In the Dead of Cold (2 page)

She felt something warm on her right knee. It would serve him right if she bled all over the plush carpet. “Jane Smyth, not that my name will mean anything to him. Please, this really is urgent—a matter of life and death—that I speak to him, in person.”

“In regard to what?”

A horrific vampire wants to kill him and claim his wife.
“Nothing I can relay to you, I’m sorry. I can say that I believe his wife is in danger.”

Jane watched as his gaze moved from her face down to the rip in her skirt. Jane gritted her teeth together so hard her jaw hurt. She considered telling him the wet T-shirt—or in her case, blouse—contest would cost him fifty dollars. His slow study left her feeling foolish and naked and somehow like this was all her fault.

It wasn’t.

“Mr. Masterson is the owner of this resort as well as many others—”

Jane had reached the limit to her patience. “I’m well aware of that,” she snapped. Fatigue clawed at her insides, and she had no choice but to reach out and grasp the chair she’d previously refused. “I need to see him. Please.”

She almost clapped when he picked up his cell phone and touched the screen. She was getting somewhere. She took a moment to look around. The resort was packed, but Jane expected nothing less, considering the Moonlight was in the heart of the Rockies and provided the best in entertainment and sport. A few people looked her way, but for the most part, they were too caught up in their own lives to be concerned about her.

Jane pursed her lips but stopped when the action made her chin hurt. The pain reminded her of the punch she’d taken. Tim grabbed her attention as he ended the call, absently reaching out and touching her hand.

She was too tired to react, too slow to step away.

Tim’s worry hit her like a snowball in the face. His wife and young daughter were sick with the flu. And all he wanted was to get rid of Jane and finish his shift without any problems so he could go home to them. She heard his thoughts as if he spoke them:
Geez, what the hell has this woman been doing? Roller Derby? I need to get finished with her and get out of here.

“There will be someone with you in a moment,” Tim said.

That meant she’d have to go through someone else before she met Graham Masterson face-to-face. Hell. She blew her bangs away from her face. Well, if anything happened to his pretty wife, she knew she’d done everything she could. There were just too many roadblocks. Besides, now that she’d had time to slow down and not feel like she was running for her life, she wasn’t so sure after all that this was the safest place she could possibly be. However, until she thought of something better, she had no choice but to stay.

“Are you sure you won’t have a seat while you wait?”

Jane didn’t return his smile. “I’m sure.”

“At least let me get you a towel or a blanket.”

A blanket sounded wonderful but bulky. “A towel would be fine, thank you.”

It took him a moment to move to the desk and get her a large, plush, white towel. She often wondered how hotels kept their linens so white. Perhaps that was a question for Mr. Masterson—when she ever got to talk to him. She was careful not to touch Tim again as she took the towel from him and used it to dry off.

“Whom am I waiting for?”

“There he is now.” Tim nodded toward the elevators.

When Jane saw the man who exited the elevator and now strode toward them, her heart picked up its pace. It was impossible to look away.

Hell, it was impossible to breathe.

It was him. Oh… Oh… Oh… She couldn’t even think enough to utter an oath. She’d always known he existed—she had, after all, bumped into him before, had
touched
him—and had seen so much in that slight brush of skin against skin. She had never expected to see him again, though, except while she slept. He was the man who filled her dreams, the man who made her panties wet with warmth right now.

Yet, although he might fill her nights with passion, by day, he was little more than a monster in her nightmare. Despite the passion he shared with her in her dreams, she had planned to never see him in real life.

Too late for that.

He paused for a moment when he saw her. It was a quick hesitation. Tim probably didn’t notice, but Jane did. For a long moment, she didn’t breathe. She’d spent every night for the past two years with him, and yet she didn’t even know his name. His sandy hair and laughing gray eyes, as well as his slightly crooked nose and the rest of his body beneath his clothes, were as familiar to her as his lips on her skin.

He made her scream, cry, giggle, laugh. In her dreams, he held her, kissed her, touched her, explored her, talked to her, and made passionate love to her—among other things while they visited exotic places. Did he dream of her as well? Jane couldn’t mistake the recognition she saw in his eyes.

With each step that brought him closer to her, her insides tightened. Her nipples hardened. Her pussy quivered with anticipation. Damn, her body recognized him and reacted with need for his touch.

His eyes were somber, serious. “Thank you, Tim. I’ll handle this from here.”

She would have recognized his voice in complete darkness.

“Of course, Mr. Drummond.”

Mr. Drummond.
Soft, light, perfect. His name left the tiny hairs on her arms standing at attention. His name floated over her like a feather against her flesh. Now she had a last name to go with his face, his body, his strong, experienced hands.

Hold on a minute; time to backpedal.
She had always known he was real, not a figment of her erotic dreams. She did, after all, remember touching him in the elevator so very long ago. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to bring some moisture to her cracked lips with her tongue, but it was too dry. She might be wet and freezing, but suddenly, she fought the urge to take off her clothes. Mr. Drummond turned his deep gray gaze on her, and Jane thought she might drown in it.

“Miss Smyth, is it?”

He sounded as if he needed to test out her name.

Jane couldn’t answer for a long moment. She was too caught up in the look she saw in his eyes. Although his eyes were gray, not blue as the creature she’d tangled in the alley with, they still held the same I’d-love-to-devour-you look. She shuddered. But this shudder wasn’t from fear; it was with need.

Despite her snow-soaked wet clothes, her breasts were hot, pressing against the tight lace of her bra. It was hard to breathe. And while her panties were wet from snow and freezing rain, her crotch was warm. Very. “I think I’ve made a mistake,” she said, almost more to herself. She turned from him. Why was this so hard? She should be able to talk to Graham Masterson for thirty seconds, tell him of the danger she’d foreseen, and be finished by now.

“Wait, please, Miss Smyth.” He reached out before she could distance herself from him and grasped her arm.

“Don’t…” She couldn’t let him touch her. She was too exhausted, too vulnerable, and too wounded to experience even the slightest vision that often came with touch. But then she stopped.

His warmth and more moved through her with his touch. Inviting, alluring, beckoning, she recognized his familiar feel from the dreams she’d shared with him. It flowed through her. She felt as if she could melt and be nothing more than a puddle on the floor by his Italian shoes. She’d expected coldness. He was, after all, a vampire. Weren’t vampires supposed to be cold as death? That’s what the myths stated.

Well, this one wasn’t.

Mr. Drummond’s touch made her skin sizzle.

And the rest of her…

She should pinch herself to make sure she was still awake and not sharing another dream with him. With just his touch and his body heat, her body responded as it did every night. Her pussy sparked to life like a bear awakened from hibernation—starving, needy, and searching for instant satisfaction.

Her lower belly tightened, and her nipples itched for freedom from her bra. He let go of her suddenly, as if her arm burned his hand, making her wonder what he felt. The absence of his touch sent a shiver through her. It left her confused. She stared at his mouth for a moment—too long, since he noticed. But she couldn’t help it. She was certain any moment, his fangs would grow—like the one she’d left in the alley had—and he’d bite her. She forced down a swallow. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

She backed away from him. She needed to leave, even though she had no idea where she’d go.

“Don’t go.”

His soft words flowed over her like a warm breeze. Hearing his voice, Jane’s legs grew heavy, and she couldn’t take another step.

“Please…I should go.” But oh, she wanted to stay. She knew from her dreams how perfect his arms would feel, holding her close. She needed to feel them now. She told herself she owed it to Graham Masterson’s wife to face her fear long enough to give her warning. Mr. Drummond could tell him. He was, after all, Mr. Masterson’s top security man, as Jane had learned from his touch.

“But the snow’s coming down like crazy. If you go, you won’t get even a mile down the road. Besides, you look like you need help.”

His words confused her. He would help her? She knew if they were together in a dream, he would help her. It was as if he mentally called to her, compelled her to stay. He no longer touched her. It didn’t matter. Jane was positive he somehow held her fast and refused to let her move. “I need…” With him so close, forming a coherent sentence was impossible. She had known about Graham Masterson. She had known about this man. She had hoped whoever Tim had called wouldn’t be a bloodsucker. Ha. She should have known better. Mr. Drummond was one. She knew that. Still, he wanted to help her.

“Ella Masterson’s in danger. Can you warn her husband?”

“Let me help you, Ms. Smyth.”

His voice sounded so much like the voice he used in their dreams. With the way he focused on her and not what she’d told him, it was so easy to imagine him saying more.
Let me help you remove your clothes. Let me touch you. Let me taste you. You’re so beautiful. You’re so tight.

Jane blinked, and her mind cleared a little. Enough for her to know this was no dream. Her heart raced, and she drew in a deep breath. She was hot all over, despite her uncontrollable shivering. “Call me Jane.” She felt as if she knew him well enough to be on a first-name basis. After all, last night he had put his fingers inside her and touched her soul.

“Jane Smyth? Seriously?”

Jane bit down on an impatient reply. “Yes. It’s my name, but spelled with a
y
.”

“Oh. Come with me, please.”

She thought of all the nights of wild passion, the walks through the woods, the lake excursions in a canoe, picnics beside streams, sleep outs, and making love under the stars she’d shared with this man. In all her dreams, he was nothing more than a compassionate lover, no matter how hard or fast or slow he fucked her, no matter how much he made her scream and cry while he tickled her clit with his tongue, or how often he explored any or all of her orifices with his probing fingers.

In two years, he had shown her time and time again how to have orgasms in her sleep. Since then, she hadn’t been able to even go out on a date, much less fuck or even kiss another guy.

Yet, she knew there was more than perfect, soul-searing sex dreams when it came to Mr. Drummond. Even now, she couldn’t help thinking about the vision she’d gotten when he’d brushed against her in a hotel elevator in Texas two years ago. In less than a heartbeat, she’d also been given a nightmare vision that he was a vampire. Her knees started to shake. She told herself it was from the adrenaline rush. He could not be a dangerous vampire. He just couldn’t. Not with all the amazing things they’d shared together in dreamland. Besides, a few seconds ago when he’d touched her, she had seen nothing dangerous, and she’d only felt his warmth. She sucked in a breath in an effort to ignore her sudden need to unbutton her blouse and press her naked skin against his hard chest.

She stared at him for a moment and tried to forget the vision she’d seen so long ago, the one that had shown him to be a monster.
Think of the dreams you share with him. Think of how his hands play over you like you’re the finest instrument ever made.
The man before her, the man of her dreams, couldn’t hurt her.

But the monster in him could hurt her, kill her.

That was what she’d seen in her vision, and what she worked to ignore.

“I’ll take you to see Mr. Masterson.”

Jane had never felt so torn in her life. She
needed
to see Mr. Masterson. She also needed to keep her distance from the man in front of her. Her heart raced again, and she worked to swallow the lump in her throat. Fear or no fear, she followed as if he controlled her steps. Another shiver moved through her with the memory of the way he’d touched her the night before.

Cold fear slithered up the back of her neck at being alone with him, awake. This was not one of their nightly dreams.

He led her to a quiet area in the hall a short distance away. “I’m in charge of security for Mr. Masterson.”

“I know.”

“Would you care to tell me why you need to see him, and what warning he needs? While you’re at it, you can tell me who did this to you.”

There was an unmistakable note of authority to his voice as he looked her over, and Jane thought she detected anger in his last sentence.

She was done. She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Someone is after his wife and wants to kill him.”
And wants to kill me too.
“But everyone would rather waste time instead of taking me to see him. I thought he should know.” She turned to leave.

He reached out to touch her arm again. Perhaps one touch hadn’t been enough for him either. Perhaps he needed to convince himself she was real.

Jane stepped back and almost stumbled in an effort to get out of his reach. “Don’t touch me.”

“You know I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

Did she really? Her dreams told her one thing; her vision of two years ago told her something different. “Please keep your hands off me. Don’t ask me why. And if you aren’t going to take me to see Mr. Masterson, then I need to find a room.” A few minutes with Mr. Masterson would be all she needed—and all she could endure. Her energy was spent. She was so tired she could hardly think.