This Time Next Year (2 page)

Like pray.

***

Moira stood outside the suite, staring at the cream-colored keycard emblazoned with the Castillo Albany logo in her trembling hand.
What am I doing here?
The urge to kill Tandy almost forced her back downstairs.

She’d balked once before getting into the shower. After all the disappointments, all the times she’d woken alone, she feared no one would be able to handle her. She wanted to be as full of life as Tandy, vibrant, a force that drew all the attention in a room. Instead, she cowered in the corners, away from prying eyes that might see her broken and scared. At art shows, she’d stand in the dim light clutching a glass of champagne and watch her best friend work the room. No one noticed her, and she liked that.

Tonight she’d be alone in a room with someone who’d
wanted
to meet her. Someone who’d looked at her bio and found her interesting, maybe even alluring. She shook her head. Alluring didn’t describe her. Tandy, yes, Moira, no. But Tee had reassured her, at least twenty times, that Madame Eve screened all the applicants. No psychos, especially of the fanged variety.

Suppressing a shudder, she slid the keycard in the lock.
No turning back now
.

When she opened the door, the sweet fragrance of roses tickled her nose. A bottle of wine rested on the counter, but the room was empty. “Hello? Anybody here?”

She swallowed and set her purse next to one of the wine glasses, feeling like she’d entered the beginning of a horror movie—the stupid chick opening the wrong damn door and getting eviscerated by the psycho killer.

Her heart pounded in her ears, and she flushed with warmth, chiding her overactive imagination. She had to trust Madame Eve. No serial killers lurked in the shadows. No crazy vampires wanted to make her dinner.

As her brain settled down, she focused on picking lint off her dark blue button-down. Tandy had tried to make her wear a low-cut, geometric-print dress and sky-high heels, but she didn’t want to oversell herself, or give him the wrong impression. So, work clothes it was—dark slacks, flats, and minimal makeup. After seeing the suite though, she wondered if she should’ve at least done something more with her hair.

Her heart fluttered from anticipation and fear. Regardless of how well the night went, she couldn’t sleep there; if the sex was even passable, she’d scare him off with her nightmares, and she didn’t want to wake up alone if she didn’t go to sleep that way. Waking up to one more abandonment would send her over the edge.

The night couldn’t be about rejection, couldn’t be about hurt and anger and bitterness. She had to let it go until dawn.

A rustling to her left alarmed her. The door to the bedroom opened, revealing the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. A pang of remembrance speared her heart, but she didn’t know him. Maybe a foot taller than she, he had a slender build, broad shoulders, lean legs, strong arms. He possessed an old Hollywood appeal, like someone had ripped him from the 1920s and crow-barred him into a dark pair of jeans and fitted black T-shirt. He wore his dark hair slicked back from his sculpted square-shaped face; stubble lined a strong jaw that could probably cut diamonds. But his eyes, deep-set and lined with dark lashes, demanded her attention. Despite the dimness of the room, they almost…glowed.

She licked her lips. Heat spread through her and pooled uncomfortably between her thighs. Christ, how long had it been since she’d even been aroused?

He stepped into the full light of the candles, the shadows dancing across his face, providing a kiss of warmth to his fair skin.

No, not fair. Pale.

Deathly
pale.

She’s going to bolt
. He couldn’t let her leave, not like that. Not with fear-widened eyes and trembling legs. With supernatural speed, he stood by her side in an instant. She gasped, but made no effort to talk. Good, because he needed her to listen.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I swear it.” He prayed his voice sounded earnest enough, his eyes pleading enough.

“I don’t believe you,” she choked. “Please let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Her hazel eyes glistened with tears. Her fear overwhelmed him with a scent like lilacs. That was the worst part of vampirism—the negative emotions humans experienced enticed the most.

“Because I’ve spent so long looking for you.” He refused to be ashamed by the crack in his voice, not after he’d spent almost two decades searching and not finding, drowning his sorrows in other women, hoping to forget her. But he could never get her beautiful eyes out of his mind, and no one else could make the ache in his heart go away.

Recognition settled over her features. Her eyes flashed green with pure hate.
Oh, please, please don’t
….

“You asshole.” She slapped him harder than he’d expected, but he didn’t even flinch.

“I deserve that.”

“A fucking stake is what you deserve.” Tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. “Did you arrange this so you could finish me off?” She stepped back from him and reached for one of the taper candles.

He couldn’t let the night fall apart. “I protected you,” he said. “I kept you safe.”

Kept me safe?
Moira almost slapped him again. But the image nagged at her. The second vampire she’d buried beneath the trauma, the one with soft yellow eyes, like a cat’s, staring into hers…the cool touch on her flaming hot cheek, the gentle words of reassurance.

“Oh, God!”

“Please sit.”

The vamp reached for her, but she pushed by him and beelined to the nearby sofa. As memories overtook her, she sank into the cushions and covered her throat with her hand, more tears winding down her cheeks. Broken windows had allowed in the cold wind and snow. It’d been below freezing that night, too, but her face burned from crying. Crimson, the vamp with the cruel, sharp grin and blood-red eyes licked his lips. She’d huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around her legs, knees shielding her neck. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. Petrified by fear, anything she wanted to say gurgled.

Crimson moved toward her. She couldn’t remember what he’d said, only his horrible grin and empty eyes.

Another figure stepped between them. She gasped and tucked her chin, trying to be as small as possible. They argued for what seemed like forever until the second one turned and knelt in front of her. She’d expected another pair of crimson eyes, but his were the soft golden yellow of a daisy. He reached out to touch her face and she flinched, but when he brushed her skin with his fingertips, her fear had dissipated.

Bringing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, like they’d be a barrier between him and her. Her dream. The other vampire. Her subconscious hadn’t produced a way to cope; she’d remembered him. “You kept him from killing me.”

Sitting on the coffee table, far too close for comfort, the vamp nodded.

Deep breaths failed to calm her erratic heart. “And you’ve been looking for me for twenty years? Why?”

“To atone.” The emotion in his voice forced her to look at him. Red rimmed his lower lids. His eyes were downcast, hands folded in his lap, the knuckles a stark contrast against the pallor of his skin.

“And you thought that by fucking me….”

“No.” He met her gaze. In the candlelight, his eyes glowed a deep, sensual caramel with flecks of gold. “This was never about sex for me. Contacting Madame Eve was my last resort.”

Moira snorted. “Twenty years is piss in the ocean of eternity, pal.”

“It may seem that way, but I assure you, they’ve passed with sharpness like nails. Every attempt to find you gave me nothing. I had to tell you that I’m sorry, that I’d take it all back and tell Willem to stop. I needed you to know.” He reached for one of her hands and held it between his like she was made of paper, easily shredded. Her heart threatened to stop at the contact, but the feeling of safety returned. “I learned what I am that night, and I’ve always regretted that you were my teacher.”

“I was six. Why didn’t you let Cri—
Willem
—kill me?” The name tasted bitter. She forced back a gag.

“You were innocent. I couldn’t let him hurt you. I may be a vampire, but I am still a good man….”

With the way he trailed off, she thought he had doubts. “I don’t expect you to want me. I don’t expect you to like me. But I’ve said what I came to say, and now I’ll leave you in peace. Enjoy the suite and the wine.”

He released her hand and rose. Her skin pulsed from his touch in cadence with her heart. Something more lurked beneath the awkwardness and pain. Fear clawed at her, tried to force her mind back into the night that had orphaned her, but this man, vampire or not, couldn’t hurt her. Not when he’d been the one to save her. She had one chance to thank him. She would, and he would walk away; and though the scars Willem had left in her heart wouldn’t fade, maybe she’d sleep easier.

“Don’t go.” She clamped a hand over her mouth.

“What?”

Shit. What have I done?
She
did
want him, and that made her fucked up all the more. “I’m so confused,” she whispered.

He knelt in front of her, a supplicant, his pleading golden eyes full of hope and longing. “How can I help you make sense of it?”

What could he do? She needed something concrete. Facts.
Think
.

An experiment.

Nothing she’d tried had helped her understand the tragedy or the dreams, but a simple touch had produced a sense of calm she’d never experienced. Tired of living in fear, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and prayed her experiment would give her the data she hoped for. “Kiss me.”

He couldn’t have heard that. She hadn’t said that. But all the same, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The gentleness of it stole his breath. She brushed the fingertips of one hand against his cheek, her touch as light and silken as a moth’s wings. Already he wanted more. Wanted to taste her, tease her, caress her, until nothing remained between them but bliss. Above all, he wanted to wash away the horrible memories she had of him and build new ones.

He had to keep his emotions at bay and let her take control to work out her fear. He refused to frighten her with animal need. She was the girl,
his
girl, not some random hookup he could use and toss aside. When she pulled away, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t react; his lips tingling from her heat. For a moment, he’d known completion.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He thought back to Madame Eve’s email.
If she trusts you, she will tell you her name
. He understood the power of names, and so did Madame Eve. Something insignificant to a mortal meant everything to a vampire, in whose world names were both salvation and control. Remind a vampire of his humanity, or steal it away by forcing him to do something horrific, like watching a little girl’s parents be eviscerated right in front of her.

“Kiernan Shaw.” Swallowing hard, he found his way back onto the coffee table. “And yours?”

Would she tell him her name? Would she allow him that kind of power?

She took a deep breath, as though considering the same questions. “Moira Curran.”

He rolled the name on his tongue and loved the way it felt. “Beautiful.” He reached to stroke her cheek, but she flinched. “Moira, I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Old habits, I guess.”

He nodded, unable to speak for a moment. The cloying lilac scent of her fear almost strangled him. “Why did you ask me to stay?”

“I don’t know.”

Neither did he, but he wouldn’t leave until she asked him to.

“I don’t want to be alone, Kiernan. Isn’t that pathetic?”

You’ve never been alone. Not really
.

He warmed at the sound of his name on her lips. “Not in the slightest.” His mouth watered at the thought of kissing her, exploring her, making his name come out of that gorgeous mouth again and again. He tamped down his desire. Nothing good would happen if he moved too fast. Willem had all but guaranteed him a life alone. Like he approached a scared animal, he moved next to her on the couch. She uncoiled, but didn’t relax. “Talk, Moira. Please.”

The silence hurt his ears as much as any scream.

She shook her head. “It’s too hard.” Tears spilled but she didn’t move to wipe them away.

Time to be bold, I guess
. He brushed a hand against her cheek again. Instead of flinching, she eased into his touch. “I want to lessen your hurt, however I can,” he said. “Will you let me?”

She brought his palm to her lips and kissed it. “Only if you’re still here when I wake up.”

Moira had no idea what came over her, but the earnestness in his eyes overwhelmed her. He’d protected her. For the first time ever, she felt safe, and she didn’t want to lose that, though she should have been repulsed.
He’s a vampire, one of
them. Yet he seemed different. After all her years in foster homes, she’d developed an ability to sense a person’s character. She knew who to get close to and who to keep an emotional distance from. Right then, she wanted to be as close to Kiernan Shaw as possible.

Each time he touched her, she wanted him to continue. She should’ve been trying to get away, not pulling him closer. But that kiss would dominate her thoughts for a long time.

In her mind, she declared her experiment a success; however, no self-respecting scientist would walk away without repeating it again and checking for anomalies. Deciding to slightly change the parameters, she leaned in, stroked his rough cheek, and went for it.

Her timidity disappeared, and after a sharp intake of breath, he didn’t hold back. He slid one arm around her waist, and tangled his other hand in her curls, ensuring she couldn’t pull away if she’d wanted to. She sure as hell didn’t want to now.

Though she desired more—maybe even pushed for it, she wasn’t sure—he set the rhythm to slow but passionate. A low moan of frustration rumbled in her throat. With a chuckle that sounded like a mix of surprise and genuine amusement, he deepened the kiss, but the tempo remained the same, and her attempts to change it proved futile.