“It wasn’t that long ago.” Her fingertip jabbed at the center of Meghan’s chest, emphasizing her point. “That girl is trapped in there, longing to have fun, eager to live life in the way she used to, and wanting to be loved, which is why I brought you here.”
“I…” Meghan was lost for words.
“Meg,” Chesca didn’t allow her to find the words filling her, and continued. “I don’t need to tell your fortune to know you weren’t meant to spend the rest of your life alone. Just like I know you dream in color, your heart wants someone to sweep you off your feet, and shower you with the love you deserve.”
She hated it when Chesca was right. Meghan had shied away from life, from living, and from the opportunity of love, and all because of the uncertainty Kevin instilled in her. Meghan lifted her chin as the last warbling tones of the singer’s voice drifted off into silence. A slow smile curled her crimson hued lips as the crowd burst out into applause and she gave Chesca a haughty wink.
“I think you’re right.” She admitted.
“Think has nothing to do with it.” Chesca snorted smugly. “Give Amado a chance, and show him the sensual woman you are!”
Meghan spoke her friend’s name warningly.
“What have you got to lose?” She continued. “I know you’d love to find out what’s beneath that expensive leather jacket he wears.”
“I couldn’t…”
“I don’t think he’s out to hurt you.” Chesca interrupted again. “If anything else, I sense he’s a guardian, and his sole purpose is to protect you. He’s not Kevin, nor will he become him. As it is, he already brings out the best in you, without you realizing it.”
Meghan pulled back, her expression confused. “I don’t get you.”
“You’ve always loved Hollywood, and everything to do with the movies. You’ve always wanted to come to one of these functions, and Kevin would never let you.”
“He thought they were a waste of time.”
“Well, honey, if you haven’t noticed, Kevin hasn’t been around for a long time.” Chesca inserted unkindly. “Stop living like that dumb jock’s standing on the corner, watching every move, and ready to lift a fist to you because you did something for you!”
Chesca’s words resembled a battle cry. Even though her ex-husband had vanished, she continued to walk on eggshells. She fought the world when it came to her work, but her private life suffered. She avoided doing the things she loved most and, perhaps, it was a lingering subconscious fear preventing her from being carefree.
She slapped Chesca’s pointed finger away, and her shadowy eyes glittered with an unusual light. Showing more bravado than she felt, she straightened the strap on her dress, the tiny pearl beads in the neckline delicate beneath her fingers.
“How’s the dress look?” She asked in a peculiarly anxious tone.
Chesca warm hands rested on Meghan’s shoulders as she spun her in a full circle. A slow and appreciative whistle escaped her as the shimmering radiance of the iridescent beads caught in the glow of the chandelier lights. Breathing a delighted sigh, she stilled the blonde, immeasurably pleased with the image presented.
“I’m so glad, when I saw this dress in the antique store, I didn’t walk by.” Her fingers trailed over the golden and turquoise beads at Meghan’s shoulder. She admired the details, the knee length flapper dress embellished with faux Egyptian detailing.
Tonight, Meghan wore her hair pinned close to her head, the golden tresses a gleaming likeness to the shimmering material of her gown. Carefully applying her make-up, Chesca had rimmed her lashes with black kohl, the pale blue iris appearing to belong to someone from another realm. If the appreciative stares of the male patrons could be used for judgment, Meg was stunning.
“So, do I look okay?” Meghan questioned breathlessly.
“Honey, you’re the cat’s meow!”
Meghan giggled at the outdated compliment. Her eyes held an unusual light and Chesca sensed a steely determination rising from the woman. She waited patiently, wondering what she would say.
“Are you going to escort me to the stage?”
Chesca heart rose up into her throat. “Are you sure?”
“If I don’t do it now, I won’t ever do it.”
“You aren’t going to choke up on me, are you?” Uncertainty filled her friend’s normally over-confident tone and she couldn’t control a short burst of laughter.
“I may be guilty of plenty of other things, Chesca, but I promise not to choke up on you.” She chastised, reminding Chesca of the happy-go-lucky young woman she’d been. “Granted, though, the butterflies might kill me!”
“Then do it, before the irritating little nuisances make you change your mind!” Chesca laughed as she grabbed at Meghan’s arm. They weaved in and out of the attendees and approached the platform, where the Marilyn impersonator had successfully finished her song.
The people around them grew silent as Meghan climbed the steps to the stage and positioned herself before the waiting microphone. Behind her, Chesca spoke to the band’s leader. The name of a single song flew from her lips and the group’s comments were lost in a rustle of paper, each member seeking the page of sheet music her friend longed for her to sing.
Suddenly, the lone wail of a trumpet filled the inexplicably silent ballroom. Meghan blinked and lifted her chin, her pale face artfully composed as she listened. She allowed the mournful cry to fill her, the musical instrument filling her with a sense of calm. Slowly, her hips began to sway, her body becoming a shimmering sheath of gold under a single spotlight.
She closed her eyes, thankful she couldn’t see the faces before her. Her hands clasped the microphone, cradling the cold metal between her palms as she drew in a deep breath. As the music swelled, she recognized the song Chesca had chosen, and smiled.
Trust her friend to recall the one melody she held close to her heart, the haunting lyrics nearly lost in time. Anyone who was a fan of the Silver Screen knew the words, and chills would run over their body when they recalled the tune. Even now, as the gentle strum of a guitar matched the mournful wail of the trumpet, Meghan felt the same chill.
The song had once struggled for acceptance throughout the world. One night had changed everything for the singer, and heartbroken fans had snatched up her single in a voracious frenzy. Mamie Paul’s memorable composition, Love Song, had become the symbolic tune for a vanished era. Meghan believed the music was the last tune ever heard by silent film star Armand Gerino before he collapsed and died on the ballroom floor of the famous VanderLyn Hotel.
She lifted heavily lidded eyes and envisioned the woman who had made the composition popular nearly ninety years earlier, as well as the sultry actor that once laid claim to more female hearts than imaginable. Her hands remained in their protective curve around the microphone as she leaned forward. For this one night, she allowed herself to forget where she stood as the song swept her into a lost era, when the world had still been innocent.
Her voice was rich and melodious, haunting and exact as she sang of a love so intense and passionate one would die to remain in their lover’s embrace. The words echoed with romantic desire and Meghan realized she wanted that emotion in her life. She wanted to be loved as if there wasn’t another woman in the world.
She wanted…
Amado.
Her body flushed with heat at the remembrance of the stolen kiss they had shared. As the song warbled from her in a haunting imitation of Mamie Paul, her lips began to burn and tingle. Each refrain brought the remembered feel of Amado’s mouth to flaming life.
Meghan exhaled sultrily, her own addition to the piece of music bringing whistles from the male audience. Blissfully, she was unaware how vibrant she looked to the crowd and her tubular dress shimmered captivatingly against her pale skin. The long and graceful column of her throat arched as she continued singing while, elegant and composed, she shone under the spotlights.
As the last refrain played, she remained motionless on the stage, he
r enigmatic gaze resting confidently at a spot above the crowd. She stood with her shoulders back, and her chin lifted, as graceful and timeless a beauty as could be imagined. Suddenly, the silence of the ballroom exploded with a blast of applause, sharp whistles, and appreciative delight.
Lowering her head, her face flamed. Her heart swelled and a small smile touched her lips. Tonight, she accomplished the one thing she’d always dreamed of doing….singing before an audience. She’d sleep tonight without the nightmares of Kevin haunting her, and condemning her. Instead, she’d remember how wonderful the night had been, and how she felt the queen of the ball.
She released her hold on the microphone, her hands falling to her sides. She turned, but didn’t move, waiting for Chesca to help her climb the difficult stage steps. She counted unhurriedly, enjoying the applause, before realizing someone stood in front of her.
“You are beautiful.”
She wondered, briefly, if she’d conjured the man with her mere thoughts. The scent of sandalwood wrapped about her, followed by a slight chill. Meghan remained where she stood, unaware of the image they presented to the attendees of the gala.
Before hundreds of people, on the elevated stage gracing the center of the ballroom, Meghan Stanley was the perfect embodiment of a 1920s flapper. Gracefully erect, she appeared to stare at the man who reached for her with absolute adoration.
He ignored the crowd, the rich hue of his eyes focused on the woman who never left his heart. As the applause roared to a thundering crescendo, his trembling fingers smoothed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. Gradually, his eyelids lowered and he pulled her close, his voice a husky as he tenderly said her name.
Before the crowd of onlookers, under the searing spotlight, the perfect replica of silent film star Armand Gerino pressed his lips to hers.
Chapter Twelve
The faint echo of the song hung cloyingly on Amado’s lips, the haunting melody reminding him of the last time that he heard it. Mamie Paul’s epic performance the night of his death still lingered, every second permanently emblazoned in a mind cluttered by too many decades of pain. Even now, as he remembered the unforgettable tune, he recalled his despondency.
He’d been drowning in despair, the wound of Louise’s betrayal having burnt a gaping hole in his heart. He had felt unloved, the mere thought of the emotion an elusive sensation that he never experienced. Tonight, those painful memories were erased by the soulful rendition given by the woman he held in his arms.
Amado’s fingers trembled as he slid the flimsy straps of the antique gown over her shoulders, the material pooling delicately about her waist. Her small, firm breasts, the buds tightening with yearning, peeked through a lace edged chemise. Swallowing thickly, he longed to run his hands over her body. He wanted to embrace her with all the ardor burning a path through his lean form, and shower her with a raging passion.
He held back, not wanting to frighten her. Smiling somewhat, Amado savored the weak sigh Meghan breathed, her clouded eyes closed. Her features, delicate and pale in the moonlight, revealing the love he believed unobtainable in his human life.
Sometime during the night, perhaps while she sang the Mamie Paul’s romantic tune, Meghan’s bitter façade vanished. The shadows of her pain had disappeared with the lyrics, replaced by a longing he suspected lingered in her soul. A vibrant, joyful woman had taken her place, eager to clutch at life, as she revealed when he kissed her on the stage at the Grand.
Despite the hundreds of people in attendance, or the brilliant spotlight shining on her golden head, she’d returned his embrace with undeniable enthusiasm.
That same fervor pleaded for his kisses, and hungered for the unquenched passion bottled inside him.
The cool air filling his loft apartment, situated above the dance studio, gently caressed her slight body. Gooseflesh rose across her skin, and she shivered, snuggling more intimately against him. He pulled her closer, before realizing it was a futile attempt on his part to share any warmth with her. He wanted curse aloud, knowing the room was slightly warmer than his own skin, but remained silent.
He wouldn’t allow her his damnation to destroy this precious moment.
Issuing a quivering sigh, Meghan arched into him, ignoring the chill radiating from him. She lifted her face, and her lips parted invitingly, pleading with him to capture the elegant petals. Amado laughed as her hands traced the hardened muscles of his shoulders, effortlessly pulling him to her trembling figure. He didn’t protest, for his hunger far outweighed his thoughts as his hands slid over her hips and across her spine. Silken flesh met his and she arched, her body begging for fulfillment, her breath escaping her in a tremulous rush.
He could hear her heartbeat, thudding with wild abandon as the blood coursed through her veins. Amado’s immortal hunger prodded at his mind in the distance, silently pleading with him for a single taste, insisting to take what she so willingly offered without considering the circumstances.
He growled, effectively shoved the torturous temptation aside. Meghan Stanley meant more than the thirst of a vampire, and he wouldn’t allow his curse to steal from him what he desired most from the earthly woman…her love.
Delicately, careful not to startle her, he pressed his hands into her back. His fingers dug into the tender flesh of her hips, pressing her to his rising manhood, leaving her little doubt of the purely mortal hunger that gnawed at him.
“Are you certain, Meghan?” His words were throaty, weighted down with a question she couldn’t ignore. Some part whispered she should run for her life, escape allowing her heart to feel for him, and curl herself back behind the wall she’d built.
Despite the niggling tiny voice telling her to scurry to the safety of her home, she couldn’t leave him. Amado made her want more from life than she ever imagined possible, and his touch filled her with a need that rivaled her dreams.
Her body and heart pleaded with her to stay.
Meghan realized she was fighting a losing battle. There was an unexplainable magic to Amado, a mysterious reaction drawing her into his embrace with a mystique only mentioned in the pages of a romance novel. Her skin blazed hot against his cool flesh, and her desire roared to a raging crescendo. Unhurriedly, her pulse pounding and her breath catching, she nodded.
Amado lifted her chin with the gentle pressure of his thumb and forefinger. He stared at her upturned features, recognizing the heated flush staining her cheeks as the passion she held in her trembling body. Slowly, whispering soft endearments, he pressed the undeniable warmth of his lips to her mouth.
“I hunger for you, Meghan.”
His words sent an illicit tremor of desire shivering through her body. She struggled to breathe, every nerve in her leaping at the contact. She inhaled the spicy masculine scent radiating from him, and then licked her lips. Her heart thundered as the tip of his heated tongue grazed her lower lip.
Live a little….
Meghan wanted more than to live a little, as Chesca put it. She wanted to seize the world, savor every moment the rest of her life offered, and live to tell of Amado Gianni. She wanted the sensation of his hands all over her body, taking pleasure in the warmth of his lips, and becoming lost in his lovemaking. She wanted to be able to sit on a back porch with Chesca when they were old, drinking tea and whispering of their memories of fiery lovers that had stolen their hearts.
Most of all, she wanted to forget the pain and start anew, and give her heart to him.
A low-pitched whimper escaped her at the tentative touch and her lids fluttered downwards, her body suffusing with a brilliant and unquenchable flame. Her hands settled on his shoulders as she tried to remain steady, a pleasurable but undeniable ache gnawing at her nether regions. She’d forgotten what the burn of passion felt like, how it shrouded one’s mind, making coherent thought impossible. Meghan struggled to suck in a wisp of a strangled gasp while the coercing fire of his lips grazed her jaw, leaving behind a scintillating trail of blazing heat.
“Sei l’amore
della mia vita, Meghan.”
The murmured words were urgently against her skin, his desire evident. An uncontrollable restlessness rose in her as his hair brushed her face, the unhurried descent of his lips along her neck evoking exasperating quivers of arousal.
“I want you with a yearning rivaling any that a man has ever held for a woman.”
Pulsating with long forgotten need, Meghan grasped at his shirt, her fingers twisting into the material as she squirmed against him. Amado exhaled deeply, his eyes glowing with a golden fire she would never see, and the provocative warmth of his breath sent scorching shafts of inexplicable longing radiating through her.
A series of languid and feather light kisses, soft and teasing whispers, trailed across her neck. Meghan's head fell back, the arched length permitting him effortless access to the rapidly thundering pulse that betrayed her desire. His strong teeth nipped experimentally, the action cautious and not intended to mark the attractive paleness of her skin.
Slowly, each movement precisely executed, he lowered the fragile material of her dress from her hips, exposing every delicious inch of her to his hungry scrutiny. Moonlight streamed through the loft windows, illuminating her in a shaft of shimmering luminosity, as he led her to his bed.
Beneath her, the sheets rippled erotically. She moved restlessly, the touch of silk against her back, a jumble of distorted images in her mind. As he leaned over her, Meghan ran her hands across his shoulders, through his hair, striving to gain access to every small piece of visual imagery she could obtain by touch.
She groaned, his grasp on the arched curve of her lower spine drawing her hips upward. Amado’s lips caressed her jaw before moving to the shell of her ear, the tip of his heated tongue laving the flesh. His thick hair brushed her flaming cheek and Meghan buried her face into the inky darkness. Savoring the heady scent that rose to her inflamed senses, a spasm of unapologetic longing suffused her.
Tears of Blood (The Blood Chronicles) Page 14