An invasion of her privacy, yes.
He knew it.
If the same people were watching her as were watching him, though, he
had to know why.
If St Claire had somehow learned of his connection to the girl, this
could be some elaborate trap.
He removed each item from the bag, methodically examining each one
before replacing it.
Inside the small billfold he found a plastic DPI keycard with Tamara’s
name emblazoned so boldly across the front that it hurt his eyes.
“No,” he whispered.
His gaze moved back to her as he mindlessly dropped the card into the
bag, the bag into the duffel, and tossed the lot back toward the place
where he’d found it.
His heart convulsed as he watched her.
So beautiful, so delicate, with diamond like droplets glistening as if
they’d been magically woven into that mane of hair while she twirled
beneath the full moon.
Could she be his Judas?
A betrayer in the guise of an angel?
He attuned his mind to hers with every ounce of power It had been
twenty years since he’d left the innocent, raven haired child’s
hospital bed after saving her life.
How vividly he recalled that night—the way she’d opened her eyes and
clutched his hand.
She’d called him by name, and asked him not to go.
Called him by name, even though she’d never seen him before that
night!
It was then he’d realized the strength of the bond between them, and
made the decision to leave.
Did she remember?
Would she recognize him, if she saw him again?
Of course, he had no intention of allowing that.
He only wanted to look at her, to scan her mind and learn what caused
her nightly anguish.
She skated to a bench near the edge of the ice, pulled off the earmuffs
she wore and tossed them down.
She shook her head and her hair flew wildly, like a black satin cloak
of curls.
She shrugged off the jacket and dropped it on the bench.
She seemed unconcerned that it slid over the side to land in the
snow.
She drew a breath, turned and skated off.
Eric opened his mind and locked in on hers, honed his every sense to
her.
It took only seconds, and once again he marveled at the strength of the
mental link between them.
He heard her thoughts as clearly as she did.
What he heard was music—the music she imagined as she swooped and
swirled around the ice.
It faded slightly, and she spoke inwardly to herself.
Axel, Tam, old girl.
A little more speed.
now!
He caught his breath when she leapt from the ice to spin one and a half
times.
She landed almost perfectly, with one leg extended behind her, then
wobbled and went down hard.
Eric almost rushed out to her.
Some nearly unheard instinct whispered a warning and he stopped
himself.
Slowly he realized she was laughing, and the sound was like crystal
water bubbling over stones.
She stood, rubbed her backside and skated away as his gaze followed
her.
She looped around the far end of the rink.
That’s when Eric spotted the van, parked in the darkness just across
the street.
Daniel St Claire!
He quickly corrected himself.
It couldn’t be St Claire.
He’d have heard the man’s arrival.
He would have had to arrive after Eric himself.
He looked more closely at the white van, noticing minute
differences—that scratch along the side, the tires.
It wasn’t St Claire’s vehicle, but it was DPI.
Someone was watching—not him, but Tamara.
He would have moved nearer, pierced the dark interior with his eyes and
identified the watcher, but his foot caught on something and he glanced
down.
A bag.
Her bag.
He looked toward Tamara again.
She was completely engrossed in her skating.
Apparently the one watching her was, as well.
Eric bent, snatched up the bag and melted into the shadows.
Besides her boots the only thing inside was a small handbag.
Supple kid leather beneath his fingers.
He took it out.
An invasion of her privacy, yes.
He knew it.
If the same people were watching her as were watching him, though, he
had to know why.
If St Claire had somehow learned of his connection to the girl, this
could be some elaborate trap.
He removed each item from the bag, methodically examining each one
before replacing it.
Inside the small billfold he found a plastic DPI keycard with Tamara’s
name emblazoned so boldly across the front that it hurt his eyes.
“No,” he whispered.
His gaze moved back to her as he mindlessly dropped the card into the
bag, the bag into the duffel, and tossed the lot back toward the place
where he’d found it.
His heart convulsed as he watched her.
So beautiful, so delicate, with diamond like droplets glistening as if
they’d been magically woven into that mane of hair while she twirled
beneath the full moon.
Could she be his Judas?
A betrayer in the guise of an angel?
He attuned his mind to hers with every ounce of power he possessed,
but the only sensations he found there were joy and exuberance.
All he heard was the music, playing ever more loudly in her mind.
Overture to The Impresario.
She skated in perfect harmony with the urgent piece, until the music
stopped all at once.
She skidded to a halt and stood poised on the ice, head cocked
slightly, as if she’d heard a sound she couldn’t identify.
She turned very slowly, making a full circle as her gaze swept the
rink.
She stopped moving when she faced him, though he knew she couldn’t
possibly see him there, dressed in black, swathed in shadow.
Still, she frowned and skated toward him.
My God, could the connection between them be so strong that she
actually sensed his presence?
Had she felt him probing her mind?
He turned and would have left but for the quickened strokes of her
blades over the ice, and the scrape as she skidded to a stop so close
to him he felt the spray of ice fragments her skates threw at his
legs.
He felt the heat emanating from her exertion-warmed body.
She’d seen him now.
Her gaze burned a path over his back and for the life of him he
couldn’t walk away from her.
Foolish it might have been, but Eric turned and faced her.
She stared for a long moment, her expression puzzled.
Her cheeks glowed with warmth and life.
The tip of her nose was red.
Small white puffs escaped her parted lips and lower, a pulse throbbed
at her throat.
Even when he forced his gaze away from the tiny beat he felt it pound
through him the way Beethoven must have felt the physical impact of his
music.
He found himself unable to look away from her eyes.
They held his captive, as if she possessed the same power of command he
did.
He felt lost in huge, bottomless orbs, so black they appeared to have
no pupils.
My God, he thought.
She already looks like one of us.
She frowned, and shook her head as if trying to shake the snowflakes
from her hair.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were…”
The explanation died on her lips, but Eric knew.
She thought he was someone she knew, someone she was close to.
He was.
“Someone else,” he finished for her.
“Happens all the time. I have one of those faces.”
He scanned her mind, seeking signs of recognition on her part.
There was no memory there, only a powerful longing—a craving she
hadn’t yet identified.
“Good night.”
He nodded once and forced himself to turn from her.
Even as he took the first step he heard her unspoken plea as if she’d
shouted it.
Please, don’t go!
He faced her again, unable to do otherwise.
His practical mind kept reminding him of the DPI card in her bag.
His heart wanted her cradled in his arms.
She’d truly grown into a beauty.
A glimpse of her would be enough to take away the breath of any man.
The glint of unshed tears in her eyes shocked him.
“I’m sure I know you,” she said.
Her voice trembled when she spoke.
“Tell me who you are.”
Her need tore at him, and he sensed no lie or evil intent.
Yet if she worked for DPI she could only mean him harm.
He sensed the attention of the man in the van.
He must wonder why she lingered here.
“You must be mistaken.”
It tore at his soul to utter the lie.
“I’m certain we’ve never met.”
Again he turned, but this time she came toward him, one hand reaching
out to him.
She stumbled, and only Eric’s preternatural speed enabled him to whirl
in time.
He caught her as she plunged forward.
His arms encircled her slender frame and he pulled her to his chest.
He couldn’t make himself let go.
He held her to him and she didn’t resist.
Her face lay upon his chest, above his pounding heart.
Her scent enslaved him.
When her arms came to his shoulders, as if to steady herself, only to
slide around his neck, he felt he’d die a thousand deaths before }
he’d let her go.
She lifted her head, tipped it back and gazed into his | eyes.
“I do know you, don’t I?”
CHAPTER TWO Tamara tried to blink away the drugged daze into which she
seemed to have slipped.
She stood so close to this stranger that every part of her body pressed
against his from her thighs to her chest.
Her arms encircled his corded neck.
His iron ones clasped tight around her waist.
She’d tipped her head back to look into his eyes, and she felt as if
she were trapped in them.
He’s so familiar!
They shone, those eyes, like perfectly round bits of jet amid sooty
sable lashes.
His dark brows, just as sooty and thick, made a slash above each eye,
and she had the oddest certainty that he would cock one when puzzled or
amused in a way that would make her heart stop.
But I don’t know him.
His full lips parted, as if he’d say something, then closed once
more.
How soft his lips!
How smooth, and how wonderful when he smiled.
Oh, how she’d missed his smile.
What am I saying?
I’ve never met this man before in my life.
His chest was a broad and solid wall beneath hers.
She felt his heart thudding powerfully inside it.
His shoulders were so wide they invited a weary head to drop upon
them.
His hair gleamed in the moonlight, as black as her own, but without the
riotous curls.
It fell instead in long, satin waves over his shoulders, when it wasn’t
tied back with the small velvet ribbon in what he called a queue.
She fingered the ribbon at his nape, having known it was there before
she’d touched it.
She felt an irrational urge to tug it free and run her fingers through
his glorious hair—to pull great masses of it to her face and rub them
over her cheeks.
She felt her brows draw together, and she forced her lips to part.
“Who are you?”
“You don’t know?”
His voice sent another surge of recognition coursing through her.
“I… feel as if I do, but…”
She frowned harder and shook her head in frustration.
Her gaze fell to his lips again and she forced it away.
The sensation that bubbled in her felt like joyous relief.
She felt as if some great void in her heart had suddenly been filled
simply by seeing this familiar man.
The words that swirled and eddied in her mind, and which she only
barely restrained herself from blurting, were absurd.
Thank God you’ve come back.
I’ve missed you so.
please, don’t leave me again.
I’ll die if you leave me again.
She felt tears filling her eyes, and she wanted to turn away so he
wouldn’t see them.
The pain in his flickered and then vanished, so she wondered if she’d
truly seen it there.
He stared so intensely, and the peculiar feeling that he somehow saw
inside her mind hit her with ridiculous certainty.
She wanted to turn and run away.
She wanted him to hold her forever.
I’m losing my mind.
“No, sweet. You are perfectly sane, never doubt that.”
His voice caressed her.
She drew a breath.
She hadn’t spoken the thought aloud, had she?
He’d.
my God, he’d read her mind.
Impossible!
He couldn’t have.
She stared at his sensual mouth again, licked her lips.
Had he read her mind?
/ want.
you to kiss me, she thought, deliberately.
A silent voice whispered a reply inside her brain—his voice.
A test?
I couldn’t think of a more pleasant one.
She watched, mesmerized, as his head came down.
His mouth relaxed over hers, and she allowed her lips to part at his
gentle nudging.
At the instant his moist, warm tongue slipped into her mouth to stroke
hers, a jolt went through her.
Not a sudden rush of physical desire.
No, this felt like an actual electric current, hammering from the point
of contact, through her body to exit through the soles of her feet.
It rocked her and left her weak.
His hands moved up, over her back.
His fingertips danced along her nape and higher, until he’d buried them
in her hair.
With his hands at the back of her head he pressed her nearer, tilting
her to the angle that best fit him, and preventing her pulling away as
his tongue stroked deeper, kindling fires in her belly.
Finally his lips slid away from hers, and she thought the kiss had
ended.
Instead it only changed form.
He trailed his moist lips along the line of her jaw.
He nicked his tongue over the sensitized skin just below her ear.
He moved his lips cares singly to her throat, and her head fell back on
its own.
Her hands cupped his head, and pressed him closer.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she felt so lightheaded she was sure she
must be about to faint.
He sucked the tender skin between his teeth.
She felt sharp incisors skim the soft flesh as he suckled her there
like a babe at its mother’s breast.
She felt him shudder, heard him groan as if tortured.
He lifted his head from her, and his hands straightened hers so he
could gaze into her eyes.
For an instant there seemed to be light in them—an unnatural glow
shining from somewhere beyond the ebony.
His voice, when he spoke, sounded rough and shaky.
It was no longer the soothing honey that had coated her ears earlier.
“What is it you want of me?
And take care not to ask too much, Tamara.
I fear I can refuse you nothing.
” She frowned.
“I don’t want” — She sucked air through her teeth, stepping out of his
arms.
“How do you know my name?”
Slowly the spell faded.
She breathed deeply, evenly.
What had she done?
Since when did she go around kissing ; strangers in the middle of the
night?
i
“The same way you know mine,” he said, his voice g regaining some of
its former strength and tone.
j
“I don’t know yours! And how could you why did | you…”
She shook her head angrily and couldn’t finish the sentence.
After all, she’d kissed him as much as he’d kissed , her.
i !
“Come, Tamara, we both know you summoned me here, | so stop this
pretense.
I only want to know what troubles I you.
” ;| “Summoned you I most certainly did not summon you.
How could I?
I don’t even know you!
” One brow shot upward.
Tamara’s hand flew to her mouth because she’d pictured him with just
such an expression.
She had no time to consider it, though, since his next odd question
came so quickly.
“And do you know him?”
He glanced toward the street and she followed his gaze, catching her
breath when she saw Curt’s DPI van parked there.
She knew it was his by the rust spot just beneath the side mirror on
At Twilight Page 3
