The knock came again, louder and more insistent. Rising, the book clutched in one hand, she went to the door. “Who is it?”
She knew the answer even before she heard the deep timbre of his voice.
“Ronan.”
“What do you want?” She glanced at the book in her hand. Was he here because she had taken it without permission?
“I want to see you, of course. Why else would I be here?”
Heart pounding, she stared at the door. Would he go away if she refused to let him in? Or would he break down the door? She could scream for help, but she knew no one would come.
“Shannah, open the damn door and let me in.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but her hand seemed to move of its own volition and she found herself staring up into his face. Hearing the barely suppressed anger in his voice, she had expected him to barge in and…well, she wasn’t sure just what she expected him to do. The one thing she hadn’t expected was for him to ask her permission, but that was exactly what he did.
“May I come in?” he asked. He was dressed all in black again—shirt, pants, boots, duster.
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Retreating into the room, she sat down on the sofa again, the book clutched to her breast. If only she had a hero who would fly in and rescue her, like the one in the story!
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. His presence seemed to shrink her small apartment. She imagined she could feel it closing in around her. His gaze swept over her, the force of it almost tangible.
“Are you enjoying the book?” His voice was low, almost hypnotic. It moved over her, a feather-light touch underscored with steel.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “V-very much.” She held it out to him. “I was going to return it, and your robe, when I was through.”
“Keep it. Why did you run away?”
She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, all the while glancing around the room, searching for a weapon. The fireplace poker? The heavy glass vase on the coffee table? Could she reach either of them before he reached for her?
“I didn’t run away,” she lied. “I just came home.”
“I asked you to stay. You said you would.”
Her hands tightened on the book in her lap. “I’m a woman. I changed my mind.”
“You’re afraid of me,” he mused, and she heard the puzzlement in his voice.
“Why…why would I be afraid of you?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“I just wanted to come home.”
“You’re lying.” He hunkered down on his heels until he was at eye level with her. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”
“All right,” she admitted defiantly. “I got scared and I left.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why would you want me to stay there with you? You don’t even know me.”
“Had you stayed, I would have told you my reasons.”
Curious in spite of her better judgment, she said, “So, tell me now.”
Rising, he sat down on the sofa beside her, though he was careful not to touch her for fear she might run screaming from the room.
She shivered at his nearness, uncertain if it was because he was so close or because of the sudden heat that flowed between them. He was a remarkably handsome man with his mesmerizing black eyes and dark good looks. Sometimes, when he looked at her, she felt as though he could see through her heart and straight into her soul, that he knew things about her that no one else knew. But that was impossible. Heart pounding with trepidation, she watched him reach for her hand, felt little frissons of awareness race up her arm as his fingers closed around hers. The book fell from her hand and slid off her lap onto the floor.
“What do you want from me?” She had intended it to sound like a demand; it came out as a breathless gasp.
“Nothing sinister, I assure you. I have an aversion to having my picture taken, to appearing in public and being subjected to interviews. My readers think I’m female and I should like to keep it that way. My agent and my publisher have been after me to go on tour for quite some time…”
She shook her head. “What does all that have to do with me?”
“I want you to pretend to be me.”
She stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Of all the things he might have said, his answer caught her completely off guard. “But…how could I…?”
“No one knows what I look like.”
“I don’t think I can…”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“But how could I possibly…people will ask me about your books…” She retrieved his book from the floor and held it up. “This is the only one I’ve read, and I haven’t even finished it.”
“When you’ve finished that one, I want you to read the ones I’ve published in the last year or so. I’ll give you a complete list of all my books, along with a brief synopsis of each one for you to memorize. As for questions you might be asked, I’ll help you with what to say.”
“I just don’t see how it could work.”
“Trust me. We’ll rehearse for a month or two, more if need be, until you feel comfortable. As I said, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“You’re forgetting one thing. I don’t have a couple of months.”
“Let’s not worry about that now.”
“I was never very good at memorizing things.”
“You’ll be surprised at how easy it will come to you.”
“And why will it be so easy now when it never was before?”
His smile warned her not to ask any more questions. “You’ll also need to make an appointment to have your picture taken.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“You haven’t said no.”
“If I agree, will you tell me something?”
“Perhaps. What is it you wish to know?”
“Is Ronan your first name or your last?”
He smiled then. “It’s both and neither,” he said evasively.
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s the only name I use.”
“Really? How do you get away with that?”
He shrugged. “It works for Cher and Madonna, why not me?”
She made a face at him. “Don’t forget Bono. And the artist formerly known as Prince.”
She was quick, he thought, pleased. “And so,” he said, his thumb drawing circles on the back of her hand. “What do you say?”
“Yes.” She whispered the word, feeling as if it had been drawn out of her by his will and not her own. Once said, she realized it was what she wanted. Pretending to be an author might be fun, and it would give her something to think about besides her own imminent demise. “I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “For as long as I’m able. But I’m not giving up my apartment.”
“It’s foolish for you to pay rent here when you’ll be living with me.”
“I don’t care. I need a place of my own. A place to come back to when…when I want to come home.”
“All right. But I’ll pay your rent as long as you’re working for me.”
“I can’t ask you to do that!”
“You didn’t ask me. Consider it part of your pay.”
“You’re going to pay me?”
“Of course.” Rising, he tugged gently on her hand. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of work to do, and only a short amount of time to do it.”
She gathered her things together, then followed him outside where she glanced up and down the street. “Where’s your car?”
“I walked.”
“You walked all the way here?”
He shrugged. “It’s not so far.”
“Yes, it is. I don’t know about you, but I’m driving back. You can come with me, or you can hoof it.”
He agreed to ride with her. As soon as they were both in the car, with the doors closed, she
wished she had chosen to walk. She drove a restored 1962 VW Bug. It was a small car, made smaller now by his presence.
Shannah started the engine, looked behind her, and pulled away from the curb. She was all too aware of the man sitting beside her. His shoulder was only inches from her own; once her hand brushed against his thigh as she reached for the gear shift. She could feel his gaze on her face. His scent tickled her nostrils. She tried to place it, but couldn’t. It wasn’t aftershave lotion, it wasn’t cologne. Maybe it was just the man himself.
“What kind of car do you drive?” she asked, desperate to break the taut silence between them. “I mean, you do drive, don’t you?”
“When I must.”
She slid a glance at him. “So, what kind of car do you have?”
“An old Firebird.”
“Black, I’ll bet.”
He turned to look at her, one brow raised.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out.” She glanced pointedly at his attire. “You seem to like black.”
He looked thoughtful a moment before replying, “It suits me.”
When they neared the mall, he said, “Pull over. It’s early yet. Maybe we can find you something appropriate to wear.”
“Excuse me?”
“For the photo, Shannah. For the book cover, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” She pulled into the parking lot, found a place to park, and cut the engine.
It was Friday night and the mall was crowded. Ronan followed Shannah up the elevator to the second floor of Nordstrom’s, trailed after her as she moved from rack to rack in the Women’s Department, assiduously avoiding the mirrors that were virtually everywhere.
When a saleslady approached Shannah and asked if she could help, he told the woman they were looking for something suitable for a professional portrait. With a nod, the woman led them to another department and quickly picked out several outfits in Shannah’s size.
“I want to see you in all of them,” Ronan called as Shannah followed the saleslady toward the dressing rooms.
He waited for her near the entrance, his hunger aroused by the proximity of so many women, the sound of so many beating hearts.
Shannah emerged from the dressing room a few moments later clad in a mauve pantsuit.
He shook his head.
He rejected the next outfit, and the next, smiled when she appeared wearing a pair of navy blue slacks, a bright pink silk blouse, and a navy blue jacket with bright pink piping on the lapels. It made her look confident and successful.
“We’ll take it,” he said.
He bought her three other outfits for public appearances, pantyhose, shoes and matching handbags, as well as underwear, a nightgown, and a robe. He bought her several casual dresses with shoes to match, a couple pairs of jeans, sweaters and blouses. He also bought her a set of luggage and a day planner.
“This is too much,” she said. “Really.”
“You’re supposed to be a successful author,” he replied. “You need to look the part. Can you think of anything else?”
She shook her head as they left the last department store. “I don’t know how we’ll get all this into my car.”
“We’ll manage.”
He was heading for the elevator when she stopped at the entrance to the food court. “I’m hungry.”
“What do you want?”
“A corn dog and a root beer.”
Nodding, he waited while she put her packages down, then handed her a twenty-dollar bill. He was glad to see the line was thankfully short.
He felt his gorge rise at the myriad scents that assailed him, not only the smell of food and drink but the odor of the mall itself. But it was the scent of blood all around him that was the most unsettling. He could hear it pumping through a hundred hearts, smell it flowing, thick and rich and red, through the veins of the men and women closest to him. It aroused his thirst and with it, the urge to hunt. With an effort, he fought it down.
“Let’s go,” he said when she returned carrying a cardboard tray. “You can eat it in the car.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like crowds.”
When she reached for the packages she had been carrying, he took them from her hand. “I’ve got them,” he said, his voice gruff. “Let’s go.”
She frowned at him but knowing it was useless to argue, she followed him out of the mall to the car.
He loaded the packages into the back seat and the trunk. “I’ll drive.”
Again, she didn’t argue, merely pulled her keys out of her pocket and dropped them into his outstretched hand.
He seemed tense, though she didn’t know why.
She wolfed down the corn dog, surprised at how hungry she was and how good it tasted. The root beer, too, tasted better than any she’d had in a long time.
When they reached his house, he parked the car in front, slid from behind the wheel, walked around the front of the car and opened her door. When she reached for one of the packages in the back seat, he waved her off.
“I’ll do it.”
“At least let me help.”
“Go to bed.”
Shannah stared at him. “What?”
“I said go to bed.” There was a strange glitter in his eyes; his voice was deep, a low growl that brooked no argument.
She didn’t argue, didn’t linger to ask what was wrong. Instead, she ran up the porch steps and into the house and didn’t stop running until she was upstairs in the bedroom with the door locked behind her.
What had she gotten herself into?
Agitated and more than a little afraid, she paced the floor, then came to an abrupt halt. How had he found her apartment? She hadn’t given him her address or her phone number. He didn’t have her last name. She knew he hadn’t followed her home when she ran away. She had glanced over her shoulder more than once to make sure he wasn’t behind her.
So, how had he found her?
And how had he persuaded her to invite him inside? She’d had no intention of doing so. And how had he convinced her to participate in this charade? She’d had no intention of doing that, either. Yet here she was, sharing a house with a complete stranger, albeit a very handsome stranger, who had just bought her a wardrobe worth a small fortune and was willing to pay the rent on her apartment and a salary while she pretended to be him. It seemed too good to be true. As her mother had often said, anything that seemed too good to be true probably was.
What had she gotten herself into? He had scared her tonight when he’d told her to go to bed. There had been something in his eyes, his voice…She shivered at the memory. Maybe she should tell him she had reconsidered his proposal and changed her mind.
Sleep, she thought, she needed to get some sleep. Perhaps things would look clearer in the morning.
She changed into the nightgown he had bought for her, turned out the light, and slipped under the covers, only to lie there in the dark, wide awake, wondering if her decision to stay here was going to turn out to be the biggest mistake of her life.
With a sigh, she turned on the light and propped the pillows behind her back. Digging his book out of her bag, she began to read.
Chapter Six
Ronan listened to the sound of Shannah’s footsteps as she paced the floor overhead. Her scent filled the house. He knew she was doubting her decision to stay here, knew she didn’t trust him. Her agitation increased her heartbeat. He could smell the blood flowing through her veins. It called to his hunger, even as her fear aroused his instinctive urge to hunt.
He heard the faint creak of bedsprings as she got into bed, his mind instantly swarming with images of her lying there, her hair spread out on the pillow, her body relaxed as she waited for sleep.
Not trusting himself to stay under the same roof with her in his current condition, he fled the house.
Plagued by his unholy thirst, he stalked the dark streets until he found a woman leaving a café, unescorted. He followed h
er to her car and slid into the passenger seat.
She stared at him in alarm. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out of…” The words died in her throat when she looked into his eyes. “No, please…”
He didn’t blame her for being afraid and yet he felt his anger rise as she cowered back against the car door. Perhaps he was being too harsh. Perhaps he shouldn’t be irritated by her fear. He knew how he looked when the hunger was upon him. He had seen the same look on the faces of others of his kind.
She thrust her handbag at him. “Here, take it, take it all, but please don’t hurt me.”
Take it all. Did she have any idea what those words meant to one of his kind? To take it all, to drink it all, to revel in the power that came from drinking a mortal’s life and memories? Of course, she was referring to something else entirely.
“What makes you think I want your money?” He hated himself as soon as the words left his lips. What was wrong with him? He never toyed with his prey, never frightened them. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice low and hypnotic.
She only stared at him, her body trembling uncontrollably.
“Listen to my voice,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Nothing to be afraid of.” She repeated the words. There was no expression on her face, no emotion in her voice.
He drew her into his arms. “Relax, now. Close your eyes. You have nothing to fear from me.”
She went limp in his embrace. Her head lolled back against his arm, exposing the long clean lines of her neck, and the frantic pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.
With a low growl, he bent his head and surrendered to the ravening beast within him.
Shannah woke with the sound of her own screams ringing in her ears. Sitting up, the blanket clutched to her chest, she turned on the light, her gaze darting around the room, lingering in the shadows in the corners.
Just a bad dream. That’s all it had been. Just a bad dream. Expelling a shaky breath, she realized she had fallen asleep while reading Dark’s vampire book. Just a bad dream. But it had seemed so real…glowing red eyes staring down at her, bared fangs only inches from her throat, a sudden sharp pain that quickly turned to sensual pleasure…So real.
Dead Perfect Page 4
