He jerked his chin at the book in her lap. “Are you enjoying it?”
“Yes, very much, although I have to admit I was surprised when you killed off the housekeeper.”
He laughed softly. “Always keep the reader guessing,” he said, taking a place on the sofa. “If you kill off a major character, it keeps the reader wondering who else you might knock off before the end of the book.”
“Ah. I’ll have to remember that in case it comes up,” she said, and then frowned. “There’s so much to memorize, I know I’ll never be able to remember it all.”
“Sure you will.”
“What if I forget something?”
“Then just fake it.”
“What if my mind goes blank? What if I freeze up during one of the radio interviews?”
“Shannah, stop worrying. I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
“But…”
“If it proves to be too much for you, or you really can’t handle it, then we’ll just cancel the tour and come home.”
“Just like that?” she asked, snapping her fingers.
“Just like that.”
“You’re awfully kind.”
Ronan stared at her. Kind? He had been called a lot of things in five hundred years, but kind had not been one of them.
His gaze moved over her, lingering on her lips. What would she do if he drew her into his arms and kissed her? Would she be shocked? Repelled? Or would she kiss him back?
As a vampire, there wasn’t much he was afraid of, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being rejected by this girl-woman with her tantalizing humanity and warm blue eyes.
“Ronan? Is something wrong?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You look sort of…forlorn.”
“Not to worry, Shannah. I’m fine.”
“Good.” She yawned behind her hand. “I think I’ll go to bed. Good night, Ronan.”
“Good night, Shannah.”
He sat there long after she had gone upstairs, bemused by his growing affection for her. Funny, he hadn’t realized how lonely he had been until she came into his life.
His writing took up a great deal of his waking hours. He was hooked on the card game Spider, and occasionally played poker on the Internet. He enjoyed reading, both for pleasure and research. He spent one night a week answering his fan mail. From time to time, when he was bored, he surfed some of the online vampire role-playing rooms. He often wondered what the others would think if they knew he wasn’t playing a role.
Only now did he realize how boring and mundane his existence had become. In the beginning, he had wandered the four corners of the earth. He had explored cities, both ancient and modern. He had educated himself, gained an appreciation for art, learned foreign languages. In spite of all that, it had taken a slip of a girl like Shannah to add a dash of excitement to his otherwise dreary existence.
Later that night, when he was certain she was asleep, he went to her bedside. Biting into his wrist, he watched the dark red blood ooze from the shallow gash. He commanded her to swallow a few drops before the wound healed and then, sitting beside her, he spoke to her mind, telling her more about the books he had written, his writing habits, the names of his agent, his publishing house and his editor, and anything else that he could think of that she might need to know when they went on the road.
He sat there until the sky grew rosy with the coming dawn, content to sit by her side and watch her sleep, to inhale the fragrance of her hair and skin, to listen to the slow, steady beat of her heart. To pretend that she was his, for now and for all time. He caressed her face, bent to brush a kiss across her lips.
As the sun grew higher, he sought his lair, his senses still filled with the sweet scent of her skin, the warmth of her cheek beneath his hand. With a sigh, he sank into the darkness of oblivion.
Chapter Seven
In the morning, after a quick breakfast of toast, juice and coffee, Shannah drove to her doctor’s office. She had a standing weekly appointment, and she had missed the last three. She wasn’t sure why she had decided to keep this appointment. What could the doctor tell her that she didn’t already know?
“I’ve been worried about you,” Doctor Harper said as he wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm. “I thought…well, no matter. You’re looking quite well today.”
“I feel wonderful.”
Nodding, he watched the gauge, then removed the cuff from her arm.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Normal.” He made a note on her chart. “I see you’ve even gained a little weight.”
“Really?”
“Yes. How’s your appetite been?”
“Better than usual. And I’ve been keeping everything down!”
“Indeed? Any headaches? Dizziness? Nausea?”
“No, no, and no.”
He made more notes on her chart, listened to her heart and lungs, jotted more notes on her chart. “I want you to go down to the lab so they can take some blood.”
“All right.” Needles, she thought. She hated them.
Leaving the lab twenty minutes later, she went to Baskin-Robbins and treated herself to a double hot fudge sundae with extra whipped crème, and then she went window shopping. She made one stop at the drug store where she bought a makeup mirror, a candy bar, and a pack of gum.
Walking back to her car, she thought again how amazing it was that she felt so well. She didn’t feel the least bit tired. Eating didn’t make her sick. She was sleeping better than ever. When she realized she was squinting, she put on her sunglasses, thinking how odd it was that the sun hurt her eyes when it never had before. Maybe it was just another symptom of her illness. She would have to ask the doctor about it next week.
Back at Ronan’s house, she watched TV for a little while, then switched it off.
Going out into the backyard, she pulled weeds from the garden until her back ached, noting that, once the weeds were gone, there was nothing left.
Returning to the house, she filled a glass with ice and water and then, hoping she wasn’t violating Ronan’s trust in any way, she went into his office and booted up his computer.
Unable to restrain her curiosity, she opened a file named Fan Mail—January 2008. She whistled softly. There were over a thousand emails. Sitting back in the chair, she began to read.
Dear Miss Black—I love your books. I have them all and I’ve read each one of them over and over again. I don’t know how you do it, but you always draw me into the story from page one.