by Ellie Simpson
Kyra Marchbanks has vowed never to use magic again after learning, first-hand, the results can be deadly. But she finds her powers are stronger than she is when she accidentally conjures the man of her dreams. It's going to take more than sorcery to prevent her from falling in love.
Alexander Smith doesn't believe in magic. Or didn't--until he finds himself under Kyra's spell. It takes the combined efforts of Kyra's meddling business partners and her crazy old grandmother to teach Alex and Kyra to believe in the magic of love.
Alexander Smith doesn't believe in magic. Or didn't--until he finds himself under Kyra's spell. It takes the combined efforts of Kyra's meddling business partners and her crazy old grandmother to teach Alex and Kyra to believe in the magic of love.
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SPELL BOUND
Chapter 1
“Just a bang job today, please,” Kyra Marchbanks requested as she settled into the chair at her local Curl Up and Dye hair salon.
“We’re running a special this week,” Bella-Star, the hair stylist said. “A henna treatment would bring out your natural highlights. Give a little lightness to your mousey brown hair. No offense…”
Kyra forced a smile. “None taken.”
“I can henna you up for only twenty-nine bucks, and that includes a full cut and style, not just the bangs.”
Kyra looked at Bella Star’s reflection in the mirror and thought those ruby-red lips would look too large were they not counterbalanced by a mane of highly-teased, golden-red hair. While attractive, Bella-Star looked like a high maintenance kind of girl. And probably had no shortage of male attention.
Kyra was the exact opposite. She wouldn’t even be at the salon today if she hadn’t heard some of her co-workers comment on how she looked like a Pekinese at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show when she clipped her bangs on top of her head. If she didn’t, they hung lifeless and straggly below her nose and made it impossible to see her computer screen. But she probably did look a little ridiculous. Okay, a lot ridiculous. And, she admitted, they were rather ticklish.
Today’s visit to Bella-Star was for practical reasons only and had absolutely nothing to do with her desire to improve her appearance. She wasn’t trying to draw attention from any member of the male population. In fact, she’d sworn off men. For the rest of her life. Couldn’t trust one as far as she could throw one. And considering she stood barely five-feet tall, weighed ninety-nine pounds dripping wet and hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a can of soup for the past two years, she couldn’t throw a man very far.
“Okay. Let’s try it!” Kyra slapped her had over her mouth. Too late; the words had already escaped.
Damn it! Kyra detected a little red magic at work here. Someone had cast a Peacock Spell over her. And now she would be amenable to any and all suggestions to improve her looks. She’d have to confront Myra
Until then, Kyra would have to be stronger than the red magic. She opened her mouth to tell the hairdresser she’d changed her mind, then slammed it shut again, tucking her lips between her teeth as she did. She’d come this close to requesting an eyebrow weave like the one advertised on the sign on the wall above. There was some powerful magic at work here. Without so much as a protective amulet in her possession, Kyra was at the mercy of the spell weaver. Or weavers, plural.
“Come on back to the sink and we’ll get you washed out,” Bella-Star said.
Kyra slipped out of the chair and followed in the wake of Bella-Star’s clap/slapping stilettos. Blinking against the ammonia cloud fostered by permanent wave solution being applied to two customers and the scent of hairspray swirling with the soft music and loud chatter, Kyra was transported back to a time when she’d enjoyed making herself beautiful--both for herself and for her man. But that was all in the past.
“Here we go, sweetie.” Bella-Star motioned for Kyra to sit in the chrome and black-vinyl chair while whipping out, toreador-style, a bubblegum-pink cape.
Kyra sat and tried not to squirm while Bella-Star trussed her up in pinkness.
“Just lie back now. Do you prefer vanilla or honeysuckle shampoo?”
“I really don’t care. Whatever’s easiest.” Kyra positioned her neck in the vise of the cold, stainless-steel sink and braced herself for the water to hit.
“Vanilla it is, then.”
Cold water squirted her head then slowly warmed to a comfortable temperature. She relaxed against the sensations of a scalp massage as the stylist lathered, rinsed and repeated. Kyra hated it. Or tried to convince herself she hated it. But if truth be told, it felt good. Very good. It had been two years, to the day, Kyra realized, since she had enjoyed any form of physical contact with another human. That human had been her fiancé. Kyra shook of the memories and forced herself to pay attention to Bella-Star’s monologue on Hollywood gossip.
“I hope Randolph Moynihan fries for what he did to that sweet Tracey Anne Williams. They said it was a hate crime. I think it was a crime of love. He loved her more than she loved him. He couldn’t take it. Didn’t want to lose her, so he killed her. Can you imagine ever loving someone so much that you have to kill them?”
“Mmm-hmm,” was all the response Kyra could mutter in response as Bella-Star’s fingers had hypnotized Kyra into a catatonic state.
“You do?” Bella-Star asked.
“Sure. I’m guilty of it myself.”
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