Moonlight (9 page)

His lips, though cool, seared her skin like sunlight
magnified though a looking glass.

Adrianna stared at him in utter astonishment. No one had
ever kissed her hand before. It was such an Old World gesture, it left her
momentarily speechless.

“Will tomorrow be soon enough?” he asked.

“Tomorrow?” She stared up at him, blinking in confusion.

“To deliver the bed?”

“Oh, yes, tomorrow will be fine.” She laughed
self-consciously as she scribbled her home address on the back of her business
card. “What time shall I expect you?”

“Seven?”

“That late?” Adrianna murmured, disappointed. Tomorrow was
Saturday; she had hoped to have the bed delivered earlier in the day.

“Is there a problem?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Seven will be fine. Thank you.”

She felt his gaze burning into her back as she left the room.
It was all she could do not to glance over her shoulder as she started down the
stairs.

Outside, she took a deep breath. Never in all her life had
she met a man who affected her so strangely. It wasn’t just his looks—she had
seen tall, dark, handsome men before. She had even dated a few.

She slid behind the wheel, put the key in the ignition, and
then, almost against her will, she glanced up at the house. She could see him
standing at the second-story window, watching her. In spite of the distance
between them, she felt his intense gaze on her face, as soft as a sigh, as
intimate as a caress.

With a rueful shake of her head, Adrianna put the Honda in
gear and pulled away from the curb. She wasn’t usually given to such flights of
romantic fantasy, but there was something about Mr. V. Navarre that conjured up
images of castles and dungeons and knights in shining armor. Maybe it was the
fact that he dealt in antiques, she mused as she entered the flow of traffic
leading into Moreno Bay, or maybe it was the aura of Old World charm that
seemed to cling to him.

She wondered absently what the V stood for.

And then she grinned. He had kissed her hand! Warmth curled
through the innermost part of her at the memory. Impulsively, she lifted her
hand and pressed her lips where his had touched. Immediately, his image rose
before her, his hair as black as Satan’s sins, his eyes as gray as storm
clouds. And with his image came the memory of his finely sculpted lips brushing
across the back of her hand, searing her skin…

Butterflies danced in her stomach as she wondered if he
would deliver the bed himself.

She was as nervous as a schoolgirl as seven o’clock
approached. She had never felt so anxious, or so uncertain, in her whole life.
She had hardly spoken a dozen words to the man, yet she had thought of little
else since they had met. His image seemed permanently etched in her mind. She
could still hear the sound of his voice, soft yet deep.

The rumble of a truck sent her running to the living room
window. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she saw him pull up in front of
the driveway.

Her stomach was churning with excitement as she ran to the
door. She looked out the peephole, watching him as he opened the door of a late
model black Chevy pickup and stepped out. He wore a pair of black jeans, a dark
green t-shirt, and a black leather jacket that seemed to emphasize his broad
shoulders. She had forgotten how big he was.

Her mouth went dry as she watched him walk to the rear of
the Chevy. He lowered the tailgate and then, with no apparent effort, picked up
the bed frame and carried it toward the house.

Adrianna stepped out on the porch. “Good evening,” she said,
holding the door open. “Come in, won’t you?”

Foolish girl,
Navarre mused as he crossed the
threshold.
It was never safe to invite a vampire into one’s home, for, once
invited, he was free to come again.
But then, she had no way of knowing
who, or what, she had asked inside.

“Where do you want the bed?” he asked.

“Down the hall. First door on the left.”

Adrianna ran a nervous hand over her hair. Her house, not
large to begin with, seemed to shrink with his presence.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asked when he returned.

“I can manage.”

He made several trips back and forth, carrying the canopy,
then the mattress as if it weighed nothing at all.

As he carried the box spring into her room, she followed him
down the hall.

Navarre glanced up, his gaze meeting hers for the first
time. “Shall I set this up for you?”

“Please.”

Removing his jacket, he tossed it over a chair, then pulled
the necessary tools out of his back pocket and began to bolt the frame
together.

Adrianna toyed with the collar of her blouse as she watched
the play of muscles in his broad back and shoulders. He worked quickly,
efficiently, with an ease and grace of movement she had never seen in a man
before. A lock of hair fell over his forehead, and she had an almost
irresistible urge to smooth it back.

Too soon, he was finished. She watched as he reached for his
jacket and shrugged it on.

“I’ll write you a check,” Adrianna said. “How much do I owe
you for delivery and setup?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

“But…” She bit down on her lip, trying to think of a way to
repay him for his help, to keep him there just a little longer.

“I made an apple pie this afternoon,” she said cheerfully. “Would
you care for a slice?”

“No, thank you.”

She smiled to cover her disappointment, then turned and
hurried into the kitchen to write him a check. In spite of his willingness to
set up the bed, it was obvious that Mr. V. Navarre wasn’t interested in
spending any more time with her than necessary. And that was fine with her,
Adrianna thought irritably. He looked like an old grouch, anyway.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Damn, he’d snuck up on her again. Adrianna whirled around,
the check in her hand. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I didn’t mean to insult your hospitality,” he explained
quietly, and the sound of his voice moved over her like a caress. “It’s just
that I…I’m on a rather strict diet.”

He didn’t strike her as a health nut, and he sure didn’t
look like he needed to lose weight, but she kept both opinions to herself.
Instead, she shrugged, as if his refusal to accept her hospitality was of no
importance.

“Well, thanks again for your time and trouble,” she said,
and thrust the check toward him.

“It was no trouble, I assure you.” Taking the check, he
folded it in half, and slid it into the pocket of his jeans.

Her fingers tingled from where his touched hers. It was most
disconcerting, she thought, the way his slightest touch went through her like
an electrical charge.

“Well, thanks again,” Adrianna said. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

She waited, breath held, to see if he would kiss her hand
again.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he closed the short
distance between them and took her hand in his. Though his skin was cool, a
rush of heat engulfed her, and then he was bowing over her hand, pressing his
lips to her flesh, making her heart pound as if she’d just run a marathon.

And when he looked into her eyes, she knew she would never
be the same again.

“Good evening, Miss Grant.”

“Good night.”

She stood in the doorway, watching as he walked down the
driveway and climbed into the Chevy, and she wanted nothing more than to run
after him, to beg him to stay.

She waited, hoping he’d wave, hoping he’d look at her again,
but he pulled away from the curb without a backward glance.

Navarre swore softly as he drove away from her house. What
was there about the girl that touched him so, that made him burn with desire
when every instinct warned him away? She was a nice girl in every sense of the
word, he thought bleakly.

He shook his head ruefully. She lived in a small white house
in a small town. According to her business card, Miss Adrianna Grant owned a
combination bookstore/coffee shop located on Wind Willow Road. No doubt she
went to church every Sunday, dated a fine, upstanding young man, and hoped to
marry, settle down, and have the requisite two children, hopefully a boy and a
girl. She had probably never traveled more than a hundred miles from home in
her whole life, never seen poverty or cruelty firsthand.

She was the kind of woman he made it a habit to avoid. A
nice girl. Sweet and innocent. Untouched by the ugliness of the world.

He slammed his foot on the brake as he pulled into the
driveway of the old house he’d called home for the last five years, annoyed
because he couldn’t put Miss Adrianna Grant out of his mind, because, for the
first time in more years than he cared to remember, he wanted something he
couldn’t have.

Stepping out of the truck, he slammed the door with a bang.
For a moment, he stood staring at the moonlight shining on the water and then,
with a sigh, he walked down the steep, narrow path that led to the beach.

Removing his shoes and socks, he walked along the shore, his
hands thrust deep into his pockets. He could scarcely recall the last time he had
been involved with a woman. Had it been a hundred years ago? A thousand? He
searched his memory for a face, a name, but none came to mind save that of
Katlaina.

He swore under his breath. Katlaina. Even after all this
time, he had no trouble summoning her image to mind, remembering how beautiful
she had looked the first night he made love to her, the way she had felt in his
arms, the sound of her voice as she whispered that she loved him…

A low cry of anguish rumbled in Navarre’s throat as eons of
loneliness rose up within him. Once, long ago, Shaylyn had found him. She had
been as beautiful as he remembered, her black hair as shiny as polished ebony,
her eyes as dark as a moonless night. He couldn’t deny that he had been happy
to see her. It had been a relief to be able to be himself, to share his
innermost thoughts with someone who knew who and what he was.

They had talked the whole night long, parting at dawn to
take their rest, and then met again the following evening.

Shaylyn had asked him to go to Greece with her, to stay with
her for a lifetime or two. At first, he had refused, but, in the end, he had
agreed. With Shaylyn, he didn’t have to hide his true nature, he didn’t have to
watch every word, every action. He didn’t have to make excuses for not eating,
for sleeping during the day, for the blood hunger that burned like a sickbed
fever through his body, overshadowing his humanity.

But, as comfortable as he had felt in her presence, he had
left her before the year was out. Shaylyn was a true predator. She relished the
hunt, the chase, the kill. He did what he had to do in order to survive; she
did it for the sheer pleasure of it. He took what sustenance he needed and left
his victims alive; she toyed with those she hunted, preying on their fear, draining
them of life. In the end, he had kissed her goodbye, wished her well, and left
her without regret.

There had been no one special in his life since then. When
the needs of the flesh grew overwhelming, he sought out a woman who possessed
the Dark Gift, a woman who understood his needs, who could endure the force of
his lovemaking, who was not repelled by the otherworldly light that sometimes
glowed in his eyes. Such encounters inevitably left him feeling physically
satisfied but empty deep inside.

Over the span of time, he had learned to control his
physical needs as he had learned to control his lust for blood. He had immersed
himself in learning, in travel. He had visited every country in the world,
studying their diverse cultures, learning their language, their religion. His
only regret was that he could not sample the native foods.

Occasionally, he had come across others of his kind. He
treated them with respect, outwardly friendly but inwardly always on guard,
especially when in the arms of the women of his kind.

And when the loneliness grew too great to bear, when his
existence grew burdensome, when the truth of what he was weighed heavily on his
conscience, he went to ground, burying himself deep in the earth until the
endless darkness and the eternal quiet forced him to the surface once more. And
after a rest of thirty or forty years, he was ready to face the world again,
eager to go out and discover what new inventions and changes had occurred while
he slept.

And then he had come here, to this sleepy little town, and
decided to stay awhile. It was quiet, peaceful, the last place in the world
anyone would expect to find a vampire.

He had bought the house on Old Piney Branch Road because it
reminded him of a Victorian home he owned in England, and then he had arranged
for the furniture and other items he had collected over the last several
hundred years to be shipped here. Who better to run an antique store than a man
who had lived for hundreds of years, who had known some of the great craftsmen
of days gone by?

He had been happy here, he thought, as happy as he had been
anywhere. Content. At peace with himself and the world around him. Until
yesterday, when a petite young woman with dark blonde hair and innocent blue
eyes had wandered into his house and made him wish for a way of life he could
never have.

* * * * *

Adrianna sat on the edge of her new bed, running her hand
over the antique ivory lace bedspread she had found in her great-grandmother’s
trunk earlier in the day, remembering how Navarre’s presence had filled the
room.

He was an extraordinary man, she thought, remembering the
intensity of his gaze, the husky sound of his voice, the ease with which he had
carried the bed into the house.

Rising, she went to stand in front of the mirror that hung
over the antique oak chest of drawers on the other side of the room.

She wasn’t beautiful, she thought, but she was passably
pretty. She didn’t have the slender shape of a model, but her figure wasn’t
bad. At least it went in and out in all the right places. She had never had any
trouble finding a date, and even the men who weren’t romantically attracted to
her seemed to find her company pleasant. Except for Navarre. He hadn’t paid her
any attention at all, she thought pensively. And that was too bad, because he
was the only man she had found the least bit interesting since she broke up
with Kevin over a year ago.

With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and went into
the kitchen. She cut a slice of apple pie, poured a glass of milk, and went out
on the front porch. It was a pretty evening, with just enough of a breeze to
keep the heat at bay.

The houses on either side of her were dark. Old Mrs. Lopez
always went to bed when the sun went down, and Mr. and Mrs. Kelsey had gone to
Florida to visit their daughter.

Sitting down in one of the deck chairs, she propped her feet
on the porch rail. “V,” she mused between bites of pie. “Victor? Vaughn? Vance?”

She grunted softly. “Vinnie? Vito?” No, he didn’t look
Italian.

“Vladimir?” She chuckled softly. “Vladimir Navarre.”

She put the dish and the glass down on the floor beside her
and gazed up at the stars, feeling suddenly lonely.

She wished suddenly that she hadn’t said no when Marty
Defore called and asked her to go out with him tonight. Even though she didn’t
find Marty the least bit attractive, he was a nice guy and they always had a
good time together.

She blew out a deep breath. She didn’t want to go out with
Marty. She wanted to see Navarre…

A movement to her left drew her gaze and she saw him
standing at the end of her driveway, almost as though she had conjured him up
from her mind.

He inclined his head in her direction. “Good evening, Miss
Grant.”

“Hi.” She swung her legs down and sat forward in her chair,
her arms folded on the railing. “Nice night for a walk,” she remarked, and then
thought how foolish that must sound. Surely he hadn’t walked here from Cliff
House.

“Yes.”

His gaze met hers and a long silence fell between them.
Adrianna felt her mouth go dry as she tried to think of something to say, but
words failed her and she could only stare at him, her gaze trapped in his, like
a moth helplessly snared in a web.

He seemed to be a part of the darkness. His hair was the
color of the night, his skin as pale as the moon. He was wearing the same black
jeans and leather jacket he had worn earlier that evening, the black of his
clothing blending into the shadows that surrounded him.