Vampire - Dead By Dusk Part 13

"Yes, oh, G.o.d, yes!"

Lena was ever so slightly embarra.s.sed, and yet in the flush of such physical excitement that she barely gave her words a pa.s.sing thought. So what if they'd been used in every schlocky p.o.r.n film since the beginning of moviemaking!

"Lord, yes, please!"

Good heavens, the man was an animal!

She'd never been so t.i.tillated, and in her life, she'd never been tempted before to fall so quickly into the arms of a near-stranger.

And so boldly. No real talk, no pretense of a sudden, dying devotion or affection, just s.e.x.

A look at one another, a knowing... clothing strewn in a matter of seconds. Just an initial kiss as the whole getting-to- know-you-foreplay thing, and then s.e.x-raw, base, first on the table, then on the floor. He was rough, but it didn't matter, because the slide of his teeth and force of his mouth against her were the most erotic things shed felt in all her life. She'd knelt, she'd stood, she'd parted her legs in a way she'd never even imagined before. He played at her thighs, between them, coerced her into curling her fingers around him, returning every wet intimacy...

And then...

He was like a jackrabbit. Like the wind.

It might not be the romantic love affair she had thought she wanted, but...

"Yes, yes, do it, do it."

He did.

She thought she was going to die. She was wet as a leaky faucet. Drenched inside and out, shaking, flying, climbing...

climaxing like a madwoman.

And he just laughed.

"There's more, baby, so much more!" he whispered.

No. There couldn't be. She couldn't take it. She felt drained and exhausted, sucked dry. A weary smile played at her lips.

"Wow."

He was going to stay with her, she thought. If just for a while.

Yet suddenly, abruptly, he jumped up. As if he had heard something, or someone.

Almost as if... someone was coming. Well, they had done so before. But that had just been when she'd been waiting, and, well, of course he'd known-and waited himself. So clever.

Everyone would know that she was fine. For the life of her, she wouldn't open the door now.

"What's the matter?" she whispered. She couldn't really speak.

He didn't reply. She realized vaguely that he wasn't even there anymore, but it didn't matter. She couldn't move. Couldn't have done it again. She closed her eyes, feeling the overpowering desire to sleep, to rest...

No, no... she couldn't move now.

But all she wanted in the whole wide world was for him to come again.

Her eyes...

She couldn't keep them open.

They closed. And she felt consciousness... fading away.

Night progressed.

Grant despaired of sleeping. Really sleeping. He'd dozed off several times, only to awaken as if he'd heard a cannon fired, nearly jumping out of bed. And there would be nothing. No reason for him to have awakened at all.He walked out to the balcony area of his cottage, but the way it was positioned, he could see the ocean, the waves, the beach, the horizon, no more. The view was absurdly peaceful, the sound of the waves, lulling.

Restlessly, he returned to his bedroom, dressed, and exited his cottage via the front door. All the little bungalows seemed still and quiet. Naturally. It was four a.m. Even the barhoppers would be tucked in, sleeping now.

He started out along the beach, recalling the smell of death that had a.s.sailed him when he'd taken the same walk with Clay Barton. Arturo had seen to it that the carca.s.s of the dead mammal had been taken away.

There was no smell of death tonight.

He paused on the beach, feeling the breeze wrap around him, watching in the pale light as foam flecked against the sand. How very, very normal. Lovely. From where he stood, he stared back at the scattered a.s.sembly of beach houses, cottages, or bungalows. Night-lights glowed on the little paths surrounding them. At most front doors, small lanterns burned as well.

There was nothing...

There... two down from his own. That was where Giovanni had told him Clay Barton was staying. It was dark, except for a pale illumination that spread from the balcony area. A night-light? Or was the very strange Mr. Barton up and restless as well?

Curious man. He seemed intent on sticking with Stephanie as well, and yet...

As cool, attractive, and suave as the man might be, it didn't seem that he was actually coming on to any of the women. Even as he followed Stephanie-watched her ceaselessly-he didn't make any moves that weren't respectable.

Maybe he was gay.

Uh-uh. That was something he was certain he would know. No-in fact, there was something about the guy that seemed to tick off every alpha-male fiber of Grant's being, and he knew that he edged closer to Stephanie every time the guy was around, and that he gritted his teeth during some of their playful scenes together, aware that it was acting. It had best be acting. Was acting.

He could have sworn that the man was no actor. Why? He was fine on stage, had a d.a.m.ned good memory for lines, moved easily enough...

There was no reason to suspect him.

Yes, there was. Instinct.

Instinct that said what?

He didn't know.

Grant glanced at his watch. Four-forty-five. At least it was getting closer to morning. This was strange as h.e.l.l, too-he didn't mind being away at the first light. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd leave the area of the resort after dark-or before the light.

As he stood there, then, looking back at the field of cottages, he froze suddenly. There seemed to be an odd, sweeping shadow circling over them. There couldn't be. Not beneath the partial moon, with the few stars scattering the night sky. Not with the little lights that shone out from here and there.

But there was. A shadow like...

Wings. Immense wings.

Fear clutched his throat. Tension soared through him. He blinked.The shadows was there... high. And then it seemed to settle.

He forced movement into his body, terror gripping him that the shadow had fallen around Stephanie's place. Sand flew up around his feet as he ran, heedless then of sight or sound or anything, he was so anxious to get to Stephanie's.

He arrived by the back and flew up the stairs to the balcony, hopping the little guardrail.

Racing to the gla.s.s doors with his hand raised, he noted that her curtain was fully closed. She had gone to bed with a fair amount of light shedding around from the bathroom, and from the hallway and staircase.

He could see her.

She was sleeping. Curled up, with her dark hair spilled over the pillow, hands prayer-fashion, beautiful face toward the gla.s.s.

She was sleeping peacefully.

He stood there, hand raised, not moving-like an a.s.shole.

Yet it seemed that the strange fear that had gripped his throat had wended its way into his heart and soul. He knew again that no matter what it was that was going on...

He loved her. Deeply, pa.s.sionately. And just watching her, he felt a heat rise in his body, muscles constrict, body contort...

He swore at himself, turned, wondered if he should just go and walk into the frigging ocean water and douse himself.

But back on the beach, he paused, looking around again.

There had been a shadow.

And it had oddly settled somewhere.

Where?

Chapter 6.

Their costume designer was a small woman with a delightful, big smile. Stephanie didn't understand how the woman had managed to make so many things so right, but she had. She'd been worried since the woman had arrived early, and Lena had arrived late. But she knew a few words of English, and Stephanie's growing knowledge of Italian had done well enough as Drew, Doug, and Suzette went through their fittings. Her own was off, but then, the costume had originally been planned for Gema. And there were a few problems with Clay Barton's-the trousers were too short, and the arms weren't long enough.

Leeza D'Onofrio, the costumer, tsked at herself, looked at her notes, and looked at Clay, and shook her head. Stephanie didn't need to be a language expert to know that Leeza was baffled, but still, apparently, she had expected some problems.

She was startled when Clay went into a conversation with the woman-in Italian. Leeza smiled and remeasured, and apparently seemed charmed, and ready to redo the costume in plenty of time.

"She wants you to know that she'll be back with both costumes by tomorrow afternoon-she's very happy to be working with us, and can do almost anything we want," Clay told Stephanie.

Previous Top Next"Great," she murmured, staring at him. "I didn't know you spoke Italian. And please don't tell me that you took a Berlitz program two weeks before coming here."

He shook his head. "Just something I picked up during my lifetime," he told her.

"But it doesn't even sound as if you have an accent," Stephanie told him.

"I like languages," he said.

"You speak others?"

"A few."

"Like?"

"French."

"Ah. And?"

"I'm pretty good with Spanish."

"Well, great," Stephanie murmured. It was great. She wondered why the information made her feel uneasy. Especially when it was just then that Lena walked in, looking pale and ill.

"I'm so sorry!" Lena told Stephanie. "I just couldn't wake up this morning. I was awake, but then fell back to sleep. I must have eaten something... except that I'm not sick to my stomach."

Stephanie, concerned, felt Lena's forehead. She wasn't hot. In fact, she seemed to be too cold.

"Maybe you should take the afternoon off," Stephanie advised her.

"There's more to run through," Lena said ruefully.

"Yes, but... I think we've already proven that we're a great ensemble. It's going to be hard if you can't stand up on Friday night.

Have your fitting, then take your outline scripts and go back to bed. You can study there. Maybe you're getting a flu."

"I guess it must be something like that," Lena said. "I am so sorry!"

"You don't need to apologize-just get well," Stephanie told her.

It was very strange. If Lena had been with the group partying the night before, Stephanie might have understood it better.

She felt good herself that morning. But she'd taken a sleeping aid the night before and been mercifully undisturbed by dreams.

Clay came up as the two women talked. He frowned, looking at Lena with real concern. He, too, touched her forehead. He didn't appeared to be relieved in the least that she didn't have a fever.

"Let me walk you back to your place," he told her.

She let out a little sigh. "Actually, that would be great. I feel so weak!"