Dead Perfect

Page 11

But it was too beautiful a day to fret about a future she couldn’t change. She felt too wonderful to lay about any longer.
Bounding out of bed, she took a shower and brushed her teeth. Famished, she ate a big breakfast, then went out the front door to fetch the morning paper. After refilling her coffee cup, she headed out the back door, intending to sit outside, enjoy a second cup of coffee and get caught up on the latest news.
She frowned when she stepped into the sunlight. Squinting against the brightness, she went back into the house for her sunglasses. Funny, the sun had never bothered her before.
Sitting in the chaise lounge, she scanned the front page of the paper. In all her life, she had never taken the time to read a newspaper from beginning to end.
“I could get used to this,” she murmured as she turned the page.
The sun felt good against her skin. Laying the paper aside, she leaned back in the chaise lounge and closed her eyes.
Deep in the bowels of the house, Ronan stirred.
“Shannah.” He murmured her name, heard it echo within the confines of his resting place.
She was sitting outside, dozing in the sun.
Lying there, drifting on the edge of oblivion, he felt what she felt, smelled what she smelled. He felt the touch of the sun caress his skin for the first time in over five hundred years. Here, safe in the darkness of his lair, it had no power to harm him. He was free to bask in its warmth vicariously, without pain or fear. An in-drawn breath brought him the scent of trees and grass and sun-warmed earth. Birdsong filled his ears, something he had not heard in centuries. He licked his lips and tasted the coffee she had been drinking, the bacon and eggs she had eaten for breakfast, tastes that he had forgotten long ago.
With a sigh and a faint smile, he surrendered to the darkness that dragged him down into oblivion.
It was late afternoon when Shannah woke. Returning to the house, she tossed her sunglasses on the table, then sat down and tried to study the list of possible questions Ronan thought she would be asked. It hit her all of a sudden that in just a few weeks, she would be in New York City or Los Angeles pretending to be a successful romance author. People would interview her.
She would meet Ronan’s readers. What if she said or did something to embarrass him or his agent or his publisher?
Why had she ever thought she could pull off such a charade? He needed someone with acting experience, someone outgoing and self-confident. She was shy around strangers, quiet even with her family. She would tell him that she’d changed her mind when she saw him tonight. A glance at the window showed that it was almost dark now. He would be there soon.
The thought of telling him “no” filled her with apprehension and she decided to put it off as long as possible. Hurrying up to her bedroom, she changed clothes and left the house, determined to eat dinner at a nice restaurant for a change.
She had just ordered and was sipping a glass of raspberry lemonade when Ronan slid into the chair across the table from her.
Shannah almost choked on her drink. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might like some company with your dinner.”
“How did you know where I was?”
He shrugged. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, I think it does.” She frowned at him. “And that reminds me, how did you find my apartment the other night?”
“I followed you home.”
She shook her head. “No one followed me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. No…” She frowned. She had been certain that no one had followed her that night, but she could have been mistaken. But he hadn’t followed her tonight. She was sure of that. He hadn’t even been home when she left. “How did you…?”
“Did you forget you have an appointment tonight?”
“What? Oh! I did!” she exclaimed. “Are we late?”
“You have time to have dinner.”
“Are you sure? I need to change. What should I wear?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”
The waitress brought her dinner a few moments later.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Shannah asked.
“No.”
She ate quickly, aware of his presence across the table, of the way his dark eyes watched her, like a cat at a mouse hole. She should have told him she had changed her mind when he sat down, she thought, told him she couldn’t pretend to be Eva Black, that there was no way she could remember everything, no way she would ever be able to convince his editor or his readers that she had written all those wonderful books.
She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Maybe she would tell him later, at home. Yes, that might be better, since he was sure to be angry. Best not to cause a scene in a public place.
She would tell him on the way to his house. She couldn’t let him spend good money on photographs that would never be used.
A short time later, he paid the check and they left the restaurant. During the ride home, she tried to rehearse what she would say to him, but she couldn’t seem to form her thoughts coherently, not when he was sitting so close, when she could feel his gaze like a physical caress on her face, when his presence made her heart beat fast.
Inside the house, she crossed her arms over her breasts and took a deep breath. “Ronan, I’m flattered that you think I could…”
“Shannah, we don’t have time for that now.” Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward the staircase. “We’re going to be late as it is.”
“But I can’t…I’m not…”
“Later,” he said.
With a sigh of exasperation, she hurried up the stairs. Fine, it wasn’t her fault he wouldn’t listen. As for the photographs, maybe she could buy one or two for her parents so the night wouldn’t be a total waste of time. It might make a nice gift, a nice portrait for them to remember her by.
She decided on a navy blue knit dress and matching heels. It was dressy yet casual. She applied her makeup carefully, brushed her hair, took a last look in the mirror she had bought. And frowned. She hadn’t really looked at herself lately; now she was surprised at how well she looked. Her skin had a healthy glow, her eyes sparkled, her hair was shiny. She had never looked better. A little beacon of hope flared inside her. Maybe she wasn’t dying, after all.
Doctors had made mistakes before.
Ronan nodded his approval when she went downstairs.
“Are you sure I look all right?”
He nodded. “Trust me. You look good enough to eat. Are you ready to go?”
She nodded, though she wasn’t ready at all.
The photographer, Ed Dewhurst, was waiting for them when they arrived.
After welcoming the two of them, Dewhurst bade Shannah sit on a white wicker love seat. He arranged his camera, the lights, tilted her head at an angle, just so, and began taking pictures.
He shot her sitting up and reclining, smiling and looking pensive. He shot her in front of a variety of backdrops and colors. He draped a long white silk scarf around her neck and turned on a fan so that the ends of the scarf blew softly behind her.
Ronan stood out of the way, careful to avoid the large mirror that was set in the corner of the studio. He could see that Shannah was nervous and ill at ease. Her smile was tight, her whole demeanor declared she was uncomfortable in front of the camera.
Shannah tried to relax, but it was impossible. She felt silly posing this way and that way, and worse, she felt like a fraud. Finally, she glanced beseechingly at Ronan. His dark eyes were watching her every move. It should have made her more self-conscious; instead, she forgot all about the lights and the camera and the photographer. She posed for Ronan, her gaze on his face, her body yearning for his touch. She imagined his mouth on hers, his arms holding her close, closer.
“Perfect,” Dewhurst said, quickly snapping one picture after another. “Beautiful. Yes, yes. That smile! Wonderful!”
A short time later, he put his camera down and turned off the lights. “That last roll,” he said, nodding, “you’ll be pleased with those, I’m sure.”
“How soon can we see them?” Ronan asked.
“The proofs will be ready by next week.”
“We don’t have time for proofs,” Ronan said. “I want to see finished pictures as soon as possible.”
“That’ll cost you extra.”
“Just do it.” Ronan shook Dewhurst’s hand, then led Shannah out of the studio.
“I think it went well,” he said as they walked to her car.
“Do you? I felt…”
He looked at her. “What did you feel?”
She shook her head. At first, she had felt silly, posing as if she were somebody, but then she had looked into Ronan’s eyes and she had posed for him, wanted to look pretty for him. “Never mind.”
“Tell me, Shannah. What did you feel?”
“Pretty,” she said, ever so softly. “I felt pretty.”
“And you were,” he replied. “You are.”
Looking into his eyes, she believed him.
But later that night, lying in bed, she found herself wondering yet again how he had found her apartment and how he had known where she was having dinner.
The next week flew by. The flowers she had hoped to plant in the garden were forgotten as she spent practically every minute memorizing possible questions and answers and reading Ronan’s books. To her amazement, it grew easier and easier to memorize the answers. Even more amazing was the fact that she could recite long passages from all of his books. She wasn’t sure why, but she had never gotten around to telling him she had changed her mind.
He removed the password from his current work in progress and she read it avidly not once but twice. Shannah was certain it was just her imagination, but the heroine seemed an awful lot like her, and not just her physical description.
Her dreams were filled with lusty images that could have been taken directly from his books.
She had never had such dreams before. Dark dreams that left her restless and yearning for his touch, that made her wake in the middle of the night, his name on her lips, her hands reaching for him.