Secrets of the Night Special Edition (90 page)

"But if William of Normandy invades
England
?” 

He shook his head.” He wouldn't dare!”

She choked on her words.” I fear something terrible will happen . . . something terrible . . .” 

"Terrible!” Stevie jerked awake, her heart thudding against her chest, her long cotton nightgown damp with cold perspiration. Braced on her elbows, she stared around the darkened room, waiting for her heartbeat to subside. Never--ever! --had she had such a vivid dream, as if she'd actually lived through those events.

What did the dream mean? Galan, of course, she recalled from two weeks ago, a man who'd teased her mind constantly since then. Galan, with his dark, mysterious eyes and a voice she'd remember for the rest of her life, a voice rich and sensual . . . enticing, too, as if he could persuade her to do anything he wanted, go anywhere he desired.

Galan. Why had that name appeared in her dream? But more important, another question taunted her like an echo that wouldn't fade. Who was Linette?

* * *

Galan typed the last word, then turned the computer off with a reminder to proofread the Chapter when he returned from downtown. He leaned back in his swivel chair, his hands locked behind his head, the sleeves of his white cotton shirt rolled up to his elbows, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

How he wished he were mortal again, to walk in daylight and bask in the sun's warmth, to know the love of a mortal woman who would give him children and share his life and home, a woman he could care for throughout eternity. But even if his wish were humanly possible, Moloch would never permit it. Moloch, damn the fiend! By all that was holy, how he hated this living death!

But if he could escape his fate? He heaved a deep sigh. There was no escape. He was doomed to number among the undead for all eternity. The undead.

A constant wish tortured him, even though he realized its futility. All through the centuries, he'd longed for a woman who reminded him of Linette, his love from so long ago. He'd never met such a woman . . . until now.

"Linette.” The whispered name echoed in the silence of the room, yet even as he spoke her name, another face captured his mind. Stevie, with her blonde hair he ached to caress, her gentle voice, the touch of her hand that made him want to take her in his arms, make love to her as a man was meant to love a woman. He had to see her again.

If it were true, as the mortals believed, that you met your soulmate in one life after another, why had he never met Linette again? Why? Why?

A glance at the desk clock revealed it was after two, and surely, Stevie would be sound asleep: a good time to visit. In their naivete, the mortals believed that a vampire couldn't enter one's house unless invited. Stupid mortals.

In a blink, he found himself in Stevie's bedroom, where she lay on her side facing him, the slow rise and fall of her chest an indication she slept soundly. Her scent tantalized him, a blend of spices and lilac, a poignant reminder of the home he once knew in
England
, distant centuries in the past. A wash of moonlight spilled through her open window, but he needed no moonlight to study her features.

"Stevie,” he whispered in the dark, “why can't I get you out of my mind?”  He reached forward to touch her hair, then let his hand drop to his side.” Why do you haunt my dreams?” 

Lustrous blonde hair fanned out in splendid disarray down her back and onto her pillow, her slender fingers resting on the bedspread. His gaze followed the swell of her breast, her slender waist, the curve of her hip. He yearned to take her in his arms, devour her with his passion. The sweep of her long eyelashes enthralled him, a lovely embellishment that added to her charm, more exquisite than diamonds. The rapid movement of her eyes under their lids told him she was dreaming.

"May only pleasant dreams accompany your sleep,” he whispered.

Her beautiful pale throat offered a temptation almost painful in its intensity, a lure he feared he couldn't refuse.

Yet he knew he must.

His gaze was drawn to the pulse at the base of her throat where its beat, beat, beat, pounded in his ears, louder than a thousand drumbeats, beckoning like a siren song. With his long fingers, he reached toward her throat, aching to touch the soft flesh, to feel the delicate warmth, and--

No! He jerked his hand away, his body throbbing with desire. Resolved to fight this craving that chased every rational thought from his mind, he took several steps back, too well aware he must leave . . . and never return.

By St. Aidan! How long could he resist her? 

Chapter Three

On a balmy Sunday afternoon in late November, Stevie figured now would be a good time to catch up on several odd jobs around her apartment. She especially needed to water her orchids outside, all of them hanging from the wooden fence or the limbs of a grapefruit tree behind the "big house.” After slipping on her loafers, she headed outside, grabbing her water can that waited by the door.

The leaves of the grapefruit tree fluttered in a pleasant breeze that gave no hint of the coming winter. In her Carpe Diem T-shirt and blue jeans, she was quite comfortable.

Her landlady approached along the walkway, giving her a friendly wave.

"Stevie, I've been thinking--if you're not going home for Thanksgiving, why not have dinner with us? You know we'd enjoy having you.” She raised her eyebrows.” Unless you have other plans.” 

"No other plans.” Stevie retrieved her watering can, moving to a phalenopsis, its plastic pot dangling from a thin branch of the grapefruit tree.” But I wouldn't want to impose on you.”

"How can one more person be any trouble? It'll just be us.” She squeezed Stevie's hand.” Besides, I always wanted another daughter.” Her finger grazed a mottled green leaf of a paphiopedilum.” You have a lovely orchid collection here.”

"Thanks, I love orchids! Have for years, ever since a high school boyfriend gave me a cattelya corsage for the prom.” She tapped the phal pot.” See this one? When it blooms, it'll have light green flowers, almost the color of your blouse. So pretty! It's called Misty Green. I'm going to enter it in the Miami Orchid Show.”

"Sounds great. I can't wait to see it bloom.” She bent over to brush a leaf from her slacks.” We'll have dinner at one, but come whenever you like.”

Stevie flipped an ant from the leaf of another phal, a hybrid of gorgeous white flowers with pink spots.” What can I bring?” 

"Just yourself. I've already bought everything, and dinner is all planned.”

"If you're sure. . .” She thought a moment.” Mrs. Shipley--"

"Hey, why so formal? Just call me Melissa.”

"Okay, Melissa.” She paused, feeling like an idiot.” Have you seen a strange man around here, an old guy with long, bushy hair? I've seen him a couple times when I'm out on my nightly run. Do we have someone new on this block?” 

Melissa frowned.” Someone new? Not that I'm aware of. And you know me,” she added with a smile.” I always get all the neighborhood gossip. What did he do?” 

Stevie shook her head.” Nothing, really. Funny thing, he just stands on the sidewalk and stares at me, like I had two heads or something. Then he sort of--now, this is going to sound real weird--but he just disappears.” Goosebumps broke out over her body.

"Disappears?” 

"Yeah, like--" She snapped her fingers--"a puff of smoke.” Boy, did that sound stupid.” Must be a logical explanation. After all, it is at night when I run. So he probably just walks off before I'm aware of it.” Yeah, sure.” Anyway, I think I'll stop my nightly run for a while. I thought this area was safe--"

"So did I.” Melissa chewed her bottom lip.” I'll ask around, see if anyone else has seen him.” The phone rang from inside the house.” Oops, better go. Talk to you later.”

Melissa hurried away, leaving Stevie no closer to an explanation than before. With a shrug, she resumed her task. Really, it wasn't like her to let a few incidents rile her, but that man sure was creepy.

Another man aroused thoughts better left forgotten. Galan Kent. Now there's a man for you, she thought, and for some inexplicable reason, her heart beat a little faster. He was a real gentleman, so different from all the other men she'd known--maybe too different, as if something set him apart from other men, a quality she couldn't put her finger on. Besides, he seemed so secretive, definitely not honest and open, the way she liked people. Yet she couldn't deny his fascination, like a monster magnet tugging at her.

Anyway, she didn't need any more undependable people or complications in her life. If she'd wanted that, she would've stayed with Jason, the rat. For over a year he'd sworn he loved her, but then he'd gotten another girl pregnant. It'll be a long time before I trust someone again, she thought as she finished watering her orchids. If ever.

* * *

A cool wind blew in through Stevie's open living room window, but she liked the chill as she prepared to exercise. A wave of fatigue washed over her, prompting her to wonder if she'd be able to finish her workout. She'd always been in good health, so what had made her so tired? She dismissed her worry, finding solace in her usual remedy: if she didn't think about it, the problem would go away.

She strolled out to the tiny kitchen where she kept her CDs and her player in the cramped space on the counter. After she inserted a CD, she padded back to the living room, heading for her ab machine in the corner. She adjusted her tights, then knelt by the machine and began her exercises to the rousing strains of The Beautiful Galatea. She'd finished fifty reps when a knock at the door interrupted her.

She pushed herself to her feet and strode toward the front door, rolling her shoulders to get the kinks out.

As she peered through the peep hole, her heart lurched. Galan! She never thought she'd see him again.” Come on in,” she said, opening the door, determined to keep her voice even.

"Good evening.” His gaze met hers as he entered her living room with a bouquet in his right hand. The man moved with animal grace, radiating raw energy. He was all potent masculinity, self-confidence oozing from every pore. She could swear excitement hummed in the air and vibrated off the walls. In his long-sleeved black polo shirt and black jeans, he appeared quite debonair, as handsome as she remembered.

His eyes caught her attention, those dark, mesmerizing eyes. Then her gaze shifted to his tousled black hair. As though conscious of her look, he ran a careless hand through the windblown mass of curls.

With a slight bow, he handed her the flowers.” These flowers were so lovely, they reminded me of you. And oh, yes, I would have called, but I didn't know your number.” 

How could she ever forget that voice--rich and velvety, like chocolate ice cream, but as warm as summer in
Miami
.

"How nice!” She inhaled the sweet-spicy scent of pink carnations, fingering the delicate petals of the yellow roses, delighting in the exquisite aroma of the white freesia.

"Thanks for the compliment and the flowers. I'll write down my phone number for you after I put these in water and turn my CD player down.”

"Don't lower the volume. Die Schone Galatee.” He smiled.” Von Suppe has always been one of my favorites.”

"Mine, too. I especially like his overtures.” She held up a hand.” Be right back.” She grabbed a tall avocado vase and made her way to the kitchen. Within a few minutes, she returned to set the vase on the coffee table and took a moment to admire the effect. Flowers! When was the last time a man had given her flowers? She couldn't remember.

Brushing her hair from her forehead, she glanced his way.” Sit on the sofa, why don't you. Would you like some tea, coffee, wine?” 

"Nothing, thank you.” His smile was dazzling, like bright sunshine after a thunderstorm. Her heart slammed against her rib cage and jumped up to her throat.

"Rather a coincidence to hear classical music here,” he said after she gave him her telephone number and joined him on the leather sofa, “because I have tickets to a Viennese string quartet at the Gusman Theater next Friday night. Would you care to join me?” 

Would she care? Does it snow in
Alaska
? She smoothed her hand across the leather sofa.” I'd like that.” A slight pause.” By the way, my last name is Novak.”

"Yes.” He said it as if he already knew. Had she told him her name? She must have.

"You have an unusual first name,” she said, frantically searching for something to say.” Don't think I've heard it before.”

"An old name, goes back hundreds of years.” He stretched his legs out.” That reminds me, I've made a study of names. Take Stephanie, for instance--"

She smiled.” You take Stephanie. I like Stevie better.”

"Ah, but Stephanie is a lovely name. Now let me tell you its derivation and what it means. . .”

Those wonderfully expressive hands fascinated her as he spoke, each gesture meaningful and succinct. His voice had a penetrating quality, and even though he talked in low tones, something told her his voice would carry a great distance. And his eyes. What did she see in those dark eyes? Secrets he'd never reveal. Secrets she wished she knew.