Daddy Warlock Read online




  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Jacqueline Diamond

  Title Page

  Dedciation

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Preview

  Copyright

  Secretson…

  “A first grader was suspended from Palm Mesa Elementary School today when a teacher claims she saw him cause a flying fork to change course in midair,” the reporter announced. “Let’s talk to the boy’s mom.”

  The camera cut to a tall slender woman trying to steer a boy down the front steps. Chance’s breath caught in his throat.

  It was his lady. Even after all this time, there was no mistaking her.

  “Mrs. Blayne?” asked the reporter. Chance’s heart sank. Apparently she was married. But wasn’t that obvious, since she had a child? “What do you think of the claim that your son has mental powers?”

  “Harry’s a normal kid,” she snapped. “I think everyone is making too much of this.”

  As she led the boy away, he glanced back, and for the first time, Chance saw his face. Small and impish, just like his mother’s, except for his eyes. Chance sat bolt upright.

  Impossible. Unthinkable. He looked closer. Unmistakable. As the child looked up, his eyes glimmered silver. Just like Chance’s own.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jacqueline Diamond has led past lives as a journalist and a television columnist. She wishes she had led a past life as a financial wizard. She and her husband live in Brea, California, with their two sons, Ari and Hunter, who have no magical abilities, but get into plenty of mischief anyway.

  Books by Jacqueline Diamond

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  218—UNLIKELY PARTNERS

  239—THE CINDERELLA DARE

  270—CAPERS AND RAINBOWS

  279—A GHOST OF A CHANCE

  351—BY LEAPS AND BOUNDS

  406—OLD DREAMS, NEW DREAMS

  446—THE TROUBLE WITH TERRY

  491—A DANGEROUS GUY

  583—THE RUNAWAY BRIDE

  615—YOURS, MINE AND OURS

  631—THE COWBOY AND THE HEIRESS

  642—ONE HUSBAND TOO MANY

  645—DEAR LONELY IN L.A….

  674—MILLION-DOLLAR MOMMY

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for Information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  Daddy Warlock

  Jacqueline Diamond

  For Jennifer Poling, Michelle Thorne, Janet Carroll,

  Anne Noyes, Julie Kim, Melissa Becker,

  Michelle Harned, Mike Gibb, Leanne DuPay,

  Heather Osbom and all the other wonderful bookstore

  people who help readers find my stories!

  Prologue

  The house looked like a castle, with its stone walls, battlements and turrets. But what was it doing in a canyon in Southern California, and what kind of man would own such a place?

  “You’re sure this is the right address?” Tara Blayne asked as she and her friend Denise approached in the moonlight. Nearing the rounded front door, they roused no reaction from the two guards in beefeater uniforms who stood with lances crossed, and she realized the pair were holograms. “Could you have mistaken the number in the dark?”

  “I don’t think so. But I’m not sure whether the street sign read Achilles or Apollo.” Denise huddled into her witch’s robe.

  It was more than half an hour since they’d turned off Sunset Boulevard onto a series of narrow canyon roads that wound around until Tara no longer remembered which way was north or south. A narrow driveway had brought them to this castle half-hidden in a grove of eucalyptus.

  Lanterns flickered from the trees. No lights shone from inside the castle, perhaps because there didn’t appear to be any windows. Only the presence of a dozen cars parked along the driveway provided some reassurance of normalcy.

  Denise eyed their surroundings uneasily. “It’s a private home, obviously, but even for the Hollywood Hills it’s kind of strange. Maybe we should leave.”

  “You’re kidding! After that long drive? And the trouble we went to, finding costumes?”

  Tara had splurged more than she could afford on her long skirt, low-cut blouse and black bodice. If she had to work as a serving wench in real life, she might as well look like one on Halloween. “Besides, I’m starved. I spent so much on my costume, I had to skip dinner.”

  The money she earned waiting tables didn’t stretch far, especially since it had to cover business classes. But even though Tara had resolved to accept her father’s urging and pursue a serious career, she couldn’t resist indulging in pure fun once in a while.

  “I can’t understand why I let you drag me into situations like this.” Denise, a hairdresser, was invited by her clients to numerous parties but rarely accepted without prompting. “We don’t even know who lives here. He might be some kind of weirdo.”

  “You said he was a friend of a client,” Tara pointed out.

  “More like a friend of a friend of a client,” grumbled her pal. “And what does that prove? Even criminals’ friends get their hair cut. And permed and colored, in this case.”

  Tara decided to try a new tack. “Look at all the trouble he’s gone to.” She patted one of the walls, which on close inspection was made of foam. “He’s transformed the whole front of his house. The guy must be rich, which means the food probably is, too.”

  Denise straightened her peaked hat. “Okay, I’ll go as far as the refreshment table. But if the people act peculiar, we’re leaving.”

  “If they’re that strange, I’ll get out and push the car to make it go faster.”

  In spite of herself, Tara felt a tremor of uncertainty as they stepped through the open door. Inside, the room was dark. From the echo of their footsteps, she gathered that it must be large, but how large, she couldn’t tell.

  Tiny lights marked a meandering pathway across a smooth wooden floor. On either side, skeletons dangled, shrunken heads grimaced and pumpkins leered in rotating flashes. Something slimy trailed across their necks, making them both shriek.

  “This guy’s got a sick sense of humor,” Denise muttered.

  “Or he’s a real party kind of guy.” Tara hoped she was right, and their host was simply getting into the spirit of the holiday.

  Voices drifted from beyond the room, and a moment later the two women stepped into a courtyard full of people. The atrium, open to the sky, was filled with lanterns, long tables of food and costumed partygoers.

  Soft music—Tara recognized it as Symphonie Fantastique—soothed her anxiety, and the scents of nightblooming flowers mingled with the tantalizing aroma of spicy food. Their host was clearly both generous and sensual.

  He also owned a house that might have come from her dreams. In the lantern glow, arched windows and undulating stucco walls made it resemble a palace from the Arabian Nights. As if to complete the fantasy, a curving staircase led to a small tower atop the rear wing. It seemed to have been transported from a magic realm, a place of sorcery and surprises where anything could happ
en.

  She bit her lip to stop the unwanted musings. As her father always said, the people who succeeded were the ones who kept their noses to the grindstone. After dropping out of college and wasting several years on lowpaying jobs, Tara intended to make more responsible choices from now on.

  “You were right! It’s a terrific party.” Denise gave a little hop that set her bushy red hair bouncing. “Look at the cute guys! What do you think of that one over there?”

  “That one” was a blond surfer-type. “Just your style,” Tara observed.

  In fact, most of the men were Denise’s style—freshfaced and cheerful. Handsome, too, in their disguises as superheroes and swashbucklers.

  The women were striking enough to make Tara feel clumsy by comparison. Whether dressed as Pocahontas or harem dancers, they moved with easy self-confidence, and several were downright voluptuous.

  All her life, people had told Tara she should be grateful for her tall, slender frame. Well, those people didn’t have to do daily battle with elbows and knees that had a mind of their own.

  Not to mention mouse-brown hair so limp that, in desperation, she’d had Denise cut it into a short mop. Even so, it could only be tortured into shape with massive infusions of mousse.

  A sudden hush drew Tara’s attention to the top of the staircase. On the balcony stood a commanding figure in a tuxedo, a black hat and a scarlet-lined cape.

  What riveted her was not the costume but the man himself. His features were chiseled, and even the tailored restraint of the tuxedo failed to disguise the power of his shoulders and upper body.

  Beneath a half mask, silver eyes raked the assembly. He stopped abruptly, focusing on someone as if startled. With a jolt, Tara realized he was staring at her.

  Conquering the urge to retreat, she shot him her most mischievous smile, the one that had always cut short her father’s tirades about irresponsibility. Inevitably, it would send him storming away, but at least he would leave her in peace.

  This man, however, had no intention of leaving her in peace. His mouth twisted wryly and, his eyes fixed on her face, he descended the steps so smoothly, he might have floated just above the surface.

  “That’s a neat trick,” murmured Denise. “I wonder how he does it.”

  “Enchantment,” Tara said as the man approached.

  Bending over her hand, he brushed it lightly with his lips. Heat danced across her skin and radiated deep inside her.

  The man was dangerous. And irresistible.

  His silver gaze caught hers, and Tara read a question there. It made her breath catch in her throat.

  She didn’t know why she was reacting this way. In her twenty-two years, she’d never felt as completely engaged by a man as she did by this one.

  His mind seemed to reach inside hers, brushing across her inhibitions and dismissing them. With a rush of excitement, she felt him touch the private places that she shared with no one.

  He was there in a field of wildflowers that had grown behind her childhood home outside Louisville, Kentucky. A spring breeze ruffled her cheeks as she lay against him, feeling the tautness in his muscles as he pulled her close.

  Then they were walking arm in arm along a path in an ancient forest. Ahead of them, in a glade, lay a tiny thatched cottage. Tara had never seen this place before, and yet it was home.

  She blinked, and saw that the man was giving his head a light shake as if to clear it. What had just happened between them?

  “Are you our host?” Denise asked. “I hope you don’t mind, but we were invited by a friend of a friend.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” The man held Tara’s hand as if reluctant to let go. “The party wouldn’t have been complete without you. Have you eaten yet? Or sampled the punch? It’s my own recipe.”

  “A magic potion?” Tara asked. “To entice the unwary?”

  A smile revealed a crease in his cheek, reminding her of an old-time movie star. “There is a special enchantment tonight,” he said, “but it has nothing to do with the punch.”

  The rapid beating of her heart informed Tara that his magic was working. But, of course, it wasn’t really magic, just natural chemistry.

  “Do I have to divine your name with the help of sheep’s entrails?” she asked. “Or could you just tell it to me?”

  He threw back his head and uttered a deep, rumbling laugh. “I like a woman who gets to the point. But tonight I’m not my usual self. Tonight I am the Magician.”

  With that pronouncement, he clapped his hands in a staccato sequence. Colored sparkles shot into the air from both sides of the courtyard, a fountain in the center bubbled to life and the background music segued into the dark tones of The Phantom of the Opera.

  “How did you do that?” asked Tara as the other guests applauded.

  “Witchcraft, of course,” he said. “And what is your name? Or shall I invent one that befits your costume?” His gaze traveled. down her low-cut blouse, registering appreciation. To her dismay, she felt her nipples tighten and her skin flush.

  “If you call me Wench, I’ll slap that hat right off your head,” she growled.

  Amusement gleamed in his silver eyes, which, close up, had a faintly exotic tilt. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I shall call you My Lady.”

  “I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” She whipped her hand from his grasp. “If you don’t care to exchange names, I think I’ll go try some of that food.”

  Denise looked horrified at Tara’s abruptness. “She skipped dinner,” she explained apologetically.

  “And I must greet my other guests.” The Magician bowed. “Until later.”

  As he moved away, others crowded around him. Denise frowned at Tara. “Why were you so rude?”

  “The man’s kissing my hand and he won’t even tell me his name?” She led the way toward the refreshment tables. “He sounds like exactly what I don’t need.”

  She didn’t want to admit the effect the man was having on her nervous system. His focus on her had been so complete that she’d felt as if he were invading her mind. She kept getting the odd sense that at a subliminal level they already knew each other.

  The scary part was the premonition that if she yielded to him, even for a little while, her life would rocket out of control. Tara didn’t want to lose control.

  “I wonder what he does for a living,” she mused as they filled their plates with stuffed mushrooms, crab cakes and tiny pizzas. “Maybe he performs magic tricks at clubs.”

  “You don’t afford a house like this by giving little magic shows,” said Denise. “But he doesn’t look much older than we are. Maybe he’s an actor or something. That would explain why he’s wearing a mask.”

  Tara doubted the man could be famous. With those silver eyes, she would have recognized him in spite of the disguise.

  A blond pirate interrupted their discussion as he introduced himself to Denise. A couple of his friends wandered over and someone asked Tara to dance.

  She spun around the courtyard with one partner after another, scarcely noticing them. Denise was dancing with the blond fellow, who wore a rakish scarf knotted around his temples. The two seemed happily lost in each other, although that didn’t mean much, since Denise tended to change boyfriends as often as she changed lipstick colors.

  Everywhere Tara turned, her gaze alit on the Magician. He stood out from the others, not by his height or his costume but because of his intense watchfulness.

  He seemed to be aware of every move she made, even when he was deep in conversation. His attention bathed her like a warm spring, smoothing away distractions, eddying and teasing, drawing her closer.

  Tara’s wariness eased, and she began to feel safe whenever her partners whirled her close to the Magician. He was the source of the warmth, the center of gravity, the solid ground just beyond the whirlpool.

  As the world lost its hard edge of reality, the walls of the house shimmered and the air tingled like champagne. If Tara got any more light-headed, she might fly.
>
  Wherever she gazed, the Magician was there. His knowing smile lingered in her mind, overlying the faces of the guests.

  At last she found herself dancing in his arms, without any memory of how she had come to be there. His hand imprinted itself on her waist as he led her through a waltz.

  Tara had never fancied herself much of a dancer. She was too awkward, her elbows plowing into whoever ventured nearby, her feet tangling with her partner’s.

  But tonight she became Cyd Charisse, scarcely touching the flagstones of the terrace. The man of mist and magic merged with her and they skimmed along with instinctive grace.

  In an inexplicable way, she felt more herself than she had ever been. Tara’s whole life, since her mother’s death when she was twelve, had been a struggle between the venturesome self nurtured in childhood and the practical Tara born of her need to please a rigid father.

  But tonight, the Magician’s power fused the conflicting parts of her spirit. Tonight, boldness and risk taking formed a sure path to success.

  Although his movements mirrored her slightest shift as they danced, her host comported himself like a gentleman. He made no attempt to nuzzle Tara’s neck, as a previous partner had done, or to brush her mouth with his, or to press his arm against the swell of her breasts.

  Yet his nearness enveloped her, his body carving the space around her. Tara had never experienced such heightened awareness, all of it riveted on one man.

  They moved away from the others, dancing into a shadowed alcove. In response to their nearness, the space became infused with an amber glow. She saw that he was leading her toward the curving staircase.

  “Where are we going?” Tara murmured.

  Concern played across the man’s face. “Have I misunderstood? Don’t you wish to be alone with me?”

  “But we’re not alone,” she whispered. “Together, we form something larger than ourselves.” She didn’t know where the words came from but they seemed true.