Читать книгу Night's Pleasure - Amanda Ashley - Страница 13

Rane stopped by to pick up Savanah on his way to the theater the following night, and thoughtfully arranged for her to have the best seat in the house—front row center.

She was mesmerized, as always, while she watched Santoro the Magnificent do his act. Even though she had seen his show several times, she was just as fascinated as she had been the first time. Now and then, she wondered what her friends at the newspaper would think if they knew she had a date with him after the show. She had dressed with care that evening, choosing a pair of black slacks and a deep blue sweater that made her eyes seem darker than they were.

Savanah felt a strange sense of satisfaction every time the audience applauded, a kind of proprietary pride in Rane’s performance. She didn’t understand why she felt that way. It would have been understandable if they were married or engaged, but he was little more than a stranger to her, someone who would soon be gone from her life. Maybe it was just because she had seen his act so many times through the years. Maybe it was because they had spent a few hours together the night before. Whatever the reason, it pleased her when the audience responded to his act.

When he received a standing ovation, she rose with the rest of the crowd, then ducked out the side entrance that led to the dressing rooms. Her heart was pounding with anticipation when she reached his door.

He opened it before she knocked. “Come on in.”

“How did you know I was out here?”

He smiled, a slow sexy smile that made her heart beat even faster. Shirtless and barefooted, he was a feast for feminine eyes. She couldn’t help staring at him. He was so beautiful, it was all she could do to keep from reaching for him. Even now, her fingers itched to explore the broad expanse of his chest, to slide up his arms, to measure the width of his biceps, to tangle in his hair…

“There’s a bed behind the curtain,” he remarked. His voice was deep and sinfully rich, edged with wry amusement.

She looked up at him, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I…”

“It’s all right, honey. I like the way you look, too.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she wisely said nothing.

“I thought we might go dancing,” he said, reaching for a dark gray shirt. “That okay with you?”

Savanah nodded, thinking it was a shame to cover up that beautiful chest, those broad shoulders, those gorgeous arms.

“Or we could go to my place,” he said with a knowing grin, “and I could take it all off.”

She would have said it was impossible, but her cheeks grew even hotter. What was the matter with her? She had never felt such…such lust, for a man. But then, she had never known a man who exuded such raw masculinity. His voice, his smile, the roguish look in his eyes…Shape-shifter or not, she defied any woman past puberty to resist him.

“Dancing sounds like fun,” she remarked.

He pulled on a pair of soft leather boots, then grabbed a black jacket from the back of a chair. “Let’s go.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say on the way to the club. She was acutely aware of the man sitting in the car beside her. His scent filled her nostrils, his nearness made her edgy in a way she had never experienced before. Every nerve ending seemed to be on alert, just waiting for the touch of his hand. The fact that he didn’t speak made her wonder if he was as nervous as she, though she doubted it. Besides being the sexiest man she had ever seen, he was also the most confident, self-assured man she had ever met.

Rane slid a glance at the woman beside him. He didn’t have to rely on his preternatural powers to know she found him attractive, or that she was as nervous as a week-old kitten confronting a hungry tom. He couldn’t blame her. She was right to be on edge. He didn’t think she was aware of it on a conscious level, but he knew her instinct for self-preservation was warning her that she was in danger. He wondered if she sensed that he wanted more from her than a few nights of passion, that he wanted her life’s blood, and perhaps her life, as well.

He pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later. Killing the engine, he turned toward Savanah. Under his gaze, her heart beat a little faster. The sound stirred his hunger. For a moment, he thought of surrendering to the need within him. It would be so easy to take her, here, now, to take it all.

The scent of her fear filled his nostrils, arousing him still further.

Muttering an oath, he got out of the car. After taking a couple of deep, calming breaths, he opened her door and helped her out. He felt the tremor in her hand and cursed himself for putting it there. He smiled, hoping to put her at ease, when he wanted nothing more than to drag her into the shadows and inhale her very essence.

The Midnight Sun was a hangout for the under-thirty crowd. A typical pick-up place, it had a live band, a large dance floor, and a lot of dark, intimate corners.

Rane found a table for two near the back, and after seating Savanah, he went to the bar to order their drinks—a strawberry daiquiri for her, a dry red wine for himself.

A willowy brunette clad in skintight jeans and a low-cut T-shirt sidled up to him while he was waiting.

“Hello,” she said in a breathy voice. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.” Her smile, the tone of her voice, the come-hither look in her eyes, all proclaimed that she was his for the taking.

Rane glanced over her head to the table in the back. Had he been alone, he would have taken what the brunette was so blatantly offering, but Savanah was waiting for him.

“Maybe some other night, darlin’,” he murmured.

“Why not now?” she asked with a pout.

“’Cause I’m not alone.”

She raked a dark red fingernail down his cheek. “I’ll be here until closing if you change your mind.”

“I just might,” he replied. “You look good enough to eat.”

He wondered if she would have smiled so smugly if she had known he meant it literally. Picking up the drinks the bartender set before him, Rane returned to Savanah.

“Is she a friend of yours?” Savanah asked, glancing at the brunette sitting at the bar.

With a shake of his head, Rane dropped into the chair across from hers. “Never saw her before.”

“Really? She certainly seemed to like what she saw.”

He shrugged. “Can I help it if women like me?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

In truth, he could, if he put his mind to it, but for the most part, he didn’t bother. All Vampires possessed an aura that was almost irresistible to mortals. He could subdue it if he chose to, but why bother when it made hunting so much easier?

Savanah was watching him, waiting for an answer.

Rane shrugged again. “I like women. They like me.”

“Could you try liking them a little less when you’re with me?”

He grinned, amused by the spark in her eye and the jealousy in her voice. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do my best.” He jerked his head toward the dance floor. “Wanna give it a whirl?”

Savanah took a sip of her drink, wondering if being in the arms of a man she found so attractive was really a good idea, and then shrugged. What was there to worry about? They were in a public place, after all, and she very much wanted to be in his arms.

Rising, she put her hand in his, felt a familiar tingle as his skin touched hers, and then he was leading her onto the dance floor.

He drew her into his arms with the ease and assurance of a man who knew how to please a woman. The music was like the man—dark, sultry, and sensual. Her body reacted immediately, to both the music and the sheer masculinity of the hard male body pressed intimately against her own. He held her close, so close she knew which way he was going to move before it happened. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach; her heart pounded like thunder in her breast. When she risked a glance at his face, his heavy-lidded gaze captured hers, making her think of sweat-sheened limbs tangled in cool silk sheets.

Time seemed to slow as he guided her around the floor. Caught in the seductive web of his gaze, surrounded by the music, it seemed as if her feet never touched the floor. She wasn’t aware of anything else, anyone else, only Rane, his strong arms holding her close, his breath fanning her cheek, his voice whispering in her ear. As the music ended, she glanced up at him. What had he said to her? She recalled the husky timbre of his voice, the way it had made her insides melt like ice cream on a hot summer day, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember a single word he had said other than her name.

He held her chair for her when they returned to their table. Resuming his seat across from hers, he sipped his wine.

Savanah shook her head to clear it. Feeling as though she had just awakened from some kind of enchanted sleep, she picked up her own glass and took a long drink.

“So,” he remarked, setting his glass aside, “aren’t you getting tired of watching my act?”

“No, never.” Being a shape-shifter explained how he transformed so easily into a wolf, but it didn’t explain how he disappeared from sight, or levitated people and objects off the ground, or did a dozen other seemingly impossible things. “Besides, I’m still hoping to get that story.”

“There is no story. I’m just a magician who’s good at what he does.”

“Well, that’s not quite all there is to it.”

“True, but you can’t print that part.”

“I know.” She couldn’t help thinking it was a shame, though. A story about a shape-shifting magician didn’t come along every day. In spite of his assurances to the contrary, her instincts told her he was hiding something else, though she had no idea what it might be.

Later, they danced again, but there was nothing out of the ordinary this time. She was thrilled to be in Rane’s arms, but she was aware of the other couples around them, of the waiters moving on the fringes of the dance floor, of the jealous gaze of the brunette at the bar.

Returning to their table Rane ordered another round of drinks. They danced a few more times, and then Rane drove her home.

He walked her to her door, then drew her into his arms. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Me, too,” Savanah said with a smile. She was tempted to ask him if anything unusual had happened during their first dance, but she was too embarrassed to mention her temporary lapse, or the fact that she couldn’t remember a thing he had said to her.

He caressed her cheek, his fingertips trailing fire as they slid over her skin, and down the curve of her throat. She shivered with pleasure when he bent down to kiss the sensitive place behind her ear, felt her eyes widen as an image of Rane bending over her neck, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth, burst into her mind.

Startled, she drew back.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Yes…no…I mean…” She shook her head, confused.

“It bothers you, my being a shape-shifter?”

“Isn’t that just another word for Werewolf? I mean, you change into a wolf. Doesn’t that make you a Werewolf?”

“Would it bother you if I was?”

“Well, a little.” There had been a time when everyone believed that Vampires and Werewolves were just creatures of myth and legend, but then the Werewolves and the Vampires had gone to war, leaving no doubt of their existence, or their danger to the human race. For the most part, the shape-shifters had remained neutral.

“Does that mean I won’t be seeing you again?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m not a Werewolf, Savanah. I swear it on the life of my mother. Does that make you feel better?”

“I guess so.” As far as she knew, the shape-shifters were peaceful creatures, preferring to live in small communities of their own kind.

“So, does that mean you’ll go out with me tomorrow night?” he asked. “We could take in a late movie after my last show.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “I’d like that.”

But later, in bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin, the image of Rane bending over her crept into her mind again. She saw him clearly. His dark eyes. His sensuous mouth. His very sharp teeth. If he was the wolf, did that make her Little Red Riding Hood?

Rane stood in the shadows outside Savanah’s house, his gaze fixed on a second-story window. He guessed it was her bedroom, since it was the only room showing a light.

Standing there, he closed his eyes, his mind expanding until he felt her thoughts brush his. She was troubled by what had happened on the dance floor, as well she should be. Unable to resist her, he had woven a preternatural spell around her, and then taken a small taste of her life’s blood. She was as sweet as he remembered. Her blood had intoxicated him, burning through him like gentle fire. Like an addict, he craved one more fix even though he knew one would never be enough. Even now, it was all he could think of.

He licked his lips as he recalled the taste of her blood, warm and salty, on his tongue. Did he dare take more tonight? A single thought could carry him quickly to her side. He could take what he wanted, what he craved, and wipe the memory from her mind, as he had done earlier that night….

Muttering an oath, he drew in a deep breath. Patience, he chided. He must have patience. He would drink a little each night, nothing more. He would relish each taste, savor it like rare, vintage wine, until he took it all.

In the clear light of morning, Savanah told herself she had imagined the whole incident. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the dance floor. She had been caught up in the thrill of being in Rane’s arms. After all, she had never been with a man who radiated such raw sensuality. All that potent masculinity was bound to have an intoxicating effect on a girl’s senses.

She could hardly wait to see him again. Tonight, she would keep her wits about her. She would ask the questions she had intended to ask last night. And she would try again to get that interview. She grinned inwardly, remembering how Yoda had informed Luke that there was no try. Either she would get that interview or she wouldn’t. And she would.

After taking a quick shower, she dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a white sweater, brushed her hair, and then went downstairs to have breakfast with her father.

He was waiting for her in the kitchen. She smiled as the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickled her nostrils. She had always loved sharing this part of the day with her dad.

“So,” he asked, looking up from the morning paper, “how was your date?”

“Wonderful!”

Her father lifted one brow.

“We went dancing.”

“He must be some dancer, to put that glow in your eyes,” her father remarked dryly.

“Oh, he is.” She smiled at the memory. “He is.”

“I don’t like it,” her father said. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d tell you not to see him again.”

Savanah frowned at her father. “Are you having one of your mysterious premonitions?”

“Not exactly. There’s just something about him…and I don’t just mean the obvious. I mean, why does he keep changing his name every few years?”

“I’d think that would be obvious, but I’ll ask him.” She patted his shoulder as she moved toward the fridge. “I can’t get a story if I don’t see him.”

“Your life is more important to me than any news story.”

“I know, Dad. I love you, too,” Savanah said, then paused. “Do you think I’m in danger?”

“No, not really. The shape-shifters have never been a threat to us. I was just being an old worrywart, I guess.”

“I’ll be fine.” Going to the fridge, she pulled out a carton of eggs for French toast, a package of bacon, and a bottle of orange juice, and proceeded to fix breakfast.

When it was done, she dished it up, got the butter and syrup, then sat at the table across from her father.

“So, what’s up for today?” he asked as he tucked into his breakfast.

“I’m going over to the high school and see what I can dig up on that car accident, and then I’m going to the morgue to see if they turned up anything new on that John Doe those kids found in the vacant lot last week. Nothing really exciting. How about you?”

Her father shook his head. “End-of-the-month paperwork. Interview with some kid who wants to be a reporter. Like you said, nothing really exciting.” He pushed his plate away and reached for his coffee cup. “Ask Chang if there was an unusual amount of blood loss in the John Doe.”

“All right.” Savanah quickly cleared the table. “I’ve got to run. See you tonight.”

“All right, honey. Be careful.”

Frowning, Savanah left the house. It wasn’t unusual for her father to tell her to be careful, but there had been something in his tone this morning, something that bothered her, almost like he was expecting trouble.

Shaking it off, she got into her car and headed downtown.

William Gentry sat at his computer, his fingers flying over the keys. He had asked Savanah to do a story on Santoro the Magnificent, or whatever the hell his name was, on the off chance that she might turn up something on the man that he couldn’t. She was a pretty woman, after all, and men had been known to betray confidences and countries for less.

Leaving the Web, he pulled up the story he was working on. A story in which the magician was the lead suspect. There had been suspicious deaths and disappearances in every town where the man had performed, far too many to be mere coincidence. There was no rhyme or reason to tie the deaths together, other than the fact that all of the victims had been drained of blood.

In truth, the story he was working on would never see the light of day. It wasn’t an assignment for the paper, just more research in an effort to find out who had turned Barbara. In his mind, the Vampire who had done so was also responsible for her death.

Gentry muttered an oath as another Web site turned out to be a dead end. Whoever said you could find anything you were looking for on the Web obviously hadn’t been trying to track a Vampire. For the last few years, he’d had a niggling suspicion that Santoro the Magnificent was more than a magician, that the reason the man could do such amazing tricks was because he possessed Supernatural abilities. He had suspected that Santoro might be a Vampire, but according to Savanah, the magician claimed to be a shape-shifter, creatures that had little in common with Vampires other than their ability to change shape.

Gentry shook his head. It had been a Vampire who had turned Barbara; there was no doubt about that. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he was reminded that Vampires could take on many shapes. Perhaps Santoro the Magician was a Vampire masquerading as a shape-shifter.

He swore softly. Maybe there was no story. Maybe Santoro was nothing more than a talented magician with the ability to change shape. Maybe the fact that people died wherever he performed was just a bizarre coincidence.

Gentry blew out a sigh. But what if Santoro was indeed a Vampire, the very Vampire that had turned Barbara? Was he willing to risk his daughter’s life to find out? He knew Barbara would never have done anything that would put Savanah’s life in danger, not for a few columns of newspaper space, not even to avenge her own death.

And yet, what if Santoro had killed Barbara? The thought repeated itself over and over again. Savanah was his best chance to get close to the magician, a chance that might never come again. Vampire or not, Santoro was hiding something, and Gentry was determined to find out what it was.