Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 4

  As real as it gets, she thought as she boldly returned his blazing look.

  "Yes, yes," he whispered, his eyes holding hers captive within their passionate gaze.

  His husky body leaned closer, lowering her toward the pillows. When his lips found hers again, she responded, her passion equal to his. He moaned softly as he tasted their succulent sweetness, then gently kissed them open with his tongue, devouring her while deeply exploring their fragrant softness.

  She felt the softness of the pillows behind her as he pressed her into them. She could feel the weight of his body on hers, causing her mouth to open in ecstasy when she felt his lips on her neck, causing a series of tingles to explode into hot, sparkling, iridescent flashes. He then sensuously lifted her gown and opened her legs, pushing himself between her inviting thighs while she responded hungrily to his hot, searching hands. Dizzy with desire, she felt his arousal growing against her stomach, and in response she lifted her knees.

  Suddenly a loud alarm sounded, blasting her dream to tiny pieces of confetti.

  "Damned clock!” she yelled, throwing the injured mechanical marvel against the wall, sending it's warped, metal parts flying in all directions.

  Chapter 4

  Joni slowly rolled her old clunker into Chyna’s drive, making so much noise it sounded as if a collection of metal parts had fallen off and were rattling around inside. Coming to a halt, she revved up the engine, afraid to turn it off. Deciding to keep it running just to be safe, she hung out the window and honked, repeatedly. Chyna came out frowning. "Joni, please. There’s no reason to honk. Everyone within a ten mile radius can hear you. What in hell is wrong with your car?"

  "I don't know. I'm putting it in the garage tomorrow."

  "I think you should dig a hole and bury it."

  "Okay, okay,” Joni said irritably, “so get the lead out and let's get moving."

  "Uh, Joni, why don't we go in mine?"

  "Chyna, there's nothing to worry about. Bessie may be old and ugly, but she's given me great service."

  "Yeah? Well, I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend my evening walking down the highway waving down truckers."

  "Are you kidding? That's why I drive this old heap. She's paired me up with quite a few hunks in the past year."

  Chyna just stood there, her head angled as she glared at Joni with her arms folded.

  "Okay," Joni sighed, turning off the motor and picking up her purse. "But I hope you realize that since I've turned her off, I may not be able to get her started again." She looked at Chyna's concerned face as she climbed out of the car. "Hey, don't worry, if nothing else you can just think of her as an odd and unusual yard ornament." Stroking the scarred up fender, she added with a teasing smile, "A conversation piece du jour."

  * * * *

  Later, driving down the highway, Joni noticed Chyna’s pensive mood, and asked, "Hey, you feelin' any better?"

  "Oh, there's nothing wrong with me that a big rugged, handsome man wouldn't cure." She glanced over at her friend. "Know any?"

  "Sure, but none that you'd get within fifty feet of."

  "By the way, where are we going?"

  "City Lights. A new place that opened up in Atlantic City." Joni frowned when she didn’t get a reaction, and said, “Get the connection? Atlantic City…City Lights?” When she couldn’t get Chyna’s attention, Joni sighed, leaned back against the seat and mumbled, “I can tell this night’s gonna be a howl.” Turning back to Chyna with a frown, she looked at her for a couple of minutes, then said, “Hey, will you cheer up? You’re making me remember my root canal fondly.”

  Chyna turned and gave Joni a faint smile. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little distracted. City Lights? That’s the name of it? No, I don't think I've ever heard of it."

  "Yeah, well, it's a new spot on the boardwalk. Been open…I don’t know, about a year now. It’s got a live band, great booze, even a casino.”

  “How far is it?”

  “Just straight up the coast road, you can’t miss it. Real exclusive. Only the richest poor people in town go there."

  "One of those places, huh?"

  "Just kidding. It really is great. The food is absolutely brimming with fat and calories."

  “Oh, joy,” Chyna muttered, her mood still somber.

  It's one of those outside things, only at this time of the year the outside cafe is closed and everyone has to eat inside."

  "Oh well, I guess too much emphasis is put on fun anyway."

  "Hey," Joni said, insulted. "You're gonna love it. It's really a jumpin' place. There are crowds of people all year round."

  "Yee gads," Chyna groaned. "Tourists yet."

  "Oh, and the best part is, they have outside speakers that blast the music right out on the street." She looked over at Chyna. "I'm surprised you haven't been there before."

  "Yeah, well, my work keeps me pretty busy."

  "Chyna, you're not foolin' anybody. How long has it been since you had a date?"

  "I can't help it, Joni, there's just no one I'm interested in. Where in hell are all the hot men? You know, the ones you see on calendars and in the movies for God's sake."

  "You've just answered your own question. They're on calendars and in the movies."

  "Yeah? Well somebody's got 'em, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

  “Well don’t look at me. I’m not hiding anybody under my bed.”

  “Paper and celluloid is vastly over-rated, Joni. Doesn’t give out much heat on a cold night."

  "You're just too damned hard to please, Chyna. Maybe you should lower your standards. You're not going to find Mel Gibson in the produce section of the supermarket."

  Chyna looked down the long ribbon of road, dreamy-eyed. "You know who I'd really like to have?"

  "No, and with that look on your face, I’m afraid to ask."

  "Quinn Grayson."

  "What the hell is a Quinn Grayson?"

  "He's my dream man," Chyna said, smiling, then looked over at Joni with a frown. “Don’t you remember me telling you about him?”

  "Oh God, we're on that again. You're telling me you don't want a man made out of paper or celluloid, but you're willing to take one made out of thin air? Really, Chyna, I’ve never seen anyone get involved with her characters the way you do."

  “He’s not a character, Joni.”

  “Yeah? Well he’s just as bad. He’s someone that lives in your head, for God’s sake.”

  Chyna became petulant. “Besides, he's not made out of thin air. He's as solid as stone."

  "Come on, Chyna, if he lives in your imagination, he couldn't be anything more solid than, well, those men you make up for one of your novels for instance."

  "I don't know how it's possible, but it's true. I've been having some strange dreams lately, and, well, when he touches me, I just melt."

  "Hey, girlfriend," Joni said, leaning over and looking at her with concern. "I think you need to get away from that computer for a while. You're beginning to think those characters in your books are real."

  "I can't, Joni. I've got another book due soon."

  "Well, after this one then. My God, you've got enough books out there now to fill a library. You whip 'em out like there's no tomorrow. Where the hell do you get all these ideas anyway?"

  Chyna sighed. "Don't ever become a writer, Joni, it can be a lonely existence."

  Suddenly Joni lunged forward and pointed. "Hey, there it is! Pull up there."

  Chyna quickly turned the wheel and pulled over, maneuvering the car into a good parking spot. She slowly emerged from the low-slung little Spyder with wonder in her eyes. Looking around, she smiled at all the activity. The street was crowded and people were dancing on the streets to the music that was being piped out through a loud speaker system. Clubs and hotels dotted the shoreline.

  Joni yelled over the loud music. “This stretch of beach is called The Strip. There’s everything here from gambling to burlesque. Some of it legal, some of it not.”

  �
�Joni, this—”

  Joni groaned. “Don’t be a goody-two-shoes, Chyna, just let go and have a little fun.”

  “I was going to say that this is a good choice.” Chyna frowned at her. “Why don’t you let me finish a sentence once in a while?”

  "Okay, so you finished a sentence. Funny, but I didn’t hear an apology in there."

  "All right, so I was wrong. I apologize."

  While they were waiting to be seated, Chyna felt strange, as if she were being watched. She looked around for something—someone—anything that would be the source of her discomfort, but found nothing. Just then the maître d' walked past her with a couple of menus, leading them to a table close by. Chyna followed, winding around other tables while her furtive gaze once again swept across the room. Suddenly her eyes stopped at a man whose menu was being stealthily lifted, as if he were hiding his face.

  “How did you find this place?” she asked Joni as she pulled her eyes away from the menu and back to her dinner partner.

  “Oh, word of mouth, you know.”

  “Really, Joni…” Chyna’s words faded when she happened to look again at the man with the menu. His face was familiar. "Oh, my God,” she breathed. She grabbed Joni’s jacket and began to tug. “There he is," she hissed. "There's my dre…" She stopped suddenly, remembering his words.

  --or the day that you’ll want me so much that I’ll step into your world, just as you’ve stepped into mine. The words echoed over and over in her mind. Into your world—into YOUR world.

  She remembered telling Joni in the car that she wanted a man like—no, not a man like Quinn Grayson, but Quinn Grayson, himself. Was that the key? she wondered, as her gaze furtively scanned nameless, faceless people until she found him again. It was him—she knew it was him. The same curl, the same eyes, the same dimple. Chyna suddenly felt ridiculous. Get a grip, Chyna, she thought, It can’t be the same man. He’s just—he’s just—an incredible look alike.

  Finally having it settled in her mind, she managed to pull her eyes away from him and looked over at Joni who was laughing and chattering endlessly. Chyna tried to relax and listen to her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Slowly she cut her gaze around and looked at him again, noticing that he was with a very attractive brunette. She quickly lowered her eyes, feeling a big pang of jealousy clutch at her stomach.

  "What's wrong, kiddo?"

  "Oh, n-nothing," she said, smiling nervously at Joni. "I just thought I saw someone I knew."

  Trying to act as normal as possible she forced her attention elsewhere. But it was no use. She couldn’t resist the temptation, and discreetly cut her eyes over to him again. She was staring as if hypnotized when he turned and looked at her. The meeting of their eyes jolted her, causing a sizzle of electricity between them. Before she knew what was happening, he was giving her the deepest sexual stare she had ever experienced, and she began to tremble and shiver. Their gazes fused, and desire such as she had never known rose up in her. Suddenly everyone in the restaurant had disappeared but him, and as he embraced her with his eyes she felt him arousing an animal lust in her unlike anything she could have even dreamed of. Her eyes became heavy-lidded and her lips parted slightly, allowing her tongue to lightly lick her red, bold lips. The burning desire in her was almost painful, making her feel like a common wanton, willing to let him love her with an uninhibited passion. She began struggling with this deep, unholy attraction, and after several minutes, finally managed to tear her eyes away from his. She quickly grabbed her napkin to wipe her brow.

  "It can't be," she breathed into the napkin. "It just can't be. He's only a figment of my imagination. How can he be here, made of solid flesh and blood?" She looked up again, and he was talking and laughing with his date. He glanced over at Chyna again, then leaned over and whispered something in the brunette's ear. They both turned and looked at her and laughed.

  "He even acts as if he knows me," she muttered into the napkin.

  "What in hell are you muttering about over there?"

  Looking at Joni, she felt a blush color her face. She lowered her eyes and said guiltily, "Uh, nothing." Then glancing back at the couple, she noticed they were getting up to leave. On their way out they stopped at Chyna's table.

  "Excuse me, aren't you Chyna Marsh, the writer?"

  She looked up toward the deep, male voice, astounded. "Why, yes."

  "I hope you'll forgive us. When I thought I recognized you, Elaine didn't believe me, so we made a bet." He shrugged. "It seems I've won." He had a napkin in his hand and put it on the table. “May I have your autograph? I know men are not supposed to read romance novels, but it seems that I've become quite an addict of your work." He laughed. "I hope that doesn't make me sound strange."

  "No, of course not," Chyna said, giving him a smile as she signed the napkin. "I only wish more men would read romance novels. Maybe then there wouldn't be so many disappointed women in the world."

  The man frowned at the strange remark. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, men go around trying to be so damned macho all the time when all they would have to do to please a woman is to read a romance novel once in a while to find out what really makes her hot. After all, they're written by women, for women. It seems to me if a man is really the tomcat he thinks he is he would forget all his smart ass ideas, do his homework, and go home to his wife and make her happy for once."

  Chyna apparently had spoken louder than she intended and gathered quite an audience. When she got through, the crowd clapped and cheered, especially the women. Surprised, she looked around embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get on my soapbox."

  "No, it's all right. You've certainly given us a lot to think about, and I'm sure after that little speech every man in this restaurant will go right out and buy one of your novels." He put the napkin in his pocket and reached for her hand, speaking softly. "It's certainly been a pleasure, but I must ask you—" he looked around and indicated a chair. "May I?"

  "Of course."

  He dragged the chair up beside her, sat down, then draped his arm across the back of hers. Chyna cut her eyes around at his apparent familiarity, and experienced a sense of déjà vu. Feeling him so close, it reminded her of the dream, and when she looked into his eyes, she immediately felt herself getting lost in them again. Suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as her eyes focused on his lips, watching him lick them suggestively. With his eyes once again embracing hers, she again had the feeling of responding to him in an animalistic sexual fury. Struggling to overcome this evil trap, she lowered her head, shook it slightly, then looked up, trying to keep up with his conversation.

  "—does the lucky man in your life read your romance novels? And," he added with suggestive huskiness, "does he please you?"

  Chyna blinked, still trying to clear her head. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?"

  "I was asking about the man in your life," he said, seductively. Leaning toward her, he whispered boldly in her ear, "Is he keeping you satisfied?"

  She abruptly pulled her hand out of his, and said sharply, "If I were you, sir, I wouldn't worry about someone else's love life. I'd worry about my own." She nodded toward the brunette who was talking and laughing with another man, then picked up her purse, pushed past him, and pulled Joni out of the restaurant.

  "Wow, what a performance," Joni said, when they got outside.

  "I'm sorry, Joni, I hope I didn't embarrass you."

  "Hell, no. By the way, who was that man? My God, he was gorgeous."

  "Nobody much," Chyna sniffed sadly, "just the man of my dreams!"

  Chyna burned rubber getting out of the parking area, and went a few blocks before she saw another restaurant and pulled in. Now, as she sat in another booth with tears in her eyes, she bit down on a big greasy burger bulging with onions while staring out at the big golden arches in front. Her big celebration dinner had ended at, of all places—McDonalds.

  * * * *

  Later that same evening Chyna fumb
led around in her medicine cabinet looking for aspirin and feeling like she was going crazy. Gulping down three, she walked back into the bedroom and crawled into bed.

  She leaned back against her pillow, unable to get her mind off the evening’s activities. Being exhausted, her eyes drifted to a close, and her mind began to drift. Suddenly she saw two men. One came from some far off nether region of her mind, while the other stepped through a doorway as if he’d just arrived. The two hurried toward her. Both were dressed in black, with dark hair, capes flaring out about them, and glittering eyes. She knew that one was Dagan, the romancing, tunnel-walking vampire in her novel, and the other was Quinn Grayson, the man in her dreams. She continued to watch as they kept walking—walking—walking—until she could tell they were going to collide. But at the very instant they met, they merged, becoming one. Finally, a voice she knew well growled in broken English. “Come to me, my darling.”

  “Count Dagan, it’s you,” she moaned, seeing a pair of blood red lips opening against her neck. “God,” she whimpered, “if you’re any example, no wonder women are in love with vampires.”

  Just then she felt a pinch on her neck that woke her up. She lunged forward, the dream so real she wiped at her neck, then brought her hand back, checking for blood. Seeing what she was doing, she groaned while combing her fingers through her hair. “God, I’ve got to get hold of myself.” Laying back down, she muttered, “I'm not going to dream tonight. I can’t dream tonight. I won’t dre…"

  But tonight her dream would be different.

  She drifted into the blue atmosphere again, but this time when she got her bearings she found herself walking down a dark corridor. She looked as far as she could into the narrow darkness and saw the dim colorless brightness of moonlight at the other end. She crept closer and closer, trying to be as quiet as possible. When she had finally gone as far as she could she stepped into a small, crude, square chamber that had nothing in it except a barred door and a dirty window that was streaked with stains from the elements. She could hear movement on the other side, sort of a shuffling sound that caused chills to creep along her spine. She knew she should turn and run, but something held her there—curiosity, maybe. She knew that someone—or something was on the other side of that door, and she couldn’t leave until she knew who—or what it was.