Midnight (2 page)

He gave her a solemn look. “None. I love you too much.”

“
None?
What the hell did I jut walk in on, a prostate
exam?”

Derek sighed, looking a lot more annoyed than he had a right
to. “I’ve never slept with another woman, Amara. Not once since we got engaged.”

“What about those women in the movie?”

“They don’t count. I was getting paid for that. And the men
don’t count, either. That’s not really sex.”

Was he making this up as he went along? “How many men have
there been?”

She watched him count to ten on his fingers and then furrow
his brow. “I’m not sure. I lost count last month sometime.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself
not to smack him. He deserved it, but he wasn’t worth breaking a nail or two
over. She didn’t spend hours filing and polishing for nothing.
“Get out!”

“That’s not fair. You interrupted, so you should at least
give me some relief.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m still hard. Why don’t you suck me and make it better?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No cock that’s been poking
around in someone’s ass is going to be getting within two feet of any part of
my body.” She lifted Derek’s robe off the floor and tossed it to him. “Get the
fuck out of my house. I’ll pack up your stuff and you can hire someone to come
pick it up later.”

He clicked his tongue. “Does this mean the wedding is off?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you can marry Steve or the
silicone-enhanced redhead instead.”

Two months later

Amara sat at an outdoor café, leafing through the classified
ads for the second time that morning. Until an acting gig panned out, she had
to find something. She’d gone on every single audition her agent had set up for
her, and even a few she’d set up behind his back, and still she was jobless.

She took a sip of her coffee, not really tasting it. It was
her fourth cup of the morning, and she was starting to feel the effects of the
caffeine. Her hands were shaking as she tried to turn the newspaper page.

Or maybe the shaking was caused by the article she’d read in
the entertainment

section. It seemed Derek wasn’t faring nearly as badly as
she was. Not only did he get to stay on the Midnight cast, he had also recently
signed on to do a major network sitcom and a string of commercials for a soda
company.

She blew out a breath and crumpled the paper. Her life just
sucked. Why was it that Derek, the biggest freak she’d ever met, got all the
breaks when she was left all alone? He probably had sex with the producers and
the film company execs, male and female. That would explain a hell of a lot in
this mixed-up situation.

Not for the first time she got a prickly feeling, like
someone was watching her. She looked around, but no one seemed out of the
ordinary. Rather, she lived on the outskirts of Los Angeles and
everyone
seemed out of the ordinary. No one stuck out, though, at least not that she
could tell. Still, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she was being
watched.

In the past couple of weeks she’d had a couple of instances
where she thought she was being followed. When she turned around, no one was
there. She was probably being paranoid, but she had a strange knot in the pit
of her stomach. It had been building for a while, but something told her today
was the day. Something was going to happen.

She wasn’t going to wait around for it to happen
here.

She was about to leave when a woman came up and tapped her
on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice you look just like the
woman who used to play that vampire. What was her name? Twilight? Sunset?”

Amara lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the bright
light of the sun. “Midnight. That’s me.”

The woman shook her head. “No. That’s impossible. That woman
died.”

“What?”

“I read it in the National Gossip yesterday. That’s why she
was replaced with that other girl. You know, that Mitzy Anderson. All the
magazines say she’s going to star in the next movie, since the original actress
is gone now.”

“No, I’m not dead. I
did
play Midnight Morris in the
first five films.”

The woman turned to her companion, a middle-aged man. “What
was her name? Emily something or other?”

This could not be happening. “My name is Amara. Amara
Daniels.” A few months ago, she was the hottest thing in town. Now everyone
thought she was dead? She was willing to bet that Derek and Robby had something
to do with that bit of gossip.

“That doesn’t sound quite right.” The woman frowned and
shook her head. “I could swear it was Emily. Emily Douglas?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake
. This was getting her nowhere. “How
did the Gossip say she died?”

The woman shrugged. “Something about silicone poisoning. An
exploding breast implant.” Her eyes lit up. “Yes, that was it. Do you remember
when we saw that movie, Peter? I told you then that those breasts had to be
implants. I guess I was right.”

Now Amara was fuming. Call her names, lie about her death
all they want, but don’t ever call her breasts fake. These babies were real,
and she had the straining back muscles to prove it.

“I hate to disappoint you, but you’re wrong.” She glared at
the woman. “They’re real.”

“Heavens, dear. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked
up about.” The woman shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “You’re
taking this much too personally.”

That was it. She wasn’t going to sit around and listen to
this for another second. She gulped the rest of her coffee, left a couple of
bills on the table, and stalked away from the couple. As she walked down the
sidewalk she could hear them still talking about silicone-induced deaths and
Mitzy Anderson. She wanted to scream.

* * * * *

Midnight Star Dies from Implant Poisoning
.

Marco crumpled the trashy newspaper in his fist, tossing it
into a trashcan as he walked by. Ninety-nine percent of what was reported in
that paper was garbage, but every once in a while a story held a grain of
truth. He’d seen her a couple of days ago—he knew she couldn’t be dead, but
some part of him refused to accept the story as a lie until he saw her for
himself.

He paused on the sidewalk outside her townhouse. He couldn’t
sense any noise or movement inside. She wasn’t home, but at this time of the
day, that was nothing new. He thought he might know where he could find her—at
the little café where she read the paper most mornings.

His fixation with her had started a few months ago, when he’d
happened to catch her latest movie. Although he didn’t approve of the subject
matter, Amara Daniels had intrigued him from the first. She inspired in him
both fascination and aggravation, which had led to his obsessive behavior of
late—behavior becoming increasingly difficult to control.

What had started as an innocent curiosity mixed with a dash
of anger had turned into something more, something he didn’t quite understand.
Something he didn’t want, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d felt
like this one other time in his life, and that had ended horribly. He couldn’t
let that happen again, yet he couldn’t seem to stay away.

The café was just a short distance from her townhouse, but
the sun blaring on his back bothered him to no end. He adjusted his sunglasses
and kept his head down until he could get under the shelter of one of the
umbrellas that covered the tables. Once there, he sighed in relief, both to be
relatively protected from the sun, and because
she
was there.

This time she wasn’t alone. An older couple stood next to
her table. The woman appeared to be arguing with Amara. He strained to hear
what was being said, but was only able to catch the end of the conversation
before Amara got up from the table and walked away.

She headed in the direction of her townhouse. His car was
parked there, so he had no choice but to follow. He kept his distance, though,
not wanting to spook her. Women these days were unpredictable. She was just as
likely to attack him as call the police if she felt threatened.

She went inside, closing and locking the door behind her. He
stayed back, but he was close enough that his ears could pick up the metallic
slide of the deadbolt lock clicking into place. He should have left then and
there, having proven that she was indeed alive.

He didn’t.

He leaned against his car, his gaze focused on that locked door.
It was nothing to take personally—she didn’t even know he was there, but
somehow he felt slighted. He closed his eyes and groaned. This was getting to
be too much. He had to do
something
, before this obsession took over his
life.

* * * * *

Amara sank down onto the couch, tears welling in her eyes.
This was it. She’d auditioned for everything she could find, and nobody wanted
her. She was washed up at thirty-three, and she didn’t have a single marketable
skill to fall back on.

She probably should have listened to her college advisor
when he’d told her a liberal arts degree wasn’t going to get her very far. At
the time she’d blown him off, telling him she was going to be a big star
someday. Acting was all she’d ever wanted to do, but her current step-father
from hell had insisted she go to college for at least two years. If she’d
listened to someone, anyone, who’d offered advice, she might not be in this
situation now.

Her savings would cover her for a little while longer, but
pretty soon she was going to have to find a job, preferably one that didn’t
involve serving greasy french fries or taking off her clothes. Unfortunately
that seemed to be all that was available.

So
what
was she supposed to do? She’d scanned the
classifieds for two weeks and had yet to come up with an opening for an
ass-kicking, lipstick wielding, party loving female vampire with a love of all
things dark and dangerous. The closest thing she could find was a salesgirl at
a local sex shop, and somehow she doubted that would pay very well. The perks
would be good,
if
she had a man, but she was going to try being single
for a little while. She was still reeling from Derek’s trip to the other side.

A knock at the door stopped her thoughts short. She got up
to answer it, wondering who would bother to visit a dead woman. If it was the
press, which was a definite possibility, she wasn’t prepared to deal with them.
She was still in a funk from her messed up life and couldn’t be held
responsible for her actions.

She reached for the doorknob, but pulled back. A feeling of
trouble hit her hard, like a physical blow. She closed her eyes and took a deep
breath, waiting for the feeling to pass. It usually did. This time it didn’t.
She should just walk away, pretend she wasn’t home. She couldn’t. She
needed
to open the door, even knowing that opening it would change her life forever.

She gulped and unlocked the deadbolt, the sharp click of the
lock sounding hollow and grim. She’d
felt
things before, but never
anything like this. She’d never sensed that she was in actual danger, but
helpless to do anything about it. The knob turned easily in her hand and she
swung open the door, unable to shake the sense that she was inviting her own
doom.

One look at the man standing there and her mouth went dry. A
cold sweat broke out on her brow and she shook her head. She’d seen him before,
around the café a few times. His presence had never bothered her there, but
there was a big difference between sitting a few tables away and having him
standing so close she could feel the tension that radiated from him. If she’d
been able to get her legs to move, she would have run away screaming.

His hair was brown, with the faintest hint of lighter brown
streaked through it. It was cut fairly short, but long enough on top to look ragged.
His eyes were a few shades darker than his hair, so deep they could almost be
called black. There was something about him she couldn’t quite pinpoint,
something that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

She swallowed hard before speaking, hoping to hold onto that
last little thread of composure. He probably had a very good reason for showing
up on her front porch, looking like some kind of maniac. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Amara Daniels?” His voice was deep, almost
hypnotic, and very faintly accented. Was it Spanish? Italian? She couldn’t be
sure.

“Um, yes.” She spoke slowly, cautiously. She tried to figure
out what it was about him that had her senses on high alert, ready to fight or
flee at his slightest movement. It could have something to do with the dark
expression, the dark clothes, and the dark stubble that lined his jaw.

Or it could be the fact that he was at least six-three,
built like a linebacker, and had placed his foot in the open door so there was
no way she could close it.

“I thought so.” His eyes glittered with a strange light,
almost animal-like. He regarded her with an arched brow, his expression a cross
between intrigue and anger. She involuntarily backed up a step, trying to
figure out a way to get the door closed so she could get to the phone to call
the police.

“I won’t hurt you.” He gave the door a quick shove and was
inside before she could do anything. He slammed the door behind him and locked
the deadbolt. “Not much, anyway.”

She backed into the kitchen, blindly reaching behind her for
the phone. She picked it up and lifted the receiver to her ear. The line was
dead. Her heart raced and a thin film of cold sweat broke out over her brow.
She did not want to end her life like this.

“What do you want?”

He took the dead phone out of her hand and set it on the
counter. He skimmed a finger along her jaw. “I want to teach you a lesson.”

“What?”
Her voice came out as a squeak. “I’ve never
even met you. What did I do to you that made you want to hurt me?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Do you really
think your actions in those movies don’t have consequences?”

Oh, God.
This guy was a total psycho. “I didn’t do
anything. I’ve never tried to hurt anyone. Those movies were just movies. I don’t
know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” He smirked. “In your world, vampires are
all-knowing. Of course, you have no idea what we are really like.”

We?
She blinked at him. Did he really think he was a
vampire? “What did I do to you that has you so angry?”

He sighed deeply. “It’s just you, Amara. Just you.”

He continued to stroke her jaw, and she couldn’t stop the
little tingle that ran through her. She was scared out of her mind, but there
was something else there, something harder to define.

Something she
refused
to define, since the man was
obviously certifiable.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m going to show you the truth.” He smiled, but there wasn’t
a hint of gentleness in it. “You
will
understand, no matter what I have
to do to get through to you.”

He fisted a hand in her hair and pulled her head back. “Do I
make myself clear?”

“Clear? Oh, yes. Crystal. I promise not to make fun of
vampires anymore. I will be a good little girl and—”

“Shut up!”

“Sorry.”