Angel at Dawn (30 page)

Read Angel at Dawn Online

Authors: Emma Holly

Tags: #Ghost stories, #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Motion picture producers and directors, #Occult fiction, #Ghosts, #Occult & Supernatural, #Love stories

BOOK: Angel at Dawn
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His gaze drifted to her neck, and he wet his lips. Tiredness forgotten, Grace’s sex began to pulse harder. She shouldn’t encourage him, but—God—she wanted him to take her, in whatever eccentric manner revved his engine.
“We could call for takeout,” she said.
His eyes were blazing when they rose to hers, his hands balling into fists. She actually saw the cloth of his zipper rise.
“Grace,” he rasped. “If I don’t fuck you in the next five minutes, I’m going to die.”
Her kitchen wall phone started ringing the instant he took a stride toward her. Grace didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Damn it,” Christian cursed.
“I’ll get it,” she said. “It could be Miss Wei.”
“Stay,” he barked, already picking it up.
His face changed as the person on the other end spoke to him, his eyebrows lifting briefly before his expression went marble still. For a moment, the clean lines of his profile mesmerized her. Then she shook herself.
“Who is it?” she asked.
His long-fingered hand covered the mouthpiece. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s for me.”
 
 
D
espite her obvious exhaustion, Grace was polite enough to get up and leave the room. Christian waited until he heard her bedroom door close.
“Why are you calling me here?” he asked Graham.
“Roy told me where to reach you. We’ve got some new anti-tapping technology. No one can listen in.”
“O-kay,” Christian said, hoping to hasten him along by not answering too much.
Naturally Graham sensed this. “I’m sorry, Christian,” he chaffed him. “Am I keeping you from something?”
“Please just tell me what you found out.”
“Quite a few things, as it happens. First of all, Grace Michaels’ name is really Grace Gladwell. Born in Arizona to George and Helen, after which she moved around a lot.”
“Her father’s name was George?”
“That mean anything to you?”
Only that she—or Adam—had given her father’s name to
his
father in the movie. He forced an unpleasant shiver not to rise up his spine.
“I don’t know,” he said. “What else?”
“Well, one of her parents—probably George—must be a piece of work. Medical records show a history of hospitalizations for broken bones dating back to Grace’s childhood and culminating in her having to be resuscitated from a serious head injury.”
“She mentioned that.”
“It’s worth a mention. Grace Gladwell was absent from the living for six minutes. Her recovery was sufficiently remarkable that the fellow who drove the ambulance still remembers it. To hear him tell it, the medics were surprised by her return from the dead. Evidently, you two have something in common.”
Christian didn’t laugh. The puzzle pieces snapping together inside his head robbed him of his humor. Six minutes was a long time to cross the Veil, maybe long enough to become a spirit. Did time exist in the afterlife? Did it possibly follow different rules? If Grace had traveled backward, it would explain the strange way she’d sometimes talked, as well as her vagueness concerning her origins. His ghostly Grace might have thought he wouldn’t believe she’d come from the future—not on top of everything else.
“Christian?” Graham asked at his long silence.
“Shh,” he said and pressed his skull back against the wall.
Maybe when Grace was resuscitated, her spirit had been yanked back to her own time and her own body. Maybe she’d never meant to abandon him. His heart pounded at the possibility. From what he’d seen, most humans weren’t like Adam. They forgot their previous incarnations when they were reborn. Could Grace’s return have erased her memory in a similar fashion? Did he in truth have nothing to reproach her for?
Did it matter if the answer to that was yes?
He already loved her. He already forgave her.
If he were honest, he owed her that. All those years ago she’d forgiven him. The bitch queen wasn’t one to simply change a healthy male into a vampire. She’d made certain Christian enjoyed it. When Grace had read the signs of his perfidy, she’d still sworn to love him forever. He’d believed she’d broken that vow. Now it seemed he’d been wrong.
“Graham,” he said, his voice rough with the emotions storming inside of him. Oddly for him, he was glad the other
upyr
was there, even if Christian wasn’t listening to Graham’s response. Graham was a friend, and this was a big moment. He stared at the plant-filled window above the sink, the side of his fist pressed hard to his mouth. He’d figured it out: how Grace could be the same Grace he’d known. Blinking for the first time in minutes, he let his hand relax.
“Graham,” he said, this time very firmly. “Tell me you know where to find her father.”
 
 
I
t didn’t take more than Christian walking into her room for Grace’s heart to speed up. She’d changed into her pajamas while he was on the phone. They were men’s style and very modest: light blue cotton with white piping. She wore only panties underneath them, but she was lying on her stomach on the bedcovers. To her mind, nothing too interesting was revealed.
None of this mattered when he sat on the edge of the mattress and stroked her hair. The movement of his graceful hand caused sweat to prickle across her back—and never mind what his touch did to her nipples. She reminded herself she hadn’t agreed to sleep with him tonight. He might have assumed she would because of her comment about the takeout, but the word yes hadn’t officially left her lips.
Of course, the thought of saying no made her wriggle uncomfortably. One very persuasive part of her didn’t understand why she was fighting this.
“Grace,” Christian said, rubbing a circle on her back. “I need to ask you something.”
The seriousness of his expression said this wasn’t about sex. Grace sat up with her pillow hugged to her breasts. “Okay.”
His hand shifted to caress the side of her face. He was looking at her mouth, and his lashes cast long shadows down his smooth cheekbones. She hoped he wasn’t going to go off on one of his tangents. She’d rather he not be quirky now.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “do you know where your father is?”
Grace’s head reared back in surprise. “That call you took was about my father?”
A trace of humor slanted his mouth. “You can be quick when you want to. I don’t imagine you’ll like this, but I had a friend of mine look into your background. I know your name used to be Grace Gladwell. I know your father hurt you more than once. I think he might be behind the sniper who shot at you. That picture of you and Viv at the press conference was picked up by the tabloids.”
Perspiration fogged across Grace’s back for a new reason. It took some concentration to pick her jaw off the floor. “If your friend knows all that, why can’t he tell you where George Gladwell is?”
Her voice was distant and tinny. Christian gathered her hands in his. “Your father dropped out of sight a few years ago. Stopped paying taxes or using his bank accounts.”
“Maybe he changed his name.”
“Maybe.”
Christian’s eyes were steady and kind. He’d looked at her caringly before this, but she thought there was something new in his gaze, something patient and accepting. He waited for her to absorb what he’d said.
“My father never paid me much attention, not unless I was right in front of him.”
“He paid you enough attention to put you in the hospital seven times.”
Had it been so many? Grace supposed she’d been too young to remember.
“Lots of times we didn’t go,” she admitted reluctantly. “When all I had were bruises. My mother used to say I was lucky I healed so well. Since I couldn’t stay out of trouble, I could make up for it with that.”
Christian eased the pillow from her grip and pulled her against him. Though his hold was loose, she sensed he wouldn’t let go. Her cheek settled onto the stretch of his left shoulder. His plain white T-shirt, which he’d worn for filming, was as soft as swansdown. She noticed he smelled like a rain-swept pavement again.
“I wish I’d been there,” he said, his cheek dragging in her hair. “I wish I’d been there for you.”
Grace’s palms tightened on his back. “I don’t think he was the shooter. I think he poured himself into a bottle and never climbed out again.”
“For his sake, he’d better hope that’s true.”
Something in his voice made her sit back. It wasn’t anger; whatever darkened his tone ran deeper than that.
“I won’t let him hurt you again,” he said.
“You wouldn’t . . . ”
“I’d do whatever it took to stop him.”
He sounded like a soldier saying he’d do his job.
“I haven’t always been a rancher,” he said.
She didn’t ask him what else he’d been. She didn’t know if he’d tell the truth or spin more fantasies. To her relief, nothing in his manner suggested he’d be rash.
“You shouldn’t offer to do a thing like that for me. You could end up in jail.”
He didn’t argue, just cupped the side of her face, his steady gaze holding hers. In that moment, he seemed far older than his years. “Lie down, Grace. I’m going to sleep here tonight.”
“But—”
“I won’t push you. I’m just not leaving you alone.”
This wasn’t precisely what she wanted. Too embarrassed to be clearer, she lay down. Christian arranged himself behind her, grabbed the coverlet from the foot of the bed, then pulled her into the curve of his body. They fit together—maybe too well. She could feel the hard swell of his penis pushing eagerly at his jeans.
“Christian—”
“It’s all right. I want you to sleep for now.”
He slid his arm beneath her neck, the hardness of its muscles wrapped in the velvet warmth of his skin. Her body couldn’t help but relax with him shielding her, though her excitement at being near him didn’t completely fade. He seemed to notice her tension.
“If I could carry a tune, I’d sing you a lullaby,” he said.
She had the oddest vision of herself humming “Bali Ha’i” from
South Pacific
while
her
body cradled his. This had never happened, but she felt as if it had. His heart beat against her back in a slow rhythm.
“I do . . . care about you,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t feel this safe in anyone else’s arms.”
His lungs let out a sigh as the arm he’d draped around her waist tightened.
“Good,” he said.
The response was better than if he’d claimed to love her again. Strangely at peace, Grace closed her eyes and let herself drift away.
 
 
T
he swiftness with which Grace dropped off told Christian she’d needed rest. All the same, lying next to her while she slept was difficult. He loved her, and it was night, and all his reactions to her were sharp.
Upyr
weren’t designed for abstinence—not when their appetites and affections were engaged. Grace smelled like heaven and warmed him like a fire. His body wanted to take possession of her in every way it could. His fangs were too sharp to grind his teeth together.
He withstood the torture for two hours, then rolled onto his side with his back to her. He’d long since unzipped his jeans to make room for his huge hard-on. He was glad for that as he pushed his hand into the opening. When he wrapped his fingers around his shaft, the compression felt too damn good. He probably should have left the bed. The instant he started tugging, he was going to wake Grace up with his moans.
He might have woken her already. The mattress creaked. She mumbled something and squirmed around, her warm, cushioned body now spooning his. Her little nose found the back of his neck and nuzzled—one advantage to having short hair, he guessed. Aroused by her new position, his cock pulsed crazily in his frozen hand. He tried to resign himself to waiting longer to ease himself, but Grace’s touch slid down the arm he’d shoved into his jeans.
Every nerve came alive as her nails strafed his fine arm hairs. A bead of moisture rolled down his erection’s tip.
It was immediately replaced by another one.
“Christian,” she said sleepily. “Let me help you with this.”
Her offer was a spear of delightful agony through his groin. He started to answer, to warn her that if she touched him, doing him by hand wouldn’t be enough. The words twisted into groans when she drew a circle with two fingers around his weeping crest. Chills that were somehow hot followed her second circuit. Her third made him shiver, and when she rubbed the indentation from which his pre-ejaculate was seeping, his head stretched back over her shoulder.
“I love that you get wet like I do,” she whispered into his ear.
Usually, he was the one who whispered dirty things to her. If this reversal weren’t enough to send his temperature soaring, her circling fingertips were soon supplanted by the cup of her palm. The sudden increase in pressure was incredibly powerful.

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