Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) (6 page)

"Oh, n-nothing," she said, smiling nervously at Joni. "I just thought I saw someone I knew."

Trying to act as normal as possible she forced her attention elsewhere. But it was no use. She couldn’t resist the temptation, and discreetly cut her eyes over to him again. She was staring as if hypnotized when he turned and looked at her. The meeting of their eyes jolted her, causing a sizzle of electricity between them. Before she knew what was happening, he was giving her the deepest sexual stare she had ever experienced, and she began to tremble and shiver. Their gazes fused, and desire such as she had never known rose up in her. Suddenly everyone in the restaurant had disappeared but him, and as he embraced her with his eyes she felt him arousing an animal lust in her unlike anything she could have even dreamed of. Her eyes became heavy-lidded and her lips parted slightly, allowing her tongue to lightly lick her red, bold lips. The burning desire in her was almost painful, making her feel like a common wanton, willing to let him love her with an uninhibited passion. She began struggling with this deep, unholy attraction, and after several minutes, finally managed to tear her eyes away from his. She quickly grabbed her napkin to wipe her brow.

"It can't be," she breathed into the napkin. "It just can't be. He's only a figment of my imagination. How can he be here, made of solid flesh and blood?" She looked up again, and he was talking and laughing with his date. He glanced over at Chyna again, then leaned over and whispered something in the brunette's ear. They both turned and looked at her and laughed.

"He even acts as if he knows me," she muttered into the napkin.

"What in hell are you muttering about over there?"

Looking at Joni, she felt a blush color her face. She lowered her eyes and said guiltily, "Uh, nothing." Then glancing back at the couple, she noticed they were getting up to leave. On their way out they stopped at Chyna's table.

"Excuse me, aren't you Chyna Marsh, the writer?"

She looked up toward the deep, male voice, astounded. "Why, yes."

"I hope you'll forgive us. When I thought I recognized you, Elaine didn't believe me, so we made a bet." He shrugged. "It seems I've won." He had a napkin in his hand and put it on the table. “May I have your autograph? I know men are not supposed to read romance novels, but it seems that I've become quite an addict of your work." He laughed. "I hope that doesn't make me sound strange."

"No, of course not," Chyna said, giving him a smile as she signed the napkin. "I only wish more men would read romance novels. Maybe then there wouldn't be so many disappointed women in the world."

The man frowned at the strange remark. "What do you mean?"

"Well, men go around trying to be so damned macho all the time when all they would have to do to please a woman is to read a romance novel once in a while to find out what really makes her hot. After all, they're written by women, for women. It seems to me if a man is really the tomcat he thinks he is he would forget all his smart ass ideas, do his homework, and go home to his wife and make her happy for once."

Chyna apparently had spoken louder than she intended and gathered quite an audience. When she got through, the crowd clapped and cheered, especially the women. Surprised, she looked around embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get on my soapbox."

"No, it's all right. You've certainly given us a lot to think about, and I'm sure after that little speech every man in this restaurant will go right out and buy one of your novels." He put the napkin in his pocket and reached for her hand, speaking softly. "It's certainly been a pleasure, but I must ask you—" he looked around and indicated a chair. "May I?"

"Of course."

He dragged the chair up beside her, sat down, then draped his arm across the back of hers. Chyna cut her eyes around at his apparent familiarity, and experienced a sense of déjà vu. Feeling him so close, it reminded her of the dream, and when she looked into his eyes, she immediately felt herself getting lost in them again. Suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as her eyes focused on his lips, watching him lick them suggestively. With his eyes once again embracing hers, she again had the feeling of responding to him in an animalistic sexual fury. Struggling to overcome this evil trap, she lowered her head, shook it slightly, then looked up, trying to keep up with his conversation.

"—does the lucky man in your life read your romance novels? And," he added with suggestive huskiness, "does he please you?"

Chyna blinked, still trying to clear her head. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was asking about the man in your life," he said, seductively. Leaning toward her, he whispered boldly in her ear, "Is he keeping you satisfied?"

She abruptly pulled her hand out of his, and said sharply, "If I were you, sir, I wouldn't worry about someone else's love life. I'd worry about my own." She nodded toward the brunette who was talking and laughing with another man, then picked up her purse, pushed past him, and pulled Joni out of the restaurant.

"Wow, what a performance," Joni said, when they got outside.

"I'm sorry, Joni, I hope I didn't embarrass you."

"Hell, no. By the way, who was that man? My God, he was gorgeous."

"Nobody much," Chyna sniffed sadly, "just the man of my dreams!"

Chyna burned rubber getting out of the parking area, and went a few blocks before she saw another restaurant and pulled in. Now, as she sat in another booth with tears in her eyes, she bit down on a big greasy burger bulging with onions while staring out at the big golden arches in front. Her big celebration dinner had ended at, of all places—McDonalds.

* * * *

Later that same evening Chyna fumbled around in her medicine cabinet looking for aspirin and feeling like she was going crazy. Gulping down three, she walked back into the bedroom and crawled into bed.

She leaned back against her pillow, unable to get her mind off the evening’s activities. Being exhausted, her eyes drifted to a close, and her mind began to drift. Suddenly she saw two men. One came from some far off nether region of her mind, while the other stepped through a doorway as if he’d just arrived. The two hurried toward her. Both were dressed in black, with dark hair, capes flaring out about them, and glittering eyes. She knew that one was Dagan, the romancing, tunnel-walking vampire in her novel, and the other was Quinn Grayson, the man in her dreams. She continued to watch as they kept walking—walking—walking—until she could tell they were going to collide. But at the very instant they met, they merged, becoming one. Finally, a voice she knew well growled in broken English. “Come to me, my darling.”

“Count Dagan, it’s you,” she moaned, seeing a pair of blood red lips opening against her neck. “God,” she whimpered, “if you’re any example, no wonder women are in love with vampires.”

Just then she felt a pinch on her neck that woke her up. She lunged forward, the dream so real she wiped at her neck, then brought her hand back, checking for blood. Seeing what she was doing, she groaned while combing her fingers through her hair. “God, I’ve got to get hold of myself.” Laying back down, she muttered, “I'm not going to dream tonight. I
can’t
dream tonight. I
won’t
dre…"

But tonight her dream would be different
.

She drifted into the blue atmosphere again, but this time when she got her bearings she found herself walking down a dark corridor. She looked as far as she could into the narrow darkness and saw the dim colorless brightness of moonlight at the other end. She crept closer and closer, trying to be as quiet as possible. When she had finally gone as far as she could she stepped into a small, crude, square chamber that had nothing in it except a barred door and a dirty window that was streaked with stains from the elements. She could hear movement on the other side, sort of a shuffling sound that caused chills to creep along her spine. She knew she should turn and run, but something held her there—curiosity, maybe. She knew that someone—or
something
was on the other side of that door, and she couldn’t leave until she knew who—or
what
it was.

She lifted her hands and grasped the bars, her eyes piercing the darkness, looking for something, some sign of life, but all she could see was a small square of moonlight filtering down on a concrete floor. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours passed before she realized that something was different. And then it came to her. It was the shuffling. It had stopped, and a deep hush—a dangerous hush—had taken its place. She could hear her own breath, jerking with fright. She wanted to leave, but she stood shivering, rooted to the spot. Then, without warning, a horrible creature leaped out of the darkness, rattling the iron door, his face practically destroyed. The moment of his appearance was so sudden, and so horrible that she jerked her head back and screamed!

She jolted up in bed immersed in fear. Fear of something she’d seen, but she couldn’t seem to remember what it was. She only knew that it was horrible, and it was staring out at her from behind shadows and bars.

The eyes, oh my God, the eyes
, she thought.
They glared like some wild animal. It was a smoldering gaze that stabbed at me unmercifully.
She combed her hair back with her hands.
God, what’s happening to me? I’m becoming confused—my mind is jumbled—I can’t sleep—I can’t eat.

Finally forcing the picture from her mind, she prepared to face another day. Feeling heavy and clumsy, she got out of the bed, and managed a shower. When she was finally dressed she didn't feel any better, but still she dragged herself downstairs with nothing but coffee on her mind. When she got to the kitchen she discovered Mrs. O’Hanlan was already there.

“I was just about to come lookin’ for ye. Didn’t yer alarm clock go off?”

“Battle scars,” she said, remembering throwing it against the wall.

The older woman frowned at the reply. “What?”

“Oh, uh, nothing. It’s broken, that’s all.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed on Chyna. "What’s the matter? Are ye sick?"

"No, do I look sick?" Chyna croaked.

"Ye look like somethin' the cat dragged in."

"I guess I haven't been sleeping very well."

"Why don't ye take the day off and rest?"

"My book…"

"Forget them sinful books and come over here and let me fix ye some breakfast. Ye don't eat enough to keep a bird alive."

"No. No breakfast, but I'd kill for a cup of coffee."

Mrs. O’Hanlan looked at her reprovingly. "Ye need some eggs and bacon, young lady. It can't be doin' ye any good to skip breakfast that way. Ye need yer strength, else how're ye gonna keep writin' them wicked books that should be banned in every bookstore in the country?"

"God, Mrs. O’Hanlan, I just can't look an egg in the face this early in the morning. Just give me some coffee. Maybe I could manage some toast, but that's all."

"Oh no. I'm gonna fix ye some scrambled eggs and toast. It's still not enough, but it's more than ye've been eatin', and it'll help."

Almost getting sick at the suggestion, she mumbled, "Where the hell is a dog when you need one?"

"What was that?" the older woman asked as she moved quickly, filling the kitchen with early morning cooking smells.

"Uh, nothing," Chyna said, quickly gulping down the coffee.

A few minutes later the woman scooped Chyna’s breakfast into a plate and placed it in front of her.

“Mental note,” Chyna mumbled while looking down at the eggs and heaving. “Get a dog.”

Just then the phone rang, and Mrs. O’Hanlan quickly turned and picked it up. "Marsh Residence. Oh, hello, Ms. Phillips.” She paused, listening. “Well, that’s wonderful. I’ll see if she can talk now." Looking over at Chyna, she put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "It's yer agent, and she says she has good news." She handed Chyna the phone.

"Hi, Reyna, what's up?"

"How would you like a month off for good behavior?"

"Sorry,” Chyna said, sourly, “I don't believe in fairy tales anymore. I'm a big girl now. I can dress myself and everything."

"Well, dust off your old Mother Goose book, kiddo, because you have a month off to do exactly as you please. I just found out this morning that due to a major screw up, the due date on your book has been rescheduled, and you can be a lady of leisure for a while. The only thing I ask is that you don't get too used to it. You know how fairy tales are, you turn into a pumpkin at midnight."

"When is the midnight hour?"

"July twenty-first."

"Oh, wow! Thanks a lot, and give my regards to the genius who's gonna be walkin' the streets looking for a job."

"You got it. Bye, love."

"Well," she began, turning her eyes toward Mrs. O’Hanlan who was scowling at her with curiosity, "as of this moment, I'm officially on vacation."

"Oh my, that's fine. But tell me, now, are ye gonna take that vacation, or am I gonna have to call somebody in here to chop up that computer?"

"No need to get drastic. I'll be good, I promise. In fact you can have a month off as well. Since I won't be working, I won't need anyone here with me."