The Perfect Kiss

by Amanda Stevens

  The truck had come out of nowhere, tons of steel and horsepower and momentum that had broadsided the brand new sports car….

  Zach opened his eyes and saw the faint glow of taillights disappear into the darkness. “Damn it,” he muttered. The light changed, and he tromped the accelerator. The Viper shot through the intersection, tires whining on the wet, glistening pavement.

  His memories were gone now, carefully buried once again in the cold, vaulted recesses of his mind. He let the urgency of his mission consume him.

  He didn’t quite understand what had possessed him to follow Anya Valorian after the shoot except that, instinctively, he’d known, after talking to her, that he was in for a battle of wills. She wasn’t going to be persuaded so easily. He realized that now, but the knowledge was far from discouraging.

  His will could be strong, too—incredibly strong, as Anya Valorian would soon discover. Finding out where she lived had seemed a clever stratagem, an offensive maneuver that would make the ultimate resolution considerably smoother. At least she wouldn’t be able to avoid him.

  And so he’d gone outside and waited in his car for her to leave Sindel’s studio. Zach had followed them for blocks as the car had woven an erratic trail to a section of Manhattan he was unfamiliar with. The neighborhood, near the Hudson River, was old and run-down, with boarded-up buildings and vacant lots that now carried only echoes of a once vibrant life.

  There!

  Through the misty rain, Zach caught a brief glimpse of their lights. They were turning left. He gave them their lead then followed, easing the Viper to the curb and killing the engine as the Mercedes swept into a driveway halfway down the block.

  Zach rolled down his window and listened to the night. He heard the unmistakable rumble of a garage door closing, then nothing. Silence.

  A chilly wind blew through the car, carrying the scent of the river, a dank, musty odor that was faintly unpleasant. At one time the neighborhood had probably been as posh and desirable as Park Avenue, but now the old brownstone mansions, with their ivy-covered walls and crumbling facades, wore the distinct look of time and decay.

  Zach studied Anya’s house, watching for the lights to come on, searching for some sign of life, but for whatever reason, the rooms remained cloaked in darkness.

  After a few moments, he got out of his car and slowly walked down the street. He stopped in front of her house and gazed up at it. The wind sifted through the dead leaves in the gutter, and a bare limb scraped across a window, the sound as spine-chilling as fingernails raking down a chalkboard. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked.

  But all else was silent. Eerily still as if the looming structures around him housed no life at all. The very air symbolized the ravaged street, with its pungent scent of decomposing leaves and rotting soil.

  Zach pulled the collar of his jacket closer around his neck against the chill of the wind and rain. Was it his imagination or had it suddenly gotten colder? Darker? Clouds obscured the full moon, and the streetlight in front of Anya’s house was out.

  He took an uneasy step toward the gate and placed a hand on one of the spiked rods. He shoved it open, and the rusty hinges whined and moaned like a woman in agony. Zach cast a wary glance over his shoulder, almost expecting to see lights flickering on and concerned neighbors peeking from their bedroom windows.

  But nothing disturbed the night.

  He had the uncanny notion that very little would bring these people from their homes once darkness descended.

  Pushing the gate open wider, he stepped through to the yard. This was going beyond business now, and he knew it. He was going beyond ethics, beyond common decency, but he felt compelled to explore Anya Valorian’s private space, to make her acknowledge the rest of the world—but mainly him. Her cool brush-off earlier still stung.

  With a muttered oath at his own stupidity, Zach rounded the corner and moved toward the back of the house. The bare limbs of trees and bushes guarded the rear courtyard like skeletal sentinels, and the odor of decay saturated the air. He stopped for a moment and scanned the back of the house. A balcony trimmed in lacy filigree overlooked the garden, and with a start, Zach saw a misty silhouette move along the railing.

  He took a quick step back into the shadows as he continued to gaze up at her. The moon cleared the low-lying clouds, and for a moment, she basked in the light.

  Zach caught his breath.

  She wore black, a filmy creation that floated around her as light and airy as the mist. Her silvery hair streamed down her back to her waist like gossamer silk, and in the sterling light, her skin glowed with a strange incandescence.

  Enthralled, he watched her.

  She lifted her face to the moon, letting it bathe her in cool light, much as one might do the sun.

  Except the moon suited her. Darkness became her. She seemed a thrilling part of the night, a compelling shadow that lured him.

  He wanted to walk from the shadows into the moonlight and let her see him. He wanted to scale the vine-covered walls and leap to the balcony where she stood. He wanted to take her in his arms and taste her until he was drunk from the pleasure.

  And, for one insane moment, he had the wildest notion that she wanted him to do exactly that. He could feel her yearning, her desire, her impossible need reaching out to him. Calling to him…

  He moved slightly, and a barren rosebush limb caught him across the face. A thorn raked across his skin. Zach barely registered the sting. His eyes remained glued to Anya’s silent form. She might have been carved from stone, so still she seemed now.

  A trickle of blood coursed down his face, and absently Zach raised a hand to wipe it away, then arrested his movement in midair.

  Slowly, Anya turned until he could have sworn she was looking directly at him.

  In the moonlight, her eyes glowed like gemstones.

  * * *

  He was out there.

  Dear God, he had found her somehow. He had intruded into her private domain, and now he would have to face the consequences.

  Anya remained perfectly still, watching the night. The darkness gave her vision, sharpened her senses. She could see him so clearly, the green of his eyes, the bronze of his skin. She could hear his heart pounding with life, with desire for her. And she could smell his blood as it trickled down his face, a tantalizing, hypnotic scent far more seductive than any perfume.

  Hunger stirred within her, a powerful, insatiable lust she had too long denied.

  How she wanted him! How she needed him, craved him with an ache that was both physical and spiritual. She had known the moment she’d seen him that he was the one who could tempt her as no other man had been able to.

  She needed him to fill her with emotion, with life, to make her whole again. She needed him to chase away the pain, the darkness, the awful thirst his own passions had awakened. With one perfect kiss she could be free….

  He’s the one, Anya. He’s the one who can free you from your torment.

  Anya closed her eyes as the voice drifted through her consciousness. She tried to close it out, but there were no barriers that could hold him, no prisons that could restrain him. He was always with her, tempting her, making her torment grow, reminding her of the passion, the hunger…always the hunger….

  Take him, Anya.

  “I can’t….” she whispered to the darkness. The wind swirled around her, lifting her hair and sweeping it over her shoulders like a lover’s tender caress.

  He can be yours, Anya. Forever. Take him. Take him and see what you can be.

  The voice insinuated itself through every part of her mind and the emptiness that was her soul as it continued to weave a diabolical spell, using her own pain, her darkest desires to weaken her.

  You’ve struggled long enough, little one. Take him. You know you want him. It would be so easy. See how mad he is with desire for you? He would welcome it!

  “Not like that! I won’t!”

  Take him! raged the voice. It was no longer cajolin
g, no longer loverlike, but the cruel, harsh demand of a selfish master.

  Wind rushed over her, whipping at her hair, her gown, carrying to her nostrils the warm, sweet scent of blood. Anya stared down at Zach, her senses reeling. She was staggered by her own desire for him.

  One perfect kiss and her struggle would be over. One perfect kiss and he would be hers. She could wrap herself in his warmth, drown herself in his vitality. She could glory in that one exquisite moment when their hearts would beat together in a perfect union of life and death, a dance so erotic neither of them would notice the pain, the darkness….

  Come to me. Almost against her will, Anya issued the silent plea. She sensed his response immediately, his confusion.

  “Anya?” His voice carried gently on the night wind.

  Do you want me?

  “God, yes!”

  Then come to me, Zach. Come to me now, forever.

  She watched him move into the moonlight, saw him lift his gaze to hers. In the one brief moment when their eyes were locked, she gazed into his soul, witnessed his life, saw the very essence that was him.

  The beauty of it, the sadness inside him, made her want to weep.

  And with that knowledge came strength, renewing her will to resist. Zach Christopher had tempted her dangerously close to the edge. He had made her want what she had denied for ten long years. He had awakened her sleeping passions, aroused her desperate hunger, but never again. Never again would she allow him to get this close.

  The sound of his voice whispered through the trees. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

  “No. You’ve never known anyone like me, Zach,” she said sadly. “You must go. Go and never come back.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve never known anyone like me.”

  “But…I can’t leave. Not yet…”

  “Go!” She spoke the word forcefully, coldly, and saw disappointment cloud his features. In the morning, it would all seem like a dream to him. He might not remember her at all. “Go,” she commanded once again, stepping back into the shadows.

  * * *

  “Anya! Wait!”

  The sound of his own voice stunned Zach. He shook his head, trying to clear the mists. He’d been dreaming, having the most wonderful fantasy standing right here in her backyard. But it was disappearing, fading before his eyes, and he couldn’t seem to call it back. He felt lost, betrayed, without knowing why.

  “Anya.” He whispered her name, but his only answer was silence.

  And then, without warning, a hand fell on his shoulder. Zach froze, stopped dead in his tracks. In spite of his size, the hand that gripped him from behind held him as firmly and as surely as if he were no more than a child.

  And it was so cold! It felt like ice. It chilled him to the bone as he stared down at the white flesh that held him captive.

  “So you want her.” The voice was dark, liquid, evil in its sensuality.

  Zach’s heart tripped inside his chest as he tried to look over his shoulder. He saw nothing but a shadow.

  “Do you think you can have her?” the voice taunted him, and Zach felt a surge of anger. He tried to shake off the hand, but the skeletal fingers penetrated the leather jacket and dug painfully into his skin. “Do you think you are worthy of someone such as she? You, who killed your own brother?”

  Outraged, Zach spun around to face his tormentor, barely aware that the hand had set him free. The darkness was empty. In the space of a heartbeat, the thing had disappeared. Zach squinted into the shadows as the rage built inside him.

  “Why don’t you show yourself?” he demanded. “Who the hell are you?”

  Laughter filled the darkness, a hollow, brittle sound like crystal shattering against stone. Finally a form detached itself from the other shadows and glided toward Zach.

  He was a man, at least, and not an apparition, Zach thought with a measure of relief. But as the stranger came closer, into the moonlight, Zach wasn’t so sure. The man was tall and gaunt, his skin white and hard and luminescent, like that of a porcelain dish. The thick black hair was swept back, severely highlighting the cold, perfect features. His face was lifeless, smooth and serene, except for his eyes. They flashed in the darkness like red fire.

  He laughed again, but his mouth didn’t move. “You think she wants you?”

  “What business is it of yours?” Zach asked coldly. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The glittering eyes never blinked. The fire in them was mesmerizing….

  Zach shook his head slightly and tried to look away. The man laughed again.

  “You have no idea who she is,” he told Zach. “No idea the depth of her hunger. You think she shares your human passions? Never. She has greater needs, darker desires. You’ll never have her, not the way you want her.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  His hand seemed to separate from his body, so swiftly did the stranger reach out and seize Zach’s throat. Zach clutched at the cold, smooth flesh, but the fingers just closed more tightly, shutting off the precious oxygen that gave him life.

  “I give you fair warning,” the voice whispered in the darkness. “Anya is mine. She will always be mine….”

  And then he was gone, dissolved like a phantom into the darkness which had spawned him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  He was suffocating. Something gripped his throat, and he couldn’t breathe. Zach fought his way up through the hazy shadows of sleep and opened his eyes, his pulse racing. A stripe of sunlight angled across his face and he squinted, throwing an arm over his face against the brilliance. The layers of dream slowly peeled away to consciousness, but something still gripped his throat.

  Zach touched the pressure in panic, then muttered an oath. Somehow, during the night, he’d managed to twist the sheet around his neck. Small wonder the thing hadn’t strangled him, he thought wryly as he tossed aside the sheet and sat up in bed. In bed? He looked around in astonishment. He was in his own bed, in his own apartment, but how the hell he’d gotten there he had no idea.

  He felt weak, light-headed, and the sun still hurt his eyes. He stumbled across the room and jerked down the blind. The room fell into merciful dimness.

  God, what a hangover, he thought, then, in the next instant he remembered he hadn’t been drinking. He rubbed his throbbing temples. His mind began to clear as he searched for other memories. He remembered the photo shoot, remembered Anya Valorian’s stirring beauty, his own determination to have her for Seduction and…then what? He’d followed her, hadn’t he? He could remember the neighborhood, vaguely, could remember her house. But had he really spoken to her or had that been a part of his dream?

  His nightmare, he amended with a grimace as he staggered toward the bathroom. There was something else he remembered about that dream, something that left him vaguely uneasy. Red eyes. Something about glowing red eyes…

  Zach placed his hands on the edge of the sink, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him. They were his own eyes this time, not the product of his nightmare, but they were every bit as accusing, every bit as relentless.

  Do you think you are worthy of someone such as she? You, who killed your own brother?

  Not exactly a difficult message to decipher, seeing as how he had a meeting with his father that evening. Wouldn’t be the first time a summons from William Christopher had brought on the memories, the self-recriminations and the old defensiveness which Zach couldn’t seem to relinquish. He and his father had always brought out the worst in each other, and it had only gotten worse in the years since the accident. William Christopher blamed Zach for his brother’s death. Now that Zach had been appointed CEO of his father’s company, the situation had become intolerable.

  “Get a grip,” he muttered to his reflection. He thought about the coming day, about the inevitable fight with his father over his decision to relaunch Seduction and the expenditures for his proposed ad campaign. He thought about the hostility to
ward him from within the company, chiefly instigated by Roland Sutton, one of the board members and his father’s protégé. A man his father had been grooming to take his place someday instead of his own son.

  Zach thought about all the battles he’d fought in the last three months, the battles he would have to continue to fight if he remained at his father’s company, and an indescribable weariness came over him.

  Still, something inside him would not let him resign. Something inside him relished the challenge. Something inside him wanted this chance. Renee Alexander had been a failing business for years, ever since his brother’s death—before that, actually. It was ironic that Zach, the family misfit, just might turn out to be the company’s savior.

  Somehow, without understanding why, Zach knew Anya Valorian was the answer to all his prayers. Somehow, he knew she could insure his success with Renee Alexander Cosmetics. She alone could help him vindicate a past that kept eating away at him, no matter how hard he tried to forget.

  Together they could create magic.

  Zach didn’t stop to measure the rationality of his thoughts. He merely accepted them, and with renewed determination, he punched a button on the wall phone in the bathroom. His office was automatically dialed, and his secretary’s voice came over the speaker. Over the soft hum of his electric razor, Zach began to issue a list of instructions for the day.

  Today he would see Anya Valorian again. Today he would make her listen to his proposal. Today he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Today she would finally be his.

  * * *

  The doorbell rang persistently.

  Anya was tired, and the noise grated on her nerves. She knew she should sleep. The room was dim and peaceful, and she could feel the lethargic pull. But she forced herself to remain awake, to be a part of the day as she was of the night.

  It was a pitiful attempt to cling to her former self, she knew, but some of her best poetry was written by day. That was when she felt her loss the most keenly—when the sun shone brilliantly outside on a world she could only live in now in memory.