Dead Perfect (5 page)

As a vampire, there wasn’t much he was afraid of, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being rejected by this girl-woman with her tantalizing humanity and warm blue eyes.

“Ronan? Is something wrong?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You look sort of…forlorn.”

“Not to worry, Shannah. I’m fine.”

“Good.” She yawned behind her hand. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night, Ronan.”

“Good night, Shannah.”

He sat there long after she had gone upstairs, bemused by his growing affection for her. Funny, he hadn’t realized how lonely he had been until she came into his life.

His writing took up a great deal of his waking hours. He was hooked on the card game Spider, and occasionally played poker on the Internet. He enjoyed reading, both for pleasure and research. He spent one night a week answering his fan mail. From time to time, when he was bored, he surfed some of the online vampire role-playing rooms. He often wondered what the others would think if they knew he wasn’t playing a role.

Only now did he realize how boring and mundane his existence had become. In the beginning, he had wandered the four corners of the earth. He had explored cities, both ancient and modern. He had educated himself, gained an appreciation for art, learned foreign languages. In spite of all that, it had taken a slip of a girl like Shannah to add a dash of excitement to his otherwise dreary existence.

Later that night, when he was certain she was asleep, he went to her bedside. Biting into his wrist, he watched the dark red blood ooze from the shallow gash. He commanded her to swallow a few drops before the wound healed and then, sitting beside her, he spoke to her mind, telling her more about the books he had written, his writing habits, the names of his agent, his publishing house and his editor, and anything else that he could think of that she might need to know when they went on the road.

He sat there until the sky grew rosy with the coming dawn, content to sit by her side and watch her sleep, to inhale the fragrance of her hair and skin, to listen to the slow, steady beat of her heart. To pretend that she was his, for now and for all time. He caressed her face, bent to brush a kiss across her lips.

As the sun grew higher, he sought his lair, his senses still filled with the sweet scent of her skin, the warmth of her cheek beneath his hand. With a sigh, he sank into the darkness of oblivion.

In the morning, after a quick breakfast of toast, juice and coffee, Shannah drove to her doctor’s office. She had a standing weekly appointment, and she had missed the last three. She wasn’t sure why she had decided to keep this appointment. What could the doctor tell her that she didn’t already know?

“I’ve been worried about you,” Doctor Harper said as he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm. “I thought…well, no matter. You’re looking quite well today.”

“I feel wonderful.”

Nodding, he watched the gauge, then removed the cuff from her arm.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Normal.” He made a note on her chart. “I see you’ve even gained a little weight.”

“Really?”

“Yes. How’s your appetite been?”

“Better than usual. And I’ve been keeping everything down!”

“Indeed? Any headaches? Dizziness? Nausea?”

“No, no, and no.”

He made more notes on her chart, listened to her heart and lungs, jotted more notes on her chart. “I want you to go down to the lab so they can take some blood.”

“All right.” Needles, she thought. She hated them.

Leaving the lab twenty minutes later, she went to Baskin-Robbins and treated herself to a double hot fudge sundae with extra whipped crème, and then she went window shopping. She made one stop at the drug store where she bought a makeup mirror, a candy bar, and a pack of gum.

Walking back to her car, she thought again how amazing it was that she felt so well. She didn’t feel the least bit tired. Eating didn’t make her sick. She was sleeping better than ever. When she realized she was squinting, she put on her sunglasses, thinking how odd it was that the sun hurt her eyes when it never had before. Maybe it was just another symptom of her illness. She would have to ask the doctor about it next week.

Back at Ronan’s house, she watched TV for a little while, then switched it off.

Going out into the backyard, she pulled weeds from the garden until her back ached, noting that, once the weeds were gone, there was nothing left.

Returning to the house, she filled a glass with ice and water and then, hoping she wasn’t violating Ronan’s trust in any way, she went into his office and booted up his computer.

Unable to restrain her curiosity, she opened a file named Fan Mail—January 2008. She whistled softly. There were over a thousand emails. Sitting back in the chair, she began to read.

The letters were all basically the same, praising Eva Black for her wonderful books, asking for autographs or bookmarks or signed photos, or all three. Several were from would-be writers asking for advice on how to get published. A couple were from women who said they had this really great idea for a book and if Miss Black would just write it, they would be happy to split the royalties with her. Shannah had to laugh out loud at their temerity. Ronan would do all the work and they would split the royalties with him! A number of the emails were from readers asking for free books for themselves or donations for fundraisers, or for a loved one who was sick or in prison.

Some of the readers thanked Eva profusely and sincerely, relating how her books had helped them get through a particularly rough time in their lives—the death of a parent or a child, a divorce, a serious illness. Shannah was moved by their gratitude. It must be humbling for an author to receive such letters, she thought, to know that your words had touched another’s life so deeply.

One letter was from a woman who said she didn’t like Eva Black’s last book, and that her husband hadn’t liked it, either.

Shannah laughed at that. It just proved that you couldn’t please all the people all the time.

She was amazed to find that the letters came from both men and women, and that some of his readers were as young as twelve and some were in their eighties. Apparently romances appealed to a wide range of people, from schoolgirls to prison inmates.

Closing the fan mail file, she tried to open a document titled Work in Progress, only to discover she couldn’t open the file without a password. Odd, that he lived alone but felt the need to have a password, and then she grinned. Not so odd, she thought. After all, she was here, trying to get a peek at something that was none of her business.

Frowning, she tried to think of what Ronan might use for a password. She tried his pen name and then she tried every word she could think of for black and for vampire, but none of them worked, either.

With a sigh of exasperation, she turned off the computer and went to fix something to eat.

Later, she wandered through the house, looking for something to do. Using a dish towel, she dusted the furniture, upstairs and down, but that didn’t take long and she was again left with nothing to do.

Where was Ronan, she wondered. What did he do all day? If he was a writer, why wasn’t he here, writing?

She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him.

She asked the first one when she saw him that night. “Where do you go every day?”

“Hello to you, too.” He sat down on the sofa, careful to leave a good amount of space between them though it didn’t really help. With his preternatural senses, he was all too aware of her—the scent of her hair and perfume, the warmth of her skin, the ever-present allure of her blood. “You went to the doctor today. What did he say?”

“He said I’m doing well, and that I’ve gained some weight. Don’t change the subject. I never see you until it’s almost dark outside. Why? And how did you know I went to the doctor?”

“If you must know, I sleep days and work nights.”

“Anyone would think you really are a vampire,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me you sleep in a coffin in the basement.”

He laughed softly, but she noticed he didn’t deny it.

She frowned. “I must be sleeping in your bed, so where do you sleep?”

“Shall we get busy?” he asked, hoping to distract her. “We still have a lot of work to do.”

“How did you know I went to the doctor? I don’t recall mentioning it to you.”

“I can smell it on you.”

“You cannot!”

He shrugged.

Shannah looked down at herself and sniffed. “What do you smell?”

“Disinfectant. Antibiotics. Alcohol.” He frowned. “Dirt.”

“You must have a nose like a bloodhound if you can smell all that!”

“Where did the dirt come from? Not your doctor’s office, I hope.”

“Of course not. I pulled some weeds in the backyard.”

“There’s no need for you to do that.”

“I wanted to. Would you mind if I planted some flowers?”

“Do whatever you wish,” he said impatiently. “Are you ready to get to work now? We still have a lot to do. I’ve made an appointment with a photographer for tomorrow night.”

“So soon?”

He nodded. “I had an email from my editor. She needs the photo for the next book jacket as soon as possible.”

Except for her high school photo, she had never had anyone take her picture professionally. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course. I told my agent that I would do signings in a few of the larger bookstores in Los Angeles and New York and a couple of radio interviews if they could set them up.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just memorize the answers I’ve given you and stop worrying.” He would be nearby for any night-time interviews or signings; during the day, she would be on her own, though he didn’t think that would be a problem. He had implanted everything she needed to know in her mind while she slept. “I’m going to write for a few hours while you study.”

She sighed. “All right. Um…”

“What?”

“My parents live in New York. Do you think we could visit them while we’re there? I haven’t seen them in over a year.”

“Why didn’t you go home when you got sick?”

“I did, for a little while, but they just…” She made a vague gesture with one hand. “They smothered me, you know? I mean, I know they love me and they’re worried, but I couldn’t breathe. Every time I turned around, they were hovering over me, telling me to eat something, telling me to rest, asking if I was feeling all right, if there was anything they could do. But now, well, since we’re going to be so close…”

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Thank you, Ronan.”

Nodding, he went into his office and closed the door. He knew immediately that she had been there earlier in the day. Her scent was heavy in the air.

Pulling up his current work in progress, he stared at the screen and then he began to write. His heroine changed from a rather plump blonde with green eyes to a slender young woman with inky black hair and sky blue eyes. Shannah. She had bewitched him with her smile and her innocence, with her quick intelligence and her rare flashes of wit.

For centuries, he had resisted the allure of some of the most beautiful women in the world. How ironic, to find himself falling in love now, with a woman who would not even live a normal mortal life span.

No doubt the Fates were having a good laugh at his expense.

What would she say if he told her the truth?

He shook the thought from his mind. In spite of the fact that she had come to his house seeking a vampire, he feared she would run screaming from his presence if he told her she had actually found one. He knew that her coming to him had been an act of sheer desperation. Taking her blood had enabled him to divine her thoughts and he knew that, deep in her heart, the thought of becoming a vampire filled her with fear and revulsion. He knew, too, that had he offered her the Dark Gift the day she had knocked on his door, she would have refused. He dared not take a chance on revealing his true nature, not now, when he wasn’t ready to let her go.

He glanced out the window. He wasn’t ready to let her go, he thought, not now. Perhaps not ever.

Forcing himself to concentrate on the work at hand, he lost himself in a world of his own making, his fingers flying over the keyboard, his breathing growing erratic as he wrote the first love scene between his hero and heroine. Never before had he written a love scene so drawn out or so descriptive, and as he wrote it, he realized he was describing, in vivid detail, how he wanted to make love to Shannah.

“Wow, that is so hot! I’m surprised your computer doesn’t go up in flames.”

He glanced over his shoulder, shocked to find her standing behind him, stunned to realize he had been so caught up in what he was writing, thinking, that he hadn’t even been aware of her presence in the room. Had she been a hunter, he thought dryly, no doubt there would be a stake through his heart.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be memorizing your answers.”

“I’ve been memorizing for over three hours,” she retorted. “I don’t know about you, but I need a break.”

“Of course.” He saved his work and exited the program. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Now? It’s awfully late, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of,” he said, sensing her thoughts. “I won’t let the bogeyman get you.” Little did she know that the man beside her was far more dangerous and scary than any childhood specter.

“All right.”

They walked down the driveway and out the gate. It was a lovely night, cool and clear with just the faintest hint of a breeze. A quarter moon hung low in a velvet black sky dotted with twinkling silver stars.

Shannah walked beside Ronan, acutely aware of him beside her. He was so tall and strong and he exuded such power, it made her feel small and vulnerable. She had the feeling that if he took it into his head to do so, he could break her in two with his bare hands.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine even as she wondered where it had come from.

“Did you find anything interesting on my computer?” he asked.

The question startled her. How had he known? She hadn’t moved anything except the mouse and she had been careful to put it back exactly the way she found it.

She stared up at him, trying to decide what to say.

“Well?” he coaxed.

“I…I read some of your fan mail,” she blurted. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I said you could.”

“You get so much of it, I don’t know how you find time to read it all, and write, too.”

He shrugged.

“I tried to read your work in progress,” she said, sending him a sideways glance. As long as she was confessing, she might as well admit everything.

“Did you?”

She nodded.

“If you want to read it, I’ll remove the password.”

“You will? You don’t mind?”

“You’re supposed to be me,” he said with a shrug. “The more you know about my writing, the better.”

“You really are a good writer, you know.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

They walked in silence for a time. When her hand brushed his, it sent a sizzle all the way up her arm. Unexpectedly, she recalled the love scene he had been writing earlier that night. It had been steamy without being graphic, descriptive without being lewd or vulgar. It had made her blush clear down to her toes when she imagined Ronan kissing her like that, making love to her like that. She shivered as she pictured his hands caressing her skin, his mouth on her bare flesh.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

She looked up at him. “What? Oh, no.”

She stopped walking as his gaze met and held hers. His eyes were compelling, almost hypnotic.

“Do you want to go back?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Shannah.” She looked incredibly beautiful standing there looking up at him, her eyes wide and a little scared.

His hands folded over her shoulders as he drew her slowly toward him until their bodies were only a breath apart. Slowly, he lowered his head, until all she could see were his eyes and the desire that burned in their depths.