Dead By Dusk
Page 47

Grant spun around suddenly. Lucien was standing behind him.
Grant had to be rattled, but he didn't show it. "You could just be a really excellent magician," he said.
"But I'm not, and you know it," Lucien said. "Don't you?"
Grant didn't reply.
Lucien shrugged. "We're going to get out of here now. It would be best if we remained Clay and Liz, as far as the others are concerned. I would prefer that the truth about me be on a need-to-know basis."
Jade smiled awkwardly. "Try to get some sleep. Things may speed up around here, now that it seems something has gone a little outside the line for our François."
"Speed up?" Stephanie murmured.
"He wants something. That something may be…"
"May be what?" Grant demanded.
Lucien met his gaze.
"Stephanie," he said simply.
Lena heard the rapping on the door and ran to it.
Her heart was thundering. She was so afraid that one of the others had come back to bring them new word about Doug.
A bad word.
He couldn't have had a relapse…
He could have.
Without thinking, she threw the door open.
She stood stock-still for a minute, deeply confused.
She felt the eyes.
Felt them on her, and then…
She opened the door farther. It was what was wanted.
She was dimly aware of Suzette running back down the stairs, anxious to find out what the tapping had been.
"Lena?"
Suzette froze on the bottom stair.
He was already inside. And he looked at her, and smiled.
"Two for the price of one," he said lightly.
Suzette's mouth was working. But she remained where she stood, transfixed. Somewhere inside, though, she was trying to fight. He frowned. Walking toward her, he felt a sudden repulsion.
Then he knew why. He saw the silver piece around her neck, and swallowed. A shiver went through him. He shook off the discomfort angrily and backed away.
"First things first!" he said. "Lena, go take that… that thing off Suzette's neck!"
Obediently, Lena turned to her friend. Suzette managed to lift a hand, as if she could stop Lena. But then, she hadn't that much strength.
He was pleased with himself; he'd already visited both girls, and he'd toyed with the idea of only playing with one. And here they were, together. How lovely, and how convenient. And how very much fun.
Lena got the cross, ripping it from Suzette's neck. She cast it down on the living room floor.
He grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it on top of the offensive piece.
"And now!" he said. "The two of you… ah, well!"
They were huddled at the bottom of the stairs together, both wide-eyed, staring at him, awaiting his next order. The one, petite, dark, and gorgeous with her inky eyes; the other, a little snow princess, blond with blue eyes.
Oh, yes. This could be the greatest entertainment he had yet afforded himself. Better, even, he mused, than the prize he awaited.
But the real prize was power. And he craved that more than any other sensory pleasure he could take at will.
But for the moment…
He walked to the pair, ran a finger down Suzette's peaches-and-cream arm, then stroked the rise of Lena's breast.
"Suzette, you will undo those buttons from Lena…" he began.
Then, something struck him, and he glanced at his watch, and cursed.
It wasn't going to be quite as much fun as he had intended.
"Make it quick!" he barked at Lena.
He needed to hurry. And still…
It was indeed entertaining. He savored the taste of the blonde while the brunette stroked and soothed her.
And he all but drained the brunette while he watched what the blonde was doing between her thighs.
The ecstasy was almost his undoing. Still, it all seemed to please him with a volatile, sensory delight greater than an explosion from Etna.
He had to stop himself. He didn't want them dead.
Yet.
As he gently settled the girls on the ground, sated, nearly bloated, he felt a moment's chill.
The other was near!
He gritted his teeth and fought the fear.
He was cloaked in a way that masked him. He was safe. And when he was done…
He would have all the power he had ever craved. And a world, a huge world, with a massive population, in which to play.
And conquer.
Chapter 15
Grant sat at the table long after Lucien and Jade had gone, staring at his coffee cup. Stephanie did the same.
Then she rose. She smiled at him weakly. "I've got to get some sleep. And I've got to go up and do something about that curtain."
She left him sitting at the table. They hadn't exchanged a word with one another about the entire bizarre occurrence that night or the even more absurd conversation they had just had with Lucien and Jade—or Clay and Liz.
They were liars. They had to be liars. Fakers, magicians, liars.
But they weren't.
Stephanie was right. They were both so tired that they were bleary-eyed. There had been far too much happening in a day for either of them to understand or accept.
Or deny.
Grant rose.
He had seen Stephanie lock the front door. He checked it anyway. He checked the downstairs back door as well.
Daytime, he mocked himself. They were probably safe anyway.
He climbed the stairs to the loft, his footsteps heavy. When he reached the bedroom area, Stephanie was busy trying to balance the broken rod on the sliding glass doors and stuff the billowing white drapes back over it. He caught her in the act, pulling her against him. For a minute, he just held her there.
Ridiculous thoughts filled him. At least the suave bastard was married!
Yep, he was a vampire, but hell, a married one. Surely, that made it all better.
And yet…
He felt again the fierce desire that he had felt for Stephanie from the moment he had met her, a love so intense it was frightening. And he didn't need to be afraid of Clay Barton…
Hell, no! Just some ancient, evil corpse brought back to life because of an earthquake. An evil being who, for some reason, wanted Stephanie.
He nuzzled his face against her nape, feeling her hair tease his skin. And he told her almost urgently, "I would die for you. I would die without you!"
She might have turned around and told him that he had best get a life—they weren't really together. She had let him stay because he was so insistent. She had made love with him because they were both healthy and vital and their chemistry was a combustible match.
But she didn't. She turned into his arms, and let him hold her. For a moment, she was vulnerable, grateful just to feel secure in the circle of his arms. He lifted her chin. So much of their lovemaking had been desperate and wild. He kissed her very gently, slowly, savoring the feel of his lips against her, the taste of her mouth, the depth and texture of it. She stirred. He instantly felt a quickening in himself. So much for a tender moment.
She drew away.
"The drapes," she reminded him.
"Um, we would be just about on television, huh?" he said.
"Well, kind of. And if you look below… Giovanni is delivering someone's luggage, the maids are moving about… and one of the cooks is outside, smoking," she said dryly.
He laughed, stepping forward with the bent rod, and lifting it. It wouldn't fit. He lowered it before himself and straightened it, then set it back on the hooks. Not perfect, but it was going to stay. Stephanie was behind him with the drapes. He took them from her, reaching up to see that they were attached to enough places to provide them complete privacy.
He turned back to her.
Her clothes were strewn. She was already in the bed. The room was cast in shadow again, while outside, the sun blazed.
He came to her.
She wasn't in a tender mood. She rose to meet him, her hands upon his clothing, her whisper hot in the shadows. "Tonight… God, I want to crawl into your skin, I need to be with you, a part of you, so badly!"
She was on her knees against him. He caught her jaw tenderly, firmly, and found her lips again. She returned the kiss with a wanton abandon, still tugging anxiously on his clothing. Their mouths remained meshed while they both struggled with buttons, zippers, and then the denim of his jeans. When they came together, flesh against flesh, it was as if they seared to one another. Her hands were everywhere on him.
He gripped her tightly, melding her to him, but she tossed her head back, sending kisses flying in a sea of desperation against his chest and shoulders. She shoved him back. He allowed it. She rubbed her body down the length of his, the friction of her flesh against his an erotic sensation long before she made it far more intimate—teeth, lips, and tongue playing wickedly on his flesh, against his thighs, his abdomen, his sex. Acute arousal seared into him, and he halfway rose, lifting her, bringing her down against him, letting her ride the heat, the rhythm of his choice until the urge to increase the tempo soared in him like a wildfire of need, and caught her tightly, rolling against the sheets with her, taking her position on top. The world rocked and thundered; he felt his climax come upon him as explosively as fireworks. His very essence seemed to flow into her. She had said that she'd wanted to crawl into his skin. He felt as if they did, somewhere, all but become one…
Her body shuddered and quaked in his arms, and at last, still embraced, she went still. Her fingers played in his hair and he eased himself to her side, scooping her against him.
Then…
He heard the noise. Downstairs.
She tensed in his arms. But he'd heard it, too. Someone at the downstairs door, someone trying to get in.
He leapt out of the bed, assuring himself that the glass doors were locked; then, heedless of his state of total undress, he flew down the stairs. A crack of brilliant daylight was flooding in.
The top bolt was on; the door could only part an inch.
" Buongiorno!" a cheerful voice called.
He collapsed against the wall. The maid! It was daytime, morning.
" Buongiorno!" he returned, and all his Italian fled from his mind. "We're still, uh, sleeping!" he told her.