The Gypsy Ribbon

Book 2: Arcana Love Series

by Shannon MacLeod

Genres: Military Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

Rock hard, play hard, love harder.

Internationally known wild child James Kelly is a filthy rich rock star, devilishly handsome, with silicone beauties aplenty to grace both his arm and his bed. He has it all. Or does he? What he wants most is a real woman to tell him no once in a while. . .and thanks to his inherited precognition, he knows her when he meets her. But the vision of his future is shrouded in darkness and shadows.

Tarot reader Lisbeth Vargo works at the local renaissance faire. She's still stinging from her last bad relationship when her best friend marries James Kelly's brother. After being paired up in the wedding party, sparks fly between Lisbeth and James. Even her tarot cards tell her he's the one, but is the interest of a "bad boy" something she can take seriously?

Sometimes falling in love takes a leap of faith. Occasionally it needs a push off the cliff. James is more than happy to give Lisbeth that needed shove, but will his love save her. . .or get her killed?

CONTENT WARNING: Irish mischief, smokin' sex, creative uses for ice cream and bad gypsy accents

93,000 Words

Release date: December 2, 2013

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 349

Sample

 

Prologue

 

New Orleans, Louisiana–Early Spring

 

James Kelly didn’t like it, not even a wee bit.

The lead singer for the world-renowned rock band Horizon slouched against the back wall of the crowded and dimly lit room, graced only by a round table with a fringed tablecloth and two folding metal chairs. The tarnished wall sconces held small light bulbs that attempted to look like candles but fell embarrassingly short. Whoever had the bright idea to go to the French Quarter to have their fortune told needs an ass-kickin’, James thought morosely.

The acrid smell of stale incense made his nose itch. He leaned in closer to one of the matching blonde groupies gripping his arm. The cloying scent of her expensive perfume was only slightly less offensive than the old patchouli. “Jaysus, gal. What did you do, bathe in it?” he muttered, recoiling from the cloud surrounding her. The matching blondes clinging to each arm purred and rubbed against him, but he silenced them both with a sharp “Sssh.” Pouting, they stilled but didn’t lessen their protective grip. “I can’t hear a goddamn thing,” James whispered to Blonde One, but in spite of his complaints he made no move to inch closer.

The old woman dealt the Tarot cards with practiced ease, speaking quietly to the young drummer, DJ, seated across from her. Turning the cards over, the gypsy pointed to each and he nodded eagerly in answer. The rest of the band plus their Miss Right-Nows were scattered about the room, watching and awaiting their own turns. One by one, they approached the table and sat across from the woman while she spread their cards.

“I need some air. I need a drink. I need to not be here,” James muttered. The rest of the band cracked jokes about having their fortunes told, but he was willing to bet his moderately obscene annual salary none of them had his background. His grandmother back home in Ireland had been a witch–a real one–and she read the cards for him throughout his life until she crossed over a couple of years before. Everything she said came true. She had foreseen him dropping out of school and joining the band that had shot like a meteor to the top of the music world, but she saw no farther than that, or if she did, she never shared it with him. He believed in this stuff, even if he’d never admit it to any of his friends, and it made him uncomfortable to hear others poke fun at forces they couldn’t even begin to understand.

He toyed with the notion that maybe he inherited a little something extra from his grandmother. James saw things before they happened -  pictures, images, once in a while random words would run through his mind. Sometimes he figured out what they meant beforehand, but usually not until after the event had already occurred. It would be nice if he had a bit more control over it. It would be right useful. Like now, for example. He could have stayed at the hotel and avoided this shit altogether.

The last querent stood from the table and nodded his thanks. As a group, they began to move toward the door until the deep voice of the bassist stopped them. “Wait,” said Randy, “James hasn’t had his fortune told yet.”

Smothering the urge to choke his well meaning friend, James shook his head and pasted a wide grin on his face. “The only future I’m needin’ to know about is whether or not I’m gonna get lucky tonight. What do you think, ladies? Do I need cards for that one?” The twins giggled in response and he pulled them both close for a kiss as the room exploded in laughter. One by one, they all fell silent as the old woman stood and pointed a gnarled finger at James.

“Young man,” she said firmly, her voice deeply accented. She crooked her finger at him then pointed to the chair. “Sit yourself down.”

James went rigid and reluctantly released his grip on the women. Swaggering over to the table, he flopped down in the chair and gave the old gypsy his best I’m-not-buying-any-of-this-shit scowl. She smiled, giving him a less than appealing view of missing and blackened teeth, picked up the Tarot deck and began to shuffle.

“Your name is James?” she asked.

When he nodded, she clucked her tongue in disapproval. “No, is not,” she murmured, “and you are long way from home.”

He laughed and allowed his natural brogue to thicken comically. “Sure and you didn’t need cards to see that one, luvvy.”

“Don’t be insolent,” she chided in a gruff whisper, “and you need not be afraid.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she said, “I remind you of someone you know–knew,” she corrected. “Her spirit watches over you. She say tell you is okay that you could not see her off on her final journey. Remembering garden is best.”

The suddenly airless room flipped over and spun around for James. At the funeral for his grandmother, he had been unable to enter the small country church with the rest of his family, not wishing to face the finality of seeing the tiny woman lying in the satin-lined coffin wearing her best dress. He chose instead to remember her tending the herbs in her garden and chastising him at the top of her formidable lungs for tramping through her flowerbeds. This was something he hadn’t shared with anyone–ever. He gripped the edges of the table to stop the room’s gymnastics. “Now you have my full attention,” he snapped.

“Is goot.” The old woman chuckled deep in her throat and laid out three cards. “I say you are far from home. I mean the path you are meant to be on, the one that will take you home. In time, in time,” she sang to herself, turning over the first card.

James peered at the first card. “I know that one,” he said, remembering the old record album his father owned. Stairway to Heaven was one song he heard a lot in his childhood, and he smiled remembering the night the band did it as a special cover at a concert on his dad’s birthday. His father had loved it, telling James over and over how he sang it even better than Robert Plant.

She nodded. “The Hermit tells me you will come to a time where you question yourself. You will wonder if there is more for you than what you see.” She gave his hand a motherly pat then turned over the second card.

“The Tower.” Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “Major upheaval, catastrophe. You will be phoenix that rises from the ashes of the fire that consumed him.” He heard a snicker behind him but someone else muttered for him to shut up. She reached for the third card, and her hand hovered over it for the briefest moment before she turned it over. “The World,” she announced. “That which you desire most will be yours.”

James searched her eyes before whispering, “What do I desire most?”

She picked up the cards and tapped her head with one crooked finger. “What you want now is up here. And down there.” She cackled, gesturing towards his lap. She laughed at her own joke a moment, pausing to wipe her eyes with the corner of her ratty shawl before she continued. “But what you desire most,” she said, pointing to her chest, “is here. Listen to what your heart tells you.” Tugging at his hand, she pulled him close to whisper in his ear, “Listen well and you will know her when you see her.”

He drew back to look at her. “Know who?”

She pulled one more card from the deck and turned it over to reveal the Queen of Wands. She clapped her hands with delight. “Your Queen, of course.”

* * * *

Tampa, Florida–Four months later

 

Lisbeth Vargo and Lily Evans jumped up and down and squealed when they finally got inside the Ford Amphitheater and found their seats for the Horizon World Domination Tour concert. “Ten rows from the stage!” Beth crowed triumphantly and the best friends laughed out loud in delight.

“I still can’t believe you won radio tickets. This show sold out in minutes,” Lily pointed out as both girls tied souvenir tour t-shirts around their waists for safekeeping.

“I’m just glad I was able to get the night off,” Beth said. “I’ll pick up a couple of lunch shifts next week to make up for it.” Scheduling adjustments aside, Beth knew that if she had not gotten the requested night off, there would have been some sort of unforeseen catastrophe, fire, or flood preventing her from reporting to work. She was not going to miss the first-ever live performance of her favorite band in her home town. “So how’d you manage to break free from your keeper for the whole evening?”

Lily blew out a gusty sigh. “Lucas hates this band. He wouldn’t have come if I paid him. He says they’re too loud.”

Beth threw an arm around her friend and hooted. “Fine by me. Girls night out–musically challenged boyfriends definitely not welcome!”

The lights flickered on and off, startling them both and riveting their attention to the stage. The amphitheater went dark and the first power chords from an electric guitar rang out into the hot summer evening. Colored lasers scanned rapidly over the manic capacity crowd, temporarily blinding her at moments. The stage lights came up and she caught her first glimpse of the band. The crowd roared, rendering her temporarily deaf. As they launched into the opening bars of a song from their latest CD, Beth grabbed Lily’s arm and gave it a squeeze that made her friend yelp.

“Ohmigod, there he is, look. Look over there behind the speakers,” she squealed, pointing to the towering column near the back of the stage.

With perfect timing, the spotlight hit the singer as he stepped out onto the stage. He waved then broke into a run, sliding the last few feet to the microphone before grabbing it and belting out the opening lyrics. 

“Ooh, have mercy. James Kelly is even hotter in person,” Beth sighed. She swiveled her head to follow his movements across the stage. He strutted back and forth, reaching out into the crowd, not quite touching the outstretched fingers of screaming groupies.

The band ran through a half dozen songs before they paused to catch their breath, allowing James to chat up the audience. “Are there any ladies here tonight?” he shouted. She squealed along with the other females in the crowd.

He shook his head sadly and waved. “Thanks for coming tonight, ladies. Drive safely.” Without missing a beat he bellowed again, “Any wicked, bad girls in the house?” The response was deafening. “Mmmmm, we love bad girls. You can stay awhile,” he purred and right on cue the band fired up the intro to “Stay Awhile,” another crowd favorite lauding the charms of wild and uncontrollable women. Beth and Lily sang along, hopping up and down in time with the infectious rhythm.

The band played for two hours straight and when they left the stage, the lighters came out in force. They did one encore, left and returned for a second, launching into one of their biggest hits, “Let Me Be The One.” The song began as a sultry power ballad then crescendoed to a driving tempo when the melody took flight on the wings of the electric guitar solo. On the final chorus the lights came up and James flashed the triumphant grin of a conquering hero as he swaggered up and down, singing a line then holding the microphone out for the rapturous crowd to sing the next.

For Beth, time came to a complete and grinding halt. One moment, she was singing along with thousands of people and the next she was staring straight into the emerald green eyes of James Kelly, his gaze locked on her. Was he looking at her? She shivered, but dismissed the ridiculous notion when he abruptly shook his head and moved to the other side of the stage. The song ended with a loud fanfare as he yelled out, “Thank you, Tampa. Good night!” and ran from the stage.

Lily grabbed her arm and said, “Let’s get out of here before we get stuck in traffic.” The two women made a break for the exit, climbing over seats and getting swept away by the current of people bound for the same destination. Once in the car–and stuck in all the traffic trying to leave the parking lot anyway–Lily asked, “You never said…did you pull a Tarot card for today?”

“Yeah,” Beth laughed. “The Ace of Cups. Beginnings of love, my ass. I thought it meant I was going to meet someone tonight.” And for a second there, she thought she had.

* * * *

Backstage and behind the scenes, traffic was flowing smoothly as the roadies bustled around efficiently packing up the stage and equipment. Security set to work clearing the amphitheater, pushing the stragglers toward the door and discouraging those diehards trying to sweet talk themselves into the backstage area. Behind the stage, the band and their ever-present bodyguards passed through the halls crammed full of applauding well-wishers. James’s personal bodyguard and all-around go-to guy Kevin Bellamy walked next to him as they headed back to the dressing rooms. The muscular Army veteran, who went by the unlikely moniker Spiderman, had been with the band since their first tour. James both liked and trusted the soft-spoken Southerner.

“Are you sure, Kev?” James asked for the third time, “I mean, she was right there. She can’t have gotten out that fast. She was left of center stage a dozen rows back or so. Curly red hair, black t-shirt. She had on one of them glowing necklace things. You can’t find her?”

Kevin shook his head. “I looked everywhere. I even radioed up to the exits as soon as you asked about her.” The bodyguard shot a dubious glance at his charge. “You’ve never asked me to go out and hunt down a specific woman for you before. They always line up and you load your plate like you’re in some kinda chick cafeteria. She must have been seriously hot.”

James’s eyes went unfocused for a moment. He didn’t know if she was hot or not. The second he saw her, it was like everything just stopped. Weird, like he knew her. Or he was supposed to. An unexplainable sense of loss crept over him and he quivered in response, shaking his head at the strange feelings.

“Guess I’ll never know.”

 

 

1

 

Ontario, Canada–Three years later– the third week of December

 

Closing the door behind him with the stealth of a hunting cat, James didn’t turn on the lights of his high-rise hotel room. “Free at last.” He exhaled with a relieved sigh. His relief lasted only a moment, however. Without warning, the lights suddenly blazed on and a low, sexy voice purred, “Surprise!”

Startled, he jumped even though he had halfway expected his uninvited and unwelcome visitor. “What th’ feckin’ hell are ye doing in my room?” he demanded, his accent becoming more pronounced in his anger. He cringed, unable to escape the thought that the groupies seemed to get younger every year.

The leggy blonde sauntered toward him, discarding her clothing piece by piece. “Now is that any way to talk to the woman who’s going to keep you up the rest of the night?” she cooed.

Her suggestive words scraped his nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Raising his hands palms up, he backed away from her and said, “That’s it. I’m callin’ security.” He reached for the phone and she immediately closed the distance between them, running her hands all over his body in an obvious attempt to dissuade him.

“Don’t. Please. Let me show you how good I can be,” she begged, tugging at the zipper on his jeans.

He took a deep, calming breath and pushed her away as gently as he could. “If you get dressed and leave–and I mean right this minute, darlin’–I won’t call. I’ll give you to the count of ten.”

The young woman stared back at him, saucer-eyed in disbelief.

“Ten, nine…best get moving, love…” James stood with legs braced apart and his arms folded across his chest.

With a choked noise somewhere between anger and anguish, she snatched up her discarded clothes and began yanking them back on.

“…eight, seven…”

“All right, all right,” she snapped, “I get it.” Pulling her strategically ripped tank top over her head she mumbled through the thin fabric, “I thought maybe…that we...sorry I bothered you.”

James took pity on the disappointed groupie. With his most disarming smile he captured her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “Darlin’, I’m sure I’ll be regrettin’ this moment for the rest of my life, because I know without a doubt we would have been wonderful together. I’m just out of sorts tonight. It’s me, sweetheart, certainly not you, lovely as you are.” He walked to the door and held it open for her as a broad hint. The young woman managed to summon the tiniest bit of dignity as she stalked past him, chin raised. He closed the door behind her and locked it securely.

After scouring the room to ensure no more unwelcome surprises, he cracked the balcony door open for some fresh air. Replacing his jeans with a pair of soft cotton sweats and tugging off his t-shirt, he turned off the lights again. He collapsed onto the bed and had nearly dozed off when the phone rang.

“Seamus! Did I catch you at a bad time?” a familiar voice asked.

James sat up, elated to hear his older brother on the other end of the line. “Nope, sorry. This room belongs to James Kelly, beloved and adored by millions the world over.”

“Seamus…”

“James–I mean, if you’re after calling me and all, the least you could do is use my name proper like…”

      “My brother’s name is Seamus. That’s the name Ma sewed into his bloomers so that he’d know which way they went on.”

      “You’re such an arsehole, Ian. I never…”

      James could hear the grin in Ian’s voice. “No, but it might have saved you a lot of grief if she did. So, did I catch you at a bad time or not? “

“No, not at all, just finished…tidying my room a bit,” he said. “How are you? Is everything all right?”

Ian laughed. “Everything’s fine. I just called to give you a bit of news. I asked Lily to marry me and she said yes.”

“Em…bad connection, I think. Sounded like you said you and Lily are getting married. Didn’t see anything on the news about hell freezing over.”

Ian laughed again. “Nope, you heard right. We’re getting married.”

James whooped in delight. “It’s about time. I’m deliriously happy for you, old man. Can’t wait to meet her.”

“I’ve got to talk to her da to get his approval, but I think he’ll agree to it,” he explained, his voice softening. “I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am, Seamus.”

“I’m happy for you, my brother. Set a date yet?”

“Not yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can. You’ll be here, right? I can’t get married without you here.”

James smiled into the darkness. “I’ll be there, come hell or high water. You won’t keep me away.” Changing the subject, he asked, “How are you feeling these days?”

“Pretty good. I still get headaches here and there, doctor said they might be ongoing. They’re manageable, though. Lily’s good as new, thankfully,” Ian said. “I’m sure you’re busy doing rock star stuff, so I won’t keep you. It’s good talking to you, Seamus. I miss you, pompous wee git.” After a pause, he added quietly, “Are you well? You don’t sound so good.”

James felt a lump form in his throat. “I’m grand, thanks, just…a little tired. I miss you too, you big bastard. Call me as soon as you set the date so I can schedule around it.” He lay back on the bed after the call ended, letting the phone slip from his fingers. Ian willingly settling down and get married–that was something James never thought he’d see.

For a long time he drifted lost in thought, absently fingering the Celtic touchstone suspended on a leather thong around his throat. He untied it and held it tightly in his hand, running his fingers over the smooth surface. Within moments, he had turned the bedside light on and was digging around in his suitcase.

“Where’d you get off to,” he muttered, going through pocket after pocket of the oversized bag. He finally found the worn linen pouch hiding near the bottom and grunted in triumph. Taking his prize over to the table, he opened it up to pull out a cigarette lighter, an old white candle stub and a wooden holder. He held up the homemade candle and peered closely at it, still able to smell the fragrant oil Grandmother had rubbed on it. “No, dressed, Ian called it,” James corrected himself, lowering his voice to mimic Ian’s slightly deeper one, “and not to be used for romancing women in your room.” Smiling at the memory of his brother’s stern warning, he took a deep breath and lit the blackened wick, setting it in the holder.

He sat back in the chair and took several deep breaths, staring fixedly into the flame. He remembered his grandmother’s implicit instructions. Light the candle, ask the question, snuff–never blow–the flame and let the rising smoke carry the question to the wind.

Clearing his throat, he began to speak in a hushed whisper. “I want to find someone of my own, someone who will love me for me, not just because of who I am. Who is she? Where is she? What should I be looking for? How much longer am I going to have to wait for her?”

I’m gonna need a bigger candle, he thought with a wry smile. “Okay, last question. How will I know her when I see her?” When no mysterious voice issued forth from the flame–and James half-expected there would be one–he sat a few more minutes thinking about what he had asked for, then licked his fingertips and deftly pinched the flame between thumb and forefinger.

The rising smoke from the candle drifted toward the open balcony door and was gone within seconds. When he was certain all the smoke was out, he slid the door closed, then lay back on the bed. Sleep eluded him for nearly an hour before he gave up and reached for the TV remote.

“Wonder how I’m going to know her when I see her,” he mused. “Maybe there’ll be a clue or something. Trumpets…trumpets would be good.” He turned on the TV and began surfing through the channels.

He landed on a public broadcast channel concert featuring five men singing Celtic music. The group moved from one familiar song into the next. James gave a low whistle of approval. “Man, they’re tight. Good harmonies,” he said, singing along with the traditional “Raggle Taggle Gypsy.”

That was the last song before the commercial break so James moved on, his eyelids beginning to droop. His next stop was a classic movie channel. He watched as Charles Laughton’s Quasimodo tried valiantly to save the beautiful Esmeralda in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. “Sanctuary,” he murmured in sympathy.

Another commercial and he began surfing again, landing on an infomercial for a Sounds of the 70’s CD package. When the image of Cher singing “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” filled his screen, he watched only a moment before clicking the TV off and tossing the remote on the nightstand.

He yawned wide and shrugged. “I’ll have to keep my eyes open,” he said. Pulling the spread and sheet up over him, he had one last fleeting thought before sleep finally claimed him. If Ian found someone maybe there’s hope for me yet.

* * * *

Myrtle Beach, SC–Three months later, Early Spring

 

Aaron Nicholson sat behind the oak desk in his expansive eighth-floor office, one hand drumming anxiously while the other clutched a bottle of Maalox. It was only 10am, but his stomach already felt like it was on fire and he knew without a doubt he had yet another ulcer coming on. When he got the phone call demanding an appointment last week, the pain started and hadn’t let up. He wasn’t in the habit of naming his ulcers, but by God he was going to christen this one James Kelly in honor of the man he was certain had triggered this latest flare up. He glanced out the window at the traffic whizzing by on Oak Street, wondering what he had done to deserve this latest internal assault.

James was the lead singer for his hottest and most lucrative commodity, the rock band Horizon. Their CD sales and merchandising were through the roof and scores of screaming fans mobbed them wherever they went. Every venue they played sold out within minutes. The show in Charleston the night before had been amazing with three encores and the crowd still chanting for more even as the band climbed into their limos to leave for the hotel. He had been their manager long enough to know that not everything was as rosy as he desperately tried to pretend and had the sneaking suspicion that this was the reason for Mr. Kelly’s visit this morning.

“Musicians,” he growled, taking another sip of the antacid. He looked up at the framed promotional poster on the wall of James in all his glory–wailing into his microphone, head thrown back a la a young David Coverdale, his open shirt showcasing the muscles of his chest and stomach. Twenty-three years old with eyes of dark emerald green, bedroom hair and a devilish grin that made female hormones stand up and salute, he was “six feet of gorgeous,” Aaron’s thirteen year old daughter had proclaimed, insisting her father introduce her to the talented young star. He categorically denied her on the grounds that he was certain just being in the same room with the man was a danger to her virginity. Eying his bottle of antacid morosely, he wondered if it was going to last the entire day. He doubted it.

A few minutes after ten, the intercom buzzed. “Mr. Nicholson, Mr. Kelly is here,” his persistently pert assistant chirped. It took all his strength not slam his head onto his desk surface just to end it quickly. He pressed the response button. “Thank you, Marie. Send him in, please.”

James Kelly had so much raw charisma Aaron felt the presence before he actually laid eyes on the man. Rock music’s favorite wild child strode into the room like he was on a mission, shadowed by a slightly taller, longer-haired version of the young Irishman. Fuck me, he’s brought reinforcements, he thought. Death by desktop was starting to look good.

“James! What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to my humble office this morning?” Aaron forced out a hearty laugh coupled with what he desperately hoped was a sincere smile. “And this is… he said slowly, knowing the family resemblance was so strong it could be none other than one of his brothers. On closer inspection, he realized which brother and one of his older ulcers flared up in recognition.

“You remember Ian,” James said curtly and without waiting to be invited took a seat on the sofa. Aaron and Ian exchanged a curt nod in greeting and Ian walked over to stand by the window, arms folded across his chest as he watched the traffic. Aaron sagged inwardly. Not good. Not good at all.

“I’m here to talk about my contract,” James began, stretching his long, jean-clad legs out before him.

Aaron stifled the look of panic he was certain swept across his face and swiveled around to look at Ian. “I’ll be delighted to discuss that with you, but wouldn’t you prefer that we talk privat–” James cut him off with an irritated wave of his hand.

“He stays. I’ll cut straight to the chase. My contract is up in July and I want some time off. I’ve spent the last three years dragging my ass around the world for you and I’m tired, Aaron. I need a break.”

Aaron forced another smile. “There’s nothing scheduled yet after the end of the tour in June, so I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t take a couple of weeks off…”

James cocked an eyebrow and snorted. “That’d be like throwing a deck chair off the Queen Mary to lighten the load. A week or two isn’t going to make a dent in the amount of tired I. . .