Phantom's Touch: Sexy Paranormal (Book 2, Phantom Series) (19 page)

The moment Lauren’s door closed behind her, Helen nearly doubled over with an ache that was half anger, half humiliation. What had just happened?

Helen had never seen her friend so out of control. Not when she’d caught Ross with another woman. Not when she’d come to terms with the clause in her contract that required her to finish the last Athena film. Not when she’d confessed to Helen soon afterward how much of her life had been a total and complete lie. Enraged by the gash in her friendship with Lauren, Helen launched herself at David, who stood, stunned to silence, just feet from Helen’s car.

“What did you do to her?”

David twisted her into a hold that pinned her arms to her body, but still left him one hand free to press over her mouth. Terrified by his constraint, she kicked harder and struggled until she propelled them backward against the car. He lost his footing on the gravel drive and they fell in a tangled heap.

“Calm down,” he ordered.

She twisted and squirmed, but he was too strong for her. Forcing her mind clear of rage, she achieved a temporary calm—enough to assess her situation. He’d shifted her against him, but to the side, so that her butting back with her head would not gain her freedom. She tried going slack, but he countered her easily, tugging her hard underneath her rib cage.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he insisted. “And I wouldn’t hurt her. Ever. If you’ll just calm down, I’ll explain. I swear.”

She hadn’t known David long, but she’d already decided that his acting skills were above par. How did she know that the sincerity in his voice now wasn’t just another act? Well, she’d done her share of stage and film work between the ages of five and nineteen. She had the freaking Emmy to prove it. Mustering all her rage into a tiny, potent stone she could hold tightly in her hand, she allowed her body to relax to the point where he’d let her go.

And when he did, it took all her self-control not to either pummel him with her fists or run like hell, screaming for the security guards she knew were just fifty yards down the winding driveway. Instead she stood, dusted the gravel off her clothes and forced a single word through her clenched teeth.

“Explain.”

He combed his hands through his thick hair “I’m not here to hurt her. Or you.”

Helen did not react, biting into her bottom lip from the inside to keep herself from interrupting.

“I knew Lauren years ago,” he went on. “Well, ‘knew’ isn’t accurate. I met he.” He shook his head frantically, as if he had his own store of rage he was fighting to keep under control. “She wasn’t even Lauren then, and I wasn’t David Drake. We were both runaways. My first night on the damned strip, scared to frickin’ death, spent my last dollar the day before. She showed up out of nowhere in expensive clothes. Bought me dinner—burgers, fries, the works. Hardly spoke the whole time, but there was something in her eyes—something special. Then she just left. An hour later I saw her getting the shit kicked out of her. I didn’t know what to do. I made a racket, scared the punks away. Then I called the police and waited with her until they came; I talked to her, went with her to the hospital.”

Helen listened, half disbelieving. She knew all about the night in question, but while Lauren had told her the story, she’d never mentioned any runaway savior.

“And for that she hates your guts?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground as if he hoped it would open and swallow him. “I didn’t expect her to recognize me. I’ve changed. A lot. On purpose. But I didn’t think she’d be so angry just because I. . .”

“Just because you what?” This time he didn’t fight her off when she grabbed his shirt and twisted the soft fabric around her fist. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t help her run away. She begged me not to make her go back to Ross. Not to let the hospital call him. I didn’t know what she was talking about. I thought she was delirious. Now I know she was afraid of him.”

Helen shook her head. “Lauren’s the bravest woman I know. She wasn’t afraid of Ross. She was afraid of who she’d become if she stayed with him. God!” she exclaimed, spinning in frustration. “Why am I still talking to you? You’re lying! Lauren told me everything about that night, and she never mentioned any runaway helping her or refusing to help her. What game are you playing?”

And yet Lauren had clearly recognized the man, and she couldn’t imagine that he’d made up such an elaborate story on the spot. Only three people in the world could connect the attack on the Hollywood street kid who’d wandered back into her old haunts, only to be nearly killed, to the actress who now called herself Lauren Cole—Lauren, Ross and Helen. The doctors and nurses who had treated her that night knew her under her old name. Her real name. Even Helen didn’t know what that real name was.

Lauren Cole had been Ross’s creation, a name he’d helped her choose shortly after she’d been released to his care. Now that Helen thought about it, Ross’s first wife must have known about the situation, too, but in all this time she’d never said a word to the press. She was, according to all accounts, living the high life as the wife of a New York politician, producing theater and winning Tony Awards. She’d divorced herself not only from Ross, but from any connection to Hollywood.

“Who sent you here?” she asked.

“No one,” he said. “I came on my own.”

“You used to be an actor in New York, where Ross’s ex-wife produces plays. Maybe she’s been waiting to exact revenge on Lauren for stealing her husband?”

“Stealing him?” David asked, incensed. “She was trying like hell to get away from that monster.”

Helen nearly lost her footing. “How do you know that?” Recovering herself, she tightened her grip on his shirt and asked again.

“Lauren told him when he arrived at the hospital. His address had been on her driver’s license, so the nurse called him. I grabbed scrubs and blended in so I could wait around. I heard her confess why she’d left him.”

“You are some sort of crazy stalker.”

“No,” he answered. “No. I was just there. It was. . .just. . .how things happened.”

The anger Helen had been holding inside shot spikes through her body. She released him and stepped back, afraid of the emotions roiling inside her. She’d never fought with Lauren. Never exchanged a cross word except in jest. They’d become friends in a way that Helen valued deeply. Now she’d been tossed out of Lauren’s house, marked as a betrayer, because she’d foolishly brought a stranger with a hidden agenda into her friend’s guarded life.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted a part in her movie.”

“I don’t believe you. You wanted to be near her. You told me so after you’d fucked my brains out, remember? You have some freakish fixation on her, don’t you? Because you saved her once and. . .I don’t know. . .maybe because the press has been making such a big fucking deal out of her divorce that you thought you’d save her again? That she’d fall in love with you? Maybe take you to bed and pay you back for helping her all those years ago?”

He didn’t answer, and the silence sliced into Helen’s lungs and wouldn’t allow her to draw breath. Mustering all her pride, she dug into her pocket, extracted her keys and got into her car.

He jumped out of the way, which was a damned good thing, because she might have run him down if he’d given her the chance. At the end of the drive she slid to a halt long enough to alert the guards about David’s presence and insist they run him off immediately. Then she left.

She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t know what she was thinking. She just knew she had to get as far away from Lauren and David as possible, as fast as possible, or she might do something really stupid.

Like cry.

***

David pushed his hand through the tear in his shirt, then shot a dirty look at the security guards who’d just shoved him off Lauren’s property and were now securing the gate.

Could this have gone any worse?

“Come anywhere near Ms. Cole again and you’ll be serving time for stalking, got it?” the guard shouted from behind the bars.

He supposed he should be happy he hadn’t been arrested. Now he was just stranded. Not that it mattered. He’d certainly been stranded in worse parts of Los Angeles than Beverly Hills. And for what he’d paid for his shoes, they could withstand a little wear and tear. He checked his pockets, but his cell phone was gone. Probably crunched under Helen’s retreating tires. Looking up to get his bearings, he headed south.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Helen that he hadn’t expected Lauren to recognize him, but then he realized that the flaw in his plan started right there. He’d recognized her, hadn’t he? The first time he’d sneaked into that movie theater, two years after bumming a cross-country ride from Los Angeles to New York, and caught sight of the blond babe playing Athena on the silver screen?

He’d known instantly it was her. The girl he’d met in Hollywood. The girl who’d shown him kindness in the face of utter fear. The girl whose life he’d saved, only for her to be shuttled off to some private facility by her rich sugar daddy. The girl who’d unwittingly kick-started his career.

His footsteps echoed on the sidewalk. From just over the side of the tall, manicured hedges and rustling palm trees of tony Beverly Hills, the colors and sounds of wild, unchained Los Angeles beckoned. The sensations of being terrified, hungry, desperate and alone flooded back over him. Leaving his mother’s house with nothing but a dozen fading bruises and his dreams of acting seemed like a lifetime ago. His fantasy had been instantly cut short by the realization that he was only one of a thousand throwaway kids who’d been tricked into trading one tragic life for another, thanks to movie-manufactured delusions and illusions.

Only, David had made it. Lauren might not have had a chance to thank him for his help that night, but her benefactor had paid him pretty nicely, both for his good deed and for his silence. Ross Marchand had paid him several thousand dollars and given him a business card for a modeling agent who owed him.

Through pure grit and will, David had parlayed his reward into an Actors’ Equity card and a letter of acceptance from the Screen Actors’ Guild.

He’d promised Marchand that he’d never come back to Hollywood, and technically the boy who’d taken the money had not returned. Now he was someone else. Someone new. Someone worthy of Lauren’s attention and gratitude and affection—someone whose past had just smacked him down yet again.

His mind lost in his humble beginnings, David was unaware of the car trailing slowly behind him until it revved forward and the passenger side window slid down.

“Get in,” the driver said.

David didn’t stop walking. “This is Beverly Hills, buddy, not the Spotlight. Pick up your boy toy somewhere else.”

The car screeched to a stop and one tire ran up on the curb. Instinctively David jumped away, then froze, stunned when the driver leaned across the seat, opened the passenger-side door and looked up into the light from the street lamp.

Ross Marchand.

“I said, get in,” he repeated.

David held his ground. “Why?”

“You want to work in this town or not?”

Though delivered with an amused tone, the hard truth in Ross’s threat hit him like a fist to the gut. With a shrug, he did as the producer asked, sliding onto the leather seat of the Jag and slamming the door.

“So you’ve taken to staking out your ex-wife’s house now?”

Ross gave him a smug glance, then turned his eyes back to the road and jumped the curb until they were gliding farther and farther away from Lauren. “Did you get what you came for? Or did you crash and burn, like I predicted?”

“I was walking home. What do you think?”

“I warned you that coming back here was not a good idea.”

“Yes, you did.”

“This town isn’t so big. Everyone knows everyone, and secrets aren’t worth squat.”

“I can see that. now.” David forced the words out. He didn’t want to talk to Ross Marchand, but what choice did he have? The moment his head shot and resume had been short-listed for the part of Lauren’s love interest, he’d been on the producer’s radar. Like an idiot, he’d thought he could bypass the producer, get to Lauren on his own.

How wrong he’d been.

“So I suppose you’re willing to play this my way now?” Ross said confidently.

David resisted the urge to pound his head on the dashboard. “Do have a choice?”

“None at all, kid. None at all.”

The sensation was akin to liquid metal dripping down Aiden’s arm. The sword glowed with power Aiden knew he had to master, no matter the cost. He tensed against the pain. A strangled yelp behind him nearly made him falter, but he stayed his hand.

“Do not be afraid,” he said, his stare captured by the colors gleaming off the sword. The magical blue from the blade and an intensified red from the inset stones in the handle merged into a powerful violet. The effect was at once fascinating and terrifying.

“Aiden, please put it down,” Lauren begged.

He pressed his lips tightly together. As she’d confessed her past, the magic had revealed a new secret to him—a new power. He’d seen her thoughts and had nearly brought them into being. What else could the sword do if only he took the time to give it a command?

He closed his eyes and concentrated, picturing himself walking in the daylight with Lauren at his side. Suddenly a natural heat warmed his face. He inhaled, and the scent of perfumed air teased his nostrils.

“Aiden!”

His arms vibrated from holding the sword aloft. A current of power set his nerve endings afire. He turned to her, but his fist remained tight around the hilt of the sword. What other secrets did the weapon possess?

In all the time since he’d emerged from the sword, he’d concentrated entirely on Lauren, first on her recovery, and then on filling his empty soul with her, making love to the woman he’d fantasized about for what seemed like the whole of his life. But in his attempt to indulge his private needs, had he missed a chance to secure his freedom?

Why had he hesitated?

The answer was obvious: Once he was free, he might never see her again. His life would be in another country, rebuilding the life he’d lost to Rogan’s curse. She was just as determined to hold on to her independence, to focus on her career. She would not leave all she’d built to follow him to England. And how much loss could one man bear?

“The magic must be explored,” he insisted, though picturing his freedom seemed to do nothing but rip at his soul.

In a wild grab, she curled her arms around him and held on tight. She was afraid. He could feel her shaking, but she remained where she was, attempting to help him despite her fear.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Imagine us out in the daylight. Picture us walking in your garden with the sun shining in our faces. Accept the fact that I am free to walk this earth as a man.”

She must have done as he asked, because a moment later, after a dizzying sensation, they were standing in the lush garden behind her house, beside the Grecian-themed fountain sparkling in the moonlight.

Not sunlight.

Moonlight.

He dropped the sword. It landed in the soft grass with a thud, and the gleam faded until the blade and handle were yet again only silver and gold.

Aiden pulled Lauren around to his chest and, after tapping the sword with his foot, transported them back to her living room.

“Whoa,” she said, tugging away uneasily.

“I apologize,” he said automatically, his voice wooden with disappointment. “I only wanted to see if you could wish me free of this curse.”

“No,” she said. “I want to help you, Aiden. I really do. I don’t know how I freed you from the sword. I only touched it.”

He picked it up from the floor and held the blade toward her. She’d tried once before to manipulate the sword’s magic, but that had been during the daytime. Perhaps now, in the night, when he was strongest. . .?

She closed her eyes, her face taut with concentration, and placed her hand on the blade.

Nothing happened.

He dropped the weapon again and couldn’t resist giving it a little kick. Dissatisfied, he kicked harder. The blade slammed across the room, and again Lauren yelped. He turned to find her staring at him with a hodgepodge of emotions playing across her face, the most obvious ones shock and disbelief.

“Don’t apologize again. I can feel your frustration. You want to be free. I want you to be free. It’s just. . .” She looked around the room as if searching, her hands outstretched. After a moment with nothing to grab onto, she jabbed her fingers into her hair and laughed, then dropped onto the sofa and buried her head in her hands. “This is so weird. This is beyond weird. This is Ed Wood, Tim Burton, Quentin Tarantino all rolled into one big weird.”

He had no idea about whom she was talking, but glancing alternately between the sword and Lauren, he retrieved the weapon and dragged it begrudgingly to where she sat on the floor. He squatted beside her, toying with the golden handle, until she peeked up at him from beneath her folded arms. “What just happened?”

“We failed to free me.”

She shook her head. “Maybe I wasn’t trying.”

“Maybe I wasn’t, either.”

She nibbled on the tips of her fingernails for a second, then forced her hands to her sides. “Where will you go once you’re free?”

The sadness in her eyes revealed her inner turmoil. Lifting his hand softly, he toyed with the hair draping across her cheek, then smoothed the errant lock behind her ear. The instant his fingertip touched her temple, the blade of the sword burned a purplish blue, and the flash of an image entered his brain. Lauren. Alone.

“You do not want to be alone,” he said.

She chuckled mirthlessly and gave a nonchalant shrug. “Who does?”

He brushed his hand deeper into her hair. The contact was intimate, but not more so than the second impression he received from her private thoughts: She was standing on the doorstep of her home, and Aiden was walking away without turning back.

“You fear the aftermath of my desertion. Yes, Lauren, when I am free, I will leave to seek out what might be left of my family. I could lie to you and assure you that I will stay with you forever, but I venture you’ve had enough men lie to you over the years. I can only be truthful and say that once I am free, I have no idea what my future holds. I will admit that I hope that it will somehow include you.”

Lauren listened intently; then her blue eyes widened in surprise. “Did you just see what I was thinking?”

“Yes,” he replied.

She scooted away from him, breaking the contact of his fingers against her scalp. Her luscious mouth sucked in gasps of air, but her lungs did not seem to accept the breaths.

“Lauren, you must breathe.”

She closed her mouth and inhaled deeply through her nose, her eyes closed. She repeated the action until the muscles along her neck and shoulders visibly relaxed.

Aiden tossed the sword aside, but the clank of metal against the floor did not interrupt her breathing. He’d expected that the sword, magicked by Rogan, would possess other mysterious properties he might not ever fully discover, but even he had not expected to possess the ability to glimpse into Lauren’s mind.

Perhaps this had been the means by which the clever wizard had infiltrated Sarina’s heart centuries ago. His sister had always been a dreamer, a child of whim and fancy who believed in magic because she experienced it daily with the Gypsies of Valoren. If Rogan had found the means to penetrate the young girl’s innocent fantasies, he would have discovered a powerful key to seducing her away from her family.

“I would think,” he said after clearing his throat, “that after I emerged from a magical sword—a phantom relegated to corporeal form only in the darkest hours of the day—that this new revelation of my ability to read your mind would be inconsequential.”

She looked up in time to smirk at his grin.

“Can you read my mind right this minute?”

Turning her face, she watched him as if the smallest tic in his facial muscles would reveal the answer. He had not expected to slip into the images of her mind. The act, at first, had been unconscious. Natural. He’d only been listening to her, touching her, wanting to ease the regretful sound of her voice.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she was thinking right now, not when a frown was curving her lips so unpleasantly.”

Still, he squinted and tried to forge a connection. “Are you intentionally blocking me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then no, I cannot read your mind.”

“But you did,” she said. “You saw what I saw. Before, when I was thinking about you and me and if I’d lived in your time. . .”

He nodded. “I saw who you
thought
you might have been in my time, my lady, but I beg to differ. A woman of your beauty and intelligence would never have fallen into such disrepute, no matter your parentage. You are a clever woman, Lauren Cole. You would have found other means.”

“My name isn’t even Lauren Cole.”

The lost look in her eyes caught him unaware. How could a woman who wielded a sword with such skill and had nearly bested him in hand-to-hand combat only days before suddenly think herself of such little worth? Was the woman he’d met the night he emerged from the sword—the woman who’d made love with him with such abandon—but a mask for the real woman within?

The vulnerable woman?

The damaged one?

“Lauren Cole is a name Ross and I made up.”

“What was your name before?”

Her mouth quirked involuntarily into a grin, which she immediately quashed. She shook her head.

He tipped a finger beneath her chin. “Tell me.”

“Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t exist anymore. Hell, she didn’t exist back then. She was a nobody. A mistake. Lauren Cole isn’t just a persona that Ross invented for me anymore. It’s who I want to be. It’s who I’ve dreamed of being my entire life. Wealthy, powerful, sexy. Talented.”

“Then you have achieved your greatest ambition.” He moved to stroke her hair away from her face, but she started, as if afraid his touch would cause another connection into her mind. “Why, then, do you still fear the past?”

“For the same reason you still wish to avenge yours. The past doesn’t go away just because we’ve moved beyond it.”

Aiden nodded, surprised that she understood both herself and him so thoroughly. Up until now, he had not cared about her past. He’d been entirely compelled by his own.

His quest for freedom stemmed from his centuries-old need to avenge the curse and the destruction of his family. Once he’d achieved that, he would search for whatever remnants of the Forsyth line still existed. But what if no one had survived? Of his brothers, only Rafe had had a child. But with his Gypsy lineage, he would not have been entitled to the earldom. And for all he knew, even that innocent babe had been slaughtered by the mercenary army the morning after Aiden’s entrapment.

His mouth filled with the bitter taste of rage. “Tell me about your family,” he requested, hoping to offset his anger.

She scoffed. “I’m like you, buddy. I don’t have family.”

“I still exist,” he insisted. “Albeit in an insubstantial form. But my brothers were with me that day in the village. Perhaps they, too, fell victim to Rogan’s curse. I could yet find them, once I am free of my bond to the sword.”

Her smile was bittersweet. “Then you have something to look forward to that I don’t. I never knew my father. Never even knew his name. Don’t think my mother knew it, either. And I don’t have any siblings. And my mother’s dead.” She made the admissions so matter-of-factly, he silently mourned for her emptiness. “She was a drug addict.”

As she explained, he nodded, but remained quiet. Though he had not heard of the particular pharmaceutical abuses she spoke of, he’d seen soldiers misuse Dover’s powder after injuries sustained on the battlefield. The aftermath had been ugly. Soldiers who’d succumbed never truly recovered, and their families suffered for it.

“She’d tried to clean herself up after I was born, or so she told me. Got a job. A place to stay. But once I was old enough to fend for myself, she dropped back into her old life. Just before my eleventh birthday we were living out of our car. By the time I was thirteen we didn’t have even that. I was on my own while she turned tricks for drugs. I don’t know much about the time you lived, but I’m pretty sure that the child of a two-bit whore would have become a two-bit whore herself.”

Aiden inhaled deeply, his mood darkening as he imagined the dark turn Lauren’s life could have taken. “Look around you. You would not have—”

“I couldn’t have had any of this if not for Ross.”

“And this disturbs you?”

She laughed, but the sound lacked humor. “Women today try not to marry solely for financial security,” she explained. “They still do it—don’t get me wrong—but I never wanted that life. I wanted to make my own way in the world. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Aiden shifted on the couch, noting how she’d pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins. Crouching in this tiny coiner of her lavish home seemed to provide her with a sense of security. He toyed with her fingers gently, inviting her to take his hand. She did. He slid her closer to him, and for a long few minutes they sat in silence, curled together, expensive furniture and knickknacks all around them, though he knew the trappings of wealth meant both nothing and everything to Lauren all at the same time.

Since her release from the hospital, they’d been free to talk during the day and make love for most of the night. She’d told him, and shown him everything she could about the current events, history and technology that made her world so incredibly foreign. But they’d also, he realized, avoided any topics that might reveal too much about themselves. He’d told her about the curse and his family and his career as a soldier, but he’d revealed nothing about his early days as a dueling rogue, or the horrors he’d witnessed at Culloden. Those events had shaped who he might have become, had he escaped from Valoren to live and die in his own century.