Dead Perfect (11 page)

“How did the signing go?” he asked.

“It was good.”

“Any sign of Overstreet or Hewitt?”

“No, at least I didn’t see them.”

“Good.”

“I need to change my clothes and touch up my makeup before we leave for the theater,” Shannah said. “Would you order me something to eat from room service?”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“A turkey sandwich and a small salad, please, and a glass of iced tea.”

Nodding, he picked up the receiver while she went into the bedroom to change.

Her dinner arrived a few minutes before she emerged from the bedroom.

Ronan whistled softly. She seemed to grow more beautiful each time he saw her. Tonight, she was wearing a deep blue silk dress that outlined every delectable curve and made her eyes glow like sapphires. She wore a pair of navy high heels that did wonderful things for her legs.

She twirled in front of him. “Do you like it?” she asked. “It cost a small fortune.”

“Believe me, it was worth that and more.”

Smiling, she sat at the table and spread a napkin in her lap. “I guess you’ve eaten?”

He nodded. “I’ll call for a cab so we won’t have to wait.”

Shannah ate quickly, her gaze darting to Ronan again and again. He couldn’t be more perfect if he had been sculpted by Michelangelo. His shoulders were broad, his arms and legs long and well-muscled, his face the epitome of masculine strength and beauty. And his eyes…she had never seen eyes like his. They were deep and dark and expressive; sometimes they were shadowed with pain she didn’t understand, at other times they were opaque, hiding secrets she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

He was pacing the floor in front of the windows. He moved with fluid grace, almost as if his feet weren’t touching the floor. His long black coat flowed behind him like a dark cloud. Sometimes he looked…she frowned, searching for the right word. Otherworldly, she thought. That was it, as if he was a visitor from another time, another place. She grinned at the thought. She had obviously been reading too many of his books.

Finishing her dinner, she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and apply fresh lipstick, and then she was ready to go.

She had never been to the theater before, and this one was beautiful. She wasn’t surprised to find that they had seats in the front row orchestra. Ronan always managed to secure the best of everything.

“This is so exciting,” she whispered as she thumbed through the program.

Ronan grinned at her. He probably thought she was acting like a tourist, but what the heck, she had never been to a Broadway show before.
Beauty and the Beast
had been her favorite fairy tale when she was a little girl, and it still was. She had seen both the French film and the Disney cartoon numerous times.

When the lights dimmed, Ronan’s hand found hers and gave it a squeeze.

She was mesmerized from the moment the curtain went up and she heard the narrator’s voice tell the tale of how the young prince had been cursed by an enchantress and doomed to live as a beast until he learned how to love. The settings, the actors, the songs, all held her spellbound. She loved Belle’s enthusiasm, Gaston’s arrogance, Lefou’s clumsiness, Lumiere’s humor, Cogsworth’s gruffness that covered a soft heart, and Babette’s coy manner. But mostly she loved the Beast. She felt his anger and his frustration, his sense of hopelessness at the fate that awaited him because she, too, had experienced those emotions and never more so than now, when her life was draining away and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. She cried when he sang, “If I Can’t Love Her.” It was the most beautiful, heartbreakingly sad song she had ever heard.

They went out to the lobby during intermission. Shannah couldn’t help noticing that practically every woman they passed slid a glance at Ronan and smiled.

He bought her a soft drink and a brownie and then they returned to their seats.

The second half of the show was as wonderful as the first. She cheered silently as the Beast saved Belle’s life by fighting off a pack of wolves, smiled as Belle tended his wounds, felt her heart swell as Belle and the Beast danced to the title song. She loved the scene in the library when Belle read the story of King Arthur to the Beast because he didn’t know how to read. She felt his pain and his loneliness when he let Belle go, watched in awe as the Beast was magically transformed into the Prince right before her eyes at the end of the show. She wondered what was wrong with her that she liked him better as the Beast than the Prince.

She hated to see it end. She applauded until her hands hurt and left the theater singing “Be Our Guest.”

She was still humming in the cab on the way back to the hotel.

“I take it you liked the show,” Ronan remarked dryly.

“It was wonderful! The best play I’ve ever seen. Oh, I’d love to see it again some day. Thank you.”

Leaning toward him, she kissed his cheek. The next thing she knew, she was on his lap, cradled in his arms while his mouth moved over hers.

Moaning softly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as the world seemed to tilt on its axis, driving everything from her mind but the unmistakable evidence of his desire and the heat of his mouth on hers. As he deepened the kiss, images swirled through her mind, frightening images that made no sense. She saw Ronan moving swiftly through the night, his long black coat billowing behind him like the shadow of death. She saw him bending over a woman, his dark eyes blazing with an unholy light…

Startled, she drew away.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I saw you,” she said, her voice edged with disbelief. “You were with a woman. Who is she?”

“What are you talking about? What woman?”

“I saw you, in my mind. You were bending over a woman, and your eyes, they were…I don’t know, red, glowing.”

Ronan swore under his breath. He had never bonded with a mortal before, had no idea that giving Shannah his blood would give her access to his thoughts, his memories. He would have to block his thoughts from now on, he thought, lest she see other things she shouldn’t.

“What does it mean?” she asked in alarm.

“That you’ve been reading too many vampire books?” he replied, his voice light.

She stared at him. Was that all it was? Just her imagination supplying images to go along with her night-time fantasies? That had to be it. What else could it be? She had to admit that when she read his books, she always pictured him as the hero, and his heroes were usually vampires.

She forced a smile. “I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed.

But she wasn’t sure at all.

Shannah stood on the sidewalk in front of her parents’ house, an overnight bag in one hand. She hadn’t been home in over a year and she was blown away by the changes her folks had made. The house, once a rather insipid shade of beige, was now a cheerful country blue with bright white trim and a red door. Shannah smiled as she walked up the red brick path to the porch. For as long as she could remember, her mother had been trying to convince her father to paint the house blue. After thirty-three years, her mother had finally prevailed.

“Shannah!” Verna Davis came through the doorway as if she had been shot out of a cannon. “You’re here!”

“Hi, Mom.”

Verna engulfed her daughter in a hug and held on tight.

“Mom. Mom, please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” Verna said, sniffing. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I’m doing fine, Mom.” Shannah removed her sunglasses. Squinting against the sun, she dropped them into her pocket. “Really.”

Verna stood back, her gaze moving over Shannah from head to foot. “You look wonderful. Have they found a cure?” she asked hopefully.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then how…?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m in some kind of remission. All I know is I feel better than I ever have in my whole life.” Shannah slipped her arm around her mother’s waist. “You’re looking good, too, Mom. You’ve lost some weight, haven’t you?”

“Maybe a pound or two.”

Shannah smiled. Her mother was a pretty woman, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes and a figure that, while a little plump, still made men turn and stare.

“Where’s Dad?” Shannah asked as they walked up the porch stairs.

“Oh, he’s out in the backyard puttering around.”

Shannah dropped her bag inside the front door, her gaze moving around the living room. There was a new coat of pale green paint on the walls and a new flat screen TV, but other than that the place looked the same as always. Her father’s well-used leather recliner stood in the corner, there was a bag of knitting beside her mother’s favorite chair. Pictures of the family lined the mantel. A wooden rack held her mother’s salt and pepper shaker collection, many of them older than Shannah.

“I’ll just get some lemonade,” Verna said. “Why don’t you go out and say hi to your dad?”

“All right.”

Shannah found her father working on one of the sprinkler heads in the backyard.

He looked up when he heard the back door open. “Hey, Stinky, you’re home!”

Shannah grinned at the familiar nickname. “Hi, Dad.”

Rising, Scott Davis wiped his hands on his jeans before enfolding his daughter in a bear hug. “I’m glad to see you, girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m glad to see you, too.”

Her father was a big man with black hair and blue eyes. As usual, he wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and work boots. He had been a construction foreman for over twenty years. As a child, she had loved stomping around the house wearing his big boots and hard hat.

He gave her another squeeze, then let her go. “You’re looking well.”

“I feel wonderful. I like what you’ve done to the house.”

“Oh, that,” he muttered. “She finally got her own way.”

“It’s about time, too,” Shannah said, giving him a playful punch on the arm. “Admit it, it looks great.”

“Yeah, but don’t tell her I said so.”

“Don’t tell me what?” Verna asked, coming up behind them. Setting the tray she was carrying on a redwood table, she glanced between her husband and her daughter.

“Nothing,” Shannah’s father said, reaching for one of the glasses.

Verna looked at Shannah. “What’s he hiding now?”

“Nothing, Mom. He just told me not to tell you how good the house looks.”

“Oh, that!” Verna rolled her eyes. “Everybody thinks it looks a hundred percent better. I don’t know why we didn’t do it sooner.”

Shannah sat down in one of the lawn chairs and her mother and father took seats on either side of her. Besides lemonade, Verna had brought out a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and some cheesecake.

Shannah glanced around the yard, remembering all the hours she had spent playing there as a child. Her old rope swing still hung from the big oak tree in the corner. Someone had given her playhouse a fresh coat of yellow paint and patched the hole in the roof.

“So, Shanny,” Verna said, passing the cookie plate around, “what brings you to New York?”

“Oh, Mom, you’ll never believe this! I’m pretending to be a famous author.”

Her mother stared at her, a cookie halfway to her mouth. “What? Why on earth would you do that?”

“I met this romance writer. He writes as Eva Black…”

“Eva Black!” Verna exclaimed. “I just bought one of her books…did you say
he
?”

Shannah nodded. “Eva Black is a pen name. His real name is Ronan. You’ll meet him later.”

“
He’s
the friend you’re bringing here? But we’re just having pot roast…and the house is a mess, and…” Verna ran a hand over her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a famous celebrity home? Oh, dear, I’m a bigger mess than the house.”

“Mom, calm down. You’ve never looked better.”

Rising, Verna headed for the back door. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Eva Black was coming to dinner.”

“He probably won’t eat anything,” Shannah called, but it was too late. Her mother was already in the house.

“So,” her father asked, “why are you pretending to be this guy?”

Shannah shrugged. “He doesn’t want people to know who he is. He seems to think his readers will be disappointed or upset or something if they find out he’s a man. Anyway, I’ve been doing book signings. Dad, you can’t believe how much fun it is! I’ve even done a couple of radio interviews.”

Scott shook his head. “Well, don’t tell your mother. She’ll be upset that she didn’t know about it.”

“They’re going to give me copies of the tapes. I’ll send them to you as soon as I get them.”

Scott grinned. “Bless you, girl. Now I won’t have to spend the next six months listening to your Mom complaining about how our only daughter was on the radio and she didn’t get to hear her.”

Shannah laughed. “I’ve been having a wonderful time. We’re staying at the Waldorf, Dad, can you believe it? And last night Ronan took me to see
Beauty and the Beast
.”

“Sounds like you’re living high on the hog, girl.”

“Yes. I’m going to hate to see it end.” She spoke without thinking. Too late, she realized her father would assume she was talking about her illness.

Leaning forward, he took her hands in his. “Honey, why don’t you come home?”

“Dad, we’ve been over all this before. Besides, I didn’t mean that. I meant I was going to hate it when the book tour was over. I’ve been having such a great time.”

“Be that as it may, you belong here, with us. It’s tearing your mother apart to think about you living alone when…” He cleared his throat. “We just think you should be here so we can look after you.”

“I know, Dad.” She didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t stand the thought of having her parents watch her waste away and die.

“I wish you’d reconsider, honey. You should be here, with the people who love you.”

“I’ll think about it, okay, but let’s not talk about it now. Right now, I feel wonderful!” And she did, except her eyes were starting to burn. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her sunglasses and put them on.

Her mother rejoined them a short time later and the three of them spent the rest of the afternoon sitting outside, talking about old times. Shannah listened while her mother brought her up to date on the latest neighborhood gossip—who was getting married, who was getting divorced, who was expecting.

“How’s Judy?” Shannah asked. In spite of the fact that Judy was two years older than Shannah, they had been best friends since grammar school.

“Oh, dear, that poor girl is pregnant again.”

Shannah grinned. Since getting married, Judy seemed to be perpetually pregnant.

Later, Shannah helped her mother set the table for dinner, thinking how much she had missed sharing these simple tasks with her mom, remembering all the good times she’d had growing up in this house. Her parents had been terrific, supporting her in anything and everything she had wanted to do. They had cheered her on when she played soccer, attended recitals during a brief period when she thought she wanted to be a ballerina, spent a small fortune buying candy, Christmas wrapping paper, and magazine subscriptions so she could go to camp.

She sat in her usual place at the dinner table, her head bowed while her father asked a blessing on the food. Tears filled her eyes when he asked the good Lord to bless his daughter with health and strength.

Too choked up to speak, she concentrated on the food on her plate until her emotions were under control again.

“Mom, you’re still the world’s best cook,” she said, smiling.

Verna beamed with pleasure. She was the kind of mother that had been popular in the fifties, when women were happy to stay home and look after their families. She had always been there when Shannah got home from school, eager to hear about her day over milk and cookies.

When the meal was over, Shannah found herself looking at the door, listening for Ronan’s knock, wondering where he was and what her parents would think of him.

And then he was there, looking as suave and handsome as always. Verna invited him inside with a smile, obviously a little star-struck at having a published author in her home. Scott Davis was cordial though more reserved. Shannah hid a smile, remembering that her father had treated her dates the same way when she was in high school.

“So,” Verna said when they were all seated in the living room, “however did you start writing romances?”

Forty-five minutes later, Verna was still asking questions.

“I think that’s enough, Mother,” Scott said. “I’m going outside to smoke my pipe. Why don’t you come along and keep me company?”

“Maybe later, dear.”

“Now, Mother,” Scott said. “I think Shannah and her guest might like a little time alone.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Rising, Verna followed her husband out the back door.

“I’m sorry about that,” Shannah said. “She’s never met anyone famous before.”

Ronan shrugged. “She’s delightful.”

“I think so.”

“Why don’t we take a walk?”

“All right. Let me get my coat and tell my folks we’re going.”

Moments later, they left the house.

“Did you want to walk any place in particular?” Shannah asked.

“No.” He pulled her off the sidewalk and into the shadows. “Your father was right. I just wanted to get you alone.”

She looked up at him, startled, but before she could say anything, he was kissing her, kissing her with such fervor that there was no longer any doubt in her mind about their relationship.

They were definitely more than just friends.

Heat and excitement flowed through her, honey-sweet, intoxicating, addicting. She wanted his hands on her body, his mouth on hers. She wanted to run her hands over his body, to explore the hard wall of his chest, the long line of his back. She wanted to drag him deeper into the shadows and beg him to make love to her, there, on the ground, with only the moon and stars to keep their secret.

And she might have done all those things if her legs hadn’t suddenly gone weak, not from his kisses, but from a familiar light-headedness that left her feeling faint and a little dizzy.

“Ronan…” She looked up at him, blinking, as his face swam in and out of focus.

“Shannah!”

Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her swiftly down the street until he came to a small park. He followed a narrow winding path until he was well out of sight of anyone who might happen by and then he lowered her to the ground. She was pale and unconscious, her breathing shallow and labored. It was startling, how swiftly the illness struck, how quickly it left her incapacitated.

Lifting his arm, he bit into a vein in his wrist, then held the bleeding wound to her lips.

“Drink.” He spoke to her mind, the word a command she could not ignore. “Drink, love, and then forget what you have done.”

He watched anxiously as the color returned to her cheeks and her breathing grew regular. He would have to watch her more closely in the future. Had this occurred when he wasn’t with her…he shuddered to think what might have happened.

When she stirred, he drew his arm away and licked the wound in his arm, closing it. Wiping the blood from her mouth, he sat on the ground, then lifted her onto his lap and cradled her to his chest.

“Shannah?”

Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at him, her gaze unfocused. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“I did?”

“How do you feel now?”

“Fine.” She frowned. “Why do I feel fine?”

“I’m sure it was just a passing weakness.”

“Maybe. I never used to recover so quickly though, at least not until I met you. Are you sure you’re not a miracle worker?”

“I’m sure,” he said dryly.

She licked her lips. “There’s a funny taste in my mouth. Did you give me something to drink?”

“No.” Still holding her, he rose effortlessly and set her on her feet. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll race you back to the house,” she said, grinning. “That’s how all right I feel.”

“I think we’d better walk.”

“Suit yourself.” Shannah glanced around. “How did we get here? I don’t remember being in the park.”

“I couldn’t leave you on the street.”

“So you brought me here? Why didn’t you take me home? Never mind, forget I said that. My Mom would have freaked out.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ronan said, taking her by the hand. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure.”

Her parents were waiting for them in the living room when they returned to the house.

“Everything all right?” her father asked.

Shannah grinned inwardly. Like all fathers, he worried when his daughter was out with a new young man, even when that man was a famous author.

“Fine, Daddy,” Shannah said. “I was just…just showing Ronan around.”