Dark Admirer (2 page)

“Love ya,” Gemma said. “And don’t worry, Eve, you’re gonna knock Richard’s socks off.”

“Love you, too,” Eve murmured back before clicking the lid of her phone closed.

She stood at the window, marvelling at the stillness of the street. Normally Spadina Avenue was hopping. They were right around the corner from Kensington Market and the foot traffic alone was heavy, but not today. Today the street was a wasteland of swirling snow and howling winds.

Shivering, Eve ran her hands down her arms as the wind wailed, rattling the huge picture window. Behind her, a log in the fireplace crackled and she jumped, forgetting she had started the fire a few hours ago.

Glancing over her shoulder, Eve looked back at the ornate black iron grate and the carved stone mantelpiece. She’d found both in an antique store in London. The minute she had seen them leaning against a crumbling plaster wall, she knew they’d be perfect in the old tenement brownstone she’d bought with the intention of turning it into a bookstore.

The place was exactly how she had imagined it, an English gentleman’s study, complete with hearth and studded leather furniture.

Lovingly she gazed at the mantel, at the way the orange flames flickered against the shiny black iron grate. On the tartan feather bed that lay before the hearth, was the black and white Springer Spaniel she had rescued from the shelter a few months ago. Lizzy was curled up in front of the hearth catching a few Z’s and snoring like a truck driver.

Eve smiled and turned back to the window. She knew it wasn’t going to be busy today. Who the hell wanted to buy books on New Year’s Eve? Besides, it was already four-thirty, and the daylight was quickly being eaten up by snow clouds. Soon it would be dark. She really should get going, especially while the going was good. And it wasn’t like she had customers lined up out on the street.

Even though she knew the day would be quiet, Eve hadn’t been able to resist the lure that was her bookshop.
Quills
.

She loved the place and didn’t really consider it her job. It was more than that. It was her passion.

Eve looked around the high beamed ceilings and the brick walls and then over to the antique rosewood bookcases that she had bought at an estate auction in England. On the shelves of those beautiful bookcases sat hundreds of books, some first editions, and priceless antiques. Some were today’s best sellers, and some were damn hot romance novels. There was something to suit every reader’s tastes, even beginning readers, and Eve couldn’t be prouder of the old place. She had made Quills what she had intended it to be when she set out on this venture—which was a book enthusiast’s paradise.

Within a year of relocating to Toronto, she had made her business a success. Every day the store was packed with customers of all ages, and all walks of life. They congregated by the fire and lounged in the leather wingback chairs, chatting and reading and using the computers she’d set up as an internet café. Hip and well known authors came to her store for book signings. New Age poets recited their gothic works of art, while crowds stretched around the corner, readers waiting in the bone wracking cold, or the scorching humidity just to get into Quills for the signings or the readings.

Yep, huge accomplishment—even more than she had hoped. Too bad she couldn’t say the same for her personal life. In that, she was as much a failure as always.

What was it with her and men? Why didn’t she seem to click with any of the guys who had shown her any interest? They had been handsome enough, but they lacked…
something
. And that’s what frustrated Eve the most. She didn’t even know what it was she wanted. What was that elusive ‘something’ she was trying so desperately hard to find in the opposite sex?

Well, maybe this Richard had whatever that ‘something’ was. Maybe tonight she’d finally get lucky, and not just in the sack. Hell, maybe Gemma was right, maybe this was her year.

But first, she needed to go home and change into something sexier. Something that showcased her breasts and hips. Something Richard Stokes would find appealing—so appealing in fact, that he’d be forced to take it off later tonight to see those curves up front and personal.

Sex with a stranger. She’d never been the type before, but lately, she was feeling a bit more daring. The geeky bookworm was emerging from her chrysalis, and hopefully becoming the beautiful butterfly.

“Well, Lizzy, old girl, you ready?” Eve laughed as the dog stirred, swiped her tongue along her muzzle then buried her nose in the soft fabric of her bed. With a sigh, Lizzy closed her eyes and ignored Eve.

“You know, you really should have gone to a duchess. You’re so damn pampered.” Lizzy opened one eye and flicked her ear. “Yeah, I know. It’s too damn cold to walk home. Well, let me get the phone number for the pet friendly cab company, then we’ll get out of here.”

Lizzy ignored her as Eve turned back to the window and reached for the blind. Pulling on the white cord, the Venetian blind started to lower, when something hit the window hard. Eve immediately pulled on the cord, lifting the blind in time to see an enormous black feather slide down the iced glass.

Holy crap! What kind of bird did that thing fall out of?

The feather had to have been over two feet long. Eve could see it lying on the sidewalk as she pressed her forehead against the cold glass.

It really was beautiful. So black and silky looking. And sad, too, Eve thought as she studied the long feather resting forlornly on the snow that covered the sidewalk.

The wind suddenly gusted, lifting the feather high into the air. Impetuously, Eve ran to the door and out into the elements, catching the feather in her hand just as it was about to fly away again.

She studied it as the snow began to fall in earnest. The wind gusted, taking the door of the bookstore and slamming it hard against the wall. The storm was rolling in good now. It was time to close up shop and head home. No sense being stranded here all night with nothing to eat.

Twirling the feather between her fingers, Eve closed the door and listened as the bells tinkled. Lowering the blind, she watched as the feather turned from black in the grey daylight, to a mesmerising blue-black in the firelight. On impulse she brought it to her face and allowed the silky fronds to skim against her cheek, forgetting that it was from a bird, and probably full of germs, and God above—disease. The last thing she needed was a case of Avian Flu, but not even that frightening thought was enough to stop her.

The feather seemed to call to her, to all but beckon her to touch it, to slide it along her flesh.

The instant the feathers made contact, her skin began to tingle. Closing her eyes, Eve stroked her cheek with it once more and noticed the exotic smell wafting from it, like musk and incense. The tingling continued until she felt as though she were being touched by a hand—a man’s hand. And the scent, it was growing stronger, more heady. And Lord, her body was responding to the tactile and olfactory stimulus. Her body had goosebumps, and she was wet. Already her swollen breasts were growing harder against her camisole. On impulse, she stroked the tip of her feather over her nipple, felt the little tremor of energy snake along her skin, puckering her nipple until it was aching. Again, she repeated the action, only this time she drew tight little circles around her nipple. The sensation was incredible, and she closed her eyes, let her head fall back, let herself sink into the illicit sensations she felt flowing from the feather and onto her skin.

Eve was aware of the clicking sound of Lizzy’s nails on the hardwood, but she couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t make herself leave the incredibly arousing scent that was enveloping her, or the sensation of a hand stroking along her cheek and jaw.

She no longer felt the tickling sensation of the feather against her, but instead, the touch had become less feather-like and more like the reverent touch of a lover. And Lord, how she wanted more of that touch, and not just on her face. She wanted it lower; on her breasts, cupping her fullness in big, masculine palms. She wanted long, strong fingers circling the sensitive areoles and flicking her aching nipples. She wanted it easing between her thighs, stroking her, building up the wetness that was steadily dampening her underwear.

God, she was hot, as if she truly was being stroked by some invisible force. Physically, her body was responding as if it were actually happening, this pleasure she felt. Her hips were restless and her sex was slick with desire, with wanting. Every inch of her sensitised body, was inflamed by this mysterious aura that had somehow covered her from head to foot.

A growl, low and threatening rumbled out of Lizzy, snapping Eve out of the trance she was in. She dropped the feather onto the table and turned to see that Lizzy was at the side door that led to the back alley. The springer’s lips were peeled back, and her long white canines where bared. The hair on her withers stood to full height, and Eve watched as Lizzy’s loins flickered with barely restrained fear.

With a hard swallow, Eve once more gathered control over her body, trying to shake off the weird sensations and images that had only just given up their grip on her.

“What is it, Liz? What’s out there that’s got you all worked up?”

Lizzy didn’t even so much as glance in Eve’s direction. Instead, her ears perked up higher and a shiver rain down her sides, making the black and white patches jump. She growled again, a long steady rumble and raised her lips, showing more of her teeth.

“Okay, Cujo. Let’s see what’s got you spooked. It’s probably just a squirrel, and you know you can’t be bothered to give them the time of day, so I don’t know why you’re making all this fuss.”

Lizzy’s attention stayed focused on the gold latch.
Weird
. In the few short months she’d had Lizzy, Eve hadn’t known her to be anything other than a laze-about who didn’t so much as open one eye to strange sounds. But something had her on the alert. Eve just hoped that whatever was out there wasn’t dangerous.

“Maybe it’s Trent,” Eve muttered to the dog as she reached for her long cable knit sweater that was hanging on the coat rack. “You know he sometimes comes in through this door.” But why would a fourteen year old be here on New Years Eve?

Lizzy growled again then began a series of deep, sorrowful whimpers. “Yeah, it’s Trent, isn’t it? You always like a visit from him, don’t you? You’re always such a damn flirt when he’s here. I’ll say this for you, Liz, you got good taste. The kid’s gonna be a looker when he gets to be eighteen.”

Reaching for the latch, Eve slid it aside, and threw open the door. Lizzy sprang outside and Eve followed her, only to slide to a halt on the slippery asphalt. In the middle of the alley lay a prone, black haired man. His face was pressed into the snow and his bare hands outstretched, as if he had fallen flat on his face. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, black biker boots and a long black wool coat that looked like something from the Matrix movies. He wasn’t moving. Even when Lizzy went up to him, cowering and shivering and sniffing at his hair, he didn’t move.