by Calista Fox
“Oh dear,” Jane mumbled, drawing his attention. Her brow furrowed in apparent consternation. “This truly is painful. She’s very, very alone, Drake. But how could that be? We’ve read her articles and we’ve listened to her music. She’s brilliant and thought-provoking. Emotionally stirring. And yet… She’s completely closed off.” Her eyelids fluttered open.
Drake studied her closely. He knew better than to fall down this rabbit hole, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Explain to me what you mean. How can she possibly doubt her self-worth and yet express herself so eloquently in both literary and musical forms?”
“I don’t know. Except to say that perhaps they’re channels for her emotions. Meaning she can pour herself into her music and her writing and pretend it’s not personal. She does it on a professional level and can therefore justify she’s simply giving the masses what they want, rather than admitting she’s revealing anything about herself.”
He thought of the iTunes tracks he’d purchased and downloaded when he’d discovered she’d been a musician in her younger years. “You’re saying she hid behind her violin when she was a child and a teenager and now she’s hiding behind her computer?”
“Tragic, isn’t it? For someone so beautiful—and not just physically—to be so distressed internally.”
Jane seemed entranced by her encounter with Shana’s soul. She reached a hand toward the screen and Drake was convinced she had no idea she’d made the gesture.
“What is it?” he asked in a low voice, so as to not break the trance.
Jane pulled her hand back and pressed two fingertips to her lips. She stared at the monitor until Shana was admitted into the club and disappeared from the camera’s view.
“Oh,” Jane whispered. “That was just…so very odd.”
“What?” he demanded, eager to hear what else Jane had discovered about Shana.
In a compelling tone, she said, “We have to help her.”
He cocked his head to the side. His gut clenched. There it was again—trouble looming on the horizon. It was so palpable, he could feel it. And inescapable, he knew it.
Still, he hedged. “We do?”
She nodded. “Yes, yes.” She turned to Drake and wrapped a slender hand partially around his upper arm. Her tone was back to the confident, lilting one she’d started with this evening as a smile touched her lips. “Drake, it’s not just Shana’s photo that caught your attention. It’s not just her face and her body you’re drawn to. I remember the day you downloaded several of the compositions from the orchestra she performed with. From the very first note of her very first solo, you were mesmerized. I don’t even think you realized how many times you played the haunting pieces, over and over. And then I found the articles she’d written that you’d printed out. They were scattered all over your desk. Dozens of them. You connected with her on more than just a physical level. There’s something about this woman, something inside her that sort of…calls to you. To me too.”
His brow jerked up. “She’s human, Jane. That means off-limits. To both of us.”
“You don’t understand. Reassurance is what Shana needs, yes. But not just assurance that she’s attractive—it goes far beyond that,” she said as she lifted her hand from his arm and waved it in a dismissive way. “She has no idea how captivating she is, true. Her passionate nature has been channeled into her career—which is what you respond to and find so stirring. But there’s so much more within her that needs to be unleashed.”
Unleashed.
Now that was a word worthy of raising more red flags than he could process all at once. Yet damn it all to hell, he was sucked in by how Jane’s eyes lit with determination and exhilaration. Her grin turned downright wicked as she stared up at him, coming to whatever conclusion she’d derived from her brief encounter with Shana’s soul.
“Drake,” she continued, the twinkle of lust and excitement returning to her eyes. “May we help her? Please?”
He groaned. Oh what a loaded question that was.
As he raked a hand through his hair, he asked, “What exactly do you propose we do?”
“Draw Shana from the protective shelter in which she hides.”
“For reasons we know nothing about, Jane.” They had no idea why Shana felt the way she did, why she was so reclusive. They had no idea what had happened to her to make her abruptly leave a world-renowned orchestra and emerge a year later as an entirely different person with a completely different identity. All of his late-night research and constant digging had not provided him these answers.
Granted, he wanted to solve the puzzle that was Shana White. But what would be the outcome? The consequences of his and Jane’s actions could be devastating to the three people involved in this unexpected scenario.
For him, the reality of the situation was glaring and unsettling. Were Shana to discover his and Jane’s true natures, they’d have to close shop and disappear for a while. A long while.
Drake wasn’t inclined to pull up stakes just yet. He liked the club and the few human acquaintances he’d made here and trusted, like body-paint artist Finn Griffith and his girlfriend, Yvette Samson. Not “trusted” in the sense of believing he could reveal his real identity to them, but he could have a cocktail with them on occasion. Plus he admired Finn’s steadfast rule to donate to charity a portion of the proceeds from the sale of his commissioned murals following the real-life displays in the club.
But the fact still remained that no one at Body Scenes aside from Jane knew he was a vampire. Even his staff had no idea. His existence was fairly easy to maintain given his detachment and the fact that he only opened the club’s doors once a month. He didn’t run with the secret society of demons, nor did he try to infiltrate the human world more than he did with Body Scenes and his limited human connections.
For centuries, he’d flown under the radar no matter where he was. If he were to take his attraction to Shana to a more intimate level. That could prove hazardous to both his business and his lifestyle.
Yet he simply couldn’t bring himself to tell Jane to let the whole thing lie. To leave Shana alone. To let her enjoy her night at the club without knowing anything about his or Jane’s existence.
His silence spoke volumes.
Without another word on the touchy subject, Jane crossed to her desk and picked up the phone. “Michael, this is Miss Van Kamp. You’ve just let Shana White into the club. Would you please escort her backstage? Mr. Halston would like to give her a private tour.”
Despite his mounting reservations, Drake said, “Clever tactic, love.”
Jane replaced the receiver. “Our artists use models of all body types. There’s no way Shana can feel self-conscious with the provocative figures parading around backstage. Not to mention all those naked bodies being painted—and knowing the shagging that goes on before and after each curtain rises and falls on a mural—serves as a potent aphrodisiac. It might help to open her up a bit and let loose of some of her insecurities.”
He wasn’t at all comfortable with this new course of action, particularly when he was wound so tight and the woman of his dreams was about to be in very close proximity to him. But he had to concede. He honestly couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend time with Shana this evening, even knowing it was dangerous.
“You have a point,” he said to Jane. “There’s definitely an air of eroticism backstage that seems to make people less inhibited.” In fact, he had a steadfast rule that Jane wasn’t allowed to spy on the models when they were positioning themselves behind the curtains of their respective stages—or peek in on them after the curtain dropped. He knew what went on down there and privacy was a professional courtesy he extended his artists and their subjects, much to Jane’s dismay.
And of course he wanted to meet Shana in person, there was no denying it. Seeing her reaction to the artwork and how it all came about intrigued him as well. So he went against his better judgment, caving not only to Jane’s will, but to his own.
; He strode over to the wet bar and retrieved a bottle of Cristal from the mini-fridge. He popped the cork and nestled the bubbly in a gold-rimmed crystal bucket filled with ice. Jane joined him, setting out three champagne flutes on the sturdy wooden coffee table that sat before the sectional and chaise lounge in front of the fireplace. A warm and cozy setting in his private office.
“Remember,” he cautioned as they left the room and traveled down the marbled hallway to the elevator. “What transpires this evening is strictly up to Shana.”
Jane nodded. “Yes, I know.” She smiled in anticipation, a playful glint in her eyes as she added, “But I truly think we’re fated to meet her, Drake. And to help her, which should prove very…exciting.”
Chapter Two
“Excuse me, Miss White?”
An attractive man in a sharp, charcoal-gray suit extended his hand to Shana, which she accepted.
“Yes?”
“I’m Michael Toliver, Mr. Halston’s head of security. He’d like to invite you to take a backstage tour with him.”
It wasn’t really an invitation. She could tell by the way Toliver coaxed her forward as he gently gripped her hand.
“Oh my,” her friend Yvette cooed from beside her. “That’s setting precedence. Drake Halston doesn’t invite anyone backstage. In fact, he rarely comes out of his office when the club is open.”
Shana glanced over at her. “I thought you and Finn had cocktails with him recently.”
“We did, when the club was dark. He’s a fan of Finn’s work, but I’ve never known him to take a personal interest in a guest.”
From Shana’s extensive research on the owner of Body Scenes, she knew Drake Halston was shrouded in mystery, which intrigued her greatly. That he’d allowed her access to his club was shock enough, but a backstage tour? The idea was certainly an appealing one, sending a shiver of excitement down her spine.
Conversely, the unexpected gesture prickled her nerves a bit. It was an unfortunate double-edged sword. Shana wasn’t skilled at in-person, one-on-one interactions, particularly with men. Something she’d never regretted more than at this moment, with this extended invitation. If she stayed true to form, she’d likely bumble her way through the entire conversation—the reason she conducted the vast majority of her business within a virtual environment.
Despite her love of journalism, she’d never been comfortable interviewing people in the flesh and she didn’t venture outside her spacious Fifth Avenue apartment much. But the rare opportunity to meet Drake was impossible to resist. So she tamped down her nervous anxiety.
Turning back to Toliver, she said, “It’d be my pleasure to accompany Mr. Halston on a tour.”
He released her hand, as though now convinced he wouldn’t have to drag her kicking and screaming. As if. Although there were no photos of Drake on the Internet and his existence was documented only by shadowy accounts of brief interactions with him—their legitimacy questionable—he fascinated the hell out of her. So much so, she’d practically begged Yvette to get her a coveted invitation into the club. Her friend, however, had informed her Drake had already expressed interest in inviting Shana to Body Scenes. So the stage had been set long before this evening.
“This ought to be enlightening,” she said, excited by the turn of events. “It’s like removing Batman’s mask and revealing his true identity.”
Beside her, Yvette snickered. She reached into her small clutch and handed over two folded tissues. “You’ll need these, Vicki Vale.”
Shana’s brow furrowed. She got the reference to the reporter in the comics, but didn’t understand Yvette’s offering of the tissues. “My allergies haven’t bothered me all week.”
With a wink, her outrageous friend said, “They’re not for your nose, sweetie.” Her gaze dropped pointedly to the apex of Shana’s legs.
“Oh my God.” Shana gasped. Heat ignited in her cheeks as embarrassment consumed her. Toliver was standing right there with them, in earshot of Yvette’s wicked words!
“You could be a little more couth,” she snapped.
Not the least bit contrite, Yvette said, “I’ve tried. I’m simply incapable of pulling it off.” With a sassy shake of her head that sent long strands of sleek blonde hair flying over one bare shoulder, she sauntered off, swaying her hips and making every male head within a twenty-foot radius whip in her direction.
Cheeks still flaming, Shana turned back to Toliver. “Well. This is awkward.”
He gave her a casual smile. “I’ll admit Ms. Samson leaves jaws on the floor, but she’s nothing compared to what happens backstage. Please, come with me.” He lightly cupped her elbow with his large hand and guided her deeper into the crowded club. “It’s true Mr. Halston doesn’t invite guests behind the scenes. He must think you can handle it.”
Which begged the question of what sort of research he’d done on her. Not to mention Toliver’s comment made her mind reel as to what went on backstage that was so hush-hush—and risqué.
She tried not to obsess over the latter thought—and what her reaction to it might be. Instead, she wondered how a man like Drake Halston had heard of her and what he’d gleaned from whatever snooping he’d done. Granted, Shana had been in the public eye her entire life, but she’d fallen out of mainstream media attention long ago. In fact, she’d changed her name and had disassociated herself from the celebrity presence she’d cultivated in her youth. Today, her audience was strictly Internet-based, a result of her having launched an e-zine when she was just nineteen.
The business venture had been slow to take off, but once she’d found her niche, there’d been a snowball effect. Through her e-zine, she reached out to other struggling young women not sure what path to take around the pivotal point of their lives when they graduated high school and faced a multitude of decisions to make about their futures. Attend college, marry their high school sweetheart and have babies, backpack through Europe, stay in mom and dad’s house or strike out on their own…the choices were limitless and daunting. Shana had been overwhelmed herself.
The explosion of interest in, and embracement of, her online concept had resulted in her creating a web community dedicated solely to the pressures and issues her particular demographic and gender faced. Five years of helping others was extremely rewarding.
She’d discovered all of her idiosyncrasies and insecurities helped her relate to women seeking guidance under the comfort of an anonymous username. She’d been able to home in on the most important topics and employ freelance experts in those fields. Her network of consultants and professional counselors provided the education and assistance her members were in dire need of and that fulfilled Shana on most levels.
She’d like to say the forum she’d created was a fantastic way to work through some of her own personal issues, but even a legion of shrinks hadn’t been able to solve her self-image problems. She took solace in knowing she offered support to the young women who were brave enough to search for a resolution to what ailed them.
“Mr. Halston doesn’t allow photographs in the club, other than when the murals are shot for Sunday’s auction,” Toliver advised her, breaking into her thoughts. “If you have a camera with you, please keep it in your purse.”
So much for getting a leg up. But good ole Vic wouldn’t have let the head of security deter her when she was this close to getting the scoop on her man of mystery. If there was a way to convince Drake Halston to give her an exclusive with a photo, Shana would jump on it.
Well…in theory.
She let out a frustrated sigh. This was the reason she’d never followed her dream of being an investigative reporter. The reason—aside from wanting to stay true to her Internet following—she’d turned down the offers to headline her own talk show on network and pay-for TV. In her mind, she was calm and collected. Sophisticated and savvy. In reality, however…
Ugh.
In reality, she was about as smooth as sandpaper. Too timid to get in anyone’s face. Too apprehensive to probe
deep enough to get the answers she really wanted.
Even if the chance presented itself to capture that Pulitzer Prize-winning photo that confirmed Bruce Wayne was Batman, she’d have neither the nerve nor the heart to exploit the opportunity. Especially when it came to Drake Halston. Like the fictional character she paralleled him with, he clearly chose to keep his life private, except amongst close friends.
Every fiber of Shana’s being respected that decision. She’d made the same one the day she’d signed papers that had legally changed her name and helped her to put her classical music days behind her as she tried to figure out who she truly was—who she truly wanted to be in the adult phase of her life.
So of course she’d follow all of Drake’s rules, even if it killed her chances of a photo op. She wasn’t one to divulge secrets meant to be kept. But if she could at least get a few revealing tidbits, she’d love to feature his club on her site as a sexy addition.
As she and Toliver worked their way through the crowd, she wondered if Yvette had known she’d be extended this particular offer of a backstage tour. Since she’d already caught Drake’s attention, according to Yvette, she wondered if that was why her friend had dragged her to Prada the other day and to the hair dresser this afternoon.
While she liked the new chic style of her plump curls, Shana felt packed into a too-sexy-for-her-body dress. She didn’t have Yvette’s straight lines—she had voluptuous curves that put both J. Lo’s to shame. Unlike Yvette, she didn’t have to purposely sway her hips. They did that all of their own accord. Like Yvette, she noticed she turned heads as she walked with Toliver, but Shana suspected it was only because the men in the club were thinking she should have forgone the super-sexy silver dress and stuck with a curve-forgiving black frock.
Feeling self-conscious, however, was nothing new to her. So she did what she’d done her whole life. She ignored the stares and focused instead on the litany of questions forming in her head she’d like to ask her gracious host this evening.