Authors: Emma Holly
Tags: #Ghost stories, #Vampires, #Horror, #Paranormal, #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal romance stories, #Motion picture producers and directors, #Occult fiction, #Ghosts, #Occult & Supernatural, #Love stories
Angel at Dawn (15 page)
“Do you remember when you used to do this to me?” he demanded, soft and insidious. The prickling warmth inside her sex strengthened. “Do you remember how I’d beg for the brush of your energy on my cock?”
She had no idea what he meant. In truth, her brain was barely working well enough to be mystified. She liked hearing him say
cock
, though, and the idea of stroking his. She groaned as the sensation of fullness inside her swelled, pressing—or maybe penetrating—the walls of her vagina.
cock
, though, and the idea of stroking his. She groaned as the sensation of fullness inside her swelled, pressing—or maybe penetrating—the walls of her vagina.
Then, just as she mustered the courage to move her hands, the room around her ceased to exist. Instead of the dripping tap, she heard a crackle like a campfire. Instead of the well-stuffed couch, she felt hard bare earth beneath a rough blanket. Christian’s eyes were screwed shut with pleasure, the expression so unfamiliar he seemed a different man. Grace was pushing her fist—which for some reason wasn’t solid—down the throbbing length of his erection. His cock was bare and mesmerizing. Its tip was crimson, its hole glittering with a tiny drop of moisture. The him-who-was-not-him threw back his head and sucked air.
Grace was part of this Christian, the edges between their separate bodies blurred. She had no barriers to protect her, not for her skin or her heart. He could break her if he wanted, could disappoint her in ways she’d never recover from. Her throat convulsed with fear at the thought of it.
And then the strange vision or whatever it had been was gone. Christian was dragging his sexy slash of a mouth up and down her neck, his breath coming hard and hot, his grip like steel compressing the soft folds of her pussy. Her excitement had soaked through the seam of her pedal pushers. Her nerves were a single heartbeat from spasming.
She wanted to stop them, but it wasn’t in her power. Something almost real was thrusting slowly in and out of her, brushing those sensitive nerve endings, causing them to wind tighter and start to fire. Nothing should have been able to touch her where he was touching, even if they’d been naked. Helpless, Grace cried out and went over, her body shaking hard against his.
As it did, Christian’s hips jerked up and lifted her at the crotch. The pressure felt so good she cried out again.
“Remember,” he hissed as if he were angry. “Remember what you did to me.”
Grace collapsed on him, panting. To her amazement, he was still hard. He hadn’t come when she did. The thickness of his cock was like a branch pushing at her through his nice trousers. She scrambled off him, retreating to the other end of the couch as soon as her trembling limbs would function.
Christian sat up and glared at her. She was really starting to dislike that expression.
“You’re crazy,” she said, her voice a good bit more breathless than she wanted it to be. “I don’t remember you. We’ve never met before. And I didn’t invite you to do that in the first place.”
“So I just imagined your tongue shoving down my throat?”
She hated that his face grew cooler as hers flared hot. “I know what I did and I’m sorry. It just isn’t a good idea for us to . . . get personal. You need to keep a decent distance from me.”
He crossed his arms, not even sweating in his dark silk shirt. “I need to, do I?”
“I’m asking you to.” Thankfully, her tone was firmer than before. “I know you have enough self-control not to push yourself where you’re not wanted.”
His dark eyes rolled. She knew he must be thinking that her not wanting him wasn’t the issue. Slowly, his arms unfolded. She held her breath as he rose and looked down at her. Lord, he looked ten feet tall. A part of her wanted him to ignore everything she asked, to take her and take her and professionalism be damned. She could hardly restrain her compulsion to reach for the hump that was pushing out his zipper. The only sign that
he
wasn’t in complete control was the way his lips rolled together in a pale line.
he
wasn’t in complete control was the way his lips rolled together in a pale line.
“This isn’t over,” he warned her disdainfully.
C
hristian got as far the flower bed outside her door, where the intensity of his erection nearly bent him double. He didn’t waste time cursing, just unzipped his trousers so he could fist himself. Relief immediately had him gasping. His skin was on fire, his cock so hard it could have been granite. Gladder for his vampire strength than he’d ever been, he tugged a viselike grip from his aching root to his tingling crest. Shaken by the urgent motions of his masturbation, his balls felt tight enough to blow in two seconds.
hristian got as far the flower bed outside her door, where the intensity of his erection nearly bent him double. He didn’t waste time cursing, just unzipped his trousers so he could fist himself. Relief immediately had him gasping. His skin was on fire, his cock so hard it could have been granite. Gladder for his vampire strength than he’d ever been, he tugged a viselike grip from his aching root to his tingling crest. Shaken by the urgent motions of his masturbation, his balls felt tight enough to blow in two seconds.
The things Grace drove him to . . . The things she made him remember . . .
That night in the mercenary camp felt like yesterday. When he’d slept back-to-back with his best friend, Michael. When he hadn’t been able to resist begging Grace for help with an orgasm. He hadn’t gotten one then, but he got one now. A grunt scraped past his control as tortured bliss seared his sexual nerves.
It wasn’t enough. His hips snapped forward, and he rubbed his slippery cock faster. It wouldn’t stay slippery long, and he wanted another climax—needed one, if he were honest. More than anything, he longed to be fucking Grace. In that moment, if he could have killed her with pleasure, he would have.
Furious with himself, he growled low inside his chest. The pressure inside him built: closer, bigger, more impossibly demanding. With his free hand, he squeezed his testicles through the silk lining of his trousers. It should have been her hand, her wet, undulating body pulling out these responses. His growl twisted to a snarl as a second gout of come fired his urethra.
Then he was done if not satisfied. He was still hungry—and still unwilling to feed from anyone but her.
He turned away from her cottage, refusing to look back or wonder if she’d heard what his lust for her had driven him to do. His fangs throbbed, but he ignored them. He wasn’t going to force himself to take another woman. If his body only wanted her, so be it.
He’d make Grace pay for that, too, as soon as the chance arose.
His body was preparing to break into a run when he remembered the shattered window and the glass on the floor. Someone had broken into her home. Someone who might return. He looked back and sighed resignedly to himself. He could stand watch till dawn, just this once. She’d never know he was there.
After all, if someone was going to hurt her, it really ought to be him.
Six
G
race wasn’t more than half asleep when it happened. The strong LA sun was sneaking tiny rays past the edges of her blackout shades—a necessity when you were expected to get a good night’s rest during daylight hours. From the corner of the eye she’d cracked open grumpily, she saw a shape glide into her room, one that was lighter than the dark English furniture. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up.
race wasn’t more than half asleep when it happened. The strong LA sun was sneaking tiny rays past the edges of her blackout shades—a necessity when you were expected to get a good night’s rest during daylight hours. From the corner of the eye she’d cracked open grumpily, she saw a shape glide into her room, one that was lighter than the dark English furniture. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up.
Last night’s intruder must have come back. As she froze, wondering what the hell to do, she heard a familiar voice.
“You can remember if you want to.”
Grace bolted up amidst the tangle of her covers. Maybe this wasn’t about breaking and entering
.
.
A glowing man in an impeccably cut tuxedo stood calmly at the foot of her bed. He reminded her of William Holden in
Sunset Boulevard
, though in truth he looked nothing like. This man was younger and golden-haired, and his eyes were a bright sky blue. Of course, since this had to be a hallucination, why should who he reminded her of make sense?
Sunset Boulevard
, though in truth he looked nothing like. This man was younger and golden-haired, and his eyes were a bright sky blue. Of course, since this had to be a hallucination, why should who he reminded her of make sense?
“Grace,” said the man, nodding politely.
Her lips struggled to form a name for him. She knew it, didn’t she? She’d talked to him before.
“Just the other night,” he said. “But it’s up to you whether you remember. You always have a choice. I simply think you’ve hidden from yourself long enough.”
How could she hide from herself? She, of all people, always knew where she was.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a breathless voice.
“A friend,” said her visitor. “A friend to the pair of you.”
The mattress shook like they were having an earthquake. Grace braced both hands on it . . . and abruptly awoke.
She wasn’t sitting anymore. She was lying down, curled up on her side. She’d tossed and turned for hours last night over what had happened with Christian, her mind spinning round and round as she tried to explain away what he’d done. Considering how little sleep she’d gotten, her alarm clock was ringing too loudly now. The time read five past eleven. She’d been sleeping through the bell for five minutes. Rattled, she slapped the ringer off and shoved her hair from her sweaty face. She willed her heart to stop thudding so rapidly. A second later, the phone rang.
“Jeepers,” Grace said and picked up the receiver.
The caller was Viv, whom Grace didn’t recall giving her private number to.
“It’s me,” the actress burbled, laughing and light as air. “I wanted to apologize for being a beast last night.”
“You weren’t a beast,” Grace said sleepily. Not to her anyway.
“I thought I’d take you to lunch to make up for it. Maybe Musso and Frank’s? You know they have the best martinis in Hollywood.”
Grace grimaced at the thought. She wasn’t a fan of the little Forrester’s favorite drink. “That’s nice of you, Viv, but I have things to do for the film all day. Maybe some other time.”
“Sure,” Viv said, her voice not quite as bright as before. “We’ll call it a rain check.”
Grace said goodbye and set the phone in its cradle. For a moment, she simply stared in bemusement at its pink plastic. This was shaping up to be some morning. Who’d have thought a glamorous young actress like Viv Lavelle would want to make friends with her?
Seven
O
n the night following Christian’s latest aggravating experience with Grace, a night he’d spent keeping watch in the bushes outside her house, Nim Wei summoned him for a wardrobe test. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he had new everyday clothes. He had to try on half a clothing store before he’d look “hip” enough for her damned movie.
n the night following Christian’s latest aggravating experience with Grace, a night he’d spent keeping watch in the bushes outside her house, Nim Wei summoned him for a wardrobe test. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that he had new everyday clothes. He had to try on half a clothing store before he’d look “hip” enough for her damned movie.
If Nim Wei hadn’t thought he was hip, why had she hired him in the first place?
At least in this case, the clothing store came to them. They met on the studio soundstage
Teen-Age Vampire
had been assigned, a long hangarlike building where the interiors for George Pryor’s run-down Victorian mansion were being built. Wade Matthews met them next to the partially constructed set with a motion picture camera and tripod. Wade was going to film how Christian looked when dressed as his character.
Teen-Age Vampire
had been assigned, a long hangarlike building where the interiors for George Pryor’s run-down Victorian mansion were being built. Wade Matthews met them next to the partially constructed set with a motion picture camera and tripod. Wade was going to film how Christian looked when dressed as his character.
As they finished the necessary greetings, a custom that strained Christian’s already short temper, a long rack of leather jackets was rolled in by a human male. No more than thirty, the mortal had a face and form so lovely he could have been asked to model clothes himself.
No one but a vampire would have heard Wade Matthews swallow at his arrival.
“This is Andy Phelps,” Nim Wei said to Christian. “Our head of wardrobe. We managed to steal him from Paramount.”
Andy Phelps smiled pleasantly and shook Christian’s hand. He wore Ben Franklin wire-rimmed glasses over his light brown eyes.
“The pleasure was mine, believe me. Edith Head could be . . . challenging to work for.” Turning a bit more, Andy noticed Wade. “Mr. Matthews. Nice to see you again.”
The genial cinematographer appeared to have been struck dumb. All he managed was a jerky nod for the younger man, after which he had to poke his horn-rims back up his nose. Christian would have been more entertained by this drama if he hadn’t noticed a particular absence then.
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