Hunger (43 page)
Authors: Karen E. Taylor
I laughed bitterly at my thoughts; I had never been independent. When I looked back at our relationship I could see now that Max had always called the shots, had always directed my actions, subtly and shrewdly manipulating my emotions, my habits, my view of the world. Hell, he's doing it even now, I thought, from the grave.
But he had miscalculated at the last, underestimating the love that Mitch and I had shared. A shiver went through me when I considered how close I had come to killing Mitch, how I had nearly acted on Max's order. How could he have failed to know how I would react? Max knew me, probably better than I knew myself. What fatal flaw in his thinking had led him to push me to my limits?
Two years of thoughts about Max's death, and I still had no answers. The visions and dreams of him merely posed more questions. I laughed again, humorlessly; I could almost believe they were a true contact with Max, that a portion of his soul or his being was communicating with me in this way; he was certainly as demanding, as infuriating, as when he was alive.
“And all of it is getting you nowhere, Deirdre,” I said, and began putting the drawer contents away, holding out only the letter opener, a key ring, and a small black address book. I stood up and walked over to the couch where I had laid my purse, and put the items inside. Then I went behind the office bar. The shelves contained only glasses and the refrigerator was empty.
“Damn,” I swore, wanting a drink to fortify myself against what I had to do this night. Somewhere out on the dance floor was a man, with warm flesh and hot blood, that I would have to seduce and upon whom I had to feed. There was no other choice, it had to be done tonight. And I knew what would happen; the darker self would take control of my emotions, and my body, so recently touched by Mitch in love, would be possessed by someone I did not know, and did not like.
It was the greatest of all obscenities, and it was the life I now led.
I looked around the office; I was wrong in thinking that Max had made no impression here. While I lived, so did he. I carried him with me as surely as I carried his heritage, his inheritance.
“Damn you to hell, Max Hunter, for all your gifts to me. I don't want any of them.” I gave the bar an angry shove, and to my surprise it toppled over and hit the floor. The crystal glasses jumped and shattered, spreading thousands of shimmering fragments across the room. I walked over them; they crunched under my shoes, like the frozen grass in the cemetery where Max was buried. I took my purse from the couch, turned out the lights, quietly shut the door, and went out to the club, where a man I did not know waited.
Chapter 14
T
he band was not playing and most of the people that had been dancing were now gathered around the bar. I hesitated briefly, not wanting to push my way through the crowd, until I realized that, at least until I declined Max's offering, I was the owner. I stepped around the back of the bar, lifted the counter, and walked up right behind Fred, lightly putting a hand on his shoulder.
he band was not playing and most of the people that had been dancing were now gathered around the bar. I hesitated briefly, not wanting to push my way through the crowd, until I realized that, at least until I declined Max's offering, I was the owner. I stepped around the back of the bar, lifted the counter, and walked up right behind Fred, lightly putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Shit!” He jumped and spilled the drink he was pouring. When he saw it was me, he smiled apologetically. “Oh, hi, Miss Griffin. I didn't know you were here.” As he talked, he deftly wiped the bar and served a new drink without batting an eye. “Busy tonight. Just like old times, huh?” I stood for a moment, watching him, admiring his technique. “So,” he said, handing out another glass, “what can I do for you?”
“A drink would be nice.”
He reached up and removed a wineglass from the overhead rack. “The usual?” At my nod he filled it with the rich deep red wine I preferred. I drained it while he watched and handed it back so he could refill it. “Bad day? We could talk about it. I'm good at that, you know.”
“I'm sure you are, Fred. But some other time, if you please. Right now could you get someone to sweep out the office? I am afraid I knocked the bar over.”
He stopped and stared at me. “You did what?”
I laughed. “Knocked over the bar in the office. There's broken glass all over the floor.”
“You are having a bad day. No problem, consider it done. Anything else?”
“No, not really. I think I'll mingle for a while.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Ron is here.”
“Ron?” At first I didn't place the name, but Fred gave me a knowing smile and a shrug of his shoulders.
“You know, Ron, from the other night. You must've made quite an impression on him. He's been hanging around ever since, looking for you.”
“Great.”
Fred didn't miss the sarcasm in my voice. “I could have him thrown out if you want me to.”
“No, that won't be necessary.” As I thought further about the situation, I decided that Ron presented an ideal solution. I knew him already, had even gone to bed with him once. A second time would not hurt, and this time I could rectify my previous mistake, taking enough blood to leave him open to my suggestions. I smiled at Fred, feeling the tingling sensation of hunger begin. “Actually,” I said, my voice husky and low, “I want to see him again very much. Where is he?”
Fred pointed him out for me. Picking up the bottle of wine and two glasses, I moved across the dance floor to where Ron sat waiting at my regular table.
“Hello, stranger,” I whispered as I slid into the chair beside him. “Where have you been?”
“Deirdre.” He leaned toward me and kissed me on the lips. “You are here, then. They told me you weren't here tonight. I've been looking for you.”
“So I've heard. But I've been rather busy the past few days. And I told you I would call.”
“Yeah.” Ron reached over and touched my hair, separated and held a lock under his nose, inhaling the scent of it, rubbing it over his neck and cheek. “But I missed you. I guess I didn't really believe you would call.” He stopped a minute and looked at me. “Hey, you changed your hair color, didn't you? It looks nice.”
“This is my real color anyway.”
“I knew that.”
I jumped slightly at his remark. “How could you possibly know what my natural color is?”
He gave me a sly smile and a wink.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly angry at his blatant attitude. “Of course.” Restraining the urge to slap his face, I gave him a direct stare. He was grinning at me, but not maliciously and not as if he had deliberately intended to embarrass me. After all, I reminded myself, if you are going to play the tramp, you must expect to be treated as one.
I forced a smile before he could notice my uneasiness and poured us each a glass of wine.
He hesitated before sipping it. “I'd planned on staying sober enough to enjoy your company. But I guess one glass won't hurt.” He held up his glass and clinked it against mine. “To the most intriguing woman I've ever known.”
We talked for a while, small talk mostly. His conversation centered around his private law practice. Mine was about the sale of Griffin Designs, and a brief description of my stay abroad.
“Deirdre, I can't believe you just walked out of a thriving business. What on earth were you thinking of? Didn't you have anyone to advise you?”
“No, it wasn't that. It was time to leave, so I left.”
“That easily? No second thoughts?”
I laughed a bit. “Well, not about selling out anyway. The sale itself left me with enough money to relocate and live off comfortably for many years.”
“And what will you do when that runs out? Don't you have any provisions for retirement and old age?”
“My thoughts on old age, Ron, are unrepeatable. But I assure you, I am well endowed.”
“I know.” I blushed; his comment had nothing to do with my financial situation. Then he gave me an appraising glance, checking out my clothes, my jewelry. “So you're rich too?”
I gave his hand a small tap. “What a question to ask, Ron. Does it make any difference?”
“No, not really.” He moved closer to me, rubbing his leg against mine. “I'd want you even if you hadn't a penny to your name. But if you ever need a good attorney, you might just keep me in mind.”
“Well, now that you mention it,” I started to say, but stopped when I noticed Fred, standing next to my shoulder.
“Miss Griffin,” he said, nodding at Ron, “your office is finished. Should I lock it up again?”
“No, I expect to be back in later on. Thank you.”
“Oh, and I restocked the bar for you, including a new set of glasses.” His eyes sparkled with repressed laughter. “But I wouldn't go barefoot for at least a couple of days if I were you. It was a real mess.”
“Thank you, Fred. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
Ron glanced at me when Fred left. “You have an office here? I knew you were a regular, but an office?”
Laughing, I stood up and took his hand. “It's not exactly mine yet, but that doesn't matter.” He got to his feet, and I pulled him to me. I had procrastinated long enough; it was time for me to get to the point. I gave him a seductive smile, kissed him on the neck, and whispered in his ear, “I suspect that one of the sofas opens into a bed. Would you like to come see?”
We made our way down the hall, and I opened the door of the office and flicked the lights on.
Ron whistled appreciatively. “This is your office, huh? Just exactly what do you do here?”
“I don't know yet, but apparently I own the place.”
He gave a small gasp and stopped in mid-stride. I caught a knowing gleam in his eye before he recovered his composure. Then he turned away and walked to the bar. “So,” he said, his tone casual, confidential, “you're the one Max Hunter left all his money to?”
I was astonished at Ron's mention of that name. “Did you know Max?”
“Me?” He hesitated and looked up from the bottle he was opening. “Oh, God, no. I don't run in such rarefied circles. Of course, I've been coming to the Ballroom for a while, so I knew who he was. And he must have known me by sight at least, but it would be stretching the fact to say that we knew each other.” He pulled the cork out and poured two glasses. “Did you know that every attorney in this city has been hoping to discover the missing heiress? And I run into you by chance.” He laughed and walked over to me to hand me the drink.
“To the richest woman you know?” I anticipated his toast.
“Easily,” he said, his voice warm and sensual. “But as I told you before, that doesn't matter. I do okay for myself. Oh, I guess I could always use a little more, but I'm not some gigolo out looking for a free ride.”
I looked at him warily. “No?”
“No way. I do have ulterior motives”âhe gave me a sincere smile, practiced, perhaps, but still honestâ“but they have nothing to do with your money. Now, drink your wine like a good girl and turn out the lights.”
I did as he asked and crossed the room, feeling foolish and dirty. I allowed him to embrace me, stood motionlessly while he unbuttoned my sweater. He put his arms around me and his hands caressed my bare skin. But I felt nothing, no hunger and no arousal. We need this man, I urged myself, we need his blood. I closed my eyes and stretched up to kiss him, trying to pretend that he was Mitch. It didn't work; my senses were too deeply developed and he didn't taste or feel the same. I nuzzled his neck, hoping to awaken my feeding instincts, and he moaned, but there was no answering response in my body or mind.
“Damn.” I pushed him away from me, walking over to the window, my hands clutching the open edges of the sweater. Silent tears began to flow down my face.
“Deirdre?” His voice seemed to travel a great distance to reach me. I ignored his presence, as if that would make him leave me alone. “What's wrong? Are you crying?”
I didn't answer. Ron came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. His touch was gentle, reassuring, more like the touch of a friend than a lover. Please be a friend, I silently begged him, I've had enough lovers. I needed someone I could trust, someone in whom I could confide. And although that type of relationship was impossible for me, I responded to his delicate urging, turned around, and let him hold me while I cried.
He stroked my hair, and when the sobbing subsided, he cleared his throat softly. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice subdued. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” I sniffed and went to the bar for a couple of napkins to wipe my face. “I am sorry, Ron. It's nothing personal, but it's just no good. I can't do it, not with you.”
He laughed nervously. “Sure sounds personal to me, but don't worry. Do I look like the kind of guy who needs to force himself upon crying women? It's just that the other night was special, different. I thought you felt the same.”
“I'm glad it was special for you, but for me it was a mistake.” Ron's eyes grew angry, and I tried to make amends. “No, I don't mean that the way it sounds. I like you, very much it turns out, but since I'm already emotionally involved with someone else, the entire situation is too difficult for me to handle. I'm not very good at interpersonal relationships; you can probably tell that. The words never come out right.”
“If you were involved with someone else, why did you bring me back here?”
“I thought I could at first. But then, when we were talking and I got to know you better, I found that it was impossible.”
“And the other night?”
“Well, I didn't know you that night, you were anonymous. That plus the fact that my other relationship didn't seem to be working out.” I smiled ruefully, and rubbed my jaw in remembrance.
“So who is this other guy? Some rich s.o.b. like Hunter?”
“Oh, God, no. Not at all.” I looked over at Ron and smiled shyly. “Actually he's a policeman.”
He gave me a long, unfathomable look. “A cop? You're joking, aren't you?” He paused a bit, then continued. “No, you're not, are you?” He began to laugh, instantly easing the tension in the room. “No one, especially you, would joke about that. Fell for the uniform, did you?”
“He is a detective; I've never seen him in uniform.”
“But you've seen him out of uniform enough times to do the trick, I suppose. Speaking of which, close up your sweater, please. If nothing is going to happen, I'd like not to be reminded of my failure all evening.” He spoke pleasantly, his anger gone. “And I guess I might as well drink myself blind. Care to join me?”
I nodded, fastened the buttons, and, walking to him, accepted another glass of wine. My eyes caught his and I began to giggle, then laugh boisterously. He looked puzzled but eventually joined me, and we both stood like a pair of idiots laughing at nothing.
“I think it was the bit about the uniform,” I said when I could speak. “It struck me as funny. This has been a most interesting evening.” I took a sip of the wine and looked at him in a new light. He was right; he wasn't looking for a free ride. And he seemed to be someone I could trust. Walking over behind the desk, I picked up the folder containing Max's will and held it out to him. “Now, shall we get down to business?”
“Business? I thought you didn't want to.”
“No, not that kind of business. I happen to be in the market for some legal advice. Can you recommend an honest lawyer?”
“I'm not sure whether it would be a wise move for me to represent you,” he said as he hesitantly walked toward me.
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