The Marquis and the Magician's Assistant

  The Marquis and the Magician’s Assistant

  The Rebel Royals Book 4

  Shanae Johnson

  Copyright © 2019, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.

  Edited by Alyssa Breck

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition July 2019

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  Also by Shanae Johnson

  Chapter One

  “Ladies and gentleman," called the young, fresh-faced man in a top hat and tails. "I, the Great Blaze Mercury, will astound you with an age-old trick, the skill most desired by men, and that is to saw a woman in half."

  There were a few catcalls and whoops from the skeleton audience in the theater. It wasn't showtime, just a rehearsal. As the show's financial backer and producer, Omar al Shariff, the Marquis of Navarre of the island nation of Córdoba, settled into the cushions of the couch just off stage. He had a front row seat to the actual action. As he'd learned in these last couple of weeks since he'd taken a step into the wondrous world of magic, the real action happened behind the curtain.

  Just off to the side of the stage, a tiny brunette heaved a weary sigh before she took beleaguered steps towards the baby-faced magician. She had a dancer’s body and grace. Her long, brown locks were swept up high on her head, but a few tendrils escaped the coiled bun to caress her swan's neck. She swayed like a willow dancing on a light breeze as she made her way across the stage. She had elongated limbs that ended in perfectly arched points, whether they be her arched toes in satin heels or her elegant fingers that fanned out as she spread her arms when she came up beside the magician.

  "My assistant, the beautiful and sexy Lark Voorheen here will step into this box," said Mercury the Great. He held out his hand to the magician's assistant. Lark gave the man a death glare and stepped around his proffered hand.

  Omar grinned at the fire in her eyes and the bladed edge of that tight smile. He knew the woman's wit was sharp, and her tongue could cut a man into a thousand tiny pieces before he knew that man was in trouble. The magician was in trouble.

  "You know you're setting Women's Liberation back with your cheesy jokes and this even cheesier trick," came Lark's biting pronouncement. "Our worth is already calculated at less than the value of a man's. Now you want to cut me in half?"

  The magician bit his upper lip, revealing unnaturally straight teeth that could have only been the result of years of orthodontic intervention. His Adam's apple worked up and down, like the gears of a broken clock trying to figure out if the time on the dial indicated whether it was day or night. Finally, the young man laughed. But it came out like the sound of a scared hyena.

  "That time of the month, my dear?" And then the fool had the audacity to pat her hands before turning to address the audience. "Don't worry, everyone. No blood will be spilled."

  Omar was certain the subtle change in Lark's face could be seen from the back of the theater. The inner corner of her catlike eyes narrowed ever so slightly. That perfectly, heart-shaped mouth pinched just at the divot in the center, making her lips even more plump and rounded.

  If it wasn't clear to the peanut gallery in the audience before, it was clear to everyone in the room that the magician was in serious trouble. The magician's assistant’s mouth smoothed out into a smile so sweet and captivating that the Great Mercury gasped. A few other men in the seats gasped as well; a slight, swift intake of breath that said loud and clear I'm under your spell.

  Omar felt a sharp thud in his chest. He'd gasped too. He'd already known he was in trouble from the first moment he saw that woman.

  Lark stepped into the cheap plywood box that would render her in two. The magician went about putting in the stocks that would hold her head and feet in place. He chattered on while he went about his preparations.

  Omar wasn't paying attention to him anymore. No one in the theater was. All attention was rapt on the woman whose gaze hadn't ceased its calculating gleam since she'd arrived on the stage.

  The buzzing of a saw sounded. It began to lower toward Lark. The blade hit the top of the box, and wood splinters began to fly. Then the wrenching sound of gears was like a record scratch on the performance. The blade sped up.

  "Wait, that's not supposed to happen." The magician fumbled with the blade. But he couldn't stop the sharp wheel from spinning. Splinters flew faster, farther.

  "Turn it off, you idiot," said Lark. Her calculating eyes now filled with terror as the splinters made way for the blade to pierce her flesh.

  A second later, Lark's pretty mouth opened on a scream. A different gasp went through the audience, one of uncertainty. Omar leaped from the comfort of the couch just as the blade hit pay dirt.

  Red splattered from the crevices of the wood box. Men rushed to the stage. Omar was just at the edge of the curtain when Lark slipped out of the box.

  Her long limbs were attached. Her torso was an unblemished hourglass. Her hands were in the air, fingers fanning in a pose of ta-dah.

  "Relax," she crooned, sending the audience a wink. "I'm good. It's him you need to worry about." Lark turned and shoved the magician into the open box.

  "What most people don't understand about magic is that it's all an illusion," Lark continued. With a few flicks of her wrist, she had Mercury secured. Ignoring the man's protests, she reset the blade and aimed it for his torso. "Magician's wave their hands and shout silly words all to distract. Meanwhile, it's the assistant that does all the work."

  The blade made its way through the magician's body. Lark began to pull the box apart but stopped.

  "Oh, right, say the magic word."

  The audience, now assured of her safety and apparently not caring about the magician's fate said the word; abracadabra.

  Lark leaned against the box, speaking conversationally and completely unconcerned about the mutilated man in the box. "Do you know that even that word is believed to be sexist? Ab is Hebrew for father. Ben means son. I'm telling you, it's like they were asking for it."

  She pulled apart the box with a flourish to reveal that the magician was, in fact, sawed in half.

  The small crowd roared with approval, and Omar knew he had a hit on his hand. A magic show where the female assistant was the star. When Lark had brought the idea to him a few weeks ago, he hadn't immediately seen its potential. Admittedly, he'd been far too distracted by the woman's legs. But he couldn't afford another distraction in his life.

  Omar had a rule. He didn't date performers. Especially ones that worked for him. Anymore.

  And so he'd kept his distance. In his personal life. But in matters of business, it was clear to see that Lark, a former magician's assistant herself, was pure magic.

  Her show had everything. Glitz, glamor, humor, and a beautiful woman outsmarting a bumbling man. It was going to be a hit! Not only that but working with such a beautiful woman and not having any romantic ties would restore his reputation in the industry.

  In his long career, Omar had dated exactly one woman whom he'd brought into the spotlight. And it had been a glaring disaster. But public perception would've made anyone believe he'd dated an entire chorus line. It was not a good look for business, especially in a day and age where predators were being outed from the casting couch.

  Omar rose from his place on the backstage couch. He was not that kind of producer. He was not that kind of man. With his dark good looks, a noble title, and old money, he had no need to prey on women. Aside from all that, his mother had raised him to respect women above others.

  "She's pretty."

  Omar’s hackles raised at the sound of that husky voice. His legs felt weary, and he sat back down. He might have been taught to respect all women. But he wasn't fool enough to give respect back to a woman who had none for herself or others.

  “What are you doing here, Summer?” Omar turned to face his ex.

  Summer Briggs had the same long and lean form as Lark. But she was more lines than curves, which meant there was nothing much to hold onto. After Omar had given her a boost up onto the stage, she’d slipped through his fingers. And then to add insult to injury, she’d stepped on the hands that had lifted her up.

  “Just checking out the competition,” said Summer. “You said we could still be friends.”

  “No, you said that. I don’t think we ever were friends.”

  “Well, let’s start now. Let’s go out. I was thinking we would have a great time together at the royal wedding.”

  Oh. So, that’s what this was about. She wasn’t checking out Lark’s show. Summer didn’t b
elieve she had any competition. But she also didn’t have a way into the highly anticipated, extremely exclusive, invite-only wedding of the King of Córdoba and his American bride. One did have to have friends to get one of the coveted invitations. As one of King Leo’s oldest and closest friends, Omar was the first to get one.

  “Sorry, Summer. My invitation says plus one, and you subtracted yourself from my life when you broke your contract to sign with Rancik Entertainment.”

  Omar didn’t mention that she’d broken his heart as well as their contract. He had truly believed that Summer cared for him. She was a fine actress.

  Summer pouted her lips, preparing another award-winning performance. She plopped down on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Omar turned away and came face to face with his new rising star.

  “Sorry,” said Lark, lifting an eyebrow as she regarded him. “‘I’ll come back later.”

  “No, not at all.” Omar stood, displacing Summer off to the side of the couch. “We were done long ago.”

  Lark lifted the other brow at him.

  Omar thought it best not to try to explain any further. “I’m working here, Summer. Do you mind?”

  Summer brushed her skirt off and stood. Her shrewd gaze took Lark in. “Enjoy the ride while it lasts, honey. He’ll discard you the second he’s done with you.”

  Omar wanted to protest. Not only was Summer the only one in his employment he’d ever dated, but she was also the one who had left him.

  “He could try,” said Lark. “But I know magic. I’m very good at hiding bodies.”

  Omar chuckled. Yeah, Lark was a perfect distraction. He’d already forgotten Summer’s presence. His full attention was on Lark.

  “Have a seat,” he said to her, indicating the spot next to him on the couch.

  Chapter Two

  Larked eyed the empty space on the couch. There was still a slight indent in it from where the last woman had landed after Omar had tossed her aside.

  Instead of sitting, Lark stayed right where she was. She stood with her knees pressed together, her arms crossed over her chest, and her chin high. Even though he sat, Omar was still eye level with her.

  Omar was a tall man; tall, dark, and handsome. He was truly the most beautifully put together man she'd ever seen in her life. And she'd been a dancer amongst some of the prettiest men in the world. If that weren't enough, he was also rich and titled. Omar oozed with the power of an ancient sheik with the aristocratic manners of a Victorian gentleman.

  The Marquis of Navarre looked as though he'd just walked out of the desert and into civilization. His sun-kissed skin was somewhere between bronze and golden even in the dim backstage fluorescents. His dark gaze fairly gleamed as he regarded her, chuckling at Lark's set down of the woman who was storming, rather loudly, off the stage.

  Those eyes of his, sometimes hazel brown, other times honey golden, challenged Lark as he patted the empty seat. Tiger's eyes; that was the stone they reminded her of. It was also the predator the marquis made her think of.

  The man was dangerous with his sleek beauty and his toothsome grin. But Lark knew better than to get too close. And so she stayed off the couch and away from the man.

  "Sorry about that," Omar said.

  Lark had to take a deep breath. Even his voice reached out to her, trying to curl its talons around her and urge her closer to him. She took a step but only to plant her feet in a wide stance to hold her ground.

  "Former client," Omar continued.

  "She thought she could still have company benefits?"

  Instead of wincing in anger, Omar's bright gaze sparked with surprise. He threw his head back and let out another laugh. A hearty and full one this time. Lark caught sight of a few dark bristles just beneath his chin. The tiny hairs were trying to climb up that strong jaw.

  She didn't blame them their path. Just beyond his jaw rested the lushest set of lips Lark had yet to encounter. Those were claiming lips; a full bottom lip that would take a woman's entire mouth if she wasn't careful.

  Lark shook herself, reminding herself to be careful around this man. But she was growing weary from the internal struggle. She took a few tentative steps forward and sat at the farthest edge of the couch. It didn't matter. Omar's presence was so big that even though there was a cushion between them, the sheer heat of him crept over her, like the rays of the sun on a hot summer's day.

  He stretched his arm along the backside of the couch. His fingertips could've brushed her shoulder, making it so far as to touch the loose tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck. But he didn't. He kept his hands to himself.

  Lark couldn't discern if she was pleased with his deference or disappointed by his restraint. Omar al Shariff had her in a precarious situation. He had agreed to back her show. The terms of the agreement were very fair. And, so far, he'd given her the leeway to run the show as she'd envisioned.

  She had to be missing something. He had to be up to something. At any moment, the other shoe was going to drop.

  "I can't believe that's the opening you came up with," he said.

  And so it began ...

  "I was out of my seat, even though you told me what was going to happen," he continued. His predator's eyes shone with wonder and awe as he gazed down at her. "This is going to be a hit."

  That was it? He liked it? He wasn't going to make any changes? Lark was at a loss.

  She was used to being shoved into boxes by men. She was used to them throwing darts and just barely missing some vital organ on her person. And now she sat, on a couch in the back of a theater, with no one else around, and the producer sang her praises and kept his hands to himself. In fact, he had never made a pass at her since the first day they'd met.

  Lark had been trying to peg him since she'd seen him lounging bar side on a luxury yacht. Even while relaxing, he'd brought to mind a panther, always at the ready to strike. But Lark had struck first.

  She'd known who he was; one of Europe's most influential and successful entertainment producers. He had made many a career. He was also notorious for dating his female starlets.

  While staying at the home of the Duke of Mondego with her best friend, Lark had put on an impromptu show. The marquis had quirked a regal brow at her performance and handed her his card. She'd taken that card and ran with it. This was her shot, her chance to do magic on her own terms. She was not going to blow it because her new boss was hotter than the sun.

  "Do you think the full show will be ready by the end of the month?" he asked.

  "Absolutely. Just a few more days of rehearsal and we'll be good to go."

  "I'm glad to hear it."

  He turned to her. When he did so, his hand brushed her shoulder cap. Lark jerked out of his reach, but not before a sizzling shudder went down her spine and curled her toes.

  Here it was. The come on. She was ready for it.

  Omar lifted his hand up in a stop-motion. He grinned at her. Lark made sure to note the sharpness of his white teeth. Those canines would lure a lesser woman in and tear her apart. Luckily, Lark was made of stronger stuff.

  "Despite what you just saw, you should know that I don't date talent."

  Lark was unmoved. It was how they all began, playing the abstinence card. And then, when they made their move, she was led to feel special that they made an exception for her. That was before they took a bite out of her.

  "You have a lot of talent," Omar continued. "And I think you know it."

  This talk was not going the way she'd expected. In fact, nothing about this man was as she'd expected. He kept surprising her at every turn. And he was spinning her around again.

  "You've been overlooked and undervalued your entire career. Not any longer. We're going to make magic together, Ms. Voorheen. Although we should do something about that last name. It doesn't roll off the tongue."