Art restorer Maddy Cardinale loves her job. In fact, the only downside to working the night shift at her prestigious New York museum is fellow restorer Cash Vinci. As charismatic as they come, Cash is the most confident man she has ever known. He’s also handsome, sexy as hell, and determined to get under her skin, no matter what the cost.
When an unusual painting arrives at the museum, neither of them anticipates the magic unleashed by a fleeting touch of the canvas. Suddenly, Cash and Maddy aren’t in their workshop any more. They are both dressed to kill, plunged into the alternate reality of the posh 1940’s nightclub portrayed in the painting. Even worse, the couple learns all too quickly that the club sells more than drinks, and the only reason Maddy doesn’t have to offer more than a dance to the male clientele is because everyone believes she is engaged to Cash.
Dependent on one another as never before, the pair must work together in order to unravel the spell that has them trapped. Vengeful ex-girlfriends, jealous mobsters, and surprise enemies drive the couple into each other’s beds and hearts, sharing secrets as well as passions. The only question is, will they survive long enough to admit their true feelings to each other? Or will their dance be cut short?
EXCERPT
“Did I miss a memo about dress for the gym day?”
The amused baritone from the doorway made her jump, and Maddy jerked away from where she’d been examining the painting. “What?”
Chuckling, Cash dropped his umbrella by the door, followed by his backpack on the nearest stool. He was dressed as he always was, long legs encased in well-worn blue jeans, broad shoulders clearly outlined by a plain dark t-shirt. There wasn’t a speck of rain to be seen on him, not even in his short dark hair. It had that slight bed-head look he always favored—probably because an unfortunate girl told him it was attractive years and years ago, Maddy thought—and his light green eyes danced with some unknown amusement.
His smile was wide, his dimples deep as his gaze swept over her. “You still haven’t bought a brolly, have you?”
Maddy pursed her lips together. He did this on purpose, used terminology to heighten his British accent. While she was immune to it, the other female employees in the museum seemed to love the way he spoke. She spent a lot of her time trying to convince them that he wasn’t the sexiest thing to hit New York since Hugh Jackman on Broadway.
“You’re late,” she said, her voice like ice.
“Noticed that, huh?” He sauntered around the table to lean against the edge at her side. “Miss me when I’m not around?”
“In your dreams, Cash.”
“And here I thought Ava would never tell. At least tell me she didn’t mention the part with you in the black leather cossie.” His gaze swept over her again, this time lingering on the t-shirt’s wording across her chest. “On second thought, I think I might like this better. Just tell me this isn’t your notion of pillow talk. That would be sad, even for you.”
“Arghhhh!” With a cry of disgusted alarm, Maddy stormed away from the workbench, her hands over her ears. The sound of Cash’s laughter still managed to filter through, but the image of the pair of them wrapped up in some BDSM fantasy was already burned on her brain.
“Lighten up,” she heard him say. When she risked a glance back, she saw his clear gaze resting on her. “We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. If you’re going to turn into an uptight bitch this early, we’re never going to make it.”
Fury ripped through her, and she glared at him as she retreated to the project she’d left the previous night. “That only works if you don’t talk to me,” she snapped.
“Actually, it works just as well if you learn how to take a joke.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep back the retort. They could go on like this all night if she didn’t put a stop to it right now.
The room fell silent while Maddy turned her attention to the tiny fresco she’d spent the last three days cleaning. Though the small panel had been her joy when they had first received it at the museum, the colors now seemed flat and lifeless, devoid of the same type of light that filled Cash’s painting. Empty faces stared back at her, and she had to fight not to push the thing away and return to staring at the Fred and Ginger extravaganza.
“What’s this?”
Cash’s question was enough of an excuse to look up from her work. “A present from one of your secret admirers,” she said when she saw him appraising the painting. At his frown, she clarified, “It came in today’s mail for you. No return address.”
Taking a step away from the table, Cash scanned the nearby area until he saw the discarded brown wrapping paper, then bent to pick it up. Laying it out on the table, he smoothed down the edges while his green eyes flickered across its surface, ascertaining the verity of Maddy’s claim for himself.
“You opened this?” he asked.
The guarded tone of his voice set her on edge. No good humor left. Shit. He was going to be pissy about this one all night.
“Actually, Ava—” The way his eyes shot up to bore into her made her halt in mid-fib, and Maddy’s cheeks heated under the intensity. Somehow, he could always see through her when she tried to lie to him. “—told me about it,” she finished lamely. “It looked like a painting, and I thought it might’ve been mislabeled since you don’t do those. I don’t suppose it rings any bells for you.”
Cash shook his head, his gaze shifting back to the painting. “No clang clang for this trolley,” he muttered.
Rising from her stool, Maddy ventured back around the workbench, standing at Cash’s elbow as he regarded the picture. “I can tell you it’s not old,” she said. “And not done by any artist I’m familiar with. That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful, though. Like a snapshot out of an old movie where everyone dresses to the nines and nobody has a care in the world except to dance.”
Though she meant every word, it was said hoping to distract him. Something about the painting was making Cash jittery, and the last thing she wanted was to make him even more unpredictable than usual. His next few words, though, confused her even further.
“Appearances can be deceiving, Maddy.” It was barely above a whisper, his attention rapt on the figures before him. As she watched, his hand reached out to touch the gilt frame, a single fingertip etching the curls and swoops before drifting closer to the painting itself.
“What’re you doing?” she said, alarmed. Her hand shot forward, grabbing him by the wrist to pull him away. “You never touch the canvas without a glove on. You idiot, you know that.”
But she couldn’t move him. His muscles were locked rigid beneath her grip. And for whatever reason, her fingers wouldn’t uncurl from him, either.
