The Perfect Kiss

by Amanda Stevens

  He would give his own life to save her. That’s just what she feared.

  When Anya Delorian reemerged after a ten-year absence from the modeling scene, she looked as if she hadn’t aged a day. All it took was one glimpse of her timeless beauty to convince CEO Zach Christianson that she should be the face for his company’s newest perfume. Anya was just as captivated by Zach. She knew that she could lose herself forever in his emerald eyes, but that wouldn’t be safe for her—or him.

  Unable to let go of the elusive Anya, Zach follows her to her secluded estate. As he ventures ever-deeper into her world, Zach discovers that Anya’s allure has a dark edge… darker than he could ever have imagined. Anya begs Zach to leave when a mysterious man from her past threatens to kill them both, but Zach refuses to leave the woman he loves to face this monster alone.

  Previously published.

  AMANDA STEVENS

  Amanda Stevens is a bestselling author of over thirty novels of romantic suspense. In addition to being a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, she is also the recipient of awards in Career Achievement in Romantic/Mystery and Career Achievement in Romantic/Suspense from Romantic Times BOOKclub. She currently resides in Texas. To find out more about past, present and future projects, please visit her Web site at www.amandastevens.com.

  AMANDA STEVENS

  THE PERFECT KISS

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  He came to her in darkness.

  Blackness shrouded him, surrounded him, suspended him in the ethereal magic that is night.

  Anya turned quickly, sensing his presence in the gust of wind that rippled through her pale hair as she anxiously peered through the inky layers of shadow. A cloud veiled the moon, and the darkness deepened. She could see nothing, but her mind and body were awash with sensations. Her eyes drifted closed in supplication.

  He whispered to her soul, beckoned to her with the tender coercion of a consummate lover.

  Anya, come to me.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her heart beating against her breast like the wings of a captive bird. “Where are you?”

  Soon, little one. Very soon you shall see me. Have patience. Have you not waited all your life for this moment?

  “Yes, Gershom. Oh, yes.”

  Another draft of wind blew aside Anya’s velvet cloak as mist from the water coiled around her feet, like a sly hand waiting to ensnare her. After the din of music and laughter in the crowded club in Bonn, the Rhine’s silence beguiled her, lured her into a dark serenity. No cameras here to worship her incomparable beauty; no lights here to adorn her perfect features. Just the shimmering glide of the river, the smooth, velvet darkness…and him.

  For a moment, when Anya saw his dark silhouette emerge from the copse of trees, her breath caught in her throat and she wondered if perhaps her impetuousness had taken her too far this time, if the thrill of living on the edge was to hasten her demise.

  At seventeen, Anya had already lived on her own in Europe for over two years. As a top fashion model, she traveled in the fast-moving circles of the beautiful people, was at home in the slightly decadent underworld of dark, smoky clubs where a new and headier thrill was always just a shining moment away.

  She had met him at one of those clubs. The other models—still children in so many ways—had whispered behind their hands and giggled embarrassingly at the dark, compelling stranger.

  But Anya…Anya had been captivated the moment his deep gaze touched hers. Tall, dark, with a gauntness that was strikingly attractive, the man called Gershom brought forth a timeless passion deep within her that was at once thrilling and forbidden. In the unfathomable depths of his eyes, she had glimpsed the promise of the unknown, the answer to mysteries beyond her wildest dreams.

  He’d touched the loneliness in her soul, and she had known immediately that this man, this mesmerizing stranger, was her destiny.

  He looked even taller in the darkness, she thought. Taller, paler, more mysterious. He moved like a shadow, barely disturbing the night with his presence. When he stood before her, Anya gazed up at him, trembling.

  “Do you know why you are here, Anya?” His voice was as smooth and liquid as the Rhine. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes.”

  With one tapered finger, he caressed the line of her jaw. Anya barely felt his touch, but her insides quivered with anticipation.

  “Do you come to me willingly?”

  “Yes,” she whispered as his fingers wove through her hair.

  His eyes seemed to intensify, to glow with an inner, magnetic light as he brought his face closer to hers. “With one kiss you will possess knowledge that scholars would die for. With one kiss you will experience a thrill beyond your wildest imaginings. With one kiss your beauty will last forever, my little Anya.”

  His hand slid to the back of her neck and his grip tightened, as he pulled her toward him. For one moment only, Anya resisted. But as his gaze held hers, she gladly relinquished control and her head tipped back, exposing the white, tender skin of her throat. Gershom bent to touch the flesh with his tongue, and Anya gasped with pleasure.

  “With one perfect kiss you will be mine for eternity,” he promised, and then his head lowered once more.

  For one perfect moment, their hearts beat together in a harmonious, utterly thrilling union of life and death. But then came the pain. It was unbearable, excruciating. It ripped through the misty veils of euphoria, shattering the illusion and plunging Anya into a world of crawling darkness, of insatiable hunger, of violent passion.

  As the warm blood flowed from her neck, she screamed in agony, in denial. But it was too late.

  No one could help her now….

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York City, ten years later

  “I want that woman,” demanded the new CEO of Renee Alexander Cosmetics.

  “She’s not available, Mr. Christopher. Believe me, I’ve tried—”

  “Then try harder, damn it!” Zach Christopher rolled up the sleeves of his starched white shirt, then loosened his tie as he glowered at Evan Hawthorne, the head of his advertising department. “You’ll have to learn that I don’t take no for an answer, Evan. Get back on the horn and be firm this time. Insist on a meeting. Rumor has it Calvin Klein wants to sign her for the latest Obsession campaign, but I intend to have her for Seduction. Do what you have to do, but get her signature on that contract.”

  The young executive cleared his throat. “Sir, she’s rejected all of our offers—our very generous offers. And if I might point out, she is slightly older than the models we’ve used in the past. I mean, she still looks fantastic from what I’ve heard, but she’s been out of circulation for nearly a decade. People won’t remember—”

  Zach cut him off with a look, exasperated that yet another one of his decisions was being questioned. “People never forget a face like that. The questions behind her disappearance from the public eye will feed their curiosity, their imaginations—and our sales. Her very mystery is an allure, a powerful seduction. Contrary to popular belief around here, I do know what I’m doing,” Zach added d
ryly. “Now, she’s obviously holding out for more money. I want you to find out exactly what she wants.”

  Evan shoved the horn-rimmed glasses back up his nose as color tinged his cheeks. “With all due respect, Mr. Christopher, I’ve called her agent a half dozen times. The response is always the same. She isn’t interested in signing an exclusive contract with us or anyone else.”

  Zach sat back in his leather chair and folded his hands behind his head as he eyed the young executive with narrowed eyes. “And you accept that? Well, I don’t, by God. Everyone has a price, Evan.”

  I should know, Zach thought with an inward grimace. Why else was he here at his family’s cosmetics firm, a company that hadn’t been in the big leagues in years? Why else was he occupying an office that was still dominated by William Christopher, his father, a man who had washed his hands of Zach a long time ago? Why else was he sitting behind a desk that, by all rights, should have belonged to his brother, a brother who had died because of Zach?

  Because Zach’s price had been named. Two days after his father had suffered a massive heart attack three months ago, Zach’s mother, Kathryn, had lured him from his position as vice president of marketing at a major pharmaceutical conglomerate to take over the reins of the family business. She’d used his guilt, and his innate sense of loyalty to make him do what he had always sworn he would never do.

  But mostly she’d appealed to his baser side—ambition. The challenge had been irresistible. Propel Renee Alexander Cosmetics back to the top, and both Zach Christopher and the company would become forces to be reckoned with in the business world.

  Already the Wall Street Journal had written an in-depth, albeit negative, article about Zach, outlining the challenges and pitfalls that lay ahead of the thirty-two-year-old CEO in the cutthroat industry that hid beneath the cloak of beauty and high fashion.

  The reporter had also hinted at Zach and William Christopher’s past estrangement, the circumstances surrounding Matthew Christopher’s death, and Zach’s reluctance, over the years, to join the family firm.

  Zach had read the article over breakfast that morning and then tossed it in the trash—where it belonged as far as he was concerned. Because the one thing the reporter hadn’t said was that Zach Christopher had never yet met a challenge he couldn’t handle. One way or another.

  He lunged forward in his chair now and stared at the series of pictures spread across his desk. They included covers from Vogue and Elle, as well as all the top European fashion magazines, and, with the exception of a few of the American publications, they were all more than ten years old.

  Nevertheless, his gut instinct told him he was on the right track. Anya Valorian had the kind of mystical, otherworldly beauty women would kill for and men would die for, and Zach intended to have her. Hell, with a face and body like that, she could sell Seduction by the bucket.

  “Who’s her agent?” he asked crisply, reaching across the marble-topped desk for the phone.

  “Sherman Clutter.”

  “That bloodsucker,” Zach growled. He spoke rapidly into the receiver as he impatiently waved Hawthorne out of the office. “Edna, get Sherman Clutter on the phone. And don’t take no for an answer,” he ordered.

  When the phone buzzed, he jerked up the receiver again. “Sherman, Zach Christopher here. Look, let’s cut through the crap, shall we? You have something I want. We both know it, so name your price.”

  “I’d like to name a price,” the agent told him. “The fact is, I was in favor of accepting your last offer. My client, however, isn’t interested at any price.”

  “Bull. Everyone has a price,” Zach countered.

  “Not Anya Valorian. Ever since she made her presence known in New York a few months ago, my phone’s been ringing off the hook. But she’s one very choosy lady, Zach. She stipulates when and how and who. The truth is, I don’t have any say-so in her decisions. I’m simply a middleman.”

  “Then let me talk to her face-to-face,” Zach insisted. “I’m sure I can change her mind. Set up a meeting for me, and I’ll make sure you get a nice bonus when the contract’s signed.”

  There was a significant pause on the other end of the line. “I can’t break client confidentiality, Zach, you know that. I can’t tell you where she lives, can’t even give you her phone number. And there is no way you will ever coerce me into telling you about the shoot she has set up at midnight tonight at Julian Sindel’s studio.”

  Zach frowned into the phone. “Midnight? That’s a hell of a time for a photo shoot, isn’t it? Sindel agreed to that with his temperament?”

  “That’s one of the lady’s stipulations, and Julian Sindel, like all the other photographers in the city, would jump through burning hoops for the chance to photograph her. Anya Valorian only works at night, will only agree to pose for very short sessions, and she insists on her own makeup artist. And believe me, Julian Sindel couldn’t have been more accommodating.”

  A strange sensation slipped along Zach’s spine, prickling the hair at the back of his neck. For no reason he could define, he felt a vague uneasiness creeping over him. “All right, midnight then,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Right. But we never had this conversation.”

  “Goes without saying,” Zach agreed before he hung up the phone.

  He picked up one of the magazines and studied Anya Valorian’s delicate features. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what that certain something about her was, but no doubt about it, the camera adored her every perfect feature—the long, silvery blond hair, the flawless, ivory complexion, the intense blue eyes—oh, God, those eyes!—that seemed to promise a man a glimpse of heaven—or hell—for which he would gladly surrender his soul.

  Zach touched his fingertip to her cool image, and his skin tingled with anticipation. Tonight, her eyes seemed to vow. Tonight you will know my price.

  Tonight, Zach thought, and she would be his….

  * * *

  Julian Sindel’s posh studio on Fifth Avenue was awash with bright lights and crawling with people when Zach arrived just before midnight. He hadn’t called ahead, but Sindel owed him a favor from way back, and Zach intended to cash it in tonight. Sindel’s assistant, a wan, corpselike young man in tight leather pants and Billy Idol hair, waylaid him at the front door.

  “Tell your boss Zach Christopher is here to watch the shoot.”

  The man’s pale eyes glided over Zach’s leather bomber jacket, faded jeans and scuffed boots with open disdain. One reedlike hand came up in a dramatic pose that looked carefully choreographed. “I hardly think Mr. Sindel will allow spectators—”

  “Just give him my name,” Zach demanded in a voice that said he was quite used to giving orders and having them obeyed, and he expected no less from this man.

  The assistant sucked in his hollow cheeks. “Very well. But I must insist that you remain outside until I return. Which will be momentarily, I assure you.” He turned sharply on his heel and disappeared into the frenetic crowd scurrying to and fro inside the studio. When he returned, his expression was distinctly pettish. “Mr. Sindel has graciously allowed you entrée, but do try to make yourself scarce. This is a very important shoot.”

  “You won’t even know I’m here,” Zach assured him as he strode past the militant cadaver without another glance.

  Stepping over cables and avoiding props, Zach wandered around the busy studio. The stage set had been constructed in the center of the room, and crew members rushed to and from the brilliantly lit circle like spokes from the hub of a wheel. The set itself was a lavish, opulent, harem-looking affair in deep red velvets, burnished gold silks and filmy chiffon drapery. It would have been the perfect setting for Seduction, Zach decided.

  He spotted the famous photographer in an obscure corner near the back of the studio. In spite of his small stature, Julian Sindel barked his instructions to the crew with all the finesse of a Marine drill sergeant. His appearance seemed completely incongruous wit
h the name and the legend. The stained khaki pants, plaid flannel shirt and quilted down vest were more suited to a man heading off on a fishing expedition than one who would soon be photographing the elusive Anya Valorian.

  In spite of his appearance, Zach knew that Julian Sindel was the one photographer in the city who could capture Anya’s exquisite beauty, who could insure her a successful comeback. And if Zach played his cards right, which he intended to do, he’d sign them both for his upcoming publicity blitz.

  “Who’s your client on this one?” he asked without preamble as he strolled up behind the photographer.

  Julian’s gray eyes snapped with impatience as he swung around, then, noticing Zach, he smiled wryly. “What are you up to, Zachary? When Elliot told me you were at the door, I knew something had to be afoot. Trying to get a leg up on the competition?”

  Zach took a stab at looking innocent. “Nothing of the sort. I happened to be in the neighborhood—”

  “Stow it, Christopher.” Julian handed the camera he’d been fiddling with to one of his assistants and walked toward the set. “You came to see her, didn’t you?”

  Zach followed him, considering for a moment denying the charge, but then shrugged. “I want to meet her face-to-face. I’ve got an ad campaign coming up that she’d be perfect for.”

  “Seduction?”

  Zach frowned. “How the hell did you know about that?”

  “I have my sources. In this business, nothing’s sacred. Seduction is a relic, Zach. Your brother shelved that fragrance years ago, and rightly so. Both Renee Alexander Cosmetics and Seduction are associated with women of a certain age. In our business, youth is everything. If you want to appeal to the broader market, you’d be better off to commission yourself a new signature perfume.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Zach said coolly. He was well aware of the reasons why Matthew had abandoned the Seduction fragrance years ago when he’d first gone to work for the company. Hadn’t Zach heard those same reasons over and over again when he’d first decided to resurrect Seduction?