Moonlight (10 page)

Navarre stared at her, mesmerized by her youth, her beauty,
the innocence in her clear blue eyes. Her hair, loosed from the coil at her
nape, fell well past her shoulders and he had a sudden urge to run his hands
through the silken tresses, to press her body to his and feel her warmth. Her
skin would be soft and smooth, vibrant with youth. Her blood would be as sweet
as her lips. Even from here, he could smell the life flowing through her veins…

The hunger, kept under tight control for centuries, rose up
within him, clawing at his vitals with fingers of flame.

He felt the prick of his fangs against his tongue and he
cursed softly, looking away lest she see the bloodlust that was surely glowing
in his eyes.

Adrianna blinked. Feeling as if she had been freed from some
sorcerer’s spell, she shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

He lifted one black brow. “Walking.”

“You walked here from Cliff House?” she exclaimed. “But that’s
almost ten miles.”

Navarre shrugged. “It’s good exercise, good discipline.”

“I see,” Adrianna replied, though she didn’t understand at
all. “Would you…would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.” He clenched his fists, suppressing the
hunger raging through him. “It’s late. I should be going.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Perhaps. Good night, Miss Grant.”

“Good night.”

He turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come,
knowing he had to put as much distance between them as possible, knowing that,
for his sake, and hers, he must never see her again.

Navarre knew she was there before he opened the door. He had
sensed her presence even before he came downstairs.

He opened the door and her nearness filled his senses. She
wore a v-necked pale blue sweater, black slacks, and sandals. Her hair fell
down her back in a thick braid. Navarre took a deep breath, inhaling the
mingled scents of soap and skin that were hers and hers alone.

Adrianna smiled uncertainly as Navarre stared at her. She
had every right to be here, she assured herself. It wasn’t as if she was coming
to see
him
. After all, the man owned a business, and she was a customer.
The fact that his place of business was also his residence didn’t mean a thing.

But it did. She had spent all day Sunday trying to convince
herself that she didn’t care a fig about the man, or what he thought. She had
invited him to share her company twice, and twice he had refused. She didn’t
have to be hit over the head; then again, maybe she did, because she had come
here directly from work, not even going home long enough to grab something to
eat.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Adrianna pasted a smile on
her face and stepped over the threshold.

She felt Navarre’s gaze on her back as she walked into the
spacious front parlor.

“Anything I can help you with?” he asked, coming up behind
her.

“No,” she replied brightly. “I’m just browsing.”

She didn’t have the courage to face him, certain he would read
the lie in her eyes. But she could feel his nearness. The sheer size of the man
was overpowering; his masculinity made her limbs tremble and her insides ache
with longing. It had been madness to come here, she thought, but she was here
now, and she’d just have to make the best of it.

Trying to ignore his presence, she wandered around the room,
pausing to study an oak hall tree, a three-tiered mahogany table, an old school
desk, complete with inkwell. But no matter where she was, she was aware of
Navarre. He stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his broad chest, one
ankle crossed over the other. Once, when she slid a covert glance in his
direction, she could see him staring at her, his gray eyes narrowed.

He held her gaze for a long moment and she felt the heat
climb into her cheeks. She wasn’t fooling him for a moment, she thought. He
knew exactly why she was there. All she could do now was bluff her way through
and make as hasty and dignified an exit as possible.

Reaching for the first thing that came to hand, she picked
up a shaving mug emblazoned with the words “Buck’s Barber Shoppe” and asked the
price.

Adrianna heard the amusement in Navarre’s voice as he named
a price, but the words themselves didn’t register. He was wearing black again,
she noticed. Black jeans and a faded black
Phantom of the Opera
t-shirt
that hugged his broad shoulders and chest like a second skin.

“Shall I wrap it up for you?” he asked.

Adrianna blinked, startled to find him standing directly in
front of her, wondering how he had crossed the room without her even being
aware that he’d moved.

She stared up at him, transfixed by his stare. “What?”

“The shaving cup. Shall I wrap it up for you?”

She looked at the object in her hand as if seeing it for the
first time. “Oh. No, no, I…I was…no.”

“Why did you come here today, Adrianna?”

She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips, at the
husky sound of his voice. “Why?”

Try as she might, she couldn’t draw her gaze from the web of
his stare. “Because, that is, I…”

She took a deep breath. Lying had never come easy to her,
but she was prepared to tell a whopper now, anything to make him stop looking
at her like that, as if he knew her every thought, her deepest, most intimate
secrets.

She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she was looking
for a gift for her boyfriend, but Navarre’s eyes were fixed on hers—fathomless
gray eyes that delved into the nethermost regions of her very soul.

“Adrianna?” His voice was harsh, demanding the truth.

“I came to see you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

But he knew. Throughout the centuries of his life, women had
been attracted to him, seduced by the dark power he possessed.

“Go home, little girl. Go home before you get hurt.”

His voice was as soft as the first spring rain, as intimate
as a lover’s caress.

Adrianna swayed toward him, drawn like the tide to the
shore. “I’m not a little girl.”

“Aren’t you?” His throat felt thick, so thick he could
scarcely speak.

“No.” She tilted her head back, the better to see his face,
parting her lips to give him ready access to her mouth.

Navarre gazed into her eyes, and in their clear blue depths
he saw sunshine on a summer day, the ocean at rest beneath a cloudless sky,
lovers entwined on a sandy beach.

Her nearness enflamed his senses, senses that were sharper,
stronger, more discerning, than those of a mortal man. Her nearness was
intoxicating, her scent as alluring as the Siren call of the sun.

Muttering an oath, he lowered his head and covered her mouth
with his.

Heat coursed through him, firing his blood, chasing away
endless centuries of loneliness. Unable to resist taking her in his arms any
more than he could resist the blood hunger that kept him alive, he pulled her
into his embrace, gathering her body against his.

Her body fit to his as though she had been sculpted to his
measurement. Her breasts were warm and firm against his chest, her hair fell
over his arm in a waterfall of honey-gold silk. She sighed as he deepened the
kiss, her breath fanning his cheek, fanning his desire. He could feel the rapid
beating of her heart, smell the blood that flowed in a crimson rush through her
veins.

His response to her touch, her nearness, was immediate and
obvious. He expected her to pull away, to scream for help, to slap his face and
declare he was a cad.

She did none of those things; instead, she wrapped her arms
around his neck and drew him closer, her tongue darting out to touch his, a
little moan of pleasure rising in her throat.

What insanity was this, he thought as his tongue delved
deeper into her mouth. Was she mad, or was he?

Common sense demanded that he put her from him, that he send
her away, but the need to hold and be held was stronger than logic, more
compelling than reason. He couldn’t let her go, not now, not when she felt so
good, so right, in his arms.

He could only imagine what would have happened next if he
hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps in the foyer.

With a muttered oath, he put Adrianna from him and took a
step backward.

“Go home, Miss Grant,” he said, his voice like sandpaper
over steel. “Don’t come here again.”

Before she could think, before she could argue, he left the
room. A moment later, she heard his voice welcoming another customer.

Giving herself a mental shake, Adrianna squared her
shoulders and left the house, determined never to go back.

* * * * *

That night, her dreams were filled with drifting shadows,
images without form or substance. She heard a voice calling to her from out of
the shadows, a deep voice, filled with the loneliness of a thousand lifetimes.
It was a sound of such sadness that her heart ached with compassion, and even
though she knew she shouldn’t wander into the shadows, even though she knew
that danger lurked in the swirling mists of darkness, she felt impelled to
follow the sound of that voice.

Abruptly, she found herself adrift in a sea of blackness.
Too frightened to move, she searched for a light, any light at all, and then it
was as if a movie screen unfolded before her eyes. A barrage of images
flickered before her: images of a man in a cage, of a woman with devil-black
hair and eyes. Another woman replaced the first, her green eyes filled with
love and fear as a tall, dark man rose over her. There were scattered images of
ancient castles and kingdoms, of time passing, of a man buried deep in the
earth, a man who was not dead, but sleeping.

Adrianna screamed as the blackness dissolved into a warm red
river that pulsed with the very essence of life. Nausea rose up within her as
the blood engulfed her, filling her mouth and throat, mingling with the blood
in her own veins, until she was drowning in the scent and the taste and the
texture…

She woke with a cry on her lips. Still caught in the terror
of her nightmare, she sat up and flicked on the bedside light. But it wasn’t
enough to chase away the terror that engulfed her and she bolted out of bed,
running through the house, turning on every light in every room.

As she passed the living room window, she felt an
overwhelming urge to look outside. Heart pounding with trepidation, she pressed
herself close to the wall and peered into the darkness.

At first, she saw nothing and then, as her eyes adjusted to
the night, she saw a dark figure lurking in the moon-dappled shadows beneath
the old oak tree at the end of her driveway.

She blinked, and he was gone, leaving her to wonder if she
had imagined it, or if she had truly seen Navarre staring back at her.

Navarre turned away, blending in to the night as he headed
toward home. He had known from the beginning that going to her house would be a
mistake, but he had been unable to stay away. Knowing he must never see her
again, he had nevertheless felt the urge to be near her one last time, and so
he had gone to her home in the dead of night.

Standing in the shadows, he had given free rein to his
senses as he focused on Adrianna. In his mind’s eye, he had seen her sleeping
in her bed, seen her as clearly as if he stood in the room. She slept on her
left side, one hand pillowed beneath her cheek, her hair like a splash of gold
paint on the white pillowcase. He had inhaled and drawn her fragrance into his
nostrils, into the very essence of his being—absorbing the smell of her
shampoo, her toothpaste, the soap she had bathed with, and, overall, her own
musky, feminine scent.

Knowing it was wrong, he had probed her mind, curious to
know what dreams kept her company while she slept. He had been unprepared for
the link that had formed between them, startled to discover that, even as he
was probing her thoughts, she was somehow delving into his. Scattered images of
his past lives had been woven into her dreams, though she had not been aware
that it was his past she was dreaming about. And then, before he could close
his mind to hers, before he could erase the growing horror that filled her mind
like a dark plague, she had come awake with a scream on her lips.

And still he had lingered in the dark, waiting. He had seen
the lights go on in every room of the house, and then he had seen her peering
into the darkness. Their gazes had locked for one brief instant, and then he
had turned away, feeling as though he had left a vital part of himself behind.

* * * * *

By morning, Adrianna had convinced herself it was all just a
bad dream.

She got ready for work, ate a quick breakfast, and left the
house. She paused at the end of the driveway, staring at the old oak tree where
she had imagined she’d seen Navarre. She moved to stand under the tree, felt
her skin prickle as if she had received a mild electric shock.

Alarmed, she jumped onto the sidewalk, then glanced up and
down the street, wondering if anyone had seen her behaving so foolishly.

Clutching her handbag in a death grip, she hurried up the
driveway, opened the garage door, slid behind the wheel of her car, and drove
to work.

She still felt a sense of pride when she saw her name on the
door. She had bought the bookstore a year after she graduated from high school.
For Adrianna, it had been a dream come true, made possible by the inheritance
she had received when her great-grandmother passed away. Still, it had been
scary, going into business when she was only nineteen. But it had been good for
her, giving her a feeling of self-confidence she’d never had before.

Sitting in her office helped put everything in perspective.
She had met a rather odd man. She’d had a scary nightmare, and that’s all there
was to it.

Adrianna heaved a sigh as she opened her account book. It
was time to put the night’s foolishness behind her and get down to business.

But, try as she might, she could not put Navarre from her
thoughts. No matter how often she pushed his brooding image away, it sprang
right back again. What secrets was he hiding behind those fathomless gray eyes?
Why did he keep such peculiar hours? Why had he kissed her with such passion,
and then sent her away with a warning never to return?

What did the V stand for? She had the most peculiar feeling
that if she could discover his first name, she would unlock the mystery that
was Navarre.

Like a sleuth on the trail of a killer, she went to work.
She called her friend, Nancy, who worked at the DMV and asked her to check
Navarre’s records.

“V. Navarre,” Nancy said a few minutes later. “Says he was
born in New Mexico on September first, nineteen seventy. He’s six-foot, four
inches tall, has black hair, gray eyes, weighs two hundred and twenty pounds.”

“Yes, that’s him,” Adrianna remarked. “Thanks, Nancy.”

“Why the sudden interest in this guy?” Nancy asked. “I’ve
never heard you mention him before.”

“Nothing, just curious.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Honestly, Nancy. I just wondered if the V stood for
anything.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Because I’ll probably never see him again.”

“Navarre? Navarre? Say, isn’t that the name of the guy who
owns the antique store out on Old Piney Branch Road?”

“Yeah. I bought a bed from him last weekend.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. Listen, I’ve got to go.”