In the Dead of Cold Page 2

  “Miss Smyth, is it?”

  He sounded as if he needed to test out her name.

  Jane couldn’t answer for a long moment. She was too caught up in the look she saw in his eyes. Although his eyes were gray, not blue as the creature she’d tangled in the alley with, they still held the same I’d-love-to-devour-you look. She shuddered. But this shudder wasn’t from fear; it was with need.

  Despite her snow-soaked wet clothes, her breasts were hot, pressing against the tight lace of her bra. It was hard to breathe. And while her panties were wet from snow and freezing rain, her crotch was warm. Very. “I think I’ve made a mistake,” she said, almost more to herself. She turned from him. Why was this so hard? She should be able to talk to Graham Masterson for thirty seconds, tell him of the danger she’d foreseen, and be finished by now.

  “Wait, please, Miss Smyth.” He reached out before she could distance herself from him and grasped her arm.

  “Don’t…” She couldn’t let him touch her. She was too exhausted, too vulnerable, and too wounded to experience even the slightest vision that often came with touch. But then she stopped.

  His warmth and more moved through her with his touch. Inviting, alluring, beckoning, she recognized his familiar feel from the dreams she’d shared with him. It flowed through her. She felt as if she could melt and be nothing more than a puddle on the floor by his Italian shoes. She’d expected coldness. He was, after all, a vampire. Weren’t vampires supposed to be cold as death? That’s what the myths stated.

  Well, this one wasn’t.

  Mr. Drummond’s touch made her skin sizzle.

  And the rest of her…

  She should pinch herself to make sure she was still awake and not sharing another dream with him. With just his touch and his body heat, her body responded as it did every night. Her pussy sparked to life like a bear awakened from hibernation—starving, needy, and searching for instant satisfaction.

  Her lower belly tightened, and her nipples itched for freedom from her bra. He let go of her suddenly, as if her arm burned his hand, making her wonder what he felt. The absence of his touch sent a shiver through her. It left her confused. She stared at his mouth for a moment—too long, since he noticed. But she couldn’t help it. She was certain any moment, his fangs would grow—like the one she’d left in the alley had—and he’d bite her. She forced down a swallow. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  She backed away from him. She needed to leave, even though she had no idea where she’d go.

  “Don’t go.”

  His soft words flowed over her like a warm breeze. Hearing his voice, Jane’s legs grew heavy, and she couldn’t take another step.

  “Please…I should go.” But oh, she wanted to stay. She knew from her dreams how perfect his arms would feel, holding her close. She needed to feel them now. She told herself she owed it to Graham Masterson’s wife to face her fear long enough to give her warning. Mr. Drummond could tell him. He was, after all, Mr. Masterson’s top security man, as Jane had learned from his touch.

  “But the snow’s coming down like crazy. If you go, you won’t get even a mile down the road. Besides, you look like you need help.”

  His words confused her. He would help her? She knew if they were together in a dream, he would help her. It was as if he mentally called to her, compelled her to stay. He no longer touched her. It didn’t matter. Jane was positive he somehow held her fast and refused to let her move. “I need…” With him so close, forming a coherent sentence was impossible. She had known about Graham Masterson. She had known about this man. She had hoped whoever Tim had called wouldn’t be a bloodsucker. Ha. She should have known better. Mr. Drummond was one. She knew that. Still, he wanted to help her.

  “Ella Masterson’s in danger. Can you warn her husband?”

  “Let me help you, Ms. Smyth.”

  His voice sounded so much like the voice he used in their dreams. With the way he focused on her and not what she’d told him, it was so easy to imagine him saying more. Let me help you remove your clothes. Let me touch you. Let me taste you. You’re so beautiful. You’re so tight.

  Jane blinked, and her mind cleared a little. Enough for her to know this was no dream. Her heart raced, and she drew in a deep breath. She was hot all over, despite her uncontrollable shivering. “Call me Jane.” She felt as if she knew him well enough to be on a first-name basis. After all, last night he had put his fingers inside her and touched her soul.

  “Jane Smyth? Seriously?”

  Jane bit down on an impatient reply. “Yes. It’s my name, but spelled with a y.”

  “Oh. Come with me, please.”

  She thought of all the nights of wild passion, the walks through the woods, the lake excursions in a canoe, picnics beside streams, sleep outs, and making love under the stars she’d shared with this man. In all her dreams, he was nothing more than a compassionate lover, no matter how hard or fast or slow he fucked her, no matter how much he made her scream and cry while he tickled her clit with his tongue, or how often he explored any or all of her orifices with his probing fingers.

  In two years, he had shown her time and time again how to have orgasms in her sleep. Since then, she hadn’t been able to even go out on a date, much less fuck or even kiss another guy.

  Yet, she knew there was more than perfect, soul-searing sex dreams when it came to Mr. Drummond. Even now, she couldn’t help thinking about the vision she’d gotten when he’d brushed against her in a hotel elevator in Texas two years ago. In less than a heartbeat, she’d also been given a nightmare vision that he was a vampire. Her knees started to shake. She told herself it was from the adrenaline rush. He could not be a dangerous vampire. He just couldn’t. Not with all the amazing things they’d shared together in dreamland. Besides, a few seconds ago when he’d touched her, she had seen nothing dangerous, and she’d only felt his warmth. She sucked in a breath in an effort to ignore her sudden need to unbutton her blouse and press her naked skin against his hard chest.

  She stared at him for a moment and tried to forget the vision she’d seen so long ago, the one that had shown him to be a monster. Think of the dreams you share with him. Think of how his hands play over you like you’re the finest instrument ever made. The man before her, the man of her dreams, couldn’t hurt her.

  But the monster in him could hurt her, kill her.

  That was what she’d seen in her vision, and what she worked to ignore.

  “I’ll take you to see Mr. Masterson.”

  Jane had never felt so torn in her life. She needed to see Mr. Masterson. She also needed to keep her distance from the man in front of her. Her heart raced again, and she worked to swallow the lump in her throat. Fear or no fear, she followed as if he controlled her steps. Another shiver moved through her with the memory of the way he’d touched her the night before.

  Cold fear slithered up the back of her neck at being alone with him, awake. This was not one of their nightly dreams.

  He led her to a quiet area in the hall a short distance away. “I’m in charge of security for Mr. Masterson.”

  “I know.”

  “Would you care to tell me why you need to see him, and what warning he needs? While you’re at it, you can tell me who did this to you.”

  There was an unmistakable note of authority to his voice as he looked her over, and Jane thought she detected anger in his last sentence.

  She was done. She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Someone is after his wife and wants to kill him.” And wants to kill me too. “But everyone would rather waste time instead of taking me to see him. I thought he should know.” She turned to leave.

  He reached out to touch her arm again. Perhaps one touch hadn’t been enough for him either. Perhaps he needed to convince himself she was real.

  Jane stepped back and almost stumbled in an effort to get out of his reach. “Don’t touch me.”

  “You know I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

  Did she rea
lly? Her dreams told her one thing; her vision of two years ago told her something different. “Please keep your hands off me. Don’t ask me why. And if you aren’t going to take me to see Mr. Masterson, then I need to find a room.” A few minutes with Mr. Masterson would be all she needed—and all she could endure. Her energy was spent. She was so tired she could hardly think.

  “Please. As you can see”—she spread her hands wide—“I pose no threat to him. I have no weapons. But you’re welcome to check my bag if you wish.” Jane almost bit her tongue, since she’d told him one of the biggest lies of her life. She did have a weapon—an unseen weapon. However, she wasn’t planning on using it on Graham Masterson. She indicated the large bag she’d draped over one shoulder and across her body. She was amazed it was still there.

  “All right. I’ll take you up to him.” He pulled out his cell phone and told someone they were coming up. He led her to the nearest elevator, and they entered. They were alone. Once the door closed, he grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. She gasped.

  “If this is all some plan to get to him, if you’ve lied to me at all, I won’t be very happy.”

  She didn’t tell him what she felt, what she saw when he touched her. The feelings, thoughts, visions were all mixed up and jumbled together, coming at her in blinding flashes and in complete contrast to her having felt only warmth a few moments ago. She felt his anger. Although it was an uncontrollable animal, chewing through his gut, it wasn’t directed at her. His tension stretched tight through him. His worry for her was a cloud of fog that swallowed him. And was it her imagination, or did his teeth change? Did he sprout instant fangs that turned normal again in a flash? Jane couldn’t be certain. He might say he’d never hurt her, but could she believe him? She shivered and tried to pull away. He was hesitant to let her go.

  Then her confusion doubled as she saw his goodness. She also saw the conflict in him. His want—his very need—to hold her close and offer the safety of his arms was overwhelming, like an assault that took more of her energy. He was angry at whoever had hurt her. He wanted to lash out, punch the wall.

  The idea of pressing the Emergency Stop button flashed through him like lightning. And he wanted her back against the wall while she wrapped her legs around his waist and he fucked her hard and fast before they reached the top floor. His want touched her with the sudden intensity of a burning ember. It left her head swimming. He released her arm as if he knew that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to fight the need to pull her into his embrace and make the thought reality. His touch left her skin tingling, and Jane felt weaker now than she had after her attack in the alleyway less than an hour before.

  She fought the urge to step closer to him, as if her body, her skin, craved his closeness and her soul longed to meld with his. Being close to him is the only safe place.

  Hell, what was wrong with her? She’d never before been so conflicted. He was like a fire, warm and inviting. But she knew if she got too close, she’d burn to ashes. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall as the elevator rose to the top floor. She locked her knees to keep them from shaking. Exhaustion gripped her. She hoped she had enough strength left to tell Graham Masterson what he needed to know.

  What if he didn’t believe her?

  His wife would be in trouble, that’s what.

  When she looked up again, she found herself caught in Mr. Drummond’s gaze. His expression had softened, but his eyes were still hard.

  “And after you’ve told Mr. M. your dire news, you will tell me who did this to you.”

  Another shiver moved up her back at the coldness in his voice. She had never heard icy, killing hatred come from him. When he spoke to her in the dreams they shared, he was nothing but warm and loving or light and laughing. Then, of course, if he whispered in her ear and his words were filled with passion and desire, the sound of his voice could make her hot and wet. His whispers in her ear could make her come. The coldness, the hatred she heard right now…it sent shivers through her.

  The door opened into what looked like a foyer. There were two solid oak doors ahead of them with a small table on either side, each holding a plant. Mr. Drummond started to take her arm. She stepped out of the elevator before he could touch her. Her legs tingled as if she walked on pins and needles. Her wet clothes clung to her. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. She held the towel as if it were her lifeline. A tornado of feelings swept through her—a mixture of hot from the man beside her and cold from her wet clothes and the fear that she was now stepping in a pit of vipers.

  Mr. Drummond reached in front of her and opened one of the doors, leading her into a grand office. Deep, sea-green carpet, a large, intricately carved desk, comfortable plush chairs, a sofa, and a well-stocked bar took up one end. There was also a fireplace with a beautiful oak mantel. Flames poured from the gas log, filling the room with warmth. Jane fought the urge to move closer, to hold out her hands and let the fire send its heat through her. Above the mantel were two swords set in a crisscross position, their intricate handles pointing at the ceiling, their edges appearing sharp. At the other end of the huge room was a round conference table that reminded Jane of one that King Arthur would have used. All in all, the office was larger than some apartments Jane had lived in.

  Graham Masterson’s picture had graced the front cover of three separate magazines just this month, so Jane had no difficulty recognizing him. With his dark hair and black eyes, he was a looker. But she was too tired, cold, and uncomfortable to notice or care. Not that she would anyway, since her dream lover stood beside her. She forced down a swallow and stepped into the office. There were four other men in the room, each sitting at various locations. She recognized defense tactics when she saw them.

  Graham Masterson stood. “Thank you for bringing her up, Milo.”

  Now she had a first name to go with her midnight lover.

  Milo. Milo Drummond.

  She glanced over at him and found he watched her.

  “Ms. Smyth?” Graham Masterson extended his hand to her.

  Jane stepped closer to him but didn’t reach out. “You can call me Jane.”

  He got the message and put his hand back on his desk. “Of course.” His words were polite. “Please sit down.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He nodded, another polite gesture. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “Perhaps after we’ve talked.” She grasped the back of the chair in front of her in an effort to stay on her feet. Milo took the towel she still held.

  “I understand you’ve refused the assistance of the hotel doctor. May I suggest you change your mind?”

  “I don’t need a doctor.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “I came to help you.”

  At her words, he raised a brow. “And how is that?”

  Jane licked her lips before she spoke again, but it didn’t ease her fear. “I was at the bookstore in town earlier. There was a man there. I don’t know if you know him. But he knows you.” She felt trapped in his endless gaze.

  Graham tilted his head in question. “Does he have a name?”

  “All I know is a first name—Bart.”

  When she said his name, the men behind her shifted and stood, on alert. Jane turned and glanced at them. Her gaze swept past Milo. He had dropped the wet towel on a nearby chair. His hand was now tucked under his other arm. Obviously, he had a gun holstered there and had his hand on it, ready. Yes, these men knew Bart. Well, Jane had to confess that after her encounter with him, she’d react the same way. So much for Milo saying he wouldn’t hurt her.

  Graham was the only man in the room who appeared calm, at least everywhere but in his dark eyes, which glistened with anger and hate. Was I wrong to bring this to him?

  “What can you tell me about Bart?”

  Graham’s question was subtle, but Jane could hear how he forced himself to remain calm. “He plans to kill you.”

  “And he was in Silvia’s Bookstore
on Maple Street in Royal Peak?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know his plans?”

  “It’s not important.” She didn’t need to waste time explaining her ability. “What’s important is stopping him from using your wife as bait to kill you so he can keep her for himself.” She knew it sounded blunt, but there was no other way to convince him. And considering the horrific experience she’d had with Bart, her words were rather sugarcoated. Jane clenched her jaw again, this time to fight off a yawn.

  Should she continue, or should she leave? Had she told him enough?

  She remembered the way Bart had looked at her, and she decided to take the leap. “And I don’t need a doctor, but I would ask for your assistance.”

  “What kind of assistance?”

  “Well, Bart’s not too happy with me right now. I’m not lying about his wanting to kill you. I think you top his list, and my name’s right below yours. I’m asking for your protection.”

  “Perhaps you should talk to the police.”

  Jane couldn’t hold back the next yawn. “Excuse me.” She met Graham’s gaze again. “I know what you are and what you’re capable of.” Just as she knew about Milo Drummond before she’d known his name. “I also know what Bart is. I know you—and others around you—are the only ones who can protect me from him.” But who would protect me from them?

  His eyes hardened. “What do you know?”

  She had so hoped she wouldn’t have to explain things. There was so little time before fatigue overcame her and she was nose level with the carpet. “I know you’re a vampire, with greater strength and speed and endurance than any human.”

  He chuckled as if he thought that was a silly idea.

  Jane didn’t smile.

  He stopped laughing abruptly. “How do you know?”

  “I learned it from one of your men.” She gripped the chair harder. Her knuckles turned white. She stared at Graham to keep from glancing at Milo and giving away the identity of her informant.

  Graham sat up straighter, and his eyes narrowed. It was his first sign of emotion. Anger.