Stepping into the doorway from where Quinn had been listening, he said, “I’m afraid you can’t even think about leaving now. Your house has been completely destroyed.”
Tiffany turned at the sound of his voice, surprised. “I can’t believe that. I know it was pretty badly hit, but it can still be saved, surely.”
“I’m afraid not. I didn’t want to tell you, but I can’t keep it from you any longer.”
She had learned not to trust Quinn, and became suspicious. “I want to see it.” She turned from Quinn to Elaine. “Can someone drive me?”
Quinn seemed uncomfortable. “Tiffany, you’ve been through quite a lot, you may not be strong enough yet.”
Tiffany jumped up. “Am I a prisoner in this house?” she asked, angrily.
Quinn’s eyes widened. “Of course not.”
“Very well. I want to go tomorrow and see how bad the damage is. Will you take me, or do I start walking?”
He was silent for a moment, but finally relented. “All right, but I’m warning you now, you won’t like what you see.”
“And one more thing regarding Kirk. If he wants to see me, I see no reason why I can’t go down.”
“I’ve already told you, he doesn’t want to see anyone.”
“He doesn’t want to see anyone now, but that may change.” She stubbornly pushed past him and went to her room.
*
Quinn turned and watched her as she walked away. Feeling a jealous rage rise up in him, he clenched his teeth in anger. “She seems awfully damned interested in that monster downstairs. Maybe if I had a few scars on my face, she might notice me once in a while.”
Chapter 8
THE next morning after breakfast Quinn sat in the study making out some bills. The big noisy knocker on the door sounded. Glancing down at his watch, he knew that must be the widow’s daughter. Dropping his pen, he hurried to let her in, hoping she was presentable. When he opened the door, instead of the widow’s daughter he saw a very young and very attractive teenager with a short, reddish-blonde pixie cut. Her cheekbones were high, her hair curled around her cute, impish little face and her trim body was a mass of lush curves. Quinn was speechless. When he finally found his voice he asked, “Yes, may I help you?”
The girl picked up the chalkboard she had on a chain around her slender waist and wrote something on it. When she had finished, she dropped the chalk that was attached by a string, and held it up for him to read. I am Venita.
When Quinn saw it, his mouth dropped open. “You’re the dirty, skinny, little rat-faced girl from the lighthouse?”
She lowered her head, embarrassed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just…well…” He lifted his hand, motioning up and down her body.
She began furiously writing again. You said to clean up.
When Quinn read it, he chuckled. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” His gaze scanned every curve of the gorgeous teenager, lingering on her cleavage. “My God, what a little soap and water can do.”
Again, her hands flew across the chalkboard. Can I still have the job?
“Oh, of course.” He stepped back. “Come in, please.” Ushering her in gently, he said, “I don’t believe you’ve ever been in the mansion, have you?”
She shook her head and began writing on her blackboard. Only through the win…When she realized she was giving away a secret, she stopped writing and began furiously erasing the chalk marks. Her hand stilled abruptly when Quinn’s hand closed over hers.
“It’s okay,” he said, “I understand.”
Venita’s beauty, and especially her innocence, caused a deep arousal in Quinn, but something made him hesitate. It was a deep, scratchy old voice that hammered at his brain.
She’s not to be touched, do you hear? She’s never been with a man, and if you dare touch her, you’ll regret it every day that you live. Do I make myself clear?
He recalled the words, even the threatening tone, but they were no contest against the creamy skin that invited his touch, the cleavage that practically reached up and grabbed him. God, how was he going to resist that? The vision of her bouncing breasts started a searing fire in his groin—one that had to be relieved somehow.
A hot, tight virgin would do nicely.
With Venita beside him he pushed the kitchen door open and saw Tiffany and Elaine hovering over some pictures.
“How handsome he was,” Tiffany said as she gazed closely at the photograph. “I’m amazed. He’s an absolute hunk.”
“What do you have there?” Quinn asked curiously.
Elaine looked up, smiling. “A picture of Kirk right before the accident.”
Quinn watched Tiffany go through the pictures, stopping every time Kirk’s image appeared in a snapshot. Wanting to interrupt her rapt attention to his handsome brother, he said, “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Venita D’Arcy. She’s the daughter of the widow who lives in the lighthouse. She’ll be helping out a little around here.”
With a friendly smile on her face, she said, “How do you do, Venita? I’m Elaine, Quinn’s sister.”
Venita smiled shyly, and nodded.
Tiffany smiled warmly. “Hello, Venita. I’m Tiffany Lovelace, Quinn’s, uh, f-friend, I guess.”
“Hard for you to get it out?” he muttered angrily.
“Quinn, I need to speak with you for a moment.”
“Of course,” he rasped, and turned to his sister. “Elaine, will you take care of Venita? Just see that she knows what her job will be, and what’s expected of her.”
“Yes, of course.”
Quinn escorted Tiffany into the study, and closed the door. He knew what this little meeting was going to be about, so when he turned, he plunged his hands into his pockets, spread his legs confidently, and gazed down at her intently, waiting for her to speak.
“I’m ready to go see my house. You told me you’d take me.”
“I warn you again, you won’t like what you see.”
“Quinn, for God’s sake, I’m not a child that you have to hide unpleasant things from. I need to know the extent of the damage so I can file a claim with the insurance company.”
With a puckered brow, he brought his hand up and rubbed his chin wanting to say something, but not knowing quite sure how. “Tiffany, why don’t you let me take care of all that for you?”
Tiffany gazed at him with cold regard, her words edged with ice. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m quite capable of doing it myself.” With a wave of her hands she brought his attention to the burgundy wrapper she wore. “I need to get something to wear. I’m tired of living in bathrobes.”
“I’m just trying to help. To spare you all the bother.”
“It’s totally unnecessary.” She lifted her determined chin, and asked, “Now, when do we leave?”
He reached out and touched her arm softly, but she pulled away. “I don’t understand,” he said with an intimate tone. “Why have you been avoiding me since you’ve been here? After all, we shared some pretty intimate moments in front of the fireplace.”
Tiffany’s gaze widened. “H-how…how did you know about that?”
“I was your partner, how could I not know about it?”
“But it was only a dream, a fantasy. I didn’t even know you then.”
“But I knew you.”
“So what? Knowing me doesn’t give you access to my dreams.”
Turning, he casually walked over to the window, pulled the curtain back and gazed intently toward the lighthouse. “Remember I told you about the widow being a witch?” He turned back to her. “She arranged it. For a fine fee, I might add.”
“She put a spell on me?” Tiffany asked with a subdued laugh. “Please. You surely don’t expect me to believe that.”
“All right, you explain how I did it.”
She thought for a moment. “I guess I can’t, but I know one thing. You have no right to play with my life, Quinn Kessler. To use it for a cheap trick. A parlor game.”
“Parlor game?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. You see, a lot of deep, dark, mumbo jumbo had to be said to get into your dreams.”
“But why? What was the point? I can’t see that anything was accomplished other than a handful of sleepless nights, and a few headaches.”
He shrugged. “It was just my way of, I don’t know, getting your attention, I guess.” He smiled. “You’ll have to admit that it worked. Remember City Lights? You just about sent me into orbit.”
“What in hell do you think it did to me? I thought I was going crazy, you bastard. Besides, I can’t believe that a man with your looks felt he had to resort to trickery to get my attention. Why, for God’s sake?”
His temper flared, sending him striding across the room. “Because, damn it, I refuse to be a Tiffany Lovelace groupie. A sniveling fool standing around waiting for you to notice me. Someone fawning over you, acting like the nerd of the century, accepting your crumbs, whatever they may be. A smile here, a glance there. A wave.” He reached out and grabbed her shoulders brutally. “Well, it may be enough for them, but it won’t satisfy me, Tiffany Lovelace. I’ve got bigger things in mind. I want kisses. Kisses that are sloppy with tongue, and heat!” All at once his volcanic temper melted away, he relaxed his grip, and softened his voice.
“I remember the first time I ever saw you. You were in a bookstore, and there was a crowd around you that day, just like there always is.” He turned and began pacing. “I just happened to be passing by, and glanced in to see what the excitement was all about. There you were, all pink and blonde, the loveliest thing I had ever seen. It was a book signing, and you were autographing your latest book, Rogue of Love. I bought a copy and even got your autograph, but did you notice me?” He gave her a derisive snicker. “Of course not. To you I was just another stupid-looking jerk in love with the great Tiffany Lovelace. You made me feel like a friggin’ stick of furniture fading into the wallpaper.”
He crossed to the desk, walked behind it, and pulled out a drawer. He picked up a well-worn book, slammed it down on the desk, and brutally threw open the cover.
Tiffany recognized her flowing signature all the way from where she was standing.
Leaning over the book, he cut his gaze up at her. “God, how many hours I’ve sat locked up in this study fawning over your picture and stroking that signature wondering what it would be like to hold you, to make love to you.”
“But why…?”
“I didn’t buy the book to read, I wanted your picture, your autograph…something.” He gazed up at her. “I had to somehow bring you closer to me, so I read the book.” He felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Hell, I could hardly put it down.” Moving from the desk, he gave her a reproving, sidelong gaze and whispered seductively, “Yeeeesss!”
“What a critique. I don’t know if that’s good, or bad.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? Do you think for one moment that it was your decision alone that made you move to this miserable little town?” With words reeking of contempt, he said. “Lady, I’ve been controlling you since I first knew you were on the planet. You haven’t had a thought or an idea that wasn’t put there by me.”
“But how…”
“How? The widow, that’s how. She’s a very powerful woman.” He continued with a menacing softness as he stepped up to her and closed his fingers around the tops of her arms and pulled her close. “The things you wrote, Tiffany, I’ll never forget. With your pen, you painted some freakin’ pictures that burned a hole in my head. I’m your Rogue of Love, Tiffany. I’m the dark and dangerous Gypsy that won your heart and plunged himself into you.” His lips brushed her ear. “And if I’m not, I will be. I can be anything you want me to be.”
She struggled against him. “So that’s what you meant when you told me to give you a name. You wanted to be one of my heroes—”
“Yes. I knew your history of falling in love with your heroes. Can you blame me for wanting to be one of them? That’s why I patterned myself after your Rogue of Love, and your unholy vampire in Taste of Blood. I knew you were in love with them. But I had to show you I was different than the rest. I had to show you I was real. It was the surest way for you to fall in love with me. It would have been perfect if it had worked, but every time I held you in my arms, you disappeared.”
“Were you just going to continue this indefinitely?”
“No, of course not. When the time was right I was going to come into your life. That’s the reason for the little speech I gave.”
When you want me bad enough, I’ll step into your world, just as you have stepped into mine.
“You bastard, that night at City Lights I thought I was going crazy. I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me. I almost got sick. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep without dreaming—”
“Tiffany,” he whispered passionately, “can I help it if I’m an impatient man?”
She tried to get away, but he held her tighter.
“I want a sample, goddamn it. I want your legs wrapped around me, and I want to plunge myself so deep inside you, it hurts.”
She pushed away from him. “I’m getting out of here. You’re insane.”
He stopped her, clenching her arm. “Why, because I want you? If that’s so, every freakin’ man in the world must be insane.” He jerked her around when she tried to get away. “You want me too. Don’t deny it. Right there on the floor in front of the fireplace you almost gave yourself to me.”
“Yes, I did, but thank God I had an alarm clock that was faithful and suffered the consequences.”
“What about me, for God’s sake? There I am lying on top of you, ready to sink myself into that tight, succulent little cunt when—”
“My, you’re certainly graphic.”
He jerked her to him angrily, and slurred his words seductively. “You can write it, but I can’t say it?”
“Not to me.”
“You wanted me once, Tiffany. Tell me what has happened to change that.”
All at once she stopped struggling and glared at him. “Because since I’ve been here, I’ve gotten to know you. You’re a bastard, Quinn Kessler. A conceited, arrogant bastard. You’re more of a monster that your brother, Kirk. He’s only scarred on the outside, but you’re scarred on the inside. Thank you for saving my life, and I’m sorry I can’t repay you with love, but it’ll never happen, so get used to the idea.” She paused, her glare cutting into him. “I will say one thing for you, though. You’ve helped me to learn something about myself since I’ve been here. All my life I thought I wanted a handsome hunk of a man like you, but I’d rather have someone like Kirk with all his scars than a bastard with a perfect face like yours any day…or night.”
He wrenched her arm, making her frown. “Well, I didn’t save you for somebody else, bitch, and I’ll have you, just you wait and see.”
*
Tiffany cried out in pain as he brutally pushed her against the desk.
“Be in the car in five minutes, or you’ll never see your fucking house again. At least, what there is left of it.”
After Quinn slammed out, Tiffany leaned her head down into her hands and cried. She’d been sitting there only a few minutes when she heard something, and saw a dark silhouette standing in a shadow, watching her.
“Hello, Ms. Lovelace.” The raspy whisper drifted out of the shadow.
Embarrassed, she dabbed at her falling tears. “What in hell do you do, materialize out of thin air? Have you been there all along?”
“Yes.”
She was silent for a moment before she whispered tearfully, “You should have made your presence known.”
The shadow chuckled. “You make a fine Scarlett O’Hara, but I’m hardly Rhett Butler.”
She lifted her gaze and studied the dark silhouette. “Kirk—” After rising, she started toward him.
“Stay right where you are, Ms. Lovelace.”
“Let
me see you, Kirk.”
“The last time you saw me, you screamed.”
“But you surprised me. I promise I won’t scream this time.”
“The storm is over, Ms. Lovelace. I think it’s about time you went back home.”
“I can’t.” She lowered her head and blotted a stream of fresh tears. “My house was destroyed, and the telephone lines—” Her words faded when she glanced up and noticed that the shadowy corner was empty of life.
All at once Quinn appeared at the door. “Who are you talking to?”
“Myself,” she replied as she rose from the couch. As she pushed past him, she wondered if she’d lost all her senses letting Quinn escort her around. Depending on anyone gave her a feeling of helplessness, but with no choice but the obvious one, she was reminded that she also needed to see how her car had made it through the storm as well.
* * * *
The car rocked and bumped over the ruts in the narrow road, making Tiffany toss back and forth. When her house came into view, she couldn’t believe it. The car had barely come to a halt when she slammed out of it and ran toward the wreckage that used to be her house. Her wide, unbelieving eyes raked across the disaster while tears blinded her.
Tiffany walked into what had been her study. Her computer was destroyed, and all of her books. When she saw the scattered pages blowing in the wind, pain stabbed at her heart. She didn’t feel as if she was experiencing the death of mere paper characters, but those of her own children—her family. One by one she picked up the torn pieces of the colorful artists’ designs that the cruel, violent wind had torn into fragments, and desperately held them to her heart. Feeling the deep loss, she fell to her knees amongst the rubble, her shoulders shaking with tears of torment.
Quinn walked over to her, held her by the shoulders and pulled her up gently.
Taking her in his arms, he said, “I tried to warn you, Tiffany.” He turned, and gently pulled her along with him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“No,” she cried out, and began nervously wiping the tears from her face. “I want to get some things. Whatever’s left.”
“There’s nothing left. Can’t you see? It’s all been destroyed.”
Frankenstein In Love Page 9
