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Viveca drifted outside to the back yard. Tonight the mists
were lighter than usual, the setting quite serene. She inhaled
the sweet potpourri of nectar on the night air, watched moonlight
dust the roses and magnolias and strike the gazebo on the hated
Maxwell Beecher's property. All at once she felt unbearably
sad, thinking of all she had lost in her life, all she would
never have here in this new, alien environment. She had lost
the love and companionship of her parents, and would never know
the love of an ardent, vital man.
The distant, gaslit gazebo seemed to mock her, bringing poignant
memories of San Francisco--of Hill Park at sunset, of ships at
harbor, the fog on a winter night, fireworks in the summer, moonlight
gleaming on the lily pads at Golden Gate. She could almost see
a laughing couple dancing on a far pavilion as in those earlier
festive days.
It took Viveca a long moment to realize that she actually was
looking at a couple dallying in the gazebo--a ghost couple
in diaphanous evening clothes. Fascinated, she stepped closer
to the shocking yet mesmerizing scene. Nebulous but discernible,
a man and a woman glided about in a mist of lacy shadows and
glittering moonlight. Bodies locked, they spun in a sensual
embrace, their soft laughter echoing in the night, her hair trailing
after them like a wistful cloud. Closer and closer they waltzed
and whirled, becoming more and more defined as they converged,
sparkles of light glimmering on their wispy, gossamer clothes.
And just above the delicate trill of laughter and the droning
of cicadas in the night, Viveca could hear the strains of "The
Lorelei," played on some distant, celestial strings, the
tune so sweet and poignant it made her throat ache.
Good heavens, it was the couple who had haunted her bath, the
doomed lovers she'd seen in the painting. Alex Fremont and his
Lorelei, the woman he had killed for, twirling through the eternity
of the night. Once again the emotion, the sense of connection
she felt on viewing the tragic pair was heartrending for Viveca.
Without even realizing it, she ventured closer, ever closer.
And then their dance began in earnest.
Viveca watched, captivated, as the man lifted the woman high
in a pirouette, then slid her down against him; with a moan of
delight she locked her body around his. Viveca's mouth went
dry as she realized what was happening. Together they spun and
glided, dipped and lifted and cavorted, all the while singing
out their love, like the ethereal music of heaven. At last they
reached a crescendo, their sighs mingled, and then they melded
in a flash of brilliance, like multi-colored lightning. Afterward
only a haze of smoke lingered, the embers of a love well sated.
Viveca stared at the emptiness, unable to believe what she had
just witnessed. It had been brazenly carnal yet unbearably sweet.
Worst of all, she had been a part of it. She ached inside--ached
with frighteningly intense, shameless desires. She was lost,
bereft, and in a moment of weakness she might normally forestall,
she succumbed to tears, and finally, to heart-wrenching sobs.
How could the restless spirits be so cruel, yet so utterly bewitching?
A long moment passed before she heard a man's voice wryly ask,
"Ready to cry uncle now, are you?"
Viveca whirled to see the hated Maxwell Beecher standing just
a few feet beyond her, his thick dark hair framing his face,
his handsome though cynical features outlined in moonlight.
He wore no jacket, and his white dress shirt again lay rakishly
open, revealing a dark thatch of hair on his muscled chest.
Viveca was in no mood for his mockery. In a fit of pique, she
responded, "Oh, why don't you just go to hell?"
He whistled and stepped closer. "My, but you're in a feisty
temperament tonight."
Viveca recoiled as the sexy scent and enticing heat of him raised
even hotter twinges in her already painfully aroused belly.
"Have you any more comments on my character, or will you
leave me in peace?"
"Leave you in peace, must I?" he mocked. "My
dear, you're again trespassing on my property--and I haven't
even shot you as yet, may I point out."
Though sorely tempted to smile, she retorted, "You may take
your property and go choke on it."
He actually grimaced. "Good Lord, woman, what ails you
tonight? Obviously, living on Lost Lane has not at all improved
your disposition." He nodded toward her house. "Speaking
of which, I'm still willing to take that monstrosity off your
hands."
"If you must know, it's being in your presence that sours
my disposition, Mr. Maxwell Beecher," she shot back. "As
for your buying my property, my answer remains no."
He smiled nastily. "Too set on snaring my pious cousin
to consider moving, eh?"
Viveca had been expecting this. "Were you spying on us
tonight?"
He gaze a shrug, belied by the tension in his shoulders. "I
heard Aubrey's buggy pull up earlier this evening." His
voice deepened with an undeniable menace. "Didn't I warn
you to stay away from him?"
She balled her hands on her hips. "Haven't you figured
out by now that your dictates hold not the least bit of sway
over me?"
He advanced angrily. "So you think you've nothing to fear
from me, eh?"
She held her ground with a sneer. "Other than having to
abide your obnoxious presence as my neighbor? No."
He loomed even closer, eyes blazing. "You know, you're
a clever little minx, Miss Stanhope, but you're not too sly for
me. Don't you forget that I can see beyond your snooty façade,
that I know what you're really about inside-"
"And what, precisely, is that, sir?"
"This."
Too late, Viveca glimpsed the passionate intensity in Maxwell
Beecher's eyes. A split-second later she was hauled forcefully
against him and kissed, thoroughly, punishingly. She tried to
resist him. But her every nerve ending was already on fire with
a voracious sexual thirst that had been building for days now.
When his tongue brazenly sought entrance to her mouth, she beat
on his back with her fists, fighting him, fighting herself.
Still, he was so determined, so strong . . .
So hard, so warm, so sensual . . . Ultimately, the strength and
heat of him against her, the torrid intimacy of his kiss, made
the longing inside Viveca burst into fiery flames of need. She
felt her defenses melting away in the flood of erotic heat pulsing
through her. Panic assailed her--she felt dangerously close
to succumbing to him, yet somehow the feeling was too glorious
to resist.
Copyright  2006
by Eugenia Riley.
August 2006 * Love Spell Lead
Paranormal Romance * ISBN 0-505-52652-2* $6.99 U.S.
To Order This Book
call 1-800-481-9191 (U.S., Canadian and Foreign Customers) between
the hours of 10:00 a.m. and 9:00 p.m. E.S.T. Mon-Fri. |
