“I see I arrived just in time. We’ll go back together tomorrow.”
Claire’s good humour evaporated. “Hardly. I have another picture starting tomorrow, and I’m scheduled to do two more after that. I am getting so much work. My movies sell many tickets.”
Ross gazed at the lights of Los Angeles spreading out from the bottom of the hill. Claire drove well, her hands resting lightly on the wheel. The weather was balmy here, the moon bright over the hills. He found it intriguing, this strange world of warmth, with mansions tucked into hills above farms and orange groves.
“Where are you taking us?” he asked her.
“To my house.”
“I’m staying at a hotel.”
“My house is more comfortable.”
“We’re not married yet,” Ross said sternly.
“Pooh. No one here cares about such things. Besides, I don’t play innocent heroines, I play femmes fatales, so no one expects my reputation to be spotless.”
Ross scowled. “You mean it isn’t?”
“Don’t be such a stick. The men here don’t interest me in the slightest, if you are worried. They are either vain creatures who want me to admire them ad nauseam, or they smarm up to me to get parts in pictures. Boring.”
“What about that disgusting bastard pawing at you in The Pharaoh’s Tomb? I saw that one.”
Claire smiled in delight. “Oh, Ross, you went to a cinema? How very modern of you.”
“A mate dragged me there. I looked up from my newspaper and there was my lass, larger than life, on the screen in front of me. In a skintight sheath with that cretin’s hands all over her. I knew it was only a play, but the man was enjoying his part a little too much.”
Claire burst out laughing. The car swerved back and forth on the empty street as she laughed. “Oh, Ross. Oh, my love. How priceless.”
“Watch where you’re going. You’ll have us in the ditch again.”
Claire straightened the car but didn’t slacken her speed. “You’ll be happy to know that the cretin in question has no interest in women. He’s Jonathon O’Dell, and he has a boyfriend.”
Ross blinked. “A boyfriend?”
“Yes. A very nice young man who came with Jon to the studio every day. They’ve set up house together in Santa Monica. It’s sweet.”
“Bloody hell.”
What kind of a place was this? Women wore next to nothing, men lived with men . . .
Look at Claire. The last time Ross had seen her, she’d been attired in a tight bodice and a long black skirt that enticed him by swaying when she walked. She’d looked shyly through her lashes when he’d taken her hand and declared he was honoured to have been chosen for her.
One year in America, and Claire was in minute dresses, driving cars like a wild woman, laughing up at the sky. Her hair flowed over the seat in a silky wave – at least she hadn’t chopped it off like so many women did nowadays. Ross could get lost in her beauty.
But she was his, didn’t she understand that? Promised to him since his birth. They would marry on All Hallows’ Eve, and in their wedding bed she’d make him vampire. Then he’d protect her for ever.
Not every man in the vast Maclaren clan married and protected a vampire bride. Every hundred years or so, certain male Maclarens were chosen by mystics to marry a vampire woman of the Armand family. Ross had hated that he’d been chosen, had fought against it all his life – until he’d met Claire. Then he’d realized why men of his clan had agreed to sacrifice themselves for their vampire brides.
Claire was not only beautiful of face, she had a lush, curved body and a grace that made him want to watch her every move. Her smile was sweet, but she’d had a gleam in her eye that sent his fantasies dancing. He’d wanted to know her, talk to her, kiss her, hold her in the night. Was it the magic that made him feel this way? Or Claire herself?
Ross had been willing to find out. But now it seemed that Claire was not.
Claire pulled the big car up a hill, through a gate, and along a circular drive. She stopped in front of a Georgian house that looked a couple of hundred years old, but of course it couldn’t be.
“This is your house?” Ross asked.
Claire threw him an exasperated look as she got out of the car. “Of course it is. I bought it after I finished The Curse of the Mummy.”
“Did ye now?”
“I did, now.”
Claire unlocked the front door and ushered him into a vast hall. A staircase curved upward to the left, and Ross glimpsed a comfortable modern bathroom through a door to his right. The décor was pale yellow with black accents, no gaudy marble or pseudo Egyptian gilt like at the hotel where Ross was staying. Claire at least had some taste.
She dropped her keys on the hall table and skimmed up the stairs. Ross admitted he liked the silvery dress, which cupped her bottom and let him watch her lovely thighs in motion.
He pulled off the rest of the Arab robes as he climbed after her and left them on the banister. Beneath he wore a suit coat and Maclaren plaid kilt. Americans on the trains had slanted puzzled looks at him all the way across the country, but since he’d arrived in Los Angeles, no one had batted an eye. They probably thought he was in a movie – The Scotsman’s Bonny Lassie or some such nonsense.
His own bonny lassie flipped on the electric lights in a living room at the top of the stairs. Filled bookcases lined one wall, tall windows lined the opposite. Claire paused on her way to a drinks cabinet to turn on a phonograph and drop its needle onto a record.
“Cocktail?” she asked, taking up a silver shaker as the scratchy music began. “I’ve learned to make the most screaming drink called a Gin Fizz. They have Prohibition here, so it’s terribly illegal, but the police never bother me.”
Of course they didn’t. Money and fame made the law look the other way in many countries. “I’d prefer malt whisky if ye have it.”
“Good heavens, Ross, it won’t hurt you to try something new. Expand your horizons.”
“I did. I went to the pictures. Ye see where it led me?”
Claire opened bottles and poured things into the shaker. She put the top on and shook the container in time with the music, which made her jiggle agreeably. She poured the drinks into wide-mouthed glasses, twisting her wrist with a flourish.
Ross took the glass she handed him. “Where’s th’ cock’s tail?”
“Silly. That’s what drinks are called. Mixed drinks, anyway. Chin-chin.” She clinked her glass to his and took a large gulp.
Ross let a swig roll past his lips, then he coughed. “That’s bloody awful.”
Claire looked at her glass. “It is rather. I prefer champagne myself. But cocktails are the rage.”
Ross set his drink on a table and took the glass from her hand. “Never mind what’s th’ rage.” He slid his arms around her and pulled her close. “I’ve not seen ye in almost a year, and I came a long way to find ye.”
“Ross . . .”
“Don’t argue with me, Claire. Just dance with me. Can ye do that?”
She ran her hands along his shoulders, her scent filling him. “I suppose.”
“Good.” The tune was rapid, but Ross knew how to dance, and he pulled her into the moves before she could protest any more.
Not fair. Ross looked at her with eyes the colour of the malt whisky he liked, pressed warm hands to her back, and Claire wanted to do anything he commanded.
His eyes now held fatigue from his long journey, his dark brown hair rumpled, his face hard and dusted with unshaved whiskers. She compared him to the carefully dressed, self-conscious male film stars, and decided she preferred Ross with his unruly hair and worn kilt.
The dance brought them close, her thin dress letting her feel the firmness of his tall, honed body. He glided with her around the room, skilfully avoiding the furniture, his gaze locked on hers.
“Come back with me, Claire,” Ross said, voice soft.
Claire couldn’t help but lace her arms around his neck. “You expec
t me to give this all up?”
“We were chosen to be together.”
His words stirred heat deep down inside her, but she kept her tone light. “That was a line in The Curse of the Mummy. I, the evil countess, was to lure the hero to his doom so the mummy could kidnap the heroine. Mitchell, who played the mummy, had a devil of a time walking in that costume. He’d trip on the bandages and say the filthiest words I’ve ever heard.”
Ross put his fingers on her mouth. “Hush now. Ye can tell me all about the debauchery later.”
Claire wanted to keep babbling. “But there’s a funny story about Mitch in his costume at a speakeasy . . .”
“Sh.” Ross lifted his fingers from her lips and bent to her, his nearness blotting out all other thought, sight, feeling.
In the background, muted trumpets played a bouncing rhythm. Ross’ warm lips covered hers, his hands moving in her hair. He smelled like the night wind and warm wool and soap. This was why Claire had fled England, travelling at night, hiding during the day. Pursuing her acting career had only been an excuse. She was in danger of losing herself to this man, this beautiful man who wanted to possess her.
“Ross,” she whispered.
He licked the curve of her lip. “Tonight. Let us do it tonight and seal the bargain.”
Fear wove through Claire’s longing. She touched his neck, feeling the pulse pounding under her fingertips. The heat of his blood swamped her with need. The vampire in her wanted him – yes, now, hungry. She nuzzled his throat, licking the path of his artery.
“Yes, Claire. Do it.”
Claire’s teeth elongated before she could stop them, and she scratched his skin with one fang. Mmm, salty, warm, good. She licked away the crimson drop that welled from the cut.
Longing exploded inside her. Her need for him arose white hot. She wanted to rub herself against his body, feel his hardness between her legs, suckle his lips until they were raw. She wanted him in her bed, inside her, moaning as he came. She wanted her fangs in his neck, to taste his blood in her mouth as he drove into her.
“I want it, too,” Ross whispered.
Claire gasped and pushed him away with all her strength. She folded her arms around her stomach, holding herself tight, tight, willing her fangs to recede.
Her incredible need for him wouldn’t fade. The kiss had ripped something open inside her, something that terrified her.
“Go away.”
“No.” Ross smiled. Damn, but his smile could melt her like ice cream on a Los Angeles sidewalk. “You’re mine, Claire. We are for each other. I’m not leaving this city without you.”
“Well, you can’t sleep with me.” Claire’s voice cracked as he came for her. What had happened to her liquid vowels, the languid confidence with which she’d outsmarted the constable this evening? “I’m starting another picture tomorrow and have an early call. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Liar.” Ross touched her face, his fingertips flaring her shrieking need. She was going to die if he didn’t stop touching her.
Ross stepped back, and then she almost cried. Her body was flame hot, and the absence of his touch was like being doused with ice-water.
“But all right,” he was saying. “I know ye don’t need sleep, and you’re as beautiful as you ever were, but I’ll leave ye be. For now. Do you have guest rooms in this enormous mansion?”
“Next floor up,” she said faintly. “Any of those rooms. They’re all made up.”
“Expecting company, are you?” Ross’ whisky-coloured eyes flashed with anger.
“No, but my housekeeper likes to be prepared. Party guests might be too tight to drive home.”
“All right then.” Ross came to her again. Claire flinched, fearing what his touch would unleash, but he gripped her shoulders and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Sleep well, my love.”
He strode out of the room. Claire gazed after him, admiring how his Maclaren plaid moved across his firm backside. She grabbed her discarded cocktail glass and gulped down the contents, grimacing at the bitter taste, but the odd mixture cut through her bloodlust.
Claire wiped her mouth and moved to a window to look out at the moonlit night. How would she survive tonight, knowing he was one floor above her, sleeping, his bed warm and filled with his scent? She gripped the stem of her cocktail glass until it broke, tearing her skin and letting her thick, almost purple, vampire blood seep out.
She leaned her forehead on the windowpane to cool it, while behind her, the spirited song wailed to an end.
Has anybody seen my gaaaaaaal?
Claire’s driver picked her up while it was still dark and had her and Ross to the studio before dawn. Claire had found acting to be the perfect profession for a vampire. Unlike vampires in fiction, she didn’t sleep like the dead during the day, although too much exposure to the sun could kill her. But a job that had her at make-up calls at four in the morning and kept her inside the studio until long after dark, suited her well.
“What do ye do when they want to film outside?” Ross asked her as they walked into the enormous, echoing building. Cameras zoomed past them on tracks, and actors, extras, costume ladies, make-up girls, set-builders and gaffers milled everywhere.
“Easy. When we do location shots I stay bundled up and under the tent shelter they fix for us. All the ladies do. They’d ruin their pristine complexions if they didn’t. Plus the make-up keeps the sun from burning me. I can stay outside for a little while before I start to hurt. Then I feign fatigue, and they rush me back indoors.”
Ross gave her a frown. “Too risky.”
“We don’t go out often. Most of the work happens right here in the studio, unless they need a grand outdoor scene. If they do distance shots they can use anybody dressed in the right clothes and not have to pay them as much as the actors. The only outdoor scene I’ve done is when Mitchell the mummy chased me across the desert until I died of thirst. We did most of those shots at night anyway.”
Ross didn’t look impressed. He’d insisted on coming with her today, but Claire decided it would give her the opportunity to show him exactly what she did and why she wanted to stay in Los Angeles.
Female heads turned as Claire led Ross through the throng towards the partitioned off dressing area. Claire was pleased that others envied her having such a handsome beau, but not pleased at all when a petite extra smiled and did a little undulation of her shoulders for him. The girl was lucky Claire didn’t have to feed often. She could make do with a sip here and a sip there, always erasing her victim’s memory before she let them go. They’d wake up happy, thinking they’d dreamed about being intimate with Claire Armand. With this woman eyeing her man, though, Claire might not be so nice.
Ross didn’t seem to notice the attention. He focused on Claire and Claire alone, which made her feel both nervous and protected.
“Claire.” Lauren smiled tiredly when they reached the dressing rooms. “How do you do it? You look fresh as a daisy, and I didn’t dance half as much last night as you did.”
“Clean living, darling. Did Gavin propose?”
Lauren’s face fell. “He danced with me, then someone told him he had a telephone call, and he had to leave. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“Oh dear. I’m becoming disappointed in Gavin.”
Lauren gazed shyly at Ross. Ross wore his kilt, and he was watching the cranes and pulleys and other paraphernalia move about the studio floor.
“Who is he?” Lauren hissed.
“Ross Maclaren. My . . .”
“Fiancé,” Ross said. He turned and bowed over Lauren’s hand with old-fashioned gallantry.
“Oh.” Lauren blushed and glanced at Claire. “Was he the sheik from last night?”
“Aye. That I was.”
“He wanted to surprise me,” Claire said, her voice weak.
Lauren actually laughed. “Well, you look surprised, honey.” She led Claire through the curtains to the dressing room, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You g
otta tell me everything.”
Ross became interested in the filming in spite of himself. There seemed to be much chaos, but everyone knew exactly where to go and what to do. Claire emerged from the dressing rooms after about an hour, covered in yellowish paint, her lips a startling red. But even covered in greeny-yellow, she looked beautiful to him.
They filmed in a curtained-off portion of the studio. Behind those curtains was another stage in which another movie was being shot. Ross couldn’t understand how anyone concentrated in the resulting cacophony, but film people seemed to be amazingly single-minded.
Ross did not know the title of the movie yet, but it was similar to the one he’d seen in Scotland. The scene they shot first involved Claire as the dark-haired villainess luring the heroine – small, blonde Lauren – into her lair. From what Ross gathered about the film, Claire played a rich femme fatale from Hungary who seduced men, took their money, and discarded them like soiled hankies.
She was to bring Lauren to her lavish New York townhouse, drug her, and ruin her reputation by arranging for Lauren to be caught on a bed with the villain. The hero, played by Gavin Sanders, would in theory be disgusted and marry Claire instead, giving Claire access to his riches. Or so Claire declared, rubbing her slender hands while her eyes smouldered.
Action! Claire, smiling evilly, succeeded in getting childlike Lauren to drink the drug-laced cocktail. When Lauren began to feel the effects, she begged Claire for mercy. Her words wouldn’t be heard on the film, but her mouth would move in the dialogue.
“Please, please,” Lauren said in a monotone as she sank stiffly to her knees and jerked one hand towards Claire. “Do not let me suffer a fate worse than death.”
The director sighed heavily. “Cut!”
Claire relaxed. She smiled at Ross, then turned so a make-up lady could retouch her lipstick.
The director was shouting. “Miss Cole, she is about to destroy your chance of happiness with the man you love! For ever. You look like you’re explaining that you don’t want the chicken soup for lunch.”
Lauren’s eyes filled with tears. “But I don’t know how else to do it.”
Love Bites UK (Mammoth Book Of Vampire Romance2) Page 44