Shades of Gray (3 page)

She had expected him to laugh, or at least smile back. Instead, he regarded her for a moment and then said, quite seriously, "If you wish."

Not certain how to reply, she changed the subject. "What do you do when you're not working?"

"I like to take long walks in the moonlight."

"Oh, a romantic."

He shrugged. "Perhaps I just prefer the night."

"Do you? Prefer the night, I mean?"

"Yes." He made a vague gesture with his hand. It was a graceful movement, airy, light. "My eyes are quite sensitive to the sun."

"Oh."

"And what do you like to do when you're not working?"

"Oh, I don't know. Read. Go to the movies." She grinned at him. "Take long walks through the park."

"In the evening?"

"In the morning, I'm afraid. I don't like walking in the park at night."

"Perhaps you would take a walk with me some evening and give me a chance to change your mind."

"Perhaps." She regarded him for a moment, trying to think of a tactful way to pose the question uppermost in her mind. In the end, she just asked it, straight out. "You're not married or anything, are you?"

A hint of sadness passed behind his eyes. "Not anymore."

"Divorced?"

"No. My wife and children are… are no more."

It was an odd way of putting it, she thought. "I'm sorry."

"It happened a long time ago."

Tommy brought her dinner then, and she was glad for the interruption, glad for the chance to change the subject.

She had thought it would be awkward, eating while Grigori watched, but he sat back in his seat, sipping a second glass of wine. They made small talk while she ate. She declined dessert, protested when Grigori reached for the check.

"You don't have to pay for my dinner," she said. "After all, you didn't eat anything."

"I wish to," he replied, and something in the deep timbre of his voice, in the sultry glow of his eyes, made her blush.

Outside, he placed her hand on his arm in a gesture that could only be called old-fashioned. "I should be honored if you would permit me to walk you home."

She stared at him, suddenly alert. "How do you know I walked?"

A good question,
Grigori mused. "I was behind you on the street."

Marisa chewed on her lower lip. She didn't remember hearing anyone walking behind her. Of course, the rain could have muffled the sound of his footsteps. Her hand tightened on her umbrella. Not much of a weapon, she mused ruefully, but better than nothing.

His dark gaze met hers. In the glow of the street lamp, his eyes seemed fathomless, compelling. There was a hint of danger, of mystery, in those eyes.

"You do not know me," he said quietly. "I am a stranger you are reluctant to trust."

"Well, this is the nineties, you know. A girl can't be too careful."

"I understand." He stepped away from her. "Perhaps another time, then."

"Wait, I — "

"I would not want you to be uncomfortable, Marisa."

"I'm not, really." She shrugged. "It's just that, well, you know…"

"It is the nineties." He smiled at her. A beautiful megawatt smile that left her momentarily breathless. "Shall we?"

He offered her his arm again, and she took it without a qualm, still mesmerized by the effect of his smile, and the rich, sexy sound of his voice.

"How long have you lived in the city?" he asked.

"All my life. What about you?"

"I've been here only a few weeks."

"Oh. Business or pleasure?"

His gaze rested lightly on her face. "Definitely a pleasure now."

He smiled again, and it washed over her like sunlight. "Are you on vacation?"

"Vacation?" A slight frown furrowed his brow. "No. I am looking for… an old friend."

"How long will you be here?"

"As long as it takes me to find him."

"How do you know he's here?"

"I know."

The tone of his voice, the sudden tensing of the arm beneath her hand, made her glad he wasn't looking for her. She had the distinct impression this wasn't going to be a happy reunion.

"Tell me about yourself," he urged. "Do you like being a secretary?"

"Yes. It's a good job, even if my boss can be a bit of an ogre at times. I get a three-week vacation and paid holidays. And I get my birthday off."

"And when is that?"

"February 26th. When's yours?"

"November 20th."

"A Scorpio, eh?"

"You don't believe in all that nonsense, do you?" he asked, obviously amused. "It is, after all, the nineties."

"Well," she said, laughing, "not really."

"But you read your horoscope in the paper every day."

"Well, not
every
day."

"And you avoid black cats, and throw salt over your shoulder for good luck, and never walk under ladders."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Of course not."

He smiled at her again, that wonderfully
amazing
smile the likes of which she had never seen. And his eyes, he had the most beautiful eyes, deep and dark beneath short, thick, sooty lashes. He was quite the most attractive man she had ever met.

For a time, they walked in silence. Marisa swung her umbrella in her free hand, listening to the sound of raindrops dripping from the leaves of the trees. She was surprised that the silence between them didn't make her uncomfortable, but it was an easy, companionable silence, as if they had known each other a lifetime instead of a few hours.

"Well, this is it. Where I live. Thank you for walking me home."

"It was my pleasure, Marisa Richards." He bowed over her hand and kissed it in a manner that could only be called grand. "May I call on you?"

"Call on me?" She grinned at his use of such an old-world term. "Yes, I think I'd like that."

"Tomorrow evening?"

Tomorrow was Tuesday and she had no plans for the evening other than to curl up on the sofa to watch an old Gary Grant flick. "That would be fine."

"What time would be convenient for you?"

Marisa shrugged. "Is seven too early?"

"No."

His gaze moved over her, wrapping around her like a fine, silken web. "Until tomorrow evening,
cara mia."

"You speak Italian?"

"Si. And Russian and French. And even a little Greek."

"I've always wanted to learn to speak a foreign language."

"Perhaps I shall teach you."

"I think I'd like that."

"As would I.
Buono notte, cara."

His voice moved over her, sending little shivers down her spine.

"Good night, Grigori."

He bowed, then turned and walked away, leaving her feeling suddenly cold and bereft.

Alexi Kristov lifted his head and sniffed the wind. Chiavari was here, in the city.

He glanced up at the apartment where the woman lived. No one was home, but he knew Grigori had been here, in this very place, not long ago.

The other was in the city, too.

Kristov grinned wolfishly. All the players in one place, he mused.

And only one of them would leave the city alive.

"You see," Grigori said, "there's nothing frightening about walking through the park in the evening."

Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and black jeans, he looked like a part of the night he loved, Marisa thought, dark and mysterious and a little dangerous.

"Well, I must admit, it doesn't seem scary when you're with me."

Grigori smiled down at her, pleased that she felt safe in his presence, wondering what she would think if she knew she had never been in more danger in her life.

"I find walking in the evening soothing," he remarked.

"Maybe," Marisa replied, "but I still like the daytime better. Everything looks gray at night. I miss the colors of daytime."

Grigori shrugged. "Life is less harsh in the hours of the night. Flaws are less clearly defined. Ugliness can be hidden in the shadows."

"Well, I guess that's true. But things are also scarier at night, don't you think?"

"Perhaps." He paused, turning the full force of his gaze upon her. "What is it that frightens you, Marisa?"

His voice was as rich as chocolate, as dark and mysterious as the shadows that surrounded them.

"I don't know. The usual things, I guess. Spiders and snakes. Being alone in a strange place." She grinned. "Vampires."

She expected him to laugh, but he didn't.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like, to be a vampyre?"

"Well, not seriously. Why, have you?"

"Once, a long time ago."

"Well, vampires are only fiction. I'm more afraid of the unknown than the unreal."

The unknown… She looked up at Grigori.
He
was certainly unknown. She laughed selfconsciously, glad that the darkness hid the blush she could feel heating her cheeks.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Marisa. I will let nothing harm you while I am here."

"You say that like you're expecting someone to come along and try to murder me or something."

"Or something," he murmured softly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He reached for her hand. His skin was smooth and surprisingly cool. She could feel the strength of his long fingers as they wrapped around her hand. It made her feel like a teenager again, walking hand in hand in the park with her latest boyfriend, her insides churning with excitement as she waited to see if he would kiss her.

They walked along a twisting concrete path. Stone benches were placed at intervals along the way. There was a bridle path along the outer edge of the park. A variety of trees grew at irregular intervals. Several narrow wooden bridges spanned the shallow stream that cut through the center of the park.

The moon was bright overhead, shining on the water so that it looked like a ribbon of silver stretching between the grassy banks. The stars winked down at her, as if they knew a secret.

"Come," he said, "let us walk down by the water."

They left the path and made their way across the damp grass. They stood at the edge of the stream, listening to the whisper of the water as it tumbled over the stones of the riverbed, always moving, always changing in its quest for the sea.

"It is pretty here at night," Marisa remarked.

"As are you."

Just three words, yet she felt her heart turn over in her chest. "Thank you."

"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen," he went on. "Your skin is smooth and unblemished, your hair like a waterfall of chestnut silk."

Marisa looked away, her cheeks growing warm with pleasure at his flattery. She could feel him standing close beside her, so close their thighs were almost touching. Would he try to kiss her? Should she let him? He was a stranger. The thought made her feel suddenly vulnerable and she let go of his hand. There was no one else in sight. It was dark, and they were alone, quite alone.

"Marisa." Just her name, nothing more.

His eyes were as black as ebony, enigmatic in the light of the moon. Hypnotic eyes that seemed to be as deep as the ocean; eyes that could see into the most intimate part of her soul, divine her innermost secrets, grant her every wish if she just let herself fall into their depths.

She blinked up at him, feeling suddenly lightheaded. "We… ah, we should go back," she stammered. "It's getting late."

"If you wish,
cara."

What was there about his eyes, his voice, that captivated her so? It was easy to believe he was a magician. He certainly seemed to be casting a spell over her.

She stared up at him, relieved that he hadn't kissed her, disappointed that he hadn't even tried.

"Cara?"

It was wrong. It was foolish. Maybe the most foolish thing she had ever done, yet she leaned toward him, her face uplifted, her heart beating a crazy rhythm she had never heard before as he bent down and captured her lips with his.

She had been kissed before, and often, but never like this. There were no words to describe the incredible wonder of his kiss, nothing in her past experience to compare it to. It was as if he had invented something entirely new, something no one had ever thought of before. As if he had taken a simple kiss and reinvented it. And he wasn't even holding her in his arms, wasn't touching her at all except for his lips pressed to hers.

When he drew back, she felt as if someone had stolen the strength from her limbs, the stars from the sky, the very breath from her body.

Bereft, she stared up at him. Almost, she asked him what he had done, what it was they had shared. But she didn't know how to ask such a question without sounding either incredibly stupid or incredibly naive.

"Come," Grigori said, offering her his hand. "I'll take you home."
Now,
he thought,
before it is too late. For both of us.

"What? Oh, yes, home."

Feeling dazed, she put her hand in his. They didn't say much on the way home. She was acutely aware of his nearness, of his hand holding hers. His grip was gentle; his footsteps seemed extraordinarily light for such a big man. She had the fleeting impression that he was floating over the sidewalk.

All too soon, they reached her apartment building.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked as they walked up the stairs.

"Perhaps."

"Oh." She opened the door, and then glanced over her shoulder. "Well, good night."
"

Buono notte, cara."

"Good night."

She stood looking up at him, wondering if he would kiss her again. For a moment, she thought he would. Hoped he would. Prayed he would.

Instead, he bowed over her hand. "Thank you for walking with me, Marisa."

"I enjoyed it, too."

She waited another moment; then, with a smile, she stepped inside and closed the door. It was probably just as well he hadn't kissed her again, she mused as she got ready for bed. If one kiss could affect her like that, she didn't even want to think what making love to him would be like.

But later, lying in her bed, unable to sleep, she could think of nothing else.