Twilight Illusions (15 page)

She watched him go, frowning in bewilderment. What was going on between the two of them? They obviously knew something they hadn't let her in on. She turned back to Damien, puzzled, then saw the nervous way his eyes moved over her face, the anxiety there, and she sighed. He was still worried about her.

She licked her lips. “We, um…we need to talk.”

He nodded, but didn't seem to be looking forward to a heart-to-heart.

Telling him the truth about her health could wait. There were secrets being kept and she didn't like it one bit.

Coward. You're jumping at any excuse to put it off, and you know it.

“I'd like to know what was going on down here.”

He shrugged, turning his back long enough to stroll around the desk. “We were talking about the murder, just tossing ideas back and forth. Eric wants to help us get to the bottom of this thing.”

She waited. He stood there and stuffed his hands into his deep pockets, as if he didn't know what else to do with them, as if he were nervous.

“And you were talking about Bachman and this DPI. How are you going to deal with him, Damien?”

“I haven't decided yet. But not by blowing an image I've worked years to perfect.”

She threw her hands in the air, palms up. “Damien, if the man thinks you're a
vampire,
you have to do
something.
”

“No, I don't.”

She narrowed her eyes, moving forward until she could lean over the desk and look him in the eye. “You're keeping something from me. Don't deny it. I can see it in those black eyes of yours. What is it, Damien?”

“Nothing that needs to concern you, Shannon.”

She squinted, as if that would clarify whatever was hiding beneath his words. “If it concerns Tawny's murder, then it concerns me.” She shook her head in anger, and paced away from him. “Don't you get it yet, Damien? I'm
living
to get this guy. There's nothing more important to me. Nothing.”

When she turned to face him again, saw the intensity in his black eyes, she almost amended that. There was something as important, rapidly approaching
more important
to her. Him.

“And we will.”

“How?”

“We've already put the wheels in motion by having you appear with me last night. Be patient. Give it some time.”

“I can't be patient. And I don't
have
time.” He closed his eyes when she said that, as though she'd poked him with a hot needle. She rushed on. “I mean, you only have one more show, Damien, and then it'll be over. If he doesn't make a move, we might never know who he is.”

“We will,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes, flipped her head back and turned in a slow circle, sick to death of his vague assurances.

He caught her shoulders in his hands, stopping her. “I have a surprise for you. Why don't you forget about all of this for just little while. You've been sick. You deserve to relax.”

She lowered her chin, searched his eyes. “A surprise?”

He nodded, gripped her hand and drew her out of the library, through the hall to the circular living room and then along the arched corridor to the front door. He opened it wide and waved one arm with a flourish.
“Voila`.”

The Stingray glistened beneath its freshly applied coat of candy-apple red paint. Even its tires gleamed like new. “Is that…
my
car?”

He was pulling her down the front steps, into the biting October wind. It tossed his dark hair in a way that made her want to push her fingers through it. He stopped by the car, opened the driver's door, then ran around to the passenger side and slid in. She was still standing by the open door, shaking her head.

“Come on, get in. It's freezing out there.”

She couldn't speak. A brick or something equally huge and rough-edged was lodged in the back of her throat. She sat down in the driver's seat, reached for the key and paused, her eyes widening. “What is that?”

She glanced sideways at Damien. He reached forward and pushed a button. The Spin Doctors' latest hit blasted from the newly installed CD player, rattling the windows. She reached up and turned it down. When she looked at Damien again, she found herself battling tears. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You wanted it red. I had the money. Why not?”

It was so thoughtful, so sweet, that he'd remembered her story about the Matchbox car. Even down to the color. “And the CD player?”

“You seemed to like mine.”

No one had done anything so nice for her, not since Tawny had given her that stupid little Matchbox car on her birthday. She didn't want him to care about her, dammit…

But, God, it felt good to know that he did. Good and sad and terrible all at once.

She reached a hand up, touched his face. His eyes darkened. She could barely see them through the veil of tears in her own. His lips trembled slightly.

And then he turned away. “It's no big deal, Shannon. Come on, start her up and get some heat in here. Let's take it for a drive.” He reached up to turn the volume higher.

Shannon bit her lip. Then she started the car.

S
he ejected the Doctors and slipped in the brand-new Sting CD. Damien had a boxful of CDs stashed in the glove compartment. The guy was full of surprises. She didn't know why it felt like some kind of exquisite torture having him do something so wonderful for her. She wasn't sure if it hurt or felt good. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, to feel ecstatic or depressed. And feeling both was exhausting and confusing.

She knew only that the small car put them close to each other, and the sentimental words flowing from the speakers now in that husky voice filled what little space remained between them. She could smell Damien, feel his warmth. An odd zing of energy, one she only felt when they were close, whirred in her nerve endings. It was electricity and attraction and awareness, and something else. As they drove through the cool autumn night, with fallen leaves shooting up behind them as they passed, she found her gaze on Damien more often than the road. On his strong face, his deep, glittering onyx eyes and his sensual lips with their dramatic color. He didn't have flesh-colored lips like a lot of men. His lips looked like fruit that's ready to be picked. And she thought they'd taste the same way.

His hand shot out to jerk the wheel to the left. She swung her gaze back to the pavement, where it belonged, but knew it wouldn't remain there long. She pulled a U-turn at the first wide spot in the road and headed back toward his house.

If there was one thing she wanted before she died, it was to make love to this man. The only problem with that was that it would end up hurting him. She bit her lip, negating that thought inwardly. As deeply as Damien felt things, she might very well end up destroying him. She didn't want to do that, and it surprised her just how much the thought of causing him pain bothered her. She hadn't cared enough about anyone to give a damn if their feelings got hurt. No one but Tawny, at least.

And to think she'd believed he was a killer.

God, her feelings were all mixed up.

Okay, better to concentrate on her most important goal in life. Finding this killer. Driving around listening to
Ten Summoner's Tales
on a starry autumn night with this incredible man was wonderful, but it was getting her nowhere.

“You know, he's never going to make a move against me when I'm with you.”

She glanced at him as she said it. She'd studiously avoided staring at him for the past few miles, but his eyes were on her, dark and deep and dreamy, when she met his gaze. He blinked, as though she'd distracted him from some deep thinking.

“What?”

“Our killer. He's not likely to attack me when you're at my side. You know that.”

He averted his gaze. “Maybe I'm not in as big a hurry to see him try to murder you as you are.”

“I'm in a hurry to catch him.”

“I'm not going to let you walk around alone with a big bull's-eye painted on your forehead.”

“Then you want to let him get away? Because that's what will happen, Damien.”

He frowned, his wide sable brows touching. “We'll think of something.”

“That's not good enough.” She turned slowly into his winding driveway, and he used a remote control he had in his pocket to open the gate.

“After the next performance—”

“The
last
performance.”

“Right. When it's over, we might stage something. Make it seem as if you're alone, when you really aren't. Try to trap him.”

“I don't want to wait that long.” Mostly because she doubted Damien would go through with it. He was way too protective of her. It should irritate the hell out of her instead of making her want to hug him.

“Shannon, it's risky. It's using you like chum to bait a killer shark. It ought to be a last resort. With any luck he'll tip his hand before then, and we won't have to risk it.”

She shut the engine off. She had her own ideas about how much they could and couldn't risk here. To her way of thinking, the biggest risk was the one that the killer would get away. Her life was no risk at all. It was all but over anyway. Where the hell was the risk in that?

“You're tired.” He touched her shoulder.

“Hell, Damien, I've slept thirty-six straight hours. How can I be?” She didn't say she wasn't. She was. Drained.

“You're still pale.”

She laughed a little. “Maybe this Bachman nut will think I'm a vampire next.”

He didn't laugh with her. In fact, he looked pained for a second. She opened her door. “So, you won't let me try my plan tonight. I'm not up to fighting with you about it.” She got out and started for the front door, knowing he was right behind her. “So how about we spend the rest of the night going over those notes Eric Marquand brought you? All that stuff about these DPI crazies.” She waited at the door while Damien unlocked it, swung it wide and let her walk in before him.

“I've already gone over all that. There's nothing that can be of any help.” He closed the door, locked it.

Shannon strolled nonchalantly through the short hall into the round room she was beginning to love. She let herself collapse backward onto the chaise. He didn't want her examining those papers Eric had given him. He'd locked them in the desk as soon as she'd entered the library and started looking at them. Strange.

“So, maybe tomorrow we can visit Bachman at his hotel, try to get him to answer some questions. What do you think?”

Damien blinked quickly. “I have a few appointments tomorrow. Business stuff. I'll have to be away for most of the day.”

“Oh.” She hoped her disappointment didn't come through in her voice. She wasn't eager to spend the day alone…

…
although,
the idea
did
present her with the perfect opportunity to take a peek at the papers in that locked desk.

He crossed to the hearth, tossed a couple of logs onto coals that never quite died down, then took a seat on the floor, amid the cushions. “Are you tired? You want to rest?”

“I'll be able to rest all I want tomorrow, while you're gone.”

“That's a good idea.”

She sat up, drawing her knees around underneath her. “So does that thing work?”

He followed her gaze to the wide-screen television. “Yes. I don't use it much. Can't say I'm overly fond of television. Mostly I watch the news and tapes of other magicians. Helps me spot my own flaws.”

“If you have any flaws, Damien, believe me, they're invisible to the human eye.”

He looked a little startled. She couldn't believe she'd actually done that. Flirted with him. She was a selfish bitch.

“I have them, Shannon.”

Oh, why were his eyes drawing her to him like giant supermagnets? Why didn't she have enough character to resist? Why in the name of God was she sliding off the chaise and onto the floor beside him, curling up amid the pillows as if she just wanted to get closer to the fire. She did, and the fire was Damien.

“What are they? Your flaws.”

His dark eyes were burning zigzag paths over her hair. “You'd run screaming if I told you.”

She shook her head, and she read amazement in his eyes when her hair flew out around her and settled back to cover her shoulders. “It takes a lot to scare me. I'm not afraid of you.”

His hand rose, floated magically upward, and his fingertips touched her hair, hesitant, unsure. “Maybe you should be.”

She swayed forward, her mind no longer having any noticeable influence over her body's actions. She closed her eyes, tipped her face up and pressed her lips to his. They trembled a little, nearly pulled away. She pressed harder, parting her mouth in gentle invitation.

His sigh filled her. She drank it, and his hand slid more deeply into her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her face to his. His lips opened and his tongue slipped between hers to lick at her mouth's interior. She opened wider, giving him all the access he could want. Her arms encircled his neck, and she kissed him with everything in her.

But he pulled away. He got to his feet, turning his back to her. He kept pushing a hand through his hair, and he bowed his head, staring into the fire. The tremors she felt racking her body were mirrored in his unsteady stance, his labored breathing.

“I'm sorry, Shannon.”

She stayed where she was. If she got up, she'd go to him, throw herself at him like some desperate, love-starved wanton. She wouldn't do that, to herself or to him. “I'm not.” She smoothed her hair a little and fought with her racing heart rate. “I've never been kissed like that before.”

“Then the men you've known have been fools.”

He still didn't look at her. She smiled at the compliment. A warm flood of pleasure rushed through her veins. “Wouldn't have mattered. I never wanted any of
them.
”

She saw the way his spine stiffened. He couldn't have missed the implication. That she
did
want him. God, it was unfair of her to put him through this.

He turned slowly, looked at her. “Shannon, believe me, you don't want to waste yourself on me. Especially if you've never been with a man. That's something too precious to—”

“Be honest about it, at least.” She got to her feet, frustrated and angry and hurt. She turned away.

He caught her shoulder, turned her around to face him. “Shannon, I'm sorry—”

“Don't be. I'll survive.” She shook her head hard, so her hair flew over her face like a curtain. “I never thought I could ever want any man, Damien. Never believed it was possible. Ironic, isn't it, that when I finally do, it's a man who doesn't want me back?” What was wrong with her? Why was she acting this way?

His hands on her shoulders trembled as they tightened, and suddenly she was crushed to his chest. His arms surrounded her, strong and hard, and her breasts pressed against him. His mouth covered hers, captured it, and his tongue delved and drank and stroked. Faster, rougher, deeper. She slid her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers in his raven hair and licked at his tongue with her own. God, he tasted good. She wanted him so much it was a living force inside her. She felt his hips grind against her and she arched toward him in response. His arousal pressed into her belly, rock hard and insistent.

A little tremor raced through her, along with memories she'd rarely allowed her mind to access. Memories of other hands, drunken, clumsy ones. And of fear. He seemed to sense her hesitance, because he lifted his head. “Shannon?” A choked whisper. Gleaming black eyes probed hers.

“Just promise you won't…hurt me.” It was the voice of the little girl she'd been. The innocence she hadn't felt in so long.

His eyes fell closed. He levered himself away from her, just a bit, and his arms fell from around her, then rose to stroke her hair. “I won't hurt you, Shannon. Not ever. And that's why this insanity isn't going to go any further.”

“Insanity?”

He pushed her away, turned her toward the arched doorway into the big dining room, urged her through it and beyond, past the library doors, to the wide staircase. “Go to bed. Rest. And don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I don't want you, Shannon. I do. Too much.”

She turned, searched his face, not understanding. He'd ignited a fire in her blood and she wanted him to put it out. Here, now. She'd go up in flames if he didn't.

He averted his face, closed his eyes. “Go on. Now.” Cruel words. Angry tone. Or desperate.

She ran up the stairs, trying not to cry before she reached the bedroom. She didn't want him to see her cry, to hear her frustration. The door flew open at her touch, smashed into the wall behind it, marring the satiny wallpaper. Shannon slammed it closed behind her just as forcefully, and with her back pressed to the cool dark wood, she felt for the lock, turned it without looking. Her eyes squeezed tight against the pain of his rejection. Her teeth grated to hold it back, but the battle was useless. The tears came—bitter, loud, hot tears that blazed their paths into her skin.

He'd said he wanted her. He'd kissed her as if he wanted her. But if he wanted her, he could have had her tonight. She'd humiliated herself, acted like a whore, offered herself as freely as if she did it every day. He couldn't know how much it had taken for her to open herself up to him that way. He couldn't know how much it had cost her.

She sank to the floor, sobs tearing at her chest.

 

The vase hit the hearth and exploded into a thousand onyx shards, raining down on the marble tiles, the pillows, the Turkish rug nearest the fire. Damien clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting to resist the desire that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted Shannon. She drove him insane with lust. Desire tore through his brain, roared in his ears like a living thing, like a dragon breathing fire to ignite his soul, to devour his mind.