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When she came to a bench, Cara sat down and put her shoes and stockings back on. Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a piece of chewing gum, then sat back and tried to decide what she would say when Anton came to call.
He appeared at seven sharp, with a heart-shaped box of candy in one hand and a bouquet of yellow roses in the other.
“Thank you,” Cara murmured, accepting the gifts. “You shouldn’t have.”
“But I wanted to.”
“Come in, won’t you?” She stepped back so he could enter the foyer, then led the way into the living room, all the while wishing it was Vince walking beside her. “Mom, Dad, this is Anton. Anton, these are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. DeLongpre.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Anton said, nodding at her mother and father.
“I didn’t catch your last name,” Roshan said, shaking the young man’s hand.
“Bouchard.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bouchard,” Brenna said. She looked up at her husband, a frown on her face.
“I’d love to stay and chat,” Anton said, “But I made reservations at the Steak and Stein for seven-thirty.”
“Of course,” Cara said. She put the box of candy on the coffee table, then handed the flowers to her mother. “Mom, would you put these in water for me?” she asked, then glanced at Anton. “Just let me get my coat.”
“What line of work are you in, Mr. Bouchard?” Brenna asked.
“My mother and I own a bookstore.”
Warning bells went off inside Roshan’s head. “Indeed? Would I know it?”
“I don’t know, sir. It’s called The Wiccan Heart.”
“Witchcraft, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And are you, yourself, a witch?”
“I dabble in the arts occasionally. Cara, are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
She handed Anton her coat, and he helped her on with it.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Anton said. “Mrs. DeLongpre.”
Cara kissed her father’s cheek and hugged her mother. “I won’t be late.”
Roshan stared after Anton Bouchard as he followed Cara out the door. Could it be?
He looked at Brenna and saw the same question in her eyes.
“Is it possible?” she asked.
“I don’t know how it could be,” Roshan muttered, “but he looks just like him.”
“But he never married or had children, did he?”
“Not that I know of.” Yet the resemblance between Anton Bouchard and Anthony Loken was chilling. It could have been coincidence, but Roshan had never believed in coincidence.
“I don’t like this,” Brenna said. “We shouldn’t have let her go.”
“She’ll be all right. Di Giorgio won’t let her out of his sight.”
“Of course, Di Giorgio.” Brenna smiled as she went into the kitchen for a vase. “How could I have forgotten about Di Giorgio?”
Anton glared at the burly bodyguard sitting near the front door of the restaurant. “Does he go everywhere with you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Listen, I know this is none of my business, but have you ever thought about moving out? You know, getting a place of your own?”
“Well, sure, sometimes,” Cara said defensively. And it was true. She had thought about it, but it seemed silly to move into a small apartment when she had the run of a huge house, and she was pretty sure that whether she lived at home or not, she would still have Di Giorgio to contend with. On the other hand, it would be fun to have a place of her own, to be independent. She thought about Vince. If she had a place of her own, they could be alone.
The thought made her smile. Alone with Vince. Talk about living on the edge! She couldn’t think of anything more dangerous than being alone with Vince Cordova and his sexy smile. He had only to look at her and her insides melted like warm ice cream. And his voice; that deep, rich baritone that made her think of warm skin against cool sheets.
“Cara?”
She blinked at Anton. “Did you say something?”
“I asked if you were ready to order.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll have the shrimp and a house salad. And iced tea.”
Anton ordered, then sat back, wondering how best to tell Cara that her parents were vampires. His mother was anxious to get Cara out of DeLongpre’s house and out from under the vampire’s immediate protection. Of course, telling her the truth about her mother and father didn’t guarantee that she would move out, but the news was bound to come as a shock and maybe shake her faith in her parents. Even if she didn’t move out, the fact that they had kept the truth from her might serve to drive a wedge between them. If that didn’t work, well, he could always kidnap the little chit. Still, there was no need to worry about it yet. He had until All Hallow’s Eve to come up with a way to separate Cara from her parents and her watchdog in a way that wouldn’t arouse their suspicion or implicate him or his mother when Cara came up missing.
“You told me you weren’t a witch,” Cara said when the waitress moved away from the table.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The other night, I asked you if you were a witch, and you said no, but tonight you told my father you dabbled in witchcraft. Why did you lie to me?”
“Well, I didn’t know you very well, and I was afraid it might scare you off,” he lied smoothly.
“So, what kind of witchcraft do you practice?” Cara asked.
“Oh, just simple things. A woman came in last week. She was distraught because she’d lost her wedding ring and she didn’t want to tell her husband. I helped her find it.”
Cara nodded, wondering if he was telling her the truth this time, but it didn’t matter. She had no intention of going out with him again.
“There’s all kinds of Magick,” Anton explained. “Herbal magick, candle magick, animal magick, and elemental magick. Some magick is done best during a particular phase of the moon. And there are love spells, of course.”
“You mean you can make people fall in love?”
“Not exactly. But a sachet bag filled with rosemary, thyme, and sage is effective in attracting love. There are spells to attract money and spells to summon the spirits of the dead.”
Cara shivered. “Have you ever done that? Summon the dead? It doesn’t sound like a very good idea to me.”
“No, I’ve never tried anything like that.” Not yet, he thought. Alone in his room, he had tried several complicated spells, pleased when each had turned out perfectly. He definitely had the gift. One day, he hoped to be as powerful a warlock as his father had been, and if that meant dabbling in the Dark Arts, then so be it.
