Phantom's Touch: Sexy Paranormal (Book 2, Phantom Series) (11 page)

Contact with the sword all those years ago had brought him quick pain, yes, but he’d been aware of his entrapment just as immediately. Somewhere in the recesses of his memory, he recalled raging against Rogan, knowing he’d been bound by a curse the dark sorcerer could have conjured. Over the course of two-hundred and fifty years, any moment of awareness had been dominated by the desire to run the bastard through with his own cursed sword. Now, part of Aiden wanted to thank the black-hearted liar for setting in motion his meeting with Lauren.

Suddenly the lights around him flickered. He heard what sounded like a feminine squeak from behind him and then a thud that was unmistakably the sound of a body dropping to the ground.

“Lauren!”

He whirled back into the room and froze. Lauren. Naked. Wet. Unconscious.

And there was nothing he could do to help her.

David Drake, as he was calling himself these days, scanned the increasingly busy set for signs of the casting director he’d been told was somewhere inside the soundstage. He glanced at the portfolio he clutched in his hand and refamiliarized himself with the stats printed on the back of the professionally produced eight-by-ten glossy. He supposed his agent’s insisting that his height was six feet when he was only five-eleven and three-quarters wasn’t so much of a lie, but the rest seemed to have come out of the ether.

Hometown: Boise, Idaho. Sure, he’d been born in the potato state, but he hadn’t lived there for more than the week it had taken his mother to break out of the hospital and hitchhike to L.A.

Eyes: blue. Thanks to contacts.

Hair: black. Gotta love that L’Oreal Men.

He supposed his weight was accurate. He worked out three hours a day to make sure he never tipped over one eighty. Lean and hot as he was, he was primed for the role as the goddess Athena’s lover du jour. He’d watched the first four movies long before he’d been in a position to audition for a role. He’d memorized most of the dialogue, even though he wasn’t wonked-out enough to actually recite them in tandem with the actors, like some über-fans he’d met. But since the series had had the same team of writers for all four films, he’d learned the cadence and rhythm of their words. He was going to nail this audition. And then he’d get exactly what he’d come for.

“Can I help you?”

He turned to face a striking woman in a bold blue blouse. Matching eyes flashed against porcelain skin. Thick, dark blond hair. Thin waist. And the mouth. . .Good thing she chose such a light shade of lipstick or the luscious lips would overpower. Her confident smile threw his thoughts in a lusty direction that took him by surprise.

“I’m here to see Helen Talbot.”

The woman crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and he couldn’t help but watch how her breasts rounded from the tension.

She cleared her throat, but when he met her eyes again she didn’t seem offended by his blatant stare. “I’m Helen Talbot.”

He flashed his best bad-boy grin and offered his hand. “David Drake.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m here for a read with Lauren Cole? My agent told me to be here at two o’clock.”

After taking a quick glance at her watch, she slipped her hand into his. But instead of giving it the hearty, “I’m a woman but I can do business rougher than any man” shake he’d become so accustomed to in Hollywood, she just held his hand, as if she were determining the size and texture of it. After a moment, a satisfied grin turned those plump lips into the stuff of erotic fantasies.

“The audition has been canceled, Mr. Drake. Last-minute decision. The role has been cast. Your agent probably missed you.”

He took his cell phone out of his pocket, and though he’d turned the device to vibrate, there was nothing indicating a missed call. “Sorry, my agent must not have gotten the message.”

She took a step to the side so she could get a better view of his backside. There was no slyness. No pretense. After a few high-profile guest roles on the New York soap scene, he’d been auditioning in Hollywood for over a year. And yet he couldn’t remember ever being so audaciously assessed. At least, not by a woman. Despite the urban legends about casting couches, David’s experience so far ran along the lines of movie executives so harried and single-minded, they barely had time to look up from stacks of résumés and scripts, much less seduce the stampede of wannabe actors and actresses called to each audition. He was lucky to get one glance before he heard a yea or nay.

Clearly this woman liked to take her time.

Clucking her tongue, she glanced over to the trailer behind her. The one with the gold star on the door.

Lauren’s
.

“Crying shame,” she lamented. “You would have looked very nice next to Ms. Cole.”

He shifted his stance to better accentuate his. . .assets. He’d done worse to get jobs before, though not usually as an actor. But now that he knew how close he was to Lauren, it was time to put his theatrical skills to good use. This woman wanted to be seduced, though her motives seemed entirely more personal than professional. Not that he cared. He smoothed a fingertip along the curve of her elbow. Intimate and yet. . .not. “Then maybe you should rethink your casting decision,” he suggested.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, and David couldn’t help but feel a twitch of arousal as he imagined her teeth grazing his own mouth. He pressed his lips tightly together and glanced aside. It wasn’t like him to get the hots for a woman after only a few seconds of conversation. In California he’d learned that barracudas operated mostly on land. Since he had his own prey to hunt, he had to remain out of this one’s clutches. He could tease and toy, but nothing more—no matter how much the deprivation might hurt.

“Hmm,” she hummed wistfully. “Wish I could.”

“Any smaller roles not yet cast?” he asked.

Her gaze drifted up from his chest and met his. “Bold as brass, aren’t you?”

“This is Hollywood. Can’t survive otherwise.”

Without warning the lights above them blinked, then went off. The power tools sputtered to a halt. Cursing echoed all around them while dim emergency lights clicked on near the exits. Then, just as quickly, the power came back on. “Wait here. Let me consult with my leading lady. It might be a good idea to have backup.”

As Helen Talbot curved around him, brushing his arm even though there were yards of empty space on either side of him, he turned and watched her walk away. Either she was swinging her ass especially for his perusal, or the woman had a walk that could stop traffic. On the L.A. freeway. At rush hour.

Even with the carpenters and scenery technicians working their table saws and forklifts with screeching accuracy, he heard Helen’s knock on Lauren’s trailer intensify to an insistent pounding. He walked closer. She was calling out the star’s name with a definite tinge of concern in her voice.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Helen waved her hand dismissively. “She’s probably in the shower. But where the hell is that assistant of hers?”

She dug into her pocket and extracted her phone, tapped a few times until Lauren’s picture flooded the screen, and then held the device to her ear. Seconds later they heard Lauren’s phone ringing inside.

“Maybe she’s not there,” he offered, though the tight worry on Helen Talbot’s face kicked his instincts into overdrive. Helen was more than a little concerned. Why?

“She’s in there. She hasn’t left her trailer.”

“You think something’s wrong?” he asked, trying not to sound too anxious to get involved.

Helen skewered him with a look that made him feel like a complete idiot.
Wow
. The woman had clearly honed that expression to a fine point.

“Move,” he directed, giving her a gentle push to get her out of the way and digging in his pocket for the tool he kept there. Always.

He had the sharp end inserted into the door lock before Helen could say, “Let me call security.”

The click was hard to hear amid Helen’s warnings that she had to go in first and that he should stay outside and that if anything he might or might not see inside the trailer made it into the tabloids, she’d make sure he never worked in this town again. Obediently he swung the door open for her and stepped aside. She called out Lauren’s name, and despite the threat to his career, he couldn’t help but glance into the small but clearly plush trailer.

Helen burst through an open door at the other end. She screamed, swung around with a pointed finger and ordered him to call 911, then disappeared through the door.

He did as she asked, waving over two of the crew who’d stopped dead at the sound of Helen’s shout. He handed the phone to one of the guys, told him to order an ambulance and dashed inside. He found Helen in the back room, dragging a towel over Lauren’s naked body, the star’s flesh wet and the distinctive smell of smoke and singed flesh lingering in the air.

“What happened?” he asked.

Helen, her face stoically passive, shook her head violently as she smoothed the hair away from Lauren’s face. Her hands wavered over Lauren, as if she wanted to do something to help, but had no idea what.

“Does she have a pulse?” David prompted, dropping to his knees beside her.

Helen’s hands shook so much that her charm bracelet rattled. David leaned across and checked the vein at Lauren’s neck. He tried to feel some movement, but if it was there, it was slight.

“The ambulance is on its way,” the crewman shouted, rushing in with the phone.

“Is that nine-one-one?” Helen asked.

He handed her the phone. Helen ordered him to alert the gate to let the ambulance in, commanded his cohort to stay by the door and ensure that no one else came in, then rattled off the circumstances to the emergency operator on the other end of the phone, conveniently leaving out the name of the woman lying on the floor.

“Do you know CPR?” Helen asked David, clearly repeating the question posed by the operator on the other end of the phone.

David was by no means an expert, but with his past, he knew a few emergency medical tricks. With a quick nod he checked Lauren’s breathing, and after he found nothing, he did what he’d wanted to do for a very, very long time.

He covered her sweet mouth with his.

Aiden instinctively sought the sword, but just as quickly resisted the pull of the handle and the call of the blade. Overwhelming instinct told him that the wastrel lowering his lips over Lauren’s was doing more than accosting her as she lay unconscious on the floor. Otherwise he would have struck the man down on the spot. Despite the terror ripping through him, he heard enough of the conversation to know that these people were trying to help.

He, on the other hand, was helpless. Or was he? He moved closer to the sword and felt a surge of something dark, dangerous, but powerful. Could Rogan’s magic help Lauren? He placed one invisible hand on the hilt of the sword and held the other toward her, concentrating completely on restoring her life.

Seconds later she gasped, but did not regain consciousness. As Aiden strained to see her more clearly, the number of people in the room doubled. All sorts of foreign apparatus were dragged inside, and the voices grew to a near-hysterical cacophony that kept him from understanding what was going on. After men in dark uniforms strapped her to a cot with wheels and took her away, he tried to follow. But just as he caught sight of the sunlight, he was yanked back into the tiny trailer.

He cried out in frustration, a howl that burned as it ripped from his soul. Was she dead? Had Rogan’s dark magic killed her or saved her?

The door to the trailer was flung open. The dark blond woman named Helen burst back inside. Aiden was careful to move out of her way. Clearly she could not see him, but had she heard him?

“Ms. Talbot,” the man who’d put his lips on Lauren called from just outside the door. “The paramedics are leaving.”

“Did you hear that?” she asked the man.

“Hear what?”

“That scream.”

The man stuck his head inside and eyed her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Don’t you want to ride along with her?” the man asked.

She shook her head. “Michael knows the chief of staff at the hospital. He wants to go with her.” Her eyes betrayed that she’d been ordered to stay behind. “I’ll be right behind them. I just want to. . .” Her voice drifted off as her eyes narrowed on the sword. She then spun on the man and pointed out the door. “Can you wait for me at the gate? I have something I need to do.”

The man’s jaw tightened, but with a silent nod he disappeared and shut the door behind him.

Helen Talbot dashed into the bathroom and did a quick search of the cabinets, drawers and floor. She shot back into the main room and checked the closets and under the cushions of the couch. She sniffed the glass Lauren had left on a table, then took a tentative sip.

“Water,” she said aloud, then pressed her lips into a thin, flat line as she surveyed the room with eyes that would miss nothing.

Eyes that landed again on the sword.

Aiden stiffened. Did she mean to steal the weapon? Could he stop her?

Seconds later she’d wrapped the sword inside the blanket and shoved it into a canvas bag she found in a closet. He expected to be wrenched back into the weapon, but though he felt a tug on his stomach, as if the tether between him and the metal had tightened, he remained where he stood. Or floated. Or. . .existed.

He had much to learn about this new reality—until, at least, he figured out a way to free himself entirely. To find his family. To defeat the curse.

Something he could not do without Lauren Cole, who at this moment might very well be dead.