A Whisper Of Eternity (2 page)

He spent a pleasant few minutes admiring her long, shapely legs, the smooth, golden tan of her skin, the way her ponytail swished back and forth. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion. Her blood was warm from the run, the smell of it stronger than the faint scent of her perspiration, the ocean, or the salty air.

When she was only a few yards away, she slowed to a walk. He sensed her trepidation at finding herself alone on a deserted stretch of beach at night with a strange man. As far as she knew, he didn’t belong here. This part of the beach was private, reserved for the few homes spread out on the cliff above.

As he drew nearer, she stopped walking. He could hear the fierce pounding of her heart as she looked him over, trying to decide whether or not she was in danger.

“Good evening.” He offered her a benign smile. “Lovely night for a stroll.”

“Yes.” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her shorts. He saw her hand clench and he wondered what sort of defense she carried in there. A can of Mace, perhaps, or pepper spray. He watched her summon her courage.

“I’m afraid you’re trespassing,” she said, her tone cool but not unfriendly. “This is a private beach.”

“Yes, I know. I have a house nearby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know that. I’m new here myself.”

He extended his hand. “Dominic St. John.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in his. “Tracy Warner.”

His fingers curled lightly around hers. It was then that he felt it, a sharp jolt of recognition as his essence brushed against hers. A thrill of excitement swept through him. It was she, his soul mate, the woman he had found and lost countless times through the centuries. His beloved one. He had known her in many guises, by many names.

She was staring up at him. It took him a moment to realize he had fallen silent, that he was still holding her hand.

He smiled. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Warner.”

“Thank you.” She withdrew her hand from his and glanced back the way she had come. “I should go.”

“May I walk with you?”

He could easily read her thoughts by the expressions that flitted over her face. He was a stranger. It was dark. The beach was deserted. For all she knew, he could be the next Cliffside Strangler.

“Perhaps another time,” he suggested, fully aware of her apprehension.

She hesitated briefly, then said, “I’d be glad for the company, actually.”

“Afraid of the dark, are you?” He asked the question lightly even though he already knew the answer. She had feared the dark in every life.

“Just a little,” she admitted.

She turned and started walking back the way she had come. He fell into step beside her, aware of the subtle warmth radiating from her body, the floral scent rising from her hair and skin, the slow, steady beat of her heart. He drank in the sight of her, the line of her throat, the delicate shape of her ear, the faint flush that lingered in her cheeks.

“Have you lived in Sea Cliff long?” she asked.

“Yes, for years.” More years than she had been alive in this body.

“It’s lovely here. I couldn’t believe my luck in finding a house near the beach, even though it was quite a bit more than I planned to spend.”

“Nightingale House has been for sale for quite some time.”

Startled, she looked up at him. “How do you know that’s where I live?”

He smiled to put her at ease. “It’s the only house that’s been up for sale recently.”

“Oh.” She laughed self-consciously. “Of course.”

“What do you do for a living?” he asked.

“I paint. Landscapes and seascapes, mostly. What about you?”

“I’m retired.”

“Retired?” She looked up at him and frowned. “You don’t look old enough to be retired.”

You would be surprised
, he thought. Aloud, he said, “I made some good investments when I was very young. Now I live off the interest.”

“Must be nice.”

“Very.”

They stopped side by side when they reached the long flight of wooden steps that led up to Nightingale House.

“Thank you for walking me home,” she said.

“Shall I see you to your door?”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.” She started up the steps, paused, and turned around to face him again. “Would you like to come to dinner tomorrow night at, say, five o’clock?”

“That is a bit early for me,” he replied. “How about a movie later instead?”

“All right. What time?”

“I will call for you at seven-thirty.”

“I’ll be ready.” She smiled. “See you then.” With a wave of her hand, she turned and started up the stairs again.

He watched her go, admiring the gentle sway of her hips, the graceful way she moved. When she was out of sight, he dissolved into mist and followed her home.

Materializing in his basement lair, he dropped into his favorite chair. A wave of his hand started a fire in the hearth. Sitting back, he grinned in mild amusement as he stared at the dancing flames.

He had a date for tomorrow night.

Tracy hummed softly as she plugged in the blow dryer. She couldn’t help noticing that her hand was shaking, or deny the butterflies in her stomach. She told herself it was just a case of nerves. After all, she hadn’t had a date in the last five months, not since she’d broken up with that creep, Richard. She’d had plenty of offers, but until she met Dominic St. John, she hadn’t been ready to get on the dating merry-go-round again.

Even as she tried to convince herself it was perfectly normal to be excited at the prospect of going out on a date with someone new, and a wickedly handsome someone at that, she knew she was just kidding herself.

There was something intriguing about Dominic St. John, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that made her skin tingle with both anticipation and trepidation when he was near. She still didn’t understand what it was that had possessed her to ask a complete stranger to come for dinner. She had never done anything like that before and had had no intention of doing so last night. She supposed it was the same sudden impulse that had made her accept his invitation when he suggested going out to a movie instead of dinner.

Thinking of him now, she realized that he looked vaguely familiar but try as she might, she couldn’t recall ever meeting him before. And a man like that would not be easily forgotten.

When her hair was dry, she did it up in a French braid, carefully applied her makeup, and then pulled on a lavender sweater and a pair of white slacks. And all the while, she wondered if she was making a mistake in going out with him. He seemed nice enough, but then, wasn’t that what friends and neighbors always said about the boy next door who turned out to be a serial killer?
He was such a nice boy. Never caused any trouble
.

Tracy shook her head. She was really letting her imagination run wild this time! She hated this part of dating, hated the “getting to know you” stage. Some of her girlfriends thought that was the fun part, but not Tracy. She had only had three serious relationships since she graduated from college and each one had lasted just over a year.

Danny had been a great guy, but the longer they went out together, the more obvious it was that they had nothing on which to build a lasting relationship.

Joe had also been a great guy, warm and sensitive and easy to love. She should have known he was too good to last. Just when she had been expecting a marriage proposal, he had entered the priesthood.

And then there had been Richard. He had wined her and dined her and made her feel like the most wonderful, beautiful woman in the world. Unfortunately, she discovered that he was feeding the same line to her best friend and four other girls.

Leaving the bathroom, she glanced at the clock on the small antique oak table beside her bed. Only time would tell whether Dominic was saint or sinner, but whichever he was, he was going to be here in less than ten minutes.

Slipping on a pair of low-heeled white sandals, she went downstairs into the living room. She turned on the stereo, flicked on the porch light.

She loved this room, she thought, glancing around. Her furniture had arrived yesterday morning and she had spent the day arranging it. The white wicker sofa and chair brightened up the room considerably. The pillows were covered in a variegated blue print. An antique oak bookcase held a number of books and videos. Several dragons—some she had bought for herself, some that had been gifts—decorated the mantel. Her entertainment center took up most of one corner. The next time she went into the village, she would look for an area rug to put in front of the fireplace, and another one for her bedroom.

A knock at the door sent her stomach plummeting down to her toes. He was here.

 

 

Standing on the front porch, Dominic sensed the woman’s inner tension even before she opened the door.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

“Good evening.” He handed her a bouquet of two dozen long-stemmed, blood-red roses.

She looked up at him, unable to hide her surprise, or her pleasure. “They’re lovely,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

She turned and started toward the living room. Noticing he wasn’t behind her, she said, “Please, come in.”

Stepping over the threshold, he followed her down a short hallway into a large, well-lit room.

She gestured at the sofa. “Make yourself at home, won’t you, while I put these in water.”

He smiled his thanks, then wandered around the room, taking in the changes she had made, and liking them. Perhaps he should ask her to redecorate his underground lair, he mused, running his hand over the back of the white wicker sofa. Her taste in colors and fabrics ran to bright and cheerful, while his seemed to be mostly dark and dreary.

He turned as she entered the room and placed a crystal vase on the mantel. The scent of roses filled the air.

“They’re beautiful,” she said again.

“They pale next to you,” he replied, and meant it.

The flush that rose in her cheeks at his compliment was most becoming.

She was exquisitely lovely in a lavender sweater and white slacks. Her hair was again in a long braid down her back, which afforded him a delicious view of her slender neck.

The blush in her cheeks deepened under his warm regard.

“Shall we go?” she asked.

With a nod, he moved to the front door and opened it for her, then followed her out of the house.

Tracy’s eyes widened when she saw the sleek black convertible parked in the driveway. “This is yours?”

He glanced at the car. “Is it not to your liking?”

“No, no, it’s . . . it’s gorgeous.”

“I have another if you don’t care for the color, or the make.”

She looked up at him, wondering if he was serious. His face gave nothing away.

“What color is the other one?”

“Red.”

“This one is fine.”

He opened the door for her, closed it when she was comfortably seated, and walked around to the driver’s side.

Tracy watched him slide behind the wheel. He moved like no other man she had ever seen, his every movement fluid.

He slid the key in the ignition and the engine came to life with a low purr, like that of a jungle cat.

Tracy looked out the window. Small talk. She had never been any good at it. She glanced at Dominic out of the corner of her eye. He was not a handsome man, at least not in the Hollywood pretty-boy sort of way, but he was still gorgeous, with his long black hair, finely sculpted features, and intense gray eyes. He wore a black sweater that emphasized the width of his shoulders and a pair of black jeans that accented his long legs. He exuded an aura of strength that she found both comforting and intimidating.

“You said you were an artist,” he remarked. “Are you working on anything now?”

“A rather large landscape for the reception area of a law firm.” She studied his profile, thinking she would like to paint it.

The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than he asked, “Do you also paint portraits?”

She shivered. Was he reading her mind? But that was impossible—it was merely a coincidence. “I do portraits occasionally. Dogs and cats, too, when I need the money,” she said with a smile. “You said you were retired. What line of work were you in?”

“I have tried my hand at many things over the years,” he said evasively.

“Like what?”

He plucked one from memory. “I was a night watchman for a while.” He didn’t tell her it had been during the reign of a king now long forgotten, or that he had been charged with keeping watch over the queen’s chamber.

“You didn’t get rich being a night watchman,” she retorted with a grin.

“Didn’t I?”

“Did you?”

He smiled faintly. “Not in the way you mean.”

“What else have you done?”

“Many things, but I would rather talk about you.”

“There’s not much to tell,” she said with a shrug. “I graduated from college, I have a job that I love.”

“But no husband,” he said quietly. “No children.”

“Not yet. I don’t seem to be very lucky at love.”

“So you wish to marry?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

His gaze lingered on her face. “When she says yes, I will marry her.”

“Are you engaged?” she asked, clearly alarmed to think she might be out with another woman’s fi-ancé.

“No.”

He stilled the other questions in her mind with a thought. Now was not the time for her to delve into his love life, or ask questions he did not yet wish to answer.

He pulled into the parking lot behind the theater a few minutes later and switched off the ignition. Exiting the car, he came around to open the door for her. She put her hand into his and slid out of the car. Her skin was warm against his.

He locked the car and they walked around the corner to the theater. He bought two tickets and they entered the lobby.

His nostrils were immediately assaulted by myriad smells: buttered popcorn, candy, lemonade, cheese, hot dogs, onions, mustard and ketchup, the overwhelming scents and emotions that clung to the people milling in front of the counter, making him wonder why he had ever suggested a movie. It had been years since he had been to one; now he remembered why.

He reminded himself to ask her if she wanted something to eat, was grateful when she declined.

Entering the theater, they found two seats near the back. Moments later, the theater went dark and the previews came on.

Dominic concentrated on blocking everything from his mind save for the woman beside him. In moments, his senses were swimming with her essence. The scent of her hair and perfume teased his nostrils, the heat radiating from her body chased away the coldness that was ever a part of him, and the touch of her arm against his . . . ah, just that mere touch thrilled him beyond measure. Tracy. He closed his eyes, reveling in her nearness.

“Hey, did you fall asleep already?” she asked, a smile in her voice. “The movie hasn’t even started yet.”

The sound of her voice warmed him like the sunshine he had not felt in a hundred lifetimes. Opening his eyes, he smiled at her. “No, I was only . . . enjoying the moment.”

“Oh.” It was obvious she did not understand, could never understand.

The movie started a few moments later.

She watched the film.

He watched her. She had a very old soul. His mind touched hers and in doing so, he found memories of other times and other places buried deeply in her subconscious, memories of lives she had known and forgotten. She had been a dancer in Jerusalem when Herod was king, a queen in an ancient land during the Crusades, a member of a sultan’s harem, a witch in Old Salem. She had lived as a slave in the days of the Roman Empire, been a schoolteacher in the Old West, a doctor in a small African village, a freedom fighter in Israel. He glimpsed images of her as a widowed mother sending her only son off to fight in the War Between the States.

He saw it all clearly in her mind, and in his own. Time after time, he had found her throughout the ages. In each life, he had been at her side when death was imminent.

Time after time, he had offered to give her the Dark Gift.

Time after time, she had refused.

Tracy was fully aware of Dominic’s scrutiny. She felt his gaze resting on her face, felt almost as if his eyes were burning into her heart, piercing her very soul. Once, foolish as it sounded, it seemed as though she felt his mind inside her own. But that was ridiculous. Impossible.

Frightening beyond words.

And yet, for a short space of time, her mind had been filled with strange images of distant lands. Even more inexplicable was that she had seen herself in a number of foreign places. She tried to remember each one, but it was like trying to hold on to a handful of water—as soon as she got close, the image trickled through her fingers.

But the most frightening thing of all was the last image she had seen, the only one she clearly recalled. She had seen Dominic lying in what looked very much like a crypt of some kind, a tomb lined with cold gray stones.

With a shake of her head, she thrust the disquieting images away. When the lights came on a short time later, she realized she had missed most of the movie.

Dominic rose and offered her his hand in a courtly manner. When she took it, he drew her gently to her feet and they followed the crowd out of the theater into the lobby.

He was still holding her hand as they walked to the parking lot.

“Did you enjoy the film?” he asked.

She nodded, hoping he wouldn’t want to discuss it, since she had little recollection of the plot.

He held the door open for her, then walked around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel.

She was not in the mood for small talk as they drove home and neither, it seemed, was Dominic.

She stared out the window, her thoughts turned inward as she tried to remember the images that had flashed through her mind. Whatever had prompted such bizarre memories? Memories! That was impossible. She had never been a queen, yet she clearly remembered the huge old castle, the stone floors covered with rushes, the faded tapestries hanging on the walls, the long trestle tables laden with meat and cheese and hard brown bread, the knights who had carried her colors in the lists. She remembered being waited upon, her every wish a command. She placed one hand on her stomach. She had never had a child, yet she remembered the excruciating pain of childbirth, of lying at death’s door. And Dominic had been there! He had knelt at her side, clinging to her hand as he offered to give her life . . .

She shook the thought from her mind. What foolishness was this? She didn’t believe in reincarnation or ghosts or . . . vampires.

A chill ran down her spine.

She was glad when Nightingale House came into view. This was reality. And yet, looking at it, she thought again that it looked like a place where Dracula might comfortably reside, and hard on the heels of that thought came the notion that the house seemed far more suited to Dominic than to herself.