Bedspell. Jule Mcbride

Yes, she’d done a great job, if she had to say so herself. Tonight, presumably anticipating her promotion, Edmond had entrusted her with the responsibility of logging the borrowed artworks into the archives department, arranging them on the pedestals and even flipping the alarm switch that protected the pieces from theft. From start to finish, this display was her baby.

      “Those statues are something to behold,” commented Diane, catching her gaze.

      “Well hung,” added Mara dryly.

      Signe grinned. Most of the figurines were fertility gods with noticeably disproportionate male hardware.

      Diane pointed, laughing. “I think I dated him once.”

      “You wish,” joked Mara.

      C.C’s voice sharpened. “Here comes Mister Wonderful!”

      Signe braced herself. “He’s so…out of my league.” While her parents were professionals in Minneapolis—her father was a lawyer, her mother a history teacher—their lives were modest compared to Gorgeous’s jet-setting lifestyle.

      “Don’t sell yourself short,” said Mara. “You’ve got that Winona Ryder thing going for you.”

      “True.” Everybody thought she looked exactly like the movie actress. “But that might not be a plus. “She was arrested for shoplifting, remember?” Signe said nervously.

      “That was years ago,” Diane assured.

      Signe barely heard. Her knees weakened as Gorgeous came nearer. He was definitely…well, gorgeous, dressed as a seventeenth-century courtier. A richly embroidered purple cape swirled over a white doublet with a standing ruffled collar. A sword was strapped to his narrow hips, and it thrust from beneath the cape, its sheathed length brushing tight breeches. Signe’s eyes riveted to the pants fly, which was tightly laced over a bulge that the man was hardly bothering to hide.

      All three women blew out a shaky breath in unison.

      C.C. softly whispered, “You go, girl.”

      Realizing that every muscle in her body had tightened, Signe forced herself to inhale as she lifted her gaze, taking in the rakish white-blond wig that hung to his powerful shoulders. He was wearing a conical velvet hat in lush purple.

      “Well, we’re off, Sig,” whispered C.C.

      “Don’t forget to get something from him,” coached Mara. “His pen. Or a lighter.”

      “Something you can throw into the wiccan’s cauldron,” said Diane.

      At the thought of casting a spell on Gorgeous Garrity, Signe felt pin prickles actually rise at her nape. Should she cast a spell to marry him, she wondered, or just have sex? “Casting a spell won’t work.”

      “Probably not, but it’s worth a try,” said Mara.

      C.C. was scissoring her fingers in a goodbye wave. “See you in the morning at Sarah’s. Let’s make it ten o’clock.”

      Eyes on Gorgeous, Signe nodded. “See you.”

      Her heart was still hammering when Gorgeous leaned casually over the bar a moment later. Somehow she managed to find her voice. “What can I get for you?” She paused. “George.”

      He flashed a dazzling, hundred-watt smile that was like something straight out of the movies. “You can get me out of here,” he said confidentially. “If I’m accosted by one more milkmaid who wants a date, I’m going to scream.”

      As Signe strained to hear him over the beating of her own heart, she vaguely wondered at the power this man seemed to wield over her. “Get you out of here?” she echoed. “Where would you like me to take you?”

      “Where a woman like you could,” Gorgeous said with an easy grin. “We could start with heaven and just take it from there.”

      When it came to flirtation, the man had a thousand smooth moves. Every time he got this close to her, Signe felt like Cinderella. Right now, she’d almost chuck her life dream of working at the Met, just to drag him into the cloakroom and divest him of his costume. Who cared what her boss would think? Despite her nervousness, she shot Gorgeous what she hoped was a game smile. “Well, you’ve got to admit that the art’s interesting.”

      “Very. I think my uncle Harold lent Jack some pieces.” Jack was the computer mogul.

      As Signe tried to imagine a life in which one lent others personally owned priceless artifacts for parties, she glanced around, noting the number of cute, costumed kids who’d been brought to the party by their parents. “Really?” she managed to say.

      He nodded. “Among them, the statue of Eros.”

      Her cheeks warmed. Given the elongated penis of the fetish, she didn’t exactly want to stare at it, but then, she didn’t want to glance away too quickly, either. If she did, Gorgeous Garrity might think she was what her friends accused her of being—a prude. “I read about Eros in an art history class,” she said, returning her eyes to Gorgeous Garrity’s, which were blue and sparkling. “They say it brings sexual potency to whomever possesses it.” Just saying the word potency while staring into such astonishing eyes made her feel giddy.

      His lips curled in a half smile as if to say he was well aware of the fact. “Really? Well, maybe so. Uncle Harold’s been married more than once.”

      “Reproductions of the statue are sold in the gift shop. They do a booming business.”

      “Even a reproduction may ensure great sex?”

      “Apparently.”

      His smile broadened. “Do you have one?”

      “A statue of Eros?” Her heart missing a beat, she vaguely wondered how she should respond. Imagining Gorgeous in her Village apartment, naked and between the sheets, had occupied most of her dreams lately. Still, despite her girlfriends’ endless admonishments that she should loosen up, she didn’t want to give the impression that she was easy. She had no doubt that women flung themselves at Gorgeous Garrity all day. “No,” she finally admitted. “No Eros reproductions. I can, however, offer other types of potency.”

      Gorgeous looked very intrigued.

      Lifting a wine bottle, she raised an eyebrow in question.

      He considered. “What about a Stoli and tonic instead?”

      “Coming right up.” As she fixed the cocktail, her eyes slid over his costume. Most removable items—the sword, hat and belt—were too large or too hard to get for the purposes of the spell she meant to cast on him. She could borrow a pen, or ask for a business card….

      Her eyes settled on the edge of a red silk handkerchief tucked in his waistband. Just looking at him, she shuddered. He was big all over. The kind of guy who, naked, would be covered with silken curling hair—all dark blond in his case. His legs were bunched with muscle, probably from playing polo, which Signe knew he enjoyed. He flashed her a smile.

      She smiled back. She simply couldn’t believe it. Before she’d started this harmless flirting with Gorgeous, she’d never had sex on the brain—at least not like this. She considered herself sexually healthy, of course, but usually, when it came to men, she was much more practical. Gorgeous, despite his bank account and prospects, had looks that made her nerves quiver.

      Schooling her hand not to shake, she gave him the drink, then she stepped back and feigned a sneeze. Without hesitation, he lifted the red handkerchief from his waistband and pressed it to her palm. Making a show of blowing her nose, she smiled. The ploy had worked like a charm. “Why don’t I launder this?” she suggested. “I’ll keep it here for you, since you come in so often.”

      “And you’re always here,” he returned with another of those smiles that made her feel as if she was the only woman in the room. “Don’t they give you time off?”

      This was his entrée! Was New York City’s most eligible bachelor really