The Perfect Kiss

by Amanda Stevens

  “Get me some aspirin, will you, Edna? And a cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t do coffee, remember? Besides, caffeine’s bad for a hangover. I’ll get you some orange juice.”

  Zach gave her a beleaguered look over his shoulder. Edna knew him too well. He should have gotten rid of her years ago, he thought dryly. “You don’t do coffee, but you’ll get orange juice? What kind of cockeyed logic is that?”

  “The same kind that directed me to leave a company I’d been with for more than twenty years to move over here with you, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  Edna Nelson had been Zach’s secretary at Darrow Pharmaceutical. When Kathryn Christopher had persuaded him to accept her offer here, he’d convinced Edna to move with him. Sometimes, in spite of her imperious attitude, Edna seemed like the only friendly face in a den of hostility.

  Zach wondered if there was even one person at Renee Alexander, other than Edna and perhaps his mother, who would be glad to see him succeed. He’d overheard more than one dire prediction of his inevitable failure.

  But that was okay. That only served to make him more determined than ever. Edna had told him once in her usual forthright fashion that it was his own fault, anyway. He did nothing to foster the support and loyalty of the employees.

  “People like to be flattered, appreciated. You’ve never even brought me flowers in all the years we’ve been together. Of course, I understand you, but others don’t. Try a little finesse, Zach, instead of your usual bulldozer approach. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

  Was that what Anya had meant last night when she’d referred to his steamroller approach? Had he come on too strong with her? Was that the problem?

  “Julian Sindel called twice this morning,” Edna called to his retreating back. “And Evan Hawthorne is waiting in your office with Roland Sutton. Neither of them looks too happy.”

  When did they ever? Zach thought with a grimace as he shuffled through his messages. They were a pair of doomsayers if he’d ever seen one. Roland was a member of the board of directors and had been the most vocal opponent to Zach’s appointment. He’d had his eye on the top management position, but Kathryn had obtained just enough support from the other members to overrule him. Sutton had been impossible to deal with ever since.

  Evan, on the other hand, was a little easier to handle. He hadn’t been at the company all that long, so he didn’t suffer the deep-seated sense of loyalty some of the other executives did. No, his animosity wasn’t personal. It was simply that he had a very conservative approach toward advertising.

  And conservatism could get you nowhere fast, Zach thought as he opened the door to his office. Which is exactly where Renee Alexander had been going for the past several years. Nowhere fast.

  He nodded curtly to the two men seated in the oxblood leather chairs as he took his own place behind the massive desk. His father’s desk. This office never failed to make Zach feel like an impostor. An interloper. However, he knew his expression gave away nothing of what he was feeling. He made sure of that. He always had.

  “Gentlemen. What can I do for you this morning?”

  “You can tell me what the hell is going on,” Roland Sutton growled without preliminary, tossing a folder across the desk toward Zach. “Do you know what this is?”

  Casually, Zach glanced down, then back up. “I believe that’s my proposal for next season’s ad campaign.”

  “You’ve allotted nearly three times as much for that campaign than was approved by the board. For a perfume that was shelved years ago! Look at the contract you’ve offered that model…that…Anya What’s-her-name. There is no bloody way in hell the board will ever authorize a contract like that. You must be out of your mind.”

  The anger rushing through Zach made his head pound even harder. He cursed the Scotch he’d tipped last night. He wasn’t by nature a patient man. Even less so the morning after. He forced his fists to unclench as he faced Sutton across the gleaming expanse of marble. “How do you think Chanel signed Catherine Deneuve for their campaign several years ago? How do you think Este´e Lauder got Paulina as their signature model, or how Revlon got Cindy Crawford? You have to pay for quality.”

  Sutton’s gray mustache twitched angrily at the corners. “A pretty face is a pretty face, Zach. Your father understood that. Your brother understood that. You seem to have a lesson to learn. We don’t throw money away like that around here. Every aspect of this business is carefully planned and budgeted, and there is no way you can ever justify the amount you offered that woman.”

  Zach felt the anger inside him crawling upward, demanding release. He leaned forward, meeting Sutton’s dark gaze. “Every ad campaign this company has launched in the last fifteen years has been totally forgettable. And being forgettable in the cosmetics business is like receiving the kiss of death.”

  Evan Hawthorne cleared his throat and shoved the hornrimmed glasses up his nose. “Gentlemen, with all due respect, I believe we’re straying from the focus of our concern. Besides, Anya Valorian’s contract is a moot point. I talked to her agent this morning. She still isn’t interested in signing. We’ll have to find another model.”

  “Did you up the offer like I told you to last night?” Zach demanded.

  “Up the offer?” Sutton sputtered, springing to his feet. “Why, you must be crazy. Does William know about this?”

  “I’m not accountable to my father—or anyone else,” Zach said quietly.

  “We’ll see about that,” Roland thundered as he headed across the office. He paused at the door and glared at Zach. “You haven’t heard the last of this.” He turned on his heel and exited the office, slamming the door in his wake. The paintings on the walls shivered ominously.

  Zach smiled grimly. He knew Sutton would go running straight to William. A blazing call from his father would be inevitable.

  “Not to worry,” Hawthorne said, beaming. “We don’t need Anya Valorian, sir. I believe Mr. Sutton is quite right—the contracts you’ve offered her have been much too generous. I have with me here the portfolios of two other models I think we should consider. Both are very hot properties right now, and both are extremely interested in an exclusive, long-term commitment.”

  Before Zach could interrupt, Hawthorne whipped out the two leather-bound portfolios he’d placed beside his chair and laid them open on the desk in front of Zach. A brunette smiled up at him from one of the books, a blonde from the other.

  “Diane Carson and Rebecca Townsend,” Hawthorne supplied. “Either of them would be excellent choices, and as I said, they’re both available right now.”

  Zach glanced dispassionately at the images of the gorgeous young women. “Not interested.”

  “Not interested!” Hawthorne’s expression fell. “How can you say that? You barely glanced at the photos. How can you decide that so quickly?”

  “I said I’m not interested,” Zach said, very quietly. “There is nothing in the least exceptional about either of these women. They have none of the qualities I’m looking for.”

  It was Hawthorne’s turn to frown. “You mean they don’t look like Anya Valorian. With all due respect, Mr. Christopher, I can’t understand why you are so obsessed with that woman. These models are just as beautiful—”

  “No one is as beautiful as Anya Valorian.”

  Zach stood abruptly and paced to the window, his back to Hawthorne. He stared out at the clear blue sky and wondered what she was doing this morning.

  He still wanted her, Zach realized. He still wanted her even in the face of her rejection. Maybe more so. “What kind of fool are you?” he muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing.” Zach waved an impatient hand, signaling their meeting had come to end. “Find me a model, Hawthorne. Find me a model that…”

  “That what?” Evan’s skepticism showed plainly in his voice.

  “That meets with my expectations.” That makes me forget Anya Valorian.

 
; “That may be difficult,” Evan muttered as he left Zach’s office.

  Left alone, Zach pulled open his desk drawer and took out a folder containing several magazine covers of Anya. He stared at her incomparable features, remembering every delicate nuance of her face. Her eyes in the older photographs—her blue eyes—struck him again. The crystalline silver eyes that had stared at him last night were so different, but no less beautiful, no less appealing. Obviously, she wore contacts now, but Zach couldn’t help wondering what had compelled her to make the color change. Another bit of mystery, he thought and smiled.

  He’d wanted to kiss her last night. He’d wanted to kiss her since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. If he were truthful with himself, he’d have to admit he wanted to do a whole lot more than just kiss her.

  Was his judgment concerning the Seduction campaign clouded by his desire for the woman? He didn’t like to think so, but Anya Valorian had intrigued him as no woman had in a very long time. Maybe ever.

  He let his gaze rest for a moment on the pictures of the other models on his desk. How much easier—and perhaps wiser—to simply choose one of them. Time was of the essence. Money was definitely a factor. He could please his conservative board, keep his father off his back, and everyone would be happy.

  So why couldn’t he just forget he’d ever met Anya Valorian and move onward with his campaign?

  Because the lady was unforgettable, that’s why. Because Zach didn’t like to take no for an answer. Because, deep down, he liked a challenge.

  But, challenge or not, there was no way he would call her again. No way he would continue the pursuit. She’d made her decision, and no matter how much it galled him, he had to respect her wishes.

  The next move, if there was one, would have to be hers.

  * * *

  Anya needed money. Desperately.

  She stared at the telegram in her hand. How like Dr. Traymore to communicate in such an old-fashioned, dramatic way. In many ways, he still lived in the past with his archaeology background and his passion for rare and antique books, but perhaps that was why he had been so willing to accept what she’d told him years ago. Why he’d been so anxious to help her.

  The modern world would find her situation hard to believe, to say the least, but to Dr. Traymore her revelation had been a fascinating discovery, a confirmation of suspicions he’d had for years.

  Anya’s fingers trembled so badly she could hardly hold on to the paper. Dr. Traymore’s words blurred before her eyes, but she already knew them by heart: “Anya. Victory at last. Will need the money ASAP for purchase. Love, L.T.”

  “Anya?” Freida’s voice drew Anya’s gaze across the room to where the housekeeper stood just inside the doorway. “Is it good news?”

  Anya held out the paper to Freida, and quickly the housekeeper crossed the room. She scanned the telegram, then lifted her blue eyes to meet Anya’s. “Oh, Anya! He’s found it! He’s found the book! Now you can truly be saved—”

  “It could be legend, nothing more, Freida,” Anya interrupted, trying to control her own growing excitement, her desperate hope. “We won’t know until Dr. Traymore has the book in his possession and can study it carefully. Even then, it could take months, years, to decipher the meanings.”

  “Dr. Traymore is a brilliant man,” Freida insisted, folding her arms over her thin bosom. Her excitement thickened her German accent, even though she’d been in the States for the last ten years. “He will find the answer now. I know it.” She glanced at the telegram again, and her eyes suddenly clouded. “The money. Anya, where can we get that kind of money so quickly? Your modeling fees are sizable, but not nearly as much as he’ll need. What can we do? What if Gershom is following Dr. Traymore? What if he finds out about the book? What if he obtains it before we can get the money?”

  Freida put voice to the same questions that had been tormenting Anya ever since she’d received Dr. Traymore’s telegram. Lately, she’d been sensing Gershom’s presence so strongly. Her dreams were plagued with images of him. What if he somehow found and destroyed the book before they learned the answers? She would never be free of him then. She would be doomed to an eternity of darkness. Of loneliness. She would never know love.

  Anya turned away from Freida and walked to the window. Dusk was falling, and a full moon hung low in a sky as clear and fragile as blown glass. She took a deep breath, feeling her senses sharpen in response. But the coming darkness held no excitement for her. Only torment. Another long night of endless yearning.

  She closed her eyes, remembering that first night, the awful beginning of her nightmare. She had waited for Gershom by the river, and he had come to her in darkness….

  When it was over, she’d stared down at the blood on her fingers, not yet realizing the full horror of what he had done to her. She’d lifted tormented eyes to Gershom, and he’d laughed down at her.

  “One perfect kiss, Anya, and already you and I are inseparably linked. You are mine now. For eternity. From this night forward, you can never know the love of a man, for a man who arouses your passions will also unleash your hunger. That is my gift to you.”

  Terrified, Anya turned, stumbling through the darkness, but Gershom’s taunting laughter followed her. “You can run, but you cannot escape me. I will always be with you, in your mind and in your dreams. One day soon you will come to me. When your hunger becomes unbearable, you will come to me….”

  By the time Anya returned to her hotel room in Bonn, she was weak and sick, barely able to stand. She collapsed onto her bed, sobbing and shivering from a cold chill that seeped through every fiber of her being. A darkness had invaded her already, a shadow that slowly but surely robbed her body of its warmth, its vitality, its life.

  “Oh, God, what have I done?” she moaned. Her skin burned to the touch, raged with fever, but inside, where it mattered, Anya had grown cold. Cold and empty.

  Sometime before dawn, Anya became aware of shadows moving inside her room, of faces peering down at her. She tried to move away, but the fever had dazed and weakened her. She tried to scream, but her parched throat allowed no sound.

  “It’s all right, liebchen. We won’t hurt you. We’re here to help you,” a woman’s voice soothed her. Cool hands touched her face. “She’s burning up, Karl. The fever has taken her. Hurry. We must hurry.”

  And then Anya was being lifted, and though the man’s arms were gentle around her, Anya wanted to cry out in pain. Her body raged at the contact. She writhed in his arms, but his grip tightened, wouldn’t let her go. Helpless, Anya closed her eyes to the pain, and let the darkness take her.

  She awakened in a strange, dimly-lit room with the woman sitting by her bedside. The woman got up and came to stand over Anya, her faded blue eyes clouded with worry.

  Anya moistened her dry lips. “Where am I?”

  “You are at our home, just outside the city.” The woman spoke with a heavy German accent. Her gray hair had been caught in a bun at the nape of her neck, and the dress she wore was also gray, without adornment. “My name is Freida Aldermann. My husband, Karl, and I brought you here to help you.” For the first time, Anya noticed that Freida clutched something in her left hand. It was a cross.

  Anya lifted her gaze to Freida. Her voice trembled with fear. “Help me—how?”

  “Do you remember anything about last night?”

  “I remember meeting someone…Gershom. He—” Anya’s eyes widened in terror as her hand flew to the raw wounds on her throat. “Oh, my God. It’s true. It wasn’t a nightmare.”

  “He gave you the vampire’s kiss.”

  Anya’s breath left her in a painful rush of denial. “Vampire? No. There’s no such thing—” but Freida’s pitying glance cut her off short.

  “You are sick now. Very weak. Your body is undergoing changes already. Do you not feel cold, Anya? Do you not feel as though every drop of warmth has been drained from your body? There will be other changes. Your eyes will change, too. Outwardly, you will become
even more beautiful, irresistible to those around you. You will flourish in darkness and retreat from the sun. You will no longer be able to eat solid foods, but your hunger will continue to grow, becoming more urgent with each passing day until…”

  “Until?” Anya was shaking all over, huddling beneath the covers as though they would somehow protect her from the truth.

  “Until you take your first victim.”

  “Victim? No! I would never…I couldn’t…I’m not a monster!” Anya screamed. She lay back against her pillow, sobbing hysterically, trying to deny what she knew in her heart to be true.

  “Your hunger will demand it,” Freida said gently. “When you have taken…a life, then the transformation will be complete. You will be as Gershom is.”

  “And if I don’t take a life?” Anya cried. “If I refuse? If I fight this hunger you speak of?”

  “Then you will remain as you are now. Belonging to neither the day nor the night.”

  When at last Anya’s weeping subsided, Freida touched Anya’s dry cheek with her fingertip. “See, liebchen? You no longer even have tears. Those, too, have been taken from you.”

  And somehow, at that moment, that seemed the greatest loss of all to Anya.

  Over the next few days, Freida’s predictions all began to come true. Anya’s blue eyes took on a silvery glint. Her hair grew even more lustrous, her complexion more silky smooth. And the hunger, the insatiable thirst, began to creep up through the dark emptiness inside her to torment her night and day. If it hadn’t been for Freida and Karl, for their unfailing strength and support, Anya knew she would never have survived. She would have succumbed to those loathsome urges.

  But her will was strong, and Anya continued to resist.

  Eventually she learned the Aldermanns’ story as well, and discovered why they were so willing to help her. Their daughter, Katrina, had also been seduced by Gershom, but she hadn’t been as strong as Anya, Freida told her. Katrina had welcomed the darkness. She had craved Gershom’s kiss. She had eagerly made the transformation. She had taken her first victim.