Night's Touch (4 page)

Humming softly, he turned and headed for home. He would be at The Nocturne again tomorrow night. He had a feeling he would find Cara there. It wouldn't take much to seduce her. She had been sheltered her whole life. A show of interest, a few chaste kisses, and she would be his for the taking.

Cara thought about Anton at work the following day. She couldn't decide how she felt about him. He was polite and handsome, and yet there was something about him that bothered her. She wasn't sure what it was that rubbed her the wrong way, but it made her wary and distrustful. Her father had told her to always trust her instincts, though in her sheltered life she'd had little need.

With a shake of her head, she laughed it off. She was just being silly and overly suspicious because she had so little experience with men. Instead of looking for questionable behavior where there was none, she should be flattered that a handsome man found her interesting and wanted to see her again.

He had seemed amused when she told him she worked in a library, but she loved her job—not that she had to work. After all, her father was a rich man, but if she didn't work, what else would she do with her days? Besides, as far back as she could remember, she had loved books and loved to read; it didn't matter what. If it had words, she read it. She was certain that a good part of her love of books had been inherited from her father. His library at home was enormous, with bookcases that reached from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. The shelves were filled with a variety of books, many of them rare first editions. Some were so old they were in danger of disintegrating. A few were truly ancient, like the medieval Psalter that dated back to the fourteenth century. It was Cara's favorite book, a beautiful work of art, carefully written and illustrated by hand. Her father also owned a Bible handwritten by monks. Each page was in itself a work of art. He had other books and writings that were also truly unique. Some were written on tree bark, others on bamboo or cloth or silk. One had been engraved on metal plates. He had a folding book that came from Burma. It was called a
parabaiks
, and it told the life of Buddha in words and pictures.

Yes, she loved books. They were more than just words and pictures. When she had been a child, they had been her companions during the day when her schoolwork was done. They had taken her to faraway places and fueled her imagination. She had lost herself in the pages of her favorite stories. She had been Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella and Snow White. She had been the beautiful fairy princess, the valiant heroine who saved the prince, the benevolent queen who overcame the evil wizard and freed the slaves.

One of the reasons Cara loved working in the library was the hope that she could instill her love of books in the hearts and minds of the children.

She glanced up at the clock, then plucked one of her favorite books from the shelf. It was story time, the best part of the day. Taking her place, she smiled at the children sitting in a half-circle on the floor. They smiled back at her, their eyes alight with anticipation.

Cara opened the book and began to read. "Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…"

The library closed at nine. Cara bid good night to her coworkers and left by the side door. After getting into her car, she sat there a moment, trying to decide if she should go home or go to The Nocturne. She had told Anton the odds were good she would be there tonight, and she always kept her word. Of course, she hadn't really given him her word… she tapped her fingertips on the steering wheel, puzzled by her ambivalent feelings about him. Last night, she had been excited by his attention, but now…

She shook off her doubts. What was she worrying about? She was just going to meet him for a drink after work, for goodness' sake. What harm could there be in that? Besides, she had to see Anton again so she could decide how she really felt about him, and Frank the Hulk would be close by.

With her mind made up, she put the key in the ignition and drove to The Nocturne.

Vince Cordova sat at a booth in a back corner of The Nocturne, idly sipping from a glass of what looked like red wine. He was new to this town, to this place. New to the nocturnal life. He looked at the wannabe vampires that filled the club. Men and women alike, they were all clad in black—black shirts or blouses, black pants or skirts, long black cloaks, some lined in white, some in blood-red satin. The women wore black eye shadow and eyeliner and wore matching lipstick. Here and there he caught a flash of fang—fake, of course.

Vince ran his tongue over his own teeth, felt the needle-sharp prick of his fangs. They were the real deal and he still wasn't used to them. Or the ever-present yearning for blood.

He stared into the glass in his hand. The liquid soothed the craving but he found no real satisfaction in it. There was nothing like drinking from the source, inhaling the scent of it, feeling the warmth slide over your tongue and trickle down your throat. Damn! Just thinking about it stirred his hunger.

Draining the contents of his glass, he went to the bar for a refill.

Cara threaded her way through the crowd toward the bar, conscious of Di Giorgio entering behind her. Sometimes she wished he would just disappear, although in a place like this, she was glad he was there.

She glanced around the room but she didn't see Anton. Maybe he had changed his mind, and maybe the fact that she felt relief instead of regret answered the question of how she felt about him. It was probably just as well that he hadn't shown up, she thought, since she was certain he had a lot more experience with women than she did with men. Still, she couldn't help glancing toward the door every now and then.

Upon seeing an empty bar stool, she sat down and ordered her usual, a virgin pineapple daiquiri. Her friends at work teased her because she didn't drink alcohol, but it was a taste she had never acquired. Maybe it was because her parents didn't drink, either.

Sitting there, she ran her finger around the rim of the glass while she watched the couples on the dance floor. She really was out of her league here, she thought. As soon as she finished her drink, she'd go home. No more walking on the wild side for her.

"You get stood up?"

Cara looked at the man who had taken the seat to her left. He wore a black T-shirt, tight black jeans, and a pair of black leather boots, and he was far and away the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Thick black hair brushed his broad shoulders. His eyes were dark brown under straight black brows; his nose was thin and sharp. His lips were full and sensuous. She had the strongest urge to run her fingertips over them to see if they were as warm and soft as they looked.

"Are you talking to me?" she asked coolly.

"I asked if you'd been stood up. You keep looking toward the door."

"No, I haven't, not that it's any of your business."

He shrugged. "Sorry. Just trying to make conversation."

"I'm sorry, too," she apologized. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"No problem." He gestured at her empty glass. "Can I buy you another drink?"

"I guess so."

"What are you drinking?" She hesitated a moment, reluctant, for some reason, to let him know she didn't indulge. She was over twenty-one, after all. It wouldn't hurt her to have one drink.

He was watching her, waiting for her answer.

"A pineapple daiquiri."

Vince gave the bartender her order and asked for a glass of red wine for himself. It was not his usual drink of choice; ordinarily, he ordered a Bloody Mariah.

"I'm Vince."

"Cara."

"Nice to meet you, Cara."

"Thank you."

"You don't seem like the type to frequent this joint."

"Why not?"

"Look around, honey. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you don't fit the profile."

She wanted to be offended, but how could she when he was right? She was the only one in the place who didn't look like they had just stepped out of a cheap horror flick.

"I just sort of stumbled into the place," she admitted. "Until last night, I never knew The Nocturne existed."

He nodded. "You met someone here, didn't you? And you came back hoping to see him again."

"How did you know that?"

He shrugged. "I used to do the bar scene a lot."

"Used to?" She smiled at the bartender when he placed her drink in front of her. He winked at her, then moved on down the bar. She wondered what the wink was for until she tasted her drink. He had thoughtfully left out the rum.

"I've been a little off my game the last year or so," Vince said. "Been spending a lot of time by myself."

"Were you sick?"

"In away."

She found it hard to believe he had ever been ill. He looked the picture of health, strong and fit. His T-shirt stretched over a broad chest; his arms were long and well muscled. He reminded her of a bodybuilder except that he wasn't bulky. He looked solid, though.

He jerked his chin at the dance floor. "Care to take a whirl?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being in his arms. Nodding, she followed him onto the dance floor, felt her cheeks grow hot as he took her hand in his and slipped his arm around her waist.

Dancing with Vince was far different from dancing with Anton. Vince moved with a kind of fluid grace that made her wonder if he was a professional dancer. Her skin tingled where his hand rested on her waist, her whole body throbbed with an unfamiliar longing when she looked into his eyes. He didn't hold her too close, didn't say or do anything the least bit suggestive, and yet she was aware of him with every fiber of her being.

She hated to hear the song end, felt bereft when his hand fell away from her waist. No other man had ever made her feel the way he did. A smile, a touch, and she felt beautiful, desirable. When she looked into his eyes… it was like looking into the far reaches of eternity. For a moment, she forgot where they were, forgot that they weren't alone.

For a moment, she wished he would kiss her.

A wistful smile curved his lips, as if he knew what she was thinking. When he spoke, she wondered if he was reading her mind.

"I know," he said quietly. "I feel it, too."

Taking her hand in his, he led her back to the bar.

A man was sitting on her stool.

"Hi, sweet cakes," Anton said, smiling. "Sorry I'm late."

Cara glanced from Anton to Vince and back again. "Hi. I… I didn't think you were coming."

"Hey," Anton said, looking offended, "would I let a pretty girl down?"

Cara had never been in a situation like this before and she didn't know what to do. She had sort of a date with Anton, but it was Vince she wanted to be with.

Her upbringing made the decision for her. With an apologetic smile, she looked at Vince and said, "Thank you for the dance."

"Anytime." Dropping her hand, he picked up his drink and walked away.

"Who was that?" Anton asked.

"I don't know. Just a guy who asked me to dance." Cara didn't like the look in Anton's eyes as he watched Vince settle into a booth in the far corner of the room.

"How about a late movie?" Anton asked. He checked his watch. "If we leave now, we can just make the ten o'clock show."