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“I’m going to let you all in on the trick,” she continued.
The crowd of reporters put down their pens and leaned forward. Cameras lowered so that eyes could get better views of the action.
“The trick is, you can’t control other people, only yourself.”
Many gazes narrowed in suspicion. Good. A good trick required a few skeptics. Those were the ones who’d be too busy trying to figure out how the trick was done. What they didn’t realize was that by following her every motion, she still had them in the palm of her hand because she was still the one leading them around.
There was a dance to magic; a partner dance. It required one party to lead and the other to follow. The trick was in getting the audience to believe they were in control.
The press was easily led to believe they knew what was going on. They trusted Lark as she set them up. It was easy. Everyone wanted to believe the illusion.
“You’ll need a large sheet, some sequins, and a handful of glitter.” Lark Vanna White’d her props, spreading her arms wide to encompass the table of items sitting on a blood red wing backed chair at the center of the stage. “The crafts are to make things pretty. People are distracted by beautiful things.”
“You can say that again,” came a murmur just off stage.
The Marquis of Navarre was not so easily diverted. Omar’s gaze was locked on her every move. It was proving impossible to hide everything from him. With each glance, with each caress, Lark didn't want to play any tricks with this man.
He had that glassy look of a man mesmerized. Even though she clearly dazzled him, the intelligence in his gaze told her he wasn’t fooled.
Worse, the heat in his gaze was going to ruin the illusion of them not dating. If the press took a good hard look between the two of them, they’d see right through it all. With a snap of her wrists, Lark unfurled the sparkly blanket and brought all the attention back to herself.
“The next step in the trick is to ask for a volunteer. But that person should be in on the trick.”
Lark crooked a finger at the meddlesome reporter. The man hesitated. But then his gaze sparkled with opportunity.
“You’re going to hold the blanket high,” she said to the reporter, handing him the prop. “When I say the magic words, you’ll let it fall. Meanwhile, I’ll throw up some glitter to distract our audience. Then I’ll duck behind this wingback chair that I’ve inconspicuously put here.”
“That’s it?” asked the reporter, seemingly completely unimpressed.
“Yup.” Lark nodded. “Do you think you can handle it?”
He snorted.
Lark turned slightly and winked at the audience. The reporters still in their chairs grinned back realizing another trick was afoot.
The reporter-assistant held up the blanket. “Abracadabra,” he said. Only he dropped the blanket before the entire word was out of his mouth.
The crowd gasped. Pencils rolled off their laps as a few got to their seats. Lark wasn’t there.
The reporter assistant peeked behind the wingback chair. A small puff of air blew his hair back. When he straightened, the crowd of reporters fell back into their seats laughing hysterically.
“She glitter-bombed him!”
“Wait, where did she go?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t wait to see the whole show.”
One person hadn’t been fooled by Lark’s misdirection. That man turned from the stage to look at the exit of the trap door. Omar had seen her coming a mile away.
In the darkness of the theater’s backstage, Lark slipped out of the spotlight and into his arms. Using another secret door, he swept her from the stage and up to his office floor. He misdirected the calls for his attention from his assistant and staff. Then he filled his palms with her and pressed his mouth to hers.
Omar al Shariff made her knees feel rooted with his light touches. He fed her hunger with his seeking kisses. Here was a man who respected her talent. He listened to her ideas. He also set her blood on fire with his cool glances.
"You were magnificent out there," he said between kisses. "I underestimated your talent.”
Lark preened under his praise. It wasn't the first time a man had complimented her. It usually came with a follow-up request that she do something to benefit him.
"You’re going to be more than a hit. You're going to be a rocket ship. Starship. There's just one thing I need you to do for me."
