Immortal Obsession (15 page)

Whether she was releasing the stress of the day or had fallen under his spell, she didn’t care. He rubbed himself up against her and she laughed; she spun in his arms, pressed her back up against his chest, and gyrated into him while he held on to her. She tossed her head back and laughed at the irony of dancing with one beautiful vampire while wanting his best friend.

Christian called Ross again, but the phone just rang. When he got voice mail he hung up.
Where is he tonight?
He tried calling Ross’s direct line at the precinct, but again he got his voice mail. He would give him until tomorrow night to call him back. In total frustration, he shoved his cell phone in his pants pocket, and headed out down a long hallway out the back door. He had just left the bar when he realized that he forgot to tell Michel something important. As he charged in through the back entrance toward the dance floor he stopped.

Amanda’s here.

He came to a dead halt and scanned the room; her presence filled his senses. She was close by, and Michel was not behind the bar. He stormed toward the dance floor and then stopped; his best friend was laughing and dancing with the object of his desire. He felt a burst of jealousy, mesmerized by the sight of Michel and Amanda moving as one under the hot lights. He could see her clearly through the crowd; her short dress, black stockings, and stiletto heels driving him wild. Christian imagined them wrapped around him. She wore little makeup, only dark red lipstick and her hair was wild.

What is she doing here?

She looked so beautiful. She was petite; dark. She was exactly the type of women that attracted him and kept turning up in his fantasies; only she was real, and she was here again.
How many times can our paths cross before I can no longer resist her?
Christian read Michel’s face and his message.
If you want her, come and take her away from me.
He watched as she twirled around Michel, and was reminded of the earlier confession Michel had made to Christian about Josette and Gaétan. Had she really had another affair with him or was Michel Solange’s father? He thought that Gabrielle had been the only woman they had shared, yet despite their centuries of friendship, something had always gnawed at him. Watching Michel dance with Amanda made him wonder about Michel’s motives with the young beauty. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned up against the bar.

“What are you waiting for?” Sabin asked him.

Amanda felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find Bethany and Jeff dancing close by. Jeff smiled and eyed Michel suspiciously; Bethany ignored Michel completely, as if they had never met. Michel gave no indication that he knew her, either. When a tall brunette had wedged herself between Amanda and Michel, she took it as her cue to get off the dance floor.
Even if he is here, why would I risk being rejected again? I
c
an’t handle any more conversations with Charles. Maybe it’s just time to go home.

She turned her back on Michel and began to push her way back toward their table when someone grabbed her hand. For a second she thought it was Bethany trying to get her attention again. She turned into a pair of dark eyes that took her breath away. He wore the same shredded shirt she had seen him in once before, only this time he wore dark jeans. As he bent down to whisper in her ear, his hair brushed past her shoulder and Amanda thought she would faint.

“So were you going to leave without introducing all of us?”

“I was a little distracted by Michel.”

“He has that affect on women.” He tried to smile. “Are you okay, Amanda? You don’t look well.”

“Not really … it’s been a rough few days and I think it’s all caught up with me. I didn’t want to come here. Plans changed and … I’d better get going.” She blurted it out without thinking, fearful of being rejected by him again, especially if that beautiful brunette was anywhere close by.

“Let’s go where it is quiet so we can talk.”

“Are you alone?” She asked meeting his gaze.

“Yes, I am.”

Before she could protest, she felt a cool hand on her back. He ushered her through the crowd and down a familiar dark hallway. Opening the office door, he moved aside letting her enter first.

“Sit down.” He gestured toward the leather couch. She sat at the far end of the couch.

“The museum was robbed on Tuesday morning.” She blurted out.

She waited for a reaction but got none.
Did he know something about it?

As she filled him in on the details, she tried to gauge his reaction, although she was not sure exactly why. Something told her he knew more than he was letting on. Perhaps it was tied into her suspicion that he and Ross were more than casual acquaintances. It was nothing she could prove, just something that she felt, and she never doubted her gut instincts.

“I was shocked when Cole told me that there was nothing caught on tape. How can that be, Christian? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know, Amanda. Professionals have all sorts of ways of stealing things.” He picked up a strand of his hair and began to twirl it around his finger.

“That’s just it. The stolen object was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but my god, if you are going to steal from the Met, there are so many objects in those galleries alone that are more valuable. It’s like the robbery was secondary to something else.”

“It sounds like a police matter. Anyone possibly involved will be questioned, and if I know Detective Ross, he will be thorough.

What is it, Amanda?”

“Since that night in the tunnel last summer, my life has been a roller coaster of strange events with no resolution. You told me at your house the other night that I needed to trust you, and that you needed to keep hiding things from me in order to keep me out of danger. That doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“Lots of things in life aren’t fair Amanda. The fact that you are alone without your special man; now that seems quite unfair to me.

Where is he tonight?”

Amanda jumped up off the couch but he beat her to the door.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “That was uncalled for.”

She wanted to move but she was lost in his eyes.

“Please stay,” he heard himself ask before he could stop himself. He reached down and gently caressed her cheek.

Amanda felt a jolt run through her body. Mesmerized by his eyes, his face, she could not move away.

“Every time we meet, you either dismiss me or I run away. Now I understand, after meeting Eve the other night. I … I didn’t know that you had someone special—”

Amanda painfully reminded him of being young and vulnerable. She seemed angry at the world, which he understood, and constantly denied her need for people. She reminded him that human suffering was timeless, something that hundreds of years and immortal powers could not abate. The feeling of an eternal emptiness, of knowing he was only temporarily sating a need that could never be satisfied by sex or blood alone. The instincts of being immortal ruled him, but a nameless, faceless emptiness filled him up and twisted his stomach into knots.

He had tried to speak to Gabrielle about it when they had first become lovers, before La Révolution Française. He often brought it up to her when they were alone, lying in the darkness after a night of hunting and making love. The only counsel she could offer him was to remain her lover. Once he had met Josette and had fallen in love with her, she eased the emptiness and dark despair of his endless existence. Perhaps it was something Gabrielle did not feel, or never wanted to admit to him.

Amanda tried to get past him again.

“I better go Christian.”

“Just hold still and let me love you.” He begged as he pulled her close. “Come home with me,” he whispered into her ear. “I may be immortal, but there’s still a man underneath. You have to believe that.”

Chapter Twenty-One

C
ENTRAL
P
ARK WAS
blanketed in snow. Gaétan came down the hill out of the Ramble and headed south toward Bethesda Fountain. He thought the snow-covered trees reflected in the clear, still lake were beautiful. Nothing stirred; his footsteps made no sound. He still felt restless and agitated, even after having killed Ross. Was the blood changing him? It felt as though his vampire nature was melding with his once mortal coil, which he could barely remember existing.

It was as if there were two distinct energies inside of him. The vampire he was and the stranger he was becoming, as though his life were meaningless, a void broken up by the kill. He felt detached from a power that had been his for over five hundred years. His pulsating energy felt muted, like a watercolor painting left out in a rainstorm. The colors were there but the image was indistinguishable. Solange, Gabrielle, and Paris felt far away and foreign, like a previous lifetime half remembered through dreams.

Solange was begging him to come back home to her, but where was home? He no longer felt any connection to Paris, to his apartment, or her. He suddenly felt weary and old; used up by the very blood he thought would give him life.

He found himself walking down Fifth Avenue across from E. 83rd street. Just then a cab stopped and two people emerged. Gaétan froze as a familiar silhouette, clothed in a long dark coat held the door of the cab for a woman he recognized. Gaétan came closer as Christian shut the cab door and grabbed Amanda’s hand. Leading her up the stairs, he glanced behind him as if he sensed an intruder nearby. Then the door shut as Gaétan hid in the shadows across the street.

A light on the first floor illuminated the otherwise dark mansion then another light on the third floor went on. Gaétan thought he would be furious, unable to contain his own rage at the enemy that had stolen Josette away from him all those centuries ago and now had Amanda, but he felt nothing. It was as if he were watching someone else’s life not his own.

Amanda took a deep breath and followed Christian up carpeted steps and past the beautiful paintings in the foyer. She was barely able to keep up with him in the darkness. He led her through a set of French doors into a large living room. The room was clearly a testament to Christian’s love of books and antiques. It felt strangely familiar to her, like a dream remembered hours after waking.

In the center of the room two floral couches sat opposite each other. The wall to the left held floor-to-ceiling book cases. On the right was a large, black marble fireplace with a black marble bust on each end to give it symmetry. A gilded mirror covered the entire wall behind the fireplace, ending at the twelve-foot ceilings.

As her eyes adjusted, she noticed more busts and antique tables set throughout the room. A beautiful glass vase with a bouquet of fresh flowers rested on a coffee table. It gave the room a cozy feel and brought it into the present day. She wandered passed him to what looked like an original Hepplewhite game table and four chairs. Stacks of books covered the tabletop. She stopped at the French windows.

“Do you go for walks in the park?”

“Almost every night.” He approached her slowly.

“God, it must be so beautiful, especially Bethesda Terrace. That’s the most magical place.”

“You should see it on a summer night at about three
AM
with the moon shining down on the water,” he confessed, leaning up against the window frame beside her.

“I can’t even imagine it.” Amanda shook her head, thinking aloud.

She glanced around the room at the beautiful furnishings and books, and suddenly her life felt so banal and dull. “Your house is equally as beautiful. What a world you have here.”

Amanda dared to glance at him. Her mind raced through the events of the past few weeks to this moment.
How did I get here?

She felt the adrenaline rush through her, and although she wasn’t a night person, she guessed it was most likely responsible for keeping her so awake.

“You are welcome to my world, Amanda; to as much or as little as you would like from me.” His voice wrapped around her, his confession stunning her.

“What are you trying to say?”

She felt the pull of his dark sensual eyes.

He brushed her hair away from her face. “Whatever you want from me is yours, except immortality.”

He felt like a dream to her, and now he was saying things that only happened in fantasies. She could barely get the words out. “Everything has a price. What is yours?”

“My price is trust; your trust.”

“Trust is built over time and you can’t rush it. You of all people should know that.” She folded her arms across her chest, suddenly feeling cold.

“That is true, but time can also be a curse, Amanda. You can’t imagine looking backward, watching the world change as you try to adapt. Most of us go mad after a century or so, after everyone we love is gone. Our very existence no longer seems relevant to anything.”

She sensed that the world he had created here was what he missed most, his life in eighteenth-century France, which happened to be the time period she loved more than any other in history. The coincidences were startling.
But there are no coincidences, Amanda, remember?

“You told me that you always saw me as your protector, your guardian angel. Let me love and protect you.”

“What are you trying to protect me from, Christian?”

He pulled her close again. “Later, Amanda, please just stay here with me tonight.”

She smiled then he took her hand and led her back through the elegant living room out into the hallway. Turning left, they went up another flight of stairs. The air felt warmer and smelled of smoke. He opened a door and she followed him, entering a room bathed in firelight.

She stopped just inside the door, feeling as though she had stepped into one of the period rooms in the museum.

“This is
your
bedroom?”

His bedroom reflected an eighteenth-century sensibility with a few twenty-first-century touches such as blinds on the windows and a portable phone. The Louis XVI furniture reflected the daintiness of the times, but instead of being painted with gold ormolu, all his furniture was Beachwood.
Not light, but not quite dark, either, like his hair.

The focus of the room was a king-size bed that stood to her right, opposite a large armoire that covered the entire opposite wall. Covered with lace pillows and a lace coverlet, the bed looked sensual, yet cozy. At the foot of his bed was a matching loveseat. A lace canopy jutted out from the ten-foot ceiling, and an overstuffed chair completed the room.

“Who’s your decorator?” She joked, deciding his room was not too feminine. She found herself wandering around and imagined waking up here every morning beside him. Noticing the heavy blinds, she was reminded that he never saw the sun. As she took in the room, Amanda was inexplicably drawn to a tiny painting above the fireplace. Looking at the portrait, she forgot all about his furniture. A young, dark-haired woman gazed longingly out from the painting. She wore a luxurious, low-cut green silk gown that matched her eyes. Her curly brown hair was piled high on her head and framed a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones. But it was her smile that captivated Amanda; it reminded her of someone, but who?

Christian remembered the summer night that Luc Delacore walked into his studio. He had wanted to give his young bride a portrait for her birthday, only months away. He made all the arrangements through Étienne. The next evening she came to Christian’s studio with a young couple. Étienne welcomed them and offered them wine and cheese. Christian could hear his young servant entertaining them while he prepared the sitting area for the beautiful mortal.

His patron was not an old man who had married a child bride, but he was probably thirty years old, which in 1787 made him old. Josette was no more than fifteen. Delacore’s first wife had died from the pox, which loomed forever as a threat to the city. Christian was especially sensitive about it since it had killed his mother when he was a child.

Christian swaggered into the room full of mortals, and there she stood; his dark beauty with green eyes and a beautiful smile. She extended her hand as if they had only just met, though they had been lovers for some time. He took it cautiously, kissing it gently, and they both laughed at their deception.

“She’s beautiful.” Amanda studied the painting closer. “Who was the artist?”

“Me,” he smugly replied. “I had a studio in Paris for several years.”

“You are really talented. What was her name?”

“Josette. Josette Delacore.”

“Who was she?”

“She was the young wife of a nobleman.” Amanda gently ran her fingertips along the edge of the frame, as images flooded her.

The knot was too tight. Amanda watched the blindfolded woman trying to wriggle free. Kneeling, with her hands tied behind her, she could barely keep her balance in the center of the canopied bed. Amanda felt as if she were in the room, somehow inside the woman’s head, reliving the memory with her. The lit candelabra cast the room in long shadows, and the sweet-smelling wax masked the scent of dung and sewage. Amanda watched as the woman struggled, her black corset a dramatic contrast against her milky white skin. Her thick dark hair, piled high off her neck.

An open window against a dark sky let in all sorts of sounds from the street below: laughter, a town crier, horses and carriages clomping on dirt. Amanda could feel the woman’s heart racing. Was it in anticipation, or fear? Out of the shadows, a man slunk gracefully onto the bed behind her, like a cat. He appeared to be dressed only in trousers.

The women muttered something in French, her accent heavy. He ran his hands down her spine and up her rib cage. She lost her balance and pitched forward, but he grabbed her, murmuring into her hair.

“We do not have much time.” He whispered into her hair as he kissed her neck.

Amanda thought she recognized his voice, but no, it could not be.

The woman pressed up against him as he grabbed her from behind and bent over her neck. She threw back her head in ecstasy and gasped as a thin rivulet of blood ran down her neck between her breasts.

Moments later he released her and circled around to face her. It was then that Amanda saw his face and felt herself shutter. Thomas? No, it could not be, yet he had the same hair and smile, even down to his dimples. She tried to imagine him in modern clothing.

“Please, Gaétan,” the woman begged. “Please, untie me.”

“Of course, my Josette.”

Voices were as distinct as fingerprints. Amanda knew it was Thomas, and then the realization came to her. He was immortal.

And I have slept with him too.

Amanda backed away from the painting trying to make sense of the images.

“Amanda, what is it?” Christian asked, taken aback by her reaction.

“Nothing … I sometimes get these flashes when I touch things … it’s as if I see things…. like a filmstrip running strip in my head.”

He rubbed her shoulder.

“The man she was with, Gaétan…it’s weird but he looks and sounds just like my friend Thomas from the Met?”

Christian sat down on his bed, his worst fear realized.

“I’m sorry to blow you away … I don’t know how I do it, but I have this gift.”

Christian ran his hand through his hair.

“What was she like?” Amanda asked, almost afraid to ask anything else about the mysterious Josette Delacore.

He tried to smile. “She reminds me of you.”

“Bookish, a loner?” She said, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood.

“No. Intelligent, kind, strong-willed, curious.” He reached up and gently brushed his fingers along her face. “Spellbindingly beautiful and unique.”

Amanda swooned at his touch and felt her breath catch in her throat. She could not look away as the adrenaline rushed through her.

“Did you share her?” She asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“She had a husband as well.”

“Was his name Gaétan?” She asked impulsively, thinking that perhaps he was her husband and Christian her lover.

“No, Luc Delacore. Josette had other lovers as well as a husband.”

His words sounded icy and Amanda wondered how he could tolerate such infidelity from someone he obviously loved so deeply.

“How could any woman want more than you?” She smiled and kissed his cold cheek, afraid to ask him anymore questions.

She lifted the black sheer shift up over her head and dropped it on the bed. Christian remained motionless, watching her.

“Unzip me,” she commanded, turning around. She felt his cold fingers trace the smooth lines of her neck as he slowly unzipped her dress. She stared down at the oriental carpet and tried to control her heartbeat. She felt the back of her dress open and a rush of arousal flow through her body. She turned slowly and met his eyes, holding her dress up at her shoulders.

I want him as I have wanted nothing else in my life. Let him have you. Don’t look back, Amanda.

She felt the dress brush her legs on its way to the floor which left her standing in her black underwear.