Mistress of Magic by Heather Graham Page A

much fun that—for a matter of minutes—she was able to forget just how serious their problems were.
    She strutted through the audience. She looped her boa around a bald man’s neck and asked his wife if she could borrow him for just a minute. His pink-cheeked, good-humored wife said that Reggie could borrow him for as long as she liked. Reggie assured her that she didn’t take any man for longer than a few minutes and turned her attention to the fellow behind him, one who had been sitting in the shadows. She stretched out a black-net-clad leg to climb up on his lap, flipping her boa out again.
    And then she nearly screamed.
    It was him again. Blake. Wesley Blake.
    Now he was in casual light beige chinos and a maroon knit shirt. He had almost blended in with the saloon decor.
    Damn. Over a hundred men out here, and she had found his lap to sit on.
    She fought the panic rising in her when his gaze locked onto hers. He was smiling. He had to be angry with her. People didn’t stand him up . But she had.
    Max had suggested that she apologize, and she’d tried, but he didn’t know that. And the way he was staring at her …
    She needed to escape, but she was in the middle of a show!
    “What did you find out there, Patricia?” Alise called out to her.
    Damn. She’d been silent. Dead silent. In the middle of a show. With an entire audience watching her. Waiting.
    But, oh … she hadn’t been expecting this!
    She could feel the growing warmth of his lap beneath her. His arms had fallen lightly around her, and though she knew that he would release her instantly the moment she got up to go, she could feel the strength of them, too, and it was oddly disturbing. She was breathing his after-shave, something very light and subtle, something that combined with a natural scent and made her acutely aware that he was the opposite sex. She could almost feel his freshly shaven cheeks against her own.
    And most of all, she was aware of his eyes. She could feel them, too. Glittering gold, with amusement, with more. They stared into her own. She grew hotter. His lips were curling into a smile. A knowing smile. As if she had come here on purpose. The smile was wicked, wicked.
    The heat inside her seemed to flash and grow, streaking throughout her body. She wanted to jump up immediately, to forget the role that she played, to run in swift, sure panic.
    Maybe he knew that he had that effect on her.
    Okay, maybe Max had been right for a long time. Maybe she did need to get a life. But Wesley Blake seemed to be just a little too confident for her liking. Perhaps she had been out of the mainstream for a long time. She still wasn’t going to give an inch to this stranger.
    Her eyes narrowed. She flipped the boa around his neck and pulled tight.
    “Oh, I did find a live one out here, I did, I did!” she drawled to Alise.
    There was a slight shifting in Wes’s legs. “Very much alive,” he murmured huskily.
    The folks closest to them heard him. They started laughing.
    Bob was a definite showman. He was down from the stage immediately, twirling his fake black mustache with his fingers.
    “Patricia, honey, I’m over here. Remember me?”
    She leaned forward, slipping her arms around Wes’s neck, letting her eyes focus hugely on his. “What was that?”
    The audience howled.
    It was a mistake. She felt his body tensing beneath hers. Felt the warmth increase.
    Felt his eyes. Warm. Acute. And she saw the slow curve of his smile and felt a steady sinking in her heart.
    “I said, I’m over here, honey!” Bob repeated. More laughter. He sighed dramatically and took a huge step over to the two of them. “Excuse me, sir, would you?” He set a finger underneath Reggie’s chin, turning her face to his. “Patricia, remember me?” He fell down on a knee before her. “Why, I’m going to cast aside my evil ways and make an honest woman out of you, honey! You’re in love with me, honey—’scuse me, sir, your lap is in the way there! You’ve