The Perfect Kiss (5 page)

And, oh, then, that first breathtaking view of the sun as it rose majestically over the horizon! So beautiful and wondrous and almost mystical in remembrance.

Anya sighed as she put her hands to her face, blocking an image that was at once compelling and depressing. How long could she continue to hover between the two worlds? she wondered in despair. Longing for one, denying the other, but belonging to neither.

The bell sounded again, an irritating reminder of her limitations. Anya scowled. Why didn’t Freida answer the door? It might be the mailman. Anya was expecting a package from Dr. Traymore, a friend of hers who lived in Towering Oaks, the little town in Maine she’d retreated to years ago.

Dr. Traymore had been a close friend of Anya’s grandmother. He owned a bookstore in Towering Oaks, specializing in rare volumes, but he had once been an archaeologist. His travels still took him all over Europe and the Middle East. Over the years, he’d learned things, secrets, legends…. He’d guessed Anya’s secret long ago and, like Karl and Freida Aldermann, had sworn to help her.

He was abroad now, someplace in Germany, traveling and searching. He was onto something, he’d told her. He was sending her information on a book he’d heard about, an antique Latin volume that could be of great interest to them both.

Excitement stirred in Anya as she opened the door of her room and ventured into the hallway. The bell sounded again, the third time. From experience Anya knew people usually gave up after the third try.

“Freida!” she called. She was standing on the landing now. The hallway behind her lay deep in shadows. All the upstairs windows were tightly shuttered against the daylight.

To Anya’s relief she heard Freida answer the door. “Is it my package?” Anya called anxiously.

Her housekeeper’s voice suddenly rose in agitation, and in the next instant, Zach Christopher stepped past Freida, into the foyer. His gaze traveled up the curving staircase to meet Anya’s.

Anya shrank back into the shadows, but he had already seen her. Freida appeared at his side, dwarfed by Zach’s height and presence. “You’ll have to leave,” she said primly, the threat in her voice undaunted by his size. “You can’t barge in here like this.”

“I won’t stay long,” he promised as he walked to the foot of the stairs.

Anya’s heart pounded in her ears. Dear God, what was he doing here? Did he remember last night? She had tried to make him forget, was sure he would only remember her in his dreams, but he had a strong will. His mind had fought her manipulations, drawing her instead into his own mesmerizing passions.

“It’s all right, Freida,” she said with outward calm. When the housekeeper left, Anya’s voice cooled. “What do you want?”

“After last night? I thought that would be obvious.”

Her heart skipped a beat, then picked up the rhythm in double time. His voice, deep and low, swept over her like a wave of silk. She took a tentative step forward, staring
down at him as her hand moved to her throat. “You shouldn’t have come here,” she warned. “I value my privacy above all else.”

“I imagine you do,” he said. “The question is, why? You could have the world at your feet. I could give you that—”

“Stop it!” Anya cried, his lofty promises reminding her all too painfully of another man’s promises. Once, she might have believed him. Once, she had been so very young, so conceited and foolish. Once, she had trusted so easily. She took a deep breath, and said, “What makes you think I want the world?”

“You had it once,” he said, his voice beguiling and yet frightening. “Surely you remember the thrill?”

“I had a lot of things. And I promise you, I’ve forgotten nothing.”

“Don’t you want it back? I can give it all back to you, Anya.”

“Can you?”

He put a foot on the bottom step. His hand closed over the intricately carved banister. “Let me prove it to you. Just hear me out. I have a proposal that could give us both everything we desire.”

“And do you know what it is you desire?” Her words were bitter. Hollow. Like her soul.

“I want you,” he said softly, but the strange glow in his green eyes made Anya wonder whether in fact he was still talking about a contract, or some other bargain, another kind of union altogether.

Her hand trembled as she pushed back a stray lock of hair. “And I want you to leave me alone.”

“I can’t. We need each other.”

A shaft of sunlight from a small, hexagonal-shaped window fell across the oak staircase halfway up. The window
had remained unshuttered because Anya never came downstairs during the day. But now she stared at the light, fascinated by the barrier it presented. She stood at the top of the stairs, Zach at the bottom, and the light remained between them.

“Come down and at least hear me out,” Zach urged, his voice rich with deadly persuasion. “If you still feel the same way after listening to my plans, then I’ll walk out that door, and I won’t come back. Your privacy will be safe with me. You have my word on that.”

Anya’s gaze remained fixed on the light. Her eyes were burning, scorching, but she couldn’t seem to look away. “I can’t come down,” she said, and she wondered if Zach could hear the despair in her voice as clearly as she heard it. “I’m…working.”

“Working?” He sounded startled. “You have another job besides modeling?”

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

He shrugged. “It shouldn’t, I suppose. You only model at night and only for a short time each session. I thought that was simply an extremely clever publicity strategy on your part, but now you’re telling me it’s because you have another job? A daytime job?” His tone sounded skeptical. “If you don’t mind my asking, exactly what is it that you do?”

Anya hesitated, edging closer to the top of the stairs in spite of herself. She wanted a better look, wanted to feel the warmth that radiated from his skin, to see the light that shone from his eyes. It shocked her to realize just how much she was willing to risk for even one glimpse of Zach Christopher.

You can never know the love of a man.

Their gazes met again, and Anya felt something inside her respond in spite of her rigid control.

“I write poetry,” she said, her tone low.

Zach climbed another step or two, drawing closer to the barrier of light. The wood creaked beneath his weight. Anya’s hand tightened against her throat as his eyes swept over her.

She wasn’t glamorous-looking today, she knew. Gone was the red dress he’d seen last night and the luster of makeup. She wore only jeans, a simple white shirt and gold-beaded vest. Her feet were bare and her hair was caught back in a loose braid. She wondered suddenly if he was disappointed by her appearance, if he could see how false, how misleading the image of last night had been. She wondered if he, like all the others, was only interested in her beauty.

“Are you published?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m impressed.” But his voice sounded more annoyed than anything else. “And your modeling career? That’s merely a sideline?”

“A way to survive,” she said without thinking, then bit her lip, aware that she was in danger of revealing too much.

He studied her silently. Anya felt herself grow nervous under his steady regard. He seemed too sharp, too intuitive. He could so easily cast his own spell. Perhaps he already had, she thought fatalistically.

“The proposition I have for you wouldn’t have to change your life-style that much.” His voice was slow, deliberate. Dangerously appealing. “An exclusive contract would only require you to work a few days a year at the most. It would be perfect—”

“Would you expect personal appearances, publicity tours, television appearances?”

“Well, of course, that would be included in the deal.”

“Then you’re wasting your time. And mine,” Anya said abruptly. “I’m not interested.”

She started to turn away, but Zach bolted up the stairs. He crossed the barrier of light without a second’s thought and stood in the shadows beside her. His hand lifted to touch her arm, but Anya drew away, her heart racing at his nearness.

“Don’t dismiss me so easily,” he insisted, his green eyes deep and edged with impatience. “I have faith that we can work something out. You only want to work at night? That’s fine. You only model for limited sessions? Terrific. I can be as accommodating as the next guy. Just give me a chance.”

Anya wavered, vacillating between the answer that had to be and the one she desperately wished to give. Zach seemed to sense her hesitation, and at once his hands came up and grasped her arms. A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes as his warm fingers touched her coolness, and then something deeper shone in his gaze. Something that looked very much like pleasure. And acceptance.

His warm gaze swept over her, then returned to her eyes. His tone softened. “We can make it happen, you and I. My company needs you. I need you. You may be my last chance,” he said on a breath so low the words would have been inaudible to anyone else.

But even had he not spoken at all, Anya would still have heard him because his every thought was so clear to her now. Zach Christopher was a desperate man. A lost soul who, in a way, was almost as tormented as she.

In the face of his need, Anya found it hard to turn away from him, to send him away. She would have to in time. She knew that. But not yet. She couldn’t bear to hurt him because she could see years of self-inflicted pain lurking in the deep shadows of his eyes.

His gaze grew even darker. “Have dinner with me tonight. Give me some time to convince you. That’s all I’m asking.”

His words swirled around her, his voice, his tone, his meaning all indistinguishable from her own needs. Anya realized how desperately she wanted to see him tonight, how much she wanted to be with him when her senses were the most fully alive.

And the most deadly.

With all her willpower, she pulled herself from his grasp and took a step back, into the deeper shadows of the landing. “Not dinner.”

“Drinks then. You name the place.” When she hesitated, he took a step toward her. “One night, Anya. If I can’t convince you what I’m offering is absolutely perfect for both of us, then I’ll go away,” he said, each word a chilling nail hammered into her heart. “You’ll never see me again.”

Send him away, her mind screamed. Send him away before it’s too late.

But standing so close, she could hear the beating of his heart, the rush of blood through his veins. She could sense his vitality, his warmth, and it drew her like an insect flying into the heart of a flame. Perhaps
this
was the only way.

“There’s a club in the Village,” she said slowly, with deep fear and regret. “Nosferatu’s. Do you know it?”

“I’ll find it,” he said, smiling.

“I’m sure you will,” she said, not smiling.

CHAPTER FOUR

N
ew York after dark was a place like no other.

The night teemed with people—yuppies, blue collar workers, secretaries, tourists, dopers, pimps and murderers, all walking the same crowded streets. Predators of the night they became, searching, prowling, scavenging the streets and each other for what they needed. It was a city where anything could happen after dark—and usually did.

Zach rarely went out at night these days. In his younger years in New York, he’d succumbed to the lure of the incomparable nightlife. He’d been seduced by the endless parties, the myriad bars and clubs all over the city. He’d drunk, he’d laughed, he’d gone home with women whose faces were now only a blur, and whose names had long ago been forgotten.

But that was before the threat of AIDS had made promiscuity a synonym for Russian roulette. That was before he’d realized that sex and alcohol only made him forget for a little while, and that in the morning the guilt was always stronger. That was before he’d decided that the only way to forget and forgive was to prove he’d been wrong all these years.

The accident had happened eleven years ago, but his parents had never forgiven him, either. At least his father hadn’t. William had never gotten over the death of his eldest son, his favorite son, his smartest and best and brightest son, and every time he looked at Zach, there was no joy, no thankfulness for what remained—only a painful reminder of what had been lost.

Zach stared out the window of the cab, barely registering the blur of lights as they made their way toward the section of New York called the Village. The meeting with William earlier hadn’t gone at all well. Zach grimaced, remembering how their conversation had ended in yet another shouting match.

“You think you have all the answers, don’t you?” William had ranted, leaning heavily on his cane as he’d paced back and forth in front of the marble fireplace. “Dammit, you should have consulted me before making a decision of this magnitude. The whole company is in jeopardy because of your harebrained scheme.”

“My ‘harebrained’ scheme will launch Renee Alexander back to the top,” Zach countered. “Every woman in the country will be wearing Seduction.”

“You’re wrong, Zach. Your brother talked me into shelving that fragrance a dozen years ago, right after he came to work for me, and he was right. Seduction will never make it in today’s market. I don’t care what kind of campaign strategy you use. You’ll never make it work.”

“Yes, I will,” Zach answered with an almost deadly calm. He looked to his mother for support, but Kathryn averted her cool green eyes. In spite of the fact that she’d been a driving force behind his appointment, Zach knew that his mother was very subtly letting him know where her loyalties still lay. She’d stood behind her husband in the years he and Zach had been estranged, and Zach’s appointment hadn’t really changed anything.

He was still alone, still fighting battles he didn’t quite understand.

“Hey, you okay, buddy?”

Slowly, Zach became aware of the fact that the cab had pulled to the curb. The driver had shifted in his seat and
was staring at Zach, an expression of wary distrust crinkling his brow.

“This
is
the place, right?” the driver asked gruffly, his gaze taking in Zach’s expensive overcoat, the exquisite tailoring of his trousers—not in admiration or envy, Zach knew, but in concern for his fare.