She searched her closet and extracted The Red Velvet Dress, a treasure discovered at the resale shop, Secondhand Sue's. It showed off the best features of her figure, her narrow waist and a long, slender neck. Surprisingly, her reddish blonde hair didn't clash with the crimson color. It was a one-of-a-kind, designer find with long, tight sleeves, V-necked, a fitted bodice and a long, flowing skirt that skimmed the calf. She felt beautiful in it.
The week moved slowly by. Fear and excitement rose in waves within her. She couldn't wait to see Dameon again. What was he expecting from her? Probably, he was just being kind and neighborly. She'd practically invited herself over, after all.
Jen opened a package of spaghetti and began dinner. Was she being silly and naive to go to a man's house alone, a man she didn't know very well? Horror stories from the news about charming and monstrous men could not be ignored. Serial killers could be charming.
She stirred the boiling water more vigorously to blot out her thoughts. Her intuition was telling her that Dameon was a very nice guy. The thudding of her heart mocked her; he was much more than just nice.
* * * *
"Whatever you’re taking, Jen, how about sharing some with us?" Joe was grinning at her while juggling a cup of coffee and a stack of faxes. She'd been flying around the office, plowing through stacks of paperwork and pecking away like crazy on the PC.
"You don't have to make up for a week of screw-ups," she replied. "Or, didn't you notice my trail of disasters last week? I know everyone else did."
"No way. You're the best writer around here and we all know it," he reassured her. His look was w admiring as he dropped a couple of faxes onto her desk.
Jen scanned them q and set them aside. "Because you're such a kind liar, I'll help you with your proofreading." She gave him a quick smile. She knew Joe hated this tedious task most of all and would be thrilled with her offer. She didn't mind. His snub-nosed, rosy-cheeked face was one of the few amiable ones at Kriegles Engineering, and she considered him her only true friend there. As Joe walked off, Jen returned to her proofreading. She massaged her stiff neck and, instantly, her mind drifted away from the dry text about computer systems.
Her body wouldn't let her forget the memory of Dameon's touch. Her neck tingled as if it was still feeling his hands against her skin. Sometimes, she could have sworn that she felt his lips brushing against her nape while she worked. She tried not to think too much about it.
The one dark blot on the week came when she opened the Wednesday newspaper and found a small blurb detailing the killing of the duck. Reading the stark description brought back her feelings of fear and anxiety. The flutter in her stomach returned, reminding her that something was very wrong at Grenville Lake. The police were quoted as saying they suspected wild dogs or cats. Somehow, that did little to ease Jen's tension.
Jen took Cobbs for a jog around the lake; he panted next to her as they neared a lap, and looked at her with reproachful eyes. "I know, pal, we usually do this at a walk, but I am too restless. Or something. Don't worry, I'll be back to normal soon." She slowed down anyway. No need to tire out poor Cobbs. Even her aerobics class hadn't tired her. Nancy had teased her, and hinted that she was actually a twin of the "real Jen." Jen had been tempted to confide in Nancy, and tell her about her Dameon, but caution restrained her. Nancy was urging her to date Joe, after all. Dameon didn't exactly fit the nice guy, husband material profile.
A breeze blew a stream of rose and bronze leaves in her path. She had a sudden, uncanny sensation that someone was watching her. She was passing the Schlessinger house, and caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She saw a curtain in the front window flutter, and the shadow of a hand pulling back. Jen tried to laugh at the absurdity of it, but a cold, uncomfortable foreboding made her pull her jacket tighter. She was feeling suddenly very alienated from the people of Grenville Lake.
I won't think about Dameon, she promised herself. At least, until Friday night.
Slowing to a shuffle, Cobbs was unwilling to continue on until Jen tugged on his leash. For a second, she watched the geese and ducks gliding unconcerned across the lake. She thought of the murdered duck and turned away.
She and Cobbs turned and slowly made their way around the bend. It was time to go home, she thought, shivering a little.
Chapter Six
The path through the trees felt eerily deserted of all life, both human and animal. Jen was lost in thought. Cobbs, compelled to examine each tree they passed, kept them at a slow pace. Jen dropped the leash and bent to tie the laces of her tennis shoes. The sound of a twig cracking broke the stillness.
She stood up with a jerk. Cobbs began to growl, a surprisingly deep and frightening noise, and her heart began to pound. Cobbs never growled. Motionless as a statue, stood a figure about twenty feet away. The figure looked male, and was obscured by a hooded, gray running outfit. Though it was an overcast day, he wore large reflector sunglasses. The silvery blank ovals of the glasses hid the wearer's eyes, but she distinctly felt he was staring at her. Silently.
There was something poised and predatory in his stance. Her heart contracted. Time halted, and then the man spun around and loped off into the thicket.
Jen breathed quickly. Her heart began to beat again. Her blood slowed to a more normal rate. So what? It was probably just another walker, enjoying the fall air as she was. But there was something about the man that seemed sinister. He hadn't spoken a word; most people around here said hello, even to strangers.
Feeling exposed and vulnerable, Jen raced Cobbs through the burnt umber and golden fallen leaves blanketing the ground, and didn't slow down till she reached Mrs. Joslyn's immaculate, rosebush shrouded house. She stopped to catch her breath and still her thumping heart, then walked up to ring the doorbell. A small, frightened face peered through the curtains, then disappeared. Jen could hear the clicking of many locks being undone.
"Oh, it's you, Jen, and Cobbs, too." Ms Joslyn smiled y and cleared her throat. Her eyes were scanning the horizon, and she was twisting her hands in a towel.
"I didn't mean to interrupt whatever you're doing." Jen smiled "I haven't seen you and Buffy in a while and wanted to make sure you both were all right." She steadied her legs, which felt wobbly.
"I've only been taking Buffy out in our own backyard. It's hard on him, but I can't take the chance of walking anywhere else. It's not safe out there." Mrs. Joslyn's eyes darted behind where Jen stood, sending prickles up Jen's spine.
She was tempted to turn around, especially after her encounter in the woods, but forced herself to remain calm and smiling. There was nothing lurking over her shoulder.
"Has anything else happened since the duck incident?" Jen was hoping the answer would be negative.
Mrs. Joslyn's eyes widened and she put her hand to her throat. "Haven't you heard, Jen? Somebody's been setting fires down by the lake. They looked like...crosses burning down by the lake. I even called the police once, but they acted like I was a crazy old lady." Her face flushed indignantly, then paled. She leaned forward and motioned Jen closer. "Someone also found a note staked to the ground. It said...’Beware.’” Mrs. Joslyn looked more frightened than ever as she pressed her hand to her chest. "Mr. Shlessinger says we shouldn't bother with the police, but that he'll keep watch himself. No one else is willing to do it." She shuddered and whispered in a trembling voice, "Mr. Schlessinger says we have to face facts. There might be someone...inhuman...doing this."
"Inhuman?" Jen blinked in shock, heart beating quicker.
"You know, witches and people like that," Mrs. Joslyn hurried to say.
Jen swallowed and struggled to smile reassuringly. "We shouldn't let Mr. Schlessinger jump to conclusions. Things will calm down soon and get back to normal after Halloween passes by." I hope, Jen added to herself. "Why don't I walk Buffy along with Cobbs?" she suggested cheerfully, raking her fingers through her hair. "He'd probably like the change of scenery and Cobbs would love the company."
"You're
so kind, Jen, but I'd feel safer with Buffy inside." Mrs. Joslyn was retreating behind the door when she popped her head out. "Do be careful, and watch out for yourself. It might be a good idea to carry a whistle. There are forces out there we can't ignore."
* * * *
Tatiana could not help herself. She was uncontrollably drawn to the female human's house, where she felt compelled to watch and spy. She was laying low, for now. Timing was everything. Her mind slid back in time, over one-hundred and seventy years ago, when she and Dameon had been so very young and fresh, novice vampires.
She had finagled an invitation to the ball held at the German duke's house in Neigenstein. She couldn't recall the duke's name. He wasn't important. It had been a costume ball, and she had dressed up and disguised herself as Maid Marian, looking virginal and angelic. The best part had been that she had fooled Dameon. All night long, they flirted with each other, and he had kissed her on the lips, thinking her to be some doe-eyed human. Just what she had wanted him to think, knowing his aversion to liaisons with other vampires.
She had almost had him, but greedy desire had caused her to throw caution to the wind and she had kissed him too hungrily, revealing her true nature and identity., He had unmasked her, and with kind, but firm decisiveness had untwined her arms from his. He had stepped away from her, ending their flirtation. The memory was as clear as if it had occurred yesterday. She gritted her teeth in frustration. She had almost had him. No matter what Claudia said, she would have seduced and conquered him.
She remembered the distaste in his eyes, and how her remarkable beauty had affected him not one iota. He was always courteous to her, out of respect for Claudia, never for herself.
Claudia had always told her that Dameon was not for the likes of her, that she would never capture him. Her mother's deep and aristocratic voice sounded in her ear. "Give it up, Tatiana, Dameon will never fall for your wiles." She whirled around, the voice sounding so near and real. She was all alone. It had been her imagination.
Tatiana laughed derisively. Her mother, for once, was wrong. He's already fallen for my wiles. I've outsmarted Dameon. He's sliding right into a Hell I personally designed for him.
How her mother could admire Dameon, a lowly vampan—a half-breed—more than her own daughter was beyond her understanding. She shrugged. She would win soon enough. Watching the human female gave her enormous pleasure, to notice the human's unease, her fearful looks over her shoulder. And, it was just the beginning.
* * * *
Dameon watched the sun set and sipped his cognac. It was foolish to worry. He would know if one of his kind was nearby. That disgusting spectacle with the doll and blood was some childish human prank. He gave himself a mental shake. He had more important things to think about...like Jen. She was coming into his lair tomorrow night. What was he planning to do about it?
* * * *
Soaking in a tub of hot water, Jen decided to block out the worrisome events of the day. It was more than just the pranks. Something else felt wrong. She was haunted by the sensation that someone was spying on her. She had to fight the constant urge to look over her shoulder. Telling herself that she was being a fool didn't make the fear go away.
Jen added bath beads to the water. Stop obsessing about the dangers, real and unreal, that lurk out there in the world, she lectured herself. She would close her eyes and simply blot it all out.
She let herself sink into one of Heart's collection of older songs. Anne Wilson's voice rose from her cassette player on the floor, so poignant and beautiful that it brought tears to her eyes. The soft scented water caressed her body. The sweet aroma of cinnamon wafted from the lit perfumed candles. Jen felt herself melt. All of her senses were immersed in liquid pleasure. Drowsily, she pictured herself capturing a perfect photograph of the tub filled with glistening water reflecting the red candles sitting on the rim, aglow in the darkened room.
Her muscles were wet tissue paper, and her eyelids weighed too much. A delicious lethargy overtook her and images began moving behind her eyelids.
A strong, cool hand reached down, touched her cheek, caressed her throat and slid down her body, sending shivers of pleasure through her. The hand lightly stroked her and then descended further. Her nerve endings tightened, ready to erupt. The unseen person's desire reached inside of her and was swiftly answered by her own pulsating excitement. Her body arched upward to follow the hand that was slipping away from her.
And, then, another sensation touched her. Unbearable pain, born of sorrow, rose and seared her veins. She felt herself caught in flames of such misery where neither hope nor joy existed. An abyss of endless loneliness and despair rose and engulfed her. "No, no, please no," she cried out, and flailed her arms, nearly upending the candles.
Trembling uncontrollably, she sat up. A dream. Again. That was all. Dameon's face flashed quickly through her mind. There was a logical explanation. Tomorrow, she would be with him. They would have a pleasant evening, just a date.
Forget the silly dreams, Jen McNeily. You have to be sane and rational, she insisted to herself. She didn't want to embarrass herself by getting carried away by her own fantasies. Just because she had never experienced such erotic feelings and dreams was no reason to worry.
She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself tightly against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.
* * * *
It was Friday night, and Jen tried to calm herself. Her eyes glittered and her cheeks were red. Jen glimpsed herself in the rear mirror. She looked feverish and wild. You'll be fine. You're not overdressed. This is just a normal date, she recited to herself like a mantra. No one would hear the thumping of her heart.
Jen's hands were slippery on the Tempo's wheel as she drove up the dirt road to Dameon's house. Her old car bounced clumsily through the bumps and holes. The pines, maples and birch trees rose like giant black hands overhead. The sky was clear, brilliant with starlight, the moon a smudged sliver. Jen could hear the night symphony of leaves rustling, and the chirping and squeaking of animal life.
Parking in the gravel, she stepped out carefully, careful to avoid ruining her red satin slippers. The enormous turreted building was a black shape with two lanterns glowing like eyes above the entrance. Pulling the silk lined cape tighter, she faced the front door. It was imposing, tall, flanked by ornate pillars. The door knocker was a carved wolf's head, but she chose the doorbell, which emitted a simple ring, which sounded ordinary and mundane enough.
He must have been waiting for her. He opened it so swiftly. Silhouetted against the light, his tall, dark figure towered his face obscured in the shadows. Jen's smile wobbled n as Dameon guided her in, taking in his greeting. As she stepped into the lit entrance, the beautiful planes of his face emerged more clearly from the dark. His thick, tawny hair was haloed as he stepped beneath the Tiffany ceiling lamp.
“Jen, I am happy you came. Let me take your wrap and I'll give you the promised tour." He smiled down her. As he reached for her cape, she felt his touch right through the velvet material of her dress. Her shoulder felt as if it been scorched, and her pulse exploded in her veins. For some reason, she shivered.
"Are you cold? I have a fire going in the living room. We can sit there if you want?" Dameon was looking down at her, his thick, dark eyebrows knitted
Jen licked her lips and shook her head. She had remained speechless long enough for him to think she was rude. She cleared her throat. "No, really. I can't wait to see your house." She reached down and set her purse in the walk-in closet next to her cape, and straightened. She wondered if he thought she looked overdressed and overeager. She smoothed down the dress.
"You look lovely. Like a princess about to be captured by the wicked dragon," he said, a slight twinkle in his eyes. He seemed to have a propensity for reading her thoughts, Jen thought, flushing.
She wanted to ask Dameon if he was the "wicked dragon," but couldn't work up the nerve. Not when she was so eager to be "captured."
He moved almost gliding, offering an occasional, offhand comment about the house's interior and structure. He was a casual, if charming, guide, and unimpressed with all the splendor surrounding him.
Jen learned he had bought the place nearly a year ago, had hired and dispatched decorators with his ideas, and moved in six months ago. All of the rooms had high, vaulted ceilings, and the walls were covered with paintings that looked original and expensive. He waited while Jen stopped to admire a Dahli and a Renoir. She walked along the hallway gallery and stopped again. She let out a gasp of pleasure.
Jen gazed at a moody, erotic painting of a lily by La Farge hanging next to a vivid seascape by Bierstadt. "Oh," she whispered, "these are favorites of mine. It's amazing you have them both."
Dameon stood at her shoulder and ran a finger l against the rich, gold frame of the Bierstadt. "This was a gift from a dear friend," he said in a faraway voice.
"Wow, that's some friend to give a gift like that." She turned to gaze up at Dameon. "Does your friend live nearby?"
He shook his head. "Ingo lives in New Orleans. I haven't seen him"—he hesitated; a brooding look flitted across his features—"in a long, long time. Our lives have taken completely different paths." There was a silence. For a second, Jen wondered if there were sad memories attached to the friend.
But he threw her a faint smile as he led her away from the stunning paintings. They turned down another hallway, leaving the gallery behind. Self-conscious, she followed behind him. Jen found herself tiptoeing. It was that kind of house. The parquet floor glistened and was covered with tapestry rugs. She felt nervous even walking across the rugs, which she recognized as Aubusson and Savoneries, both expensive and rare. Silver and gold sconces added to the elegant and gothic atmosphere of the house with their lit candles casting long shadows against the walls.
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 8