SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (123 page)

At least that was the impression Hilly initially had, until Doctor Ford told her otherwise.

Doctor Ford, a terse little man with a non-existent bedside manner, had assured her the prognosis for Mr. Spencer’s recovery ranged somewhere in the ten to twenty percentile.

“With all his internal injuries, along with the concussion, if he makes it through the night there might be a chance, but you should be prepared. There’s every indication that he’s in for a challenge,” the immaculately groomed doctor had told her.

With those kinds of odds, even Dillon himself would have asked her to begin writing the obituary.

The driver of the delivery truck who’d hit him, however, had walked away almost unscathed.

The doctor’s information mostly consisted of generalities and warnings. “The authorities and Mr. Frank Spencer are handling the situation. As Mr. Spencer’s assistant, the only thing I can tell you for certain is that we’ve done everything we can. A nurse will contact you if anything changes.”

It all sounded so impersonal, as if Dillon was simply another of his many patients who were on a death watch.

Hilly had been successful in keeping her emotions in check while she was conversing with the doctor and his nurses. Dillon would expect nothing less. But watching him breathe into a tube knowing that his body was struggling to stay alive, she couldn’t help but pray and weep for him.

At one point during the late afternoon, she had phoned Dillon’s housekeeper, Martha, and told her to prepare his black, pin-striped Armani suit, a white Dior shirt, and his Italian red silk tie with the two white diagonal stripes . . . in case the worst should happen. The suit preparations were in line with the document she had typed up for him two years prior and had officially filed with his legal Last Will and Testament.

Of course, Martha had wept. Hilly couldn’t tell if she was weeping for Dillon or because she might soon be out of a job. From all reports, he was as demanding of Martha as he had been on his employees in the office. Dillon was a perfectionist, and everything in his house reflected that elusive trait, down to the orderliness of his refrigerator, his cabinets and his closets. Hilly only knew this because she’d been in his house several times, and while helping herself to a soda she saw how the cans and bottles were lined up in rows in the separate soda fridge according to type. The same went for his overly organized cabinets, and his color coordinated closets.

But whatever the reason for Martha’s overflowing emotions, she seemed more concerned over Dillon’s condition than his own father had or his loving fiancée.

As daylight weakened and the night grew longer, Hilly became more and more fatigued. She had spent the better part of the day contacting clients and other parties of interest about his accident, suggesting alternatives that Frank had put into place for them. She’d taken little catnaps on the hard-backed chair, but now those catnaps weren’t enough.

“You should try to get some rest, Ms. Thompson. Nothing more you can do here,” Nurse Deidre suggested as she checked in on a comatose Dillon. Hilly knew she was right. It was well after midnight, and it had been a very long and emotionally draining day.

“You’ll call me if there’s any change?”

“Sure will. Just leave your info at the nurses’ station,” she said and walked out of the room.

Hilly rose and stretched, her muscles tight as she realized she hadn’t been out of that chair for the past three hours. She’d been working on her laptop taking care of Dillon’s loose ends now that he was . . . struggling.

“You need to get better. You need to come out of this,” she whispered as she gazed down at him, sliding his hair off his forehead. On impulse she gently caressed his cheek, something she had imagined doing countless times before, but never thought it could possibly ever happen.

His skin felt warm to her touch, almost as if he was running a slight fever.

The man never had a chance, essentially growing up without a mother and having Frank the Tank—a nickname she’d given him because he liked to roll over people—for a father. Sure Dillon had the good looks: coal black hair, a chiseled nose, dark brooding eyes, and a strong chin, and he worked out incessantly so his body was all buff and muscle, but in the office he never let go of the self-righteous persona, not even for a moment. He was all about winning the next case, pleasing his father, and generating money.

Still, she’d secretly always held out hope he had a soft underbelly and one day he would let it shine through—or why else would he have a picture of his beautiful mother on his desk? Somewhere under all his bravado was a little boy who missed his mama, she was sure of it.

If this was truly his end game, he would die never letting anyone see the little sweetheart his mother knew.

“Really a pity,” she told him, as she raked her hand through his hair, combing it back off his face. “Some people deserve one more chance to make it right.”

Hilly sighed and gathered up the large plastic bag that contained his personal things. Just as she did, something fell out. She bent over and picked a beautiful blue sapphire ladies ring hanging from the silver chain. She was about to drop it back in the bag when she decided to slip it around Dillon’s neck, instead.

“I don’t know who this belonged to, but if you carried it with you, or wore it under your shirt, it must be important to you. Maybe it will bring you some comfort.”

She carefully fastened it around his neck and tucked it under his hospital gown, thinking it must be against the rules to wear jewelry, but hoping no one would spot it for a day or so. She patted the ring as it lay over his heart, hoping that somehow he would know it was there. And just as she was about to move her hand away, a bright blue spark shot out between them, sending a warm tingling sensation through her body.

For a few moments, she couldn’t pull her hand away and panic began to set in. Then just as quickly she felt the release. The spark had been so intense she thought it hadn’t caused one of his machines to short circuit. When she gazed up at them everything seemed normal enough, except that his pulse had increased slightly, but then settled down again as she watched the tiny screen.

A deep sense of optimism swept over her.

“I don’t know if you felt that,” she whispered as she gently ran her fingers down his cheek. “If you did, don’t be scared. It wasn’t anything but a little static electricity. Nothing to worry about. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Feeling as if her own pulse had sped up, she turned away from him and shook off the sensation. Then she shoved her laptop in its bag, and made her way out of the room, down the hall to the elevators which lead to the parking lot of Valley View Hospital. As she walked, she blamed the entire spark incident on her fatigue and decided she probably dreamt it while she dozed on a chair. Things like that just didn’t happen in real life.

Still, she couldn’t help feeling everything was going to be all right now.

* * *

At first, Dillon thought he was experiencing an earthquake. The ground shook or something shook him, he couldn’t be sure. The jolt gave him a prickly sensation in his hands and feet making him warm all over. But even more disturbing was the fact that he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He had a hard time concentrating and an even harder time recognizing the woman who leaned over him. And why was he lying down? Had he fallen?

Nothing made any sense.

The last thing he remembered was boarding a jet, a rather small jet, to go . . . somewhere. But where?

The one thing he knew absolutely was that he needed to meet Molly Brown. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember why or how he knew her. Was she his girlfriend? Was she the girl who now leaned over him?

He didn’t know.

First off, did he know his own name?

Dillon Spencer.

That part he could remember. He was thirty-four years old or was it thirty-five? No, he was thirty-five because he had recently celebrated his birthday or did he celebrate a birthday for someone else? He remembered roses, two dozen roses he’d sent to a woman on the phone who knew him. But who was she? Molly Brown? He felt as if his brain was made out of Jell-O, all squiggly and clear.

He decided to slow down. Obviously, something had happened to put him in this confused state and in order for him to figure things out he needed to take his time. Go easy. Relax. Try to focus on something positive.

Coffee. He remembered that he liked coffee, but everything else seemed to be locked inside a heavy fog. He figured he must be suffering from amnesia.

Did that really happen to perfectly normal people?

And, better still, was he normal?

“Oh God, who am I?” he said out loud, but the girl talking to him didn’t respond. Instead, she touched his face, and at once he knew she cared about him, truly and deeply cared.

How could he know that?

Could he read her mind?

He knew her name: Hilly Thompson. He tried to think of how he knew her, but his thoughts were like a dandelion flower dancing in the wind. He couldn’t pin down anything.

Did he love her? Did she love him?

Then who was Molly Brown?

He wished he could remember and just when he was about to ask Hilly a question, she vanished.

Things were moving too fast, as if time had no meaning.

Now, he was alone in a darkened room with beeping noises and other strange sounds. A sensation of intense pain began to overcome his thoughts. He didn’t like it, didn’t like being prone, didn’t like the pain, and he especially didn’t like being alone so he tried to pull himself up.

Nothing happened.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t control his body. It seemed as though his thoughts and his body resided in two different worlds. They were two separate entities.

A profound sensation of dread stole his emotions and engulfed his entire being. A feeling so powerful it overwhelmed him. He stopped all movement, and focused instead on calming himself, wanting to make all the bad thoughts disappear.

He focused on Hilly Thompson.

A Shadow at Twilight: Chapter Three

Once settled in her SUV, and about to turn the key in the ignition, Hilly realized that driving the hour and a half back to Breckenridge was out of the question.

What she needed was an interim room, a room she could use for the night. She felt confident that once his dad and the rest of Dillon’s family arrived, she would be allowed to continue with her vacation.

At least that was the plan.

The easiest course to take, without having to go searching for lodging in the middle of the night, would be to use Dillon’s room at the Hotel Colorado. After all, he wasn’t using it. A bit callous perhaps, but she knew Dillon would think it was perfectly reasonable. She typed in the hotel info on her phone’s GPS and followed the directions.

Within minutes she pulled up to the historic hotel that now lay under a soft blanket of snow. Not exactly the type of place she would have expected Dillon to frequent, but perfectly acceptable to her way of thinking. She was curious to see the room Dillon requested each October for his yearly vacation.

Although she had made the reservation, she never took the time to check out the hotel figuring it was simply another of the many upscale modern designs much like all the other hotels she’d booked for him over the years. She didn’t know much else about his personal life other than his consistency with this hotel, and his insistence that it be suite six-sixty-one or nothing.

Now, walking up to the obviously historic hotel with its dual bell towers, she realized she knew even less about Dillon Spencer than she first thought.

As soon as Hilly walked into the hotel lobby she fell in love with the comfortable Victorian feel of the dimly lit, expansive room. Polished oak adorned the massive staircase, and the impressive dual mantels on either side of the sitting area. Colorful carpeting led to the oak front desk with a backdrop of a black eight-foot high safe that appeared as if it had been sitting there ever since the hotel was originally built. The hotel was exactly the opposite of everything she knew about her boss. Never would she have imagined he would walk into such a charming hotel, much less book a room each year.

Hilly walked right past the front desk and spotted an elevator on the other side of the staircase and instantly realized the elevator only went up to the fifth floor. Dillon’s room was on the sixth floor, so she backtracked to the oak and marble front desk to ask the night clerk.

A middle-aged woman with a kind smile and bright red hair greeted Hilly as she approached. “Can I help you?”

Not wanting to get into the details of Dillon’s accident, Hilly simply said, “I’ll be joining Mr. Spencer. Could you please tell me the location of room six-sixty-one?”

Hilly had already e-mailed the hotel from the hospital parking lot that she would be joining Dillon Spencer. Her name was on the room along with Dillon’s when she’d originally booked it, and she’d found his room key among his things.

“Certainly, but I’ll need your information first, for our records.”

“Not a problem.”

“Have you stayed with us before?” the woman asked. “If you have, I can simply look up your information. It might go faster. You seem very tired.”

“Believe me, I wish I had, but unfortunately, no. I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“Then welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay as much as Mr. Spencer seems to. He’s so courteous. The staff just loves him.”

Hilly blinked at the woman a couple times, thinking perhaps she hadn’t heard the correct name.

“That’s Mr. Dillon Spencer, from Los Angeles,” Hilly explained, certain the woman had him confused with someone else.

“Yes, that’s him. Lovely man. He’s been staying with us for the past ten years. We think of him as family.”

“Dillon Spencer.” She then spelled out his last name, just to be sure. “This man is ‘family’.”

“Sure is. A real sweetie pie.”

Hilly chuckled at that one, but the woman seemed oblivious and went on with inputting Hilly’s information. She’d heard Dillon referred to as a lot of things, but ‘sweetie pie’ was absolutely not one of them.