Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) (12 page)

A silence rose up between them while he looked at her lush, rounded body. When she saw where his eyes were going, she became self conscious and began tugging at the robe. Beneath his piercing gaze, it suddenly seemed too small.

Quinn saw her tugging at the garment and remembered her first night at the mansion when she tugged at the top of her nightie in an effort to hide herself from him. As he looked at her now, he stroked his chin, and wondered if she was aware that the outlines of her nipples were showing through the thin material. He raised one deeply arched eyebrow and looked at her with a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

The awkward silence between them was doing a number on Chyna’s nerves, and he had a look on his face that told her he was waiting for her to say something. She wanted to turn and run, but her feet seemed to be planted on the carpet.

Finally Quinn came around the desk and sat on the edge. Taking his time, he folded his arms across his chest, and asked softly, "You’re comfortable, I hope. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No,” Chyna responded, almost too quickly. “I just wanted to thank you for saving me from the hurricane. I would have probably died if you hadn't been there."

"It was my pleasure," he said with a look in his eyes that she knew must make women fall at his feet. "After all, what would I do for reading material if I let my favorite romance novelist die?"

She noticed him looking at her breasts as he spoke. Since he made no effort to hide his blatant appraisal of her, a sudden anger exploded within her, and her words came out in a hiss. "My face is up here, Mr. Grayson!"

His heated eyes met hers. "If you wanted me to look at your face, why did you wear such a revealing outfit into my office?"

She looked down at the robe. "This is revealing?" Sliding her eyes back toward him, her lips turned upward in a sarcastic twist. "Why Mr. Grayson, I do believe you have a better imagination than I do."

She turned and left abruptly, having to stop and hold her head when a flood of dizziness overtook her. Finally getting herself oriented, she walked as fast as she could toward the stairs. Before she took the first step, she heard a voice.

“I’m sorry. About Quinn, I mean.” The soft words reverberated around the cavernous room.

She stopped abruptly, knowing it was Kirk. She didn’t turn, instead she broke, her shoulders shaking with the pent-up tears that his tender apology had suddenly freed.

He wanted to go to her—to kiss the tears away—to somehow cleanse her of the ugliness Quinn had left with his words. But instead, he stood silent and still.

Struggling with her composure, she turned to him. “Thank you,” she said, seeing his eyes travel down her body just as Quinn’s had. Instead of feeling insulted, somehow she didn’t mind. She could see desire within their electric blue hue, but they didn’t hold the same dirt, the same explicit ugliness. While Chyna’s darkly fringed eyes dove deep into the shadow, slowly her hands released the top of her robe, and ceased the tugging of the belt that secured it around her.

“Kirk,” she began, making a move toward him. She could see part of his strong face exposed in the dappled light and shadow. He had a dimple, like Quinn’s, but the lips, instead of having a sarcastic twist, were lush. They seemed to be made for a kiss. Why did she suddenly feel a rush of excitement for a man who only revealed himself in shadows? Before the answer came—suddenly he was gone.

* * * *

Later that evening, the old widow was looking out her window, her eyes searching the troubled sky. The wind had died down considerably, which meant the storm was heading out to sea. She checked the light in the tower to make sure it continued to cast its misty glow across the water, then turned and shuffled over to her stone fireplace, warming her hands. She couldn't remember a worse season. Autumn had only just arrived and it had already turned cold and misty.

She turned when she heard a pounding on her door. When it persisted, she yelled in her usual raspy voice, "Don't knock the door down!" She shuffled toward the banging, barely opening it because of the wind.

Quinn Grayson brutally pushed from the other side, forcing his way in.

Looking up at his imposing presence, she said, "What'll it be today? A love potion, a spell? Maybe you'd like your fortune read."

Without being invited, he walked over to the fire to warm his hands. "I don't need any magic. I want your daughter."

"You bastard, my daughter's not for sale at any price."

He turned and looked at her impatiently. "That's good to know, but I had something else in mind. I'd like her to come to work up at the mansion. We need the help, and I thought she might like to earn some money."

The old widow looked over at the darkened doorway and saw her daughter shrinking back against the wall. She looked back at Quinn. "You know she's a mute."

"Yes, I know, but that shouldn't matter. She's still young and strong, and can do a good day's work, can't she?"

"She can if she wants to," the widow said, squinting at him. "She's not to be touched, do you hear? She’s never been with a man, and if you dare touch her, you'll regret it every day that you live. Do I make myself clear?"

Quinn looked over at the mousy, dirty, skinny girl, and snickered. "Please. I'm not quite that desperate yet."

"Keep your insults to yourself," she spat. "When do you want her to start?"

"The morning is soon enough."

“She’ll be there,” the widow replied.

Quinn’s eyes slid back toward the dirty girl. "For God's sake, get her cleaned up, will you? She looks like a throwaway from a kennel."

Hearing his insult, the timid girl lost herself in the dark corner of the other room. After sliding down the wall to lay on a bed made of rags, her hand slid between her legs and she closed her eyes listening to the deep, baritone voice of Quinn Grayson. She saw him kissing her on the dark screen of her mind, and her hips began to move back and forth—back and forth—back and forth—until at last a tiny, warm explosion made her gasp, and shudder with ecstasy.

* * * *

Chyna pushed her food tray away. Since Elaine wanted her to rest, she always slept late and took her meals on a tray. But today Elaine had told her that if she promised not to overdo, she could come down for meals, beginning tonight at dinner. She checked the time and got up from her bed to take the pills Elaine had given her. She had never liked taking pills, and was reluctant at first, but they really did help the pain in her head. Chyna was extremely impressed with Elaine’s medical knowledge. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing, and Chyna had learned to trust her completely, just as she would any doctor.

She lay down, waiting for the pills to relieve the throbbing in her head, but she was just too restless. She got up and paced, pausing at the veranda. Looking out, she wondered when the telephone lines were going to be repaired. She had so many people to call. People that had no idea where she was and if she was all right. She could certainly understand the delay, since the whole town had been leveled by the hurricane, but she had the feeling she was cut off from the world way up here on Cat’s Paw. She picked up a magazine, but threw it down again. She’d read it at least a hundred times, and couldn’t bear to open it up again.

“I have to get out of this room,” she muttered. “Maybe there’s something to read in the library.”

She quietly opened the door, stepped out of her room and made her way down to the wide, flowing staircase and descended it slowly. She had just reached the last few steps, and was heading for the heavy double doors to the left when her gaze shifted and anchored on a large plant she had seen dozens of times.

This time something was different.

It had been moved.

She stopped, noticing what looked like an obscure door nestled beneath the staircase. She hadn’t seen it before because it had been concealed behind the large, tangled plant. She figured it was probably a linen closet, or some kind of storage area, but when she looked down she saw several circles, as if the plant had been moved many times.

Why would anyone put a plant in such an inconvenient place?
she wondered. But she knew the answer before her mind ever formed the question.
To hide it, of course.

Apparently someone used the door often, and she was too curious to leave without knowing why. Having forgotten about the library, she walked closer, then turned her head to see if anyone was around. Seeing no one, she pushed the heavy plant aside, hearing the grit beneath scrape along the tiled floor. Wiping her slightly soiled hands on her robe, she slowly grasped the knob, and turned. The door squeaked, and the darkness she saw beyond was deep. She immediately felt a cold wind hit her in the face. It smelled of wet dirt. The steps were cracked and broken, and the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling shifted eerily in the breeze. She walked into the cold, musty atmosphere until she came to the first step, then hesitated. Was she completely sure she wanted to get lost in a maze that she knew was legendary in these types of structures? Surely it couldn’t lead anywhere but a damp cellar full of nothing but rats and spiders. She kept telling herself to turn back, but failing to heed her own warning, she continued.

She descended the narrow, winding stairs one careful step at a time. There was no rail, and the walls were made of large, roughly hewn concrete blocks. It was very dark and shadowy, and the cobwebs that hung here and there caused her to jump when they touched her. Finally making it to the bottom, she looked around.

It all seemed so familiar.

As she began walking, she knew every turn, every dark crevice, and every shadow that loomed up before her. She thought she heard something and jerked her head around. A chill crept up her spine when she thought she saw a shadow chasing her. Just then she looked up and saw the little square chamber just ahead. She began walking energetically, the light material of her house robe flaring out all around her in the musty, self-made breeze.

When she got there she looked behind her and saw nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, she realized her imagination had been playing tricks on her. Her eyes darted around the little square chamber and saw nothing but a door of steel bars. It was then that everything began to fall into place. She remembered seeing a pair of burning eyes watching her from within the deep recesses of the mansion.

In there,
she thought as she looked beyond the bars into the dark chamber. She found the window, then looked beyond it to where she had been standing that night—in a dream.
Quinn had been there,
she thought.
She’d seen him on Cat’s Paw watching her. But the eyes. They’d been in that room, looking out. Imprisoned—captured—struggling—wanting to escape—to be free.

Had it been Kirk she saw?

A flicker of apprehension flickered through her.
Surely Kirk wouldn’t live in such a place,
she thought as she looked around the room full of shadows.
It was a lair for a monster—a beast—not a man.
What was wrong with him that he had to live in the basement, stand in shadows. She slowly crept up to the door and rattled it, then looked down to see if there was a latch of some kind. She saw one, but when she tried it, it wouldn't give.

She heard something and her head jerked up.

"Hello! Is someone in there?"

"Go away."

Chyna felt chills crawl up her arms when she heard Kirk’s deep, raspy voice.

“Kirk,” she whispered. “Is that you?”

"Just go away."

"Please…"

"I said, go away."

“Kirk, please let…” Suddenly Chyna jumped back when he threw a large shoe against the barred door.

Looking down at it, she saw that it was smeared with blood. "Oh, God,” Chyna asserted, a note of panic in her voice. “Are you all right? There's blood on your shoe. Do you need help?"

"I don’t need anything. Now, go."

Chyna backed away in fear. "I'm sorry,” she said, her voice small and trembling. “I thought… I…just wanted to know…if…maybe you needed help." Hearing nothing but silence, Chyna bit her lip wondering if she should go. Before turning away, she said, “Kirk, won’t…”

A raspy, tortured voice came out of the darkness. “What the hell do I have to do to make you leave? You want to see me, is that it? Well, here I am. Take a good look." All at once he jumped forward from out of the shadows, his horribly disfigured face looming before her. Chyna was so surprised by the abrupt movement, she could only stand there looking into a ghastly face made worse by the shadows from the dim light that slashed into every deep cut and puckering scar. The gaping slices that zigzagged crazily across his face looked as if a mad artist had tried to destroy his masterpiece. A scream immediately burst from her throat as she turned and ran flying up the steps.

She quietly opened the door, stepped out of her room and made her way down to the wide, flowing staircase and descended it slowly. She had just reached the last few steps, and was heading for the heavy double doors to the left when her gaze shifted and anchored on a large plant she had seen dozens of times.

This time something was different.

It had been moved.