His heavy-lidded gaze watched her discomfort with amusement.
“W-where am I,” she asked when she found her voice, “and, who are you?”
“My name is Quinn Kessler, and this mansion is my home, Moon Amber.”
“Moon Amber?” she whispered. “Strange name,” she muttered, “but why should that surprise me?”
“It’s foolish to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Why am I here?”
“You were summoned.”
“Summoned? By who? How?”
“You’re in the middle of a dream, a fantasy. And I—” he gave her a sexy, lopsided smile, “am here for you. Your dream man, perhaps. As for how, well, it doesn’t matter.”
She frowned at him suspiciously. “Did you say…dream man?”
“Yeees,” he whispered seductively. “Does the idea appeal to you?”
Ignoring his question, her gaze raked over his face and glanced curiously down his body. “Then you’re not real.”
“No?” he returned. Gently taking her hand in his, he brought it up to his lips and closed his mouth over one finger as if to suck it intimately, and bit her.
“Ouch!” she cried out, jerking her hand back.
His mouth twitched with amusement. “Still think I’m not real?”
“I d-don’t know what the hell you are, and I’m not about to hang around and f-find out,” she managed, stiff with fear. “Either you unlock this door, or direct me to the nearest exit.”
He gazed at her intensely, his eyes glittering like a pool of glass shards. “The only exit from this dream is satisfaction, delight and pleasure for both of us.” His voice became a seductive whisper. “Now just relax, and let me show you what I can do.”
She recoiled as he reached out to her. “Don’t touch me.”
“Please,” he whispered with distress, “you must trust me.”
“Look, Dracula, unless you want me to show you what I can do, you’d better stay back.”
Her words wiped the smile from his face. “We have no time for games.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this,” he snarled, the dark danger on his face warning her not to fight him. “It’s why you’re here.”
“Don’t,” she cried, struggling against him until she smelled something spicy and wild emanating from him. While luxuriating in his smell, she closed her eyes in rapture. It’s okay, she told herself, he’s not real, only part of my imagination. I’ll wake up any minute and he’ll be gone. She opened her heavy lids slightly and saw his handsome face coming closer, and closer. She became weak under the power of his glittering gaze, his hot breath on her face, and the heat of his lips as they touched hers. In response, she parted her lips under his, being sure she was submitting to a stranger, a specter, an exotic part of her imagination.
“Ohhhh, God.” Tiffany sighed, feeling his lips burn a path from her lips down to her very core. She whimpered beneath the soft urgency of his mouth on hers.
* * * *
Tiffany jumped at the jarring sound of her alarm clock. She fitfully pushed her arm from beneath a thick, handmade English quilt, and flailed it around feeling for the collection of metal parts enclosed in white plastic. When she found it, she picked it up and angrily threw it against the wall. The tangled bedclothes finally parted and she sat up, burying her face in her hands.
“My God, what a time to wake up.”
Lifting her head, she recalled in detail the dark, handsome man of her dreams as if his image had been indelibly stamped upon her memory. His eyes flashed blue and reckless, and the little stray curl that fell waywardly along his forehead gave him…
All at once the phone rang, and Tiffany jumped. With an unsteady hand she grabbed for it. “Yeah? What do you want?”
“What in hell is wrong with you?”
“Oh, hi, Joni. What’s up?”
“Nothing much. You know what day this is?”
“Just a minute,” Tiffany said, squinting at her calendar. “It’s Thursday. The garbage goes out today.”
“Very funny. Your latest novel is scheduled to hit the stands today.”
“As I said, the garbage—”
“Tiffany, be serious. Nobody makes the kind of money you do writing garbage.”
“Easy, Joni, I was just kidding. So what’s on your mind?”
“I thought we could have dinner tonight. You know, to celebrate. But if you’re in a bad mood I guess I’ll have to find other company.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that, well, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Sure I would,” Joni said, munching on something. “Come on, give me a try.”
“What the hell is that noise?”
“My breakfast,” she said, her speech muffled with food. “Some of us do eat, you know. Not all of us are a size four.”
“Ten.”
“Whatever,” Joni retorted. Finally she mumbled with her mouth full, “So talk already, I can hear you.”
“It’s really not that important,” Tiffany began, feeling like a silly teenager talking about her fantasies. “It’s just, well—” She hesitated. “Oh, all right, here goes. I had another dream last night.”
“Another dream? You mean about—?”
“Yes, but this one was different. You should have seen him. He was tall, dark, and we were—” She paused for a moment before she finally deflated. “Well, we didn’t quite get that far. Just as the fun was about to begin, the damned alarm clock woke me up.” Her attention shifted to the fractured clock lying in a corner,
The voice on the other end snickered.
Tiffany sighed. “There, see? I told you.”
“Well, Tiffany, for God’s sake, what do you expect? There are starving people out there. There are diseases that can’t be cured, dope addicts jumping off balconies, babies being born deformed, and you’re worried about waking up before you get to jump in bed with your dream man? Besides, I’m disappointed you’d wind up in the sack with someone you only just met. Very naughty, Tiffany.”
“Get a grip, Joni, this was just a dream, the rules don’t apply here.”
“So you’re sayin’ you can just lay down for some guy because you think—” She hesitated. “Hey,” Joni said eagerly, “maybe you weren’t even asleep. Maybe some beefcake broke—”
“Joni! Joni!” Tiffany yelled into the phone. “For God’s sake listen to yourself. I was asleep I tell you. I saw myself in some kind of, I don’t know, castle or—”
“A castle?”
“Yeah, well, he’s—” Tiffany felt stupid saying it. “Dracula, or somebody like Dracula.”
“Huh?”
“He’s a Dracula character in a Franken—” She sighed. “Oh, never mind, it’s way too complicated.”
“Have you been getting enough rest?”
Tiffany snickered. “I’m okay, don’t worry.”
“I am worried, Tiffany. You’re talkin’ like this hunk is real.”
“He seemed real. My God, I could feel his breath on my face.” She lifted her finger, and her eyes widened when she saw teeth marks.
“For God’s sake, listen to yourself. You’ve created so many perfect men I think it’s affecting your mind.”
“Affecting my mind?” she repeated with a gasp. “Are you saying you think I’m crazy?”
“Hey, I may not be a writer, but I can certainly understand how someone like you can fall in love with her heroes once in a while. Good grief, Tiffany, if you’d start concentrating on a flesh and blood guy, you’d forget about these, what, paper people?” She softened her voice. “Maybe you should think about getting some therapy.”
Tiffany took the phone away from her ear, stared down at the mouthpiece and yelled, “I just became busy tonight!” Slamming down the phone, she muttered, “Smart-ass.”
After a hot shower and a big pang of regret, she went down to make coffee. While it was perking, she went to
the chalkboard and wrote, Call Joni and apologize. Afterward she took her steaming cup of coffee and wandered out onto the porch of her little cottage. Sipping the delicious hot brew, she sat down on the squeaking porch swing and absentmindedly pushed herself back and forth as she warmed her hands on the cup.
She loved the mornings. She loved sitting out in the swing, breathing in the crisp air. Even though her house wasn’t right on the beach, a path from her back gate led down to it, putting her so close she could hear the lapping of the ocean. Sometimes it was a cold, lonely sound, but she still preferred it to the hustle and bustle of New York City. She was glad to get away from the honking traffic and pushing crowd, but she had learned that sometimes the quiet could be just as distracting.
When she heard what sounded like the screech of a wild bird, her attention shifted to a patch of dense, tangled trees that seemed to be their favorite hangout. The little nameless path that began on her property was as wide as a road at first, but when it crossed over Old Rocky Road, it narrowed into a path that didn’t look to be used for anything more than a jogging path, or maybe a bicycle path. It reminded her of the things the man at Cheney’s Market had said about it. She had to admit that it was kind of creepy. It was lonely and remote, and always had a dark, gloomy appearance. There were so many trees, the road stayed littered with leaves and rotten branches, and it didn’t seem to matter about the weather, the road was constantly shrouded in shadow. Swarms of cicadas perched in the twisted brush, serenading night and day. Tiffany shivered as she shifted her gaze to the crude sign that had been posted at the fork.
Entrance to Cat’s Paw.
Chapter 2
CAT’S Paw.
The words haunted Tiffany. The mere sound seemed to suggest something dark and mysterious. If only she’d remembered to mention it to the man at the market, he might have been able to tell her something about it. What Cat’s Paw was, for instance. She heard a sudden screeching sound, but it was only the wild call of another bird from out of the dense jungle of trees. That brought her attention to a large gathering of birds that looked for a moment as if they were gathering to attack.
My God, she thought as she stared up at what could be nothing more than innocent birds hovering together in the cold morning air. It reminded her of Tippi Hedron in the Hitchcock film, and a sharp chill glazed her arms. Stop it! she told herself. I’m not going crazy, I’m not!
She watched them perch and peck for a moment before she finally forced her gaze away. Gently pushing herself out of the swing, she wandered over to the front stoop and leaned against the column. Without stepping down, she narrowed her gaze, trying to see down the road as far as she could.
Where does it go after it passes out of sight? she wondered.
She had to admit to the eerie feeling, and the chilling, ghost-like atmosphere. Her writer’s curiosity kept telling her there was a good story idea lurking up there somewhere, if only—No, she thought. I’m being silly, it can’t be true.
While struggling with her thoughts, the overpowering sound of an engine took her attention, and she turned to see Mrs. O’Hanlan’s new four-on-the-floor car as it came bumping up into the drive. “When are you gonna learn to drive that thing?” Tiffany called out with a teasing smile.
“Just don’t ye worry about me, young lady. I’m not the one standin’ out in this cold air lappin’ up pneumonia. What in the world are ye doin’ out here anyway?”
“Just getting some fresh air. By the way,” Tiffany said, nodding toward the dense, overgrown little path, “how much do you know about that little road? Have you ever been up there? How long do you suppose it is?”
“Full of questions this mornin’, aren’t ye? Ye need to get yer mind off that gloomy old road, it’s nothin’ but trouble.”
“Someday I’m going to find out what’s up there.”
Firmly herding Tiffany into the house, she said, “Well, today’s not the day, so come on in and get warm.”
“You’re a bossy old biddy. Why did I ever hire you anyway?”
“In addition to bein’ cute as a button, ye hired me because I convinced ye I was the best cook in the county, and ye needed someone to take care of things while ye write them sexy novels that, God help us, should be burned up in a heap.”
“Read one or two, huh?” Tiffany laughed, having fun teasing her. When the woman gave her a razor-sharp look, she added, “Well, how would you know otherwise?”
“I don’t have time to read. I’m kept busy keeping ye from doin’ stupid things like goin’ up that evil little road and never bein’ heard from again.” The woman opened up a broom closet and reached for her apron. While wrapping it around her ample waist, she continued. “Besides ye don’t have time to go traipsin’ up that road, ye got work to do. Now get in that room, lock yourself in, and write them books that nobody but perverts wants to read.” Grabbing the broom she lunged it at Tiffany. “Go! Scat! Now!”
Laughing at the old Irish woman and dodging her lunges with that evil broom, she hurried as she scooted into the study and reluctantly turned on her computer. She thought of all the work in front of her. Create a plot, characters, and an intriguing storyline that would keep the readers from putting the book down until it was finished.
Finally putting her coffee cup down, she placed her fingers on the keyboard and they gradually began to move. With every word she typed a mental image began forming until she stopped and gazed at the words glaring at her from her computer screen.
A wayward curl along his forehead—
Long hair—
Dark clothes—
A cape—
Eyes that glittered like shards of glass.
She knew immediately he was the man in her dream. Dark, mysterious, handsome, and residing in an old southern mansion of shadows. He seemed real, but she knew he was nothing more than a figment of her imagination—a paper hero like all the rest
Tiffany hadn’t stopped typing all day long. She had already created and named all the characters, outlined the plot, and almost finished the third chapter. She didn’t stop, not even for lunch, or a break. She couldn’t. Ideas kept coming to her one by one, keeping her fingers pattering across the keyboard with a fever. She knew this book was going to be one of her best.
She smiled when she envisioned the handsome, bloodthirsty killer that romanced his victims before he killed them. She felt a thrill in every finger as she created a time warp in the form of a dark, mysterious tunnel. When he entered, he would be leaving the carriages and narrow cobblestone streets of 1700 England, and emerging on the streets of present day New York City. He was so real to her she could hear the click of his heels on the asphalt—see the fog swirl around him as he trekked mile after mile—
1700—
1800—
1900—
2000==
She imagined his dark cape flare out around him, accented by his blood-red mouth, the only color in the enigmatic picture she had created in her mind.
She was in love with him already.
When she got so tired she couldn’t think anymore, she clicked off the computer and went to the phone to call Joni. After punching in the numbers she listened to it ring several times. She was just about to disconnect when she heard a voice.
“It’s your dime.”
“Hey, girlfriend, what’s happenin’?”
“Well,” the voice said with a sarcastic sound to it, “if it isn’t the great Tiffany Lovelace.”
“Hey, look, I’m sorry. I was in one hell of a mood this morning. You know how I get when I have to start a new book. I’m as bitchy as hell and shouldn’t be allowed among civilized human beings. But, hey, I’m over it. I’ve started my book, and it’s going great.”
She heard a heavy silence on the other end.
“Hey, kiddo, don’t make me pay for this. You’re my best friend for God’s sake.”
“Oh, yeah? If I’m your friend, cookie, I’d hate to see how you treat yo
ur enemies.”
“All right, I deserved that. Now, since you’ve told me off are we friends again?”
“I don’t know. I guess so,” Joni said, sounding sulky.
“I’m really beat tonight, how about we make that celebration dinner tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know,” she whined. “It won’t be the same. Your book will have been out a whole two days.”
“My treat.”
“You talked me into it. Where’ll we go?”
“I’ll leave that up to you. Surprise me, okay? And don’t worry about money. Nothing’s too good for the best friend of the great Tiffany Lovelace.”
“All right, but get some sleep, okay? And don’t drive yourself so hard. I’ll be around tomorrow night about seven.”
“Okay, see you then.” After hanging up, Tiffany got up and went to the kitchen.
Mrs. O’Hanlan was just gathering up her stuff to leave and turned when she heard Tiffany come into the room yawning and stretching. “Oh my,” she said, shaking her head. “Seems to me ye’re pretty well pooped.”
“Just a little tired, but I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Well, dinner’s in the oven, and if ye need anything…” she looked over at her, all droopy-eyed, “…call somebody else. I’m pooped too.”
Tiffany laughed, escorting her out the door. “See you tomorrow.”
After picking at her dinner, Tiffany decided to be lazy and watch a little TV in her bedroom before going to sleep. She stepped into the bathroom for a quick shower, put on her sexiest nightgown for nobody, and sat down on the bed. She reached over and picked up her poor little cracked alarm clock and set it, hoping it still worked. Slipping lazily into bed, she turned on the TV, totally exhausted. When she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer she punched the button on her remote and drifted into a sound sleep that lifted her into a familiar strange, blue mist.
When the mist finally parted, she found herself standing out on a high crest where the wind was blowing hard. She gazed out at the choppy waves of a dark ocean, rubbing her arms while the stinging wind buffeted her about roughly and sent a crash of thunder that trembled the ridge. While trying to figure out where she was, she happened to glance over at an old gothic mansion, and through—she felt a chill when she realized it was a basement window, and the flashing orbs she saw were the eyes of a man—and they glowed.
Frankenstein In Love Page 2
