manipulated by a mixture of herbs and spices.
Actually, Bryony wasn't sure she believed in her potion's magical properties. She'd mixed up the first batch out of sheer curiosity, after discovering the recipe in a tattered old book on love magic. Even the astonishing results hadn't convinced her beyond a shadow of a doubt. Maybe the rash of marriages among friends who'd tested the mixture were nothing but coincidence. That reporter hadn't thought so, though, and neither did the eager customers drawn to her shop by the article.
"I'll take it," the girl said. "It can't hurt to try, right? Nothing else has worked, and maybe . . . . Well, you never know."
Bryony moved briskly behind the counter and rang up the purchase. She gently placed the cut-glass bottle into a nest of rose-colored tissue paper and slipped the lid onto the silver box. Her heart went out to the girl, as it did to every customer suffering the pangs of unrequited love. "Best of luck," she said.
The teenager slipped the box into her purse. "Thanks. I'll need it." The chimes rang above the door as she left the shop.
By the time the chimes settled, Bryony had picked up the novel next to the cash register, a wonderfully romantic retelling of Beauty and the Beast. She loved fairy tales, with their brave heroines and happy endings. She could lose herself in them for hours. The hardest part was returning to the real world. When the chimes rang again, announcing another customer, Bryony barely glanced up.
Zach let the door close behind him and scanned the tiny shop. Stepping into Heart's Desire was like entering another world. Outside, the orange California sun blazed down, drenching the quaint little seaside town of Cypress Point in glaring light. The growl of traffic and the chatter
of beachgoers
filled the brine-scented air with noise. Even mid-week, the town was clearly a popular tourist destination.
Inside Heart's Desire, however, he found himself enfolded by soft Gregorian chants and tantalizing smells. Delicate, musky smoke from a stick of burning incense wafted his way. His feet sank deep into the rich, velvety red carpet. Glass tables and cases bore heavy loads of merchandise, from dainty crystals on necklaces of silk to exquisitely carved sandalwood sculptures. Another section of the store displayed candles,
incense, and perfumes. Packets of herbs and spices, from chamomile to myrrh to yarrow, dominated the back wall.
Zach browsed the selection of books on a shelf and managed to stifle a snort of disdain at the titles. Witchcraft, herbal medicine, astrology, aromatherapy -- just the sort of nonsense he would expect to find in
an
shop specializing in love potions.
He browsed for several minutes, posing as just another tourist. That was part of his strategy. Charlatans tended to clam up around the publisher of
The Skeptical Observer
, while they spoke frankly -- and often hung themselves with their own words -- when he masqueraded as a potential customer. It wasn't completely honest, but he told himself it was the only way to expose the frauds he wrote about in his columns.
When he'd made a full circle from the front door to the counter
, he
cleared his throat to get the clerk's attention.
Bryony marked her place with one finger and looked up, her professional smile fixed firmly in place. "May I help you?" she asked.
Then her eyes registered the man before her, and her smile wavered. He was tall and slim with shoulders so broad they strained at the cloth of his white polo shirt. He had a strong, arrogant square face and dark, curling hair cropped sensibly short. Bryony's eyes dropped to his chest, where the shirt's first button was undone, and noticed that the hair on his chest was equally dark. She had a sudden urge to reach out and touch it, then felt heat rising to her cheeks at the thought.
He set his hands on the edge of the counter and leaned forward, obviously enjoying her discomfiture. He had the air of a man used to making women blush. Bryony stared down at his elegant, long-fingered hands and then slowly raised her eyes to meet his. They were the color of strong coffee without cream, serious but not lacking in humor. At the moment, they sparkled back at her with amused authority.
"As a matter of fact, you may help me. I need to speak with a Ms. Bryony Lowell." His low-pitched voice was polite but commanding, his tone that of a man used to being obeyed. Something about this man made her edgy, almost nervous. It had been a long time since she'd been near someone so compellingly masculine. He seemed to fill the shop with his energy.
"That's me," Bryony said, trying to keep her voice from squeaking.
For the first time, he seemed to lose some of his smooth assurance. "You're Bryony Lowell? I expected -- that is, you aren't the person I imagined."
Zach had imagined someone older, heavily made up and costumed to play a part. The lovely young woman before him didn't jibe with his expectations in the least. She was slender and lithe, but with a hint of feminine curves under her soft, flowing dress of green and gold Indian cloth. She had a delicate heart-shaped face and full lips that trembled on the edge of a smile. Her green eyes were wide and dreamy, framed by thick golden lashes. She had braided her red-gold hair into a
plait
that fell down her back, but wavy tendrils pulled loose to frame her face.
Zach found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss that pink flower of a mouth, or to tangle his hands in the hair that shone in the sun spilling through the shop window. He was surprised at how arousing he found her shyness and the quick flush of color in her cheeks when he leaned toward her.
"What did you imagine?" Bryony asked, and it was his turn to be almost flustered.
"Forget it." He straightened up and forced himself to tear his gaze from her lips. "I read that article about your love potion," he said. "I wondered if you could tell me a little more about it."
"Oh, yes. The love potion." Bryony frowned, wondering why anyone with his fabulous looks would need magical assistance to make women fall in love with him. She
considered herself fairly immune to handsome men, but this one was making her weak in the knees.
"What can I tell you about it? I discovered it in a rare old book and decided to try it on a whim. I had most of the ingredients on hand already, you see." She gestured toward the wall of herbs and spices. "I thought I could sell it as a novelty item, a joke. I never dreamed it would really work. Or seem to work."
Her customer's brow furrowed in what she imagined was disappointment. "So it doesn't come with a guarantee?"
"Sorry. I don't think there are any guarantees in love, do you?"
He laughed from deep in his throat, a chuckle that spoke more of pain than amusement. "No, you're absolutely right. No refunds, no exchanges.
Caveat emptor
." His mouth twisted bitterly, and Bryony wondered who had hurt him so badly that he didn't believe in love. Then he brightened and flashed her a grin that made her feel like a snowflake in July, her insides all liquid and melting. "But you do have some proof that the potion's effective, right?"
Bryony tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that he was mocking her. "Nothing conclusive," she said. "My older sister Vivien did fall head over heels in love with the guy who slipped it into her drink. They got married last December. Then again, Vivien and Kevin been friends since they were kids, and he's always had feelings for her. She realized she loved him back right after he tried the potion, but that may have been a coincidence."
"There have been other marriages?"
"Yes, four or five more." Bryony smiled, barely suppressing laughter as she remembered the crowd of locals demanding vials of her elixir once word got out. "Marriage fever seemed to spread like wildfire. Every confirmed bachelor in town was
guarding his drinks, you can be sure. But a couple of them got distracted and ended up husbands."
"A fate worse than death," Zach said. His smile softened his sardonic words, but Bryony caught something in his tone to make her think he wasn't really joking. She wondered again why he was so interested in her concoction. He didn't seem to believe in either love or marriage. What did that leave? Bryony's eyes swept his body again and she felt her heart hammering in her chest.
Perhaps he wanted a love potion to lure women into his bed. Bryony had a hard time believing he needed assistance in that area. Maybe he had a certain woman in mind, someone who would not succumb to his obvious charms. Someone unavailable. Maybe the woman was married, or demanded a commitment he wasn't willing to make.
Bryony scanned the face of the man before her and tried to decide whether he would stoop so low. He stared back at her, a look of slightly amused condescension on his rugged face. Picking up a bottle of love elixir from the velvet-lined case on the counter, he rolled it on his palm. "So, what's in this stuff?" he asked.
"If I told you that, I'd be out of business."
"Ah, a secret. Then the ingredients are magic, not the process?"
"I don't know," Bryony said, beginning to feel annoyed. "I just followed the recipe in the book. I don't even know if it's magic. I just know that it seems to work. If that's not enough for you, don't buy it," she said.
"But you do believe in magic? Supernatural powers? Witchcraft? Did you use black magic to make this?" He thrust the bottle under her nose.
Bryony pursed her lips into a frown and snatched the love elixir from his hand. Her fingers brushed his palm, and she shivered. "To answer your first question, I do believe in the possibility of magic. But I don't dabble in the black arts. If that's the sort of
thing that interests you, you'd better look elsewhere." She gave him a hostile glare at him and pointed toward the door.
Zach took a placating step back. "No, that's not what I'm looking for," he said.
"Why are you asking all these questions?"
"I'm just curious, that's all."
"I see." Bryony's anger ebbed. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked.
He scooped up a handful of the crystal-cut bottles. "I'd like to buy these."
Bryony narrowed her eyes as she counted the love potions. Three bottles.
He wanted to make three different women fall in love with him? He'd just confirmed her worst suspicions. She raised her eyes to her customer. He gave her a slow, secret smile that she would have found quite erotic under different circumstances.
"No," she said.
"What?"
"I said no. Put them back."
"Am I to understand that you are refusing to sell me your merchandise?"
"That's right," Bryony declared, hands on her hips.
His brows drew together in an affronted frown. "Why?"
"It's my store. I don't have to explain." She lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on, her eyes clear and fearless. They stood staring at each other for a long moment. Despite her outward calm, Bryony's stomach churned and her lips quivered almost imperceptibly.
He backed down first.
His jaw clenched and his mouth narrowed with displeasure, but he placed the bottles one by one back in their nest of wine velvet. With exaggerated care, he closed the lid of the carved mahogany case. "There. Satisfied now?" he asked, arching his eyebrows.
"Yes, thank you," Bryony answered. She couldn't believe his gall. "Will there be anything else?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Obviously not," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Unless you'd like to sell me something else.
Deadly nightshade, perhaps?
Maybe a little hemlock?
Since you've clearly taken a disliking to me, I might as well end it all."
Bryony realized he was teasing her now, and she glowered at him. Still, she couldn't help noting the sparkle in his eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners with suppressed laughter. She suddenly realized how ridiculous they were acting, like children. Slowly, she allowed a tentative smile to creep across her face.
"That's more like it," Zach said. "Now, how can I convince you to change your mind about parting with some of your elixir?"
"Tell me what you want it for," Bryony said.
"Aha," he cried, realization dawning. "So you think I'm up to no good -- that I'll force innocent women to fall in love with me, and then use them for my own pleasure." He rolled the word "pleasure" over his tongue until Bryony could barely breathe. She couldn't keep herself from imagining what a night of pleasure with this man might involve.
"Not at all," she said. "I just -- I only want to make sure it's used ethically, that's all. Magic is not something to be trifled with."
"Ah, magic. That seems to be a subject you know something about," Zach said.
"Well, not really," Bryony said. "Some of my customers are very knowledgeable about magic, witchcraft, astrology, and all of that, but I'm just a beginner. I find the concepts interesting, but . . . . Frankly, I'm not sure I believe in the supernatural."