CHAPTER NINE

August 16, 1998

"Therapy's over for tonight, kid," Meghann said to Jimmy and closed Please Kill Me, a book about the birth of punk during the seventies. "I've gotta get ready for the big night out with Charles and Lee." Earlier that evening, her friends had surprised her with a slinky black sheath they'd bought at Versace and an invitation to go dancing, Charles insisting it was high time Meghann found herself somebody.

Of course, she reminded herself guiltily, Charles still didn't know that "somebody" had already volunteered his services as suitor or about the wild rides through the desert and occasional dinners she'd hardly discouraged. Meghann could not begin to imagine what Charles's reaction would be when he found out that it was becoming more and more of a temptation to give Simon a second chance.

Though Meghann hadn't been able to risk losing Charles's friendship by telling him of her changing feelings toward what he assumed was their mutual enemy, she had confided in Lee. Expecting a watered-down version of the incredulity and contempt she might see in Charles, Meghann was shocked when the mortal physician said a reconciliation between her and Lord Baldevar might not be such a terrible thing.

Lee's argument was simple. Yes, he knew of the atrocities Lord Baldevar had committed—hadn't he almost suffered them himself as a child? But the situation had changed drastically in the forty years since Meghann had left him to die. Meghann was no longer a helpless young vampire living completely under her master's thumb. If Simon wanted her, he had to make some compromises—recognize her need for independence and treat her with the respect she deserved.

And he had, Lee said, pointing to Simon's impeccable behavior over the past six weeks. Hadn't he backed off when Meghann insisted their relationship remain chaste? Had he made any move to harm Charles or stop her from helping jimmy out of his catatonia?

Meghann smiled grimly, thinking Simon of late used a more insidious method to thwart her efforts to heal Jimmy. Instead of brute force or threats, Simon had taken to lurking around the house on her nights of working with Jimmy and inquired whether Meghann would like to have dinner with him on the veranda overlooking his magnificent sculpture garden and listen while he told her more tales from his mortal youth. Or he offered a far greater temptation—Simon was finally explaining his magick to her, actually showing her how to perform a few simple rites. Just the other night, he'd taught her how to make herself invisible to other vampires by imagining a heavy cloak over her presence. Thus far, she hadn't completely mastered the trick; Simon could find her in two seconds, but she had been able to fool Charles about her whereabouts for a full five minutes the other night.

With lures like that, Simon certainly hadn't had to twist her arm to get her to spend time with him. But it was more than simply giving her a more amusing alternative to her grueling therapy sessions with Jimmy. Somehow, she wasn't sure exactly when, she'd started looking forward to seeing Simon, started feeling that funny stomach-plummeting, heart-thumping tension at the sight of him that meant…

No! She absolutely was not going to fall in love with Simon Baldevar! Lee spoke from ignorance when he encouraged Meghann to listen to her heart—he hadn't been there the night Simon ruthlessly slaughtered Alcuin before her eyes or watched him torture Jimmy to the point of death.

Meghann sighed and forced herself to meet Jimmy's blank eyes. Looking into his gray-blue eyes with those shots of indigo radiating from the pupils used to be like watching a storm over the ocean; now they resembled faded old marbles. How could she possibly reunite with the creature that did this to Jimmy? Wasn't Jimmy Delacroix the ultimate proof of what Simon Baldevar was capable of?

"I'm sorry, baby," Meghann said and patted Jimmy's cheek. "I know I've neglected you. I promise I'm not going to do that anymore. From now on, we work the way we did when I first started your therapy… ten hours a night, four nights a week. We'll have you up and around in no time."

In the shower, Meghann wondered whether her last words to Jimmy were true. Thanks to the Clozapine he was no longer a raving psychotic, but no further progress had been made. Meghann knew that the smart, funny, brave man she'd spent six years with would not thank her for keeping him alive as a catatonic vegetable. Was it time to admit defeat?

No! How could she even think that? There was no way she'd call her attempts to heal him a failure after a mere six weeks of work, three weeks of which had been sporadic at best. She'd never forgive herself if she gave up on Jimmy now.

Finished with her shower, Meghann turned the water off, pulled the shower curtain aside, and let out a short, sharp scream.

"Jimmy!" Meghann gasped. By himself, unaided, he'd walked from the foam bed into the bathroom and stood by the curtain while Meghann showered.

Meghann stared back at him for a few minutes, praying he'd do something else; speak, touch her, anything. But he simply stood and stared, though there was something a little different in his gaze. He looked like he was listening to something… waiting.

"Jimmy," Meghann said again and her face lit up when she realized why he'd come into the room. "You remember my signal that I was awake for the night was I'd leave the bedroom door open and then you'd come in and talk to me while I showered. You remember, Jimmy! Something inside you woke up and made you walk into the bathroom. I knew you weren't beyond hope, Jimmy." Meghann helped him sit on the ledge of the tub and did what she always did—chatted over the whir of the blow-dryer while she dried her hair.

"You made fantastic progress tonight! From now on, I think we'll try and mimic our old routines. I'll take you back home to Rockaway. You love the beach, jimmy. I bet the salty smell of the ocean breeze, the pound of the surf, sand beneath your bare feet will do more for you than all the Clozapine in the world!"

How are you planning to get your catatonic vampire patient on a commercial airline? a voice inquired. For that matter, do you think Simon is going to simply allow you to go back to New York and take Jimmy with you? Reconsidering, Meghann decided maybe it was too early to take Jimmy out of the house.

"Don't you worry," Meghann said to Jimmy while she shimmied into the form-fitting black dress. "We'll walk on the beach again—and you'll be aware when we do it." Meghann gave him a quick kiss good night on the temple.

Eager to meet her friends, Meghann hurried down the stairs, the heels on her gold pumps clicking noisily against the marble staircase. A glance at her wristwatch showed she was running almost twenty minutes late.

She should probably use the phone in Simon's study and leave a message on Lee's pager that she was on her way. Not being of the same bloodline, she couldn't communicate with Charles telepathically unless they were in the same room.

"Oh, my," Meghann said after she parted the sliding doors to the study and saw Vinny, comfortably perched in his boss's leather armchair, snorting one neat line of cocaine off the triangular black lacquered wood and nickel steel desk.

"Shit!" Vinny howled, frantically gathering up the white powder and trying to stuff it back into a thin glass vial.

"It's okay," Meghann said quickly. "I don't mind."

Vinny gave her a guarded glance. "You're not gonna tell him?"

"How long have you been doing it?"

"A few years."

"He knows," Meghann said dryly. "Hey, don't look like that! Obviously it doesn't bother him."

Vinny sat down again, seeming somewhat relieved by her words. He extended the gold snorter to her, indicating another line on the desk. "Want some?"

Meghann declined and headed for the cushioned alcove by the bay window that overlooked the front of the house—her sharp ears had detected the sound of a car approaching. "If you really want to try and hide your habit from your boss, you better put your nose candy away. He's home."

"What? Damn!" Vinny gathered up his drugs and wiped the desk clean of any residue with the shirttail hastily pulled out of his waist.

"Get your nose too," Meghann told him, indicating the area beneath his nostrils.

While Vinny made himself presentable, Meghann remained in the picture window, watching Simon emerge from a classic Bentley—how many cars did he have? Her idle speculation turned to shock when she watched him open the passenger-side door and a pair of curvaceous legs in tan stockings appeared on the pavement.

"Who is that?"

Vinny followed her outstretched ringer to the chic brunette on Simon's arm and snorted contemptuously. "That's Louise—a skank. She lets the boss fuck her six ways to Sunday… even does it with other broads while he watches 'cause she thinks he's gonna help her get some promotion at the hotel."

"Is that right?" Meghann replied icily.

Vinny misunderstood her tight-lipped expression and the storm beginning to brew in her eyes. "Look, you don't got anything to be jealous over. She's just for—"

"I know precisely what she's for, Vinny, and I am not jealous." Meghann brushed past him and stalked into the foyer just as Lord Baldevar entered with his office slut in tow.

The woman didn't seem at all surprised by Meghann's presence—she just looked her over with a resigned air.

Why would she expect another woman here? Meghann wondered. Then she remembered Vinny's remark concerning "other broads" and took a step forward, intending to inform this chippie that she was not part of the floor show for the evening.

"Meghann!" Simon spoke before she could open her mouth, giving her a warm smile. "I was not expecting you until tomorrow evening. You should have called—I would have sent Vinny to the airport for you." Taking advantage of Meghann's momentary disconcertment, he turned to his soignée companion. "May I introduce you? This is Meghann O'Neill—daughter of a dear friend of mine in New York. She's just finished college and I told her father that I'd be delighted to help her find some position or another. Meghann, this is Louise Caraway—she came over to discuss a bit of hotel business with me."

Meghann reluctantly held her hand out, feeling disdain drip from the mortal woman's grip.

"Are you staying here with Lord Charlton?" Louise asked, speaking to Meghann as though she were ten instead of the twenty Simon was trying to pass her off as.

Lord Charlton—so that was the identity Simon used among mortals these days. "I prefer to stay with some friends closer to my own age," Meghann replied and she saw Simon's eyes glitter at her gibe.

"I love your outfit. It's so… grown-up for a girl your age," Louise said.

Meghann smiled as though she were oblivious to the mortal's condescension. "I'm just happy it's an original. I've never understood women who embarrass themselves by wearing knock-offs."

Louise, wearing a pinstripe business suit of dubious provenance, managed to keep the brittle, haughty little smile on her face though it wavered slightly. "Are you going out somewhere that you're all dressed up?"

"Clubbing," Meghann responded. "You know, hang out with some friends… maybe find a new boyfriend." She kept her gaze on Louise when she spoke, not even deigning to look at Lord Baldevar. What nerve he had, decreeing that she couldn't take a lover while he continued adding notches to his bedpost. If he was going to play the field, there was no reason she couldn't too.

There's a perfect reason—I won't let you.

Go to hell, Meghann replied while the mortal woman asked another inane question.

"I hope we're not keeping you, dear. What time are you supposed to meet your friends?"

"Oh, I have some time yet," Meghann responded airily. "I wouldn't dream of leaving without having a drink. After all, Simon and I haven't talked in… why, I can't even remember how long it's been." At the entrance to the living room, she turned around and widened her eyes in exaggerated innocence. "Unless you'd like me to leave, Simon?"

"Meghann," he said and dropped Louise's arm so he could come over to her. "You know you are always welcome in my house. Besides, we have so much to discuss."

"I love this room!" Meghann said brightly, ignoring the hand that dug painfully into her shoulder to repay her remark about finding a boyfriend. "I always thought art deco had an unsurpassable glamour. I feel like I'm on the set of some glitzy movie from the twenties."

Meghann's compliment was sincere. One thing she had to give Simon Baldevar credit for was his exquisite taste and flair for style. The walls were lacquered in cream with the moldings and ceiling painted in gold leaf. That provided a quiet backdrop for the dramatic living room with its baby grand piano, silver-dusted vases, art deco sculptures, and glossy black lacquer end tables. The floor-length torchiere lamps, with their reeded shafts and urn-shaped bowls, provided the room with a soft rosy light that reminded Meghann of the Stork Club in New York City, where Simon had taken her for their first and oh so memorable date.

"Thank you," Simon said and stepped behind the wet bar, a half oval of gleaming black Lucite with several high metal stools surrounding it. "Would either of you ladies care for a drink?"

Louise requested a martini while Meghann said she'd just have mineral water with lime.

After placing the drinks on a bronze and glass table that Meghann was certain was a Printz original, Simon settled down on a violet divan with Meghann, leaving Louise to loll by herself on a silver-and-black chaise longue, no doubt thinking the stark setting complemented her own severe beauty of sharply bobbed dark hair and angular cheekbones.

"You're wise to abstain from alcohol, Meghann," Simon complimented, clinking his own water glass against hers. "Too much liquor ages a woman dreadfully—causes all kinds of dreadful lines and crow'sfeet when you grow older."

Meghann almost felt sympathy for Louise—coloring under the foundation she used to hide the wrinkles Simon acidly mentioned. What kind of game was Simon playing with this woman? Meghann wondered, watching them both glare at each other. This wasn't just or even primarily about sex. No, Simon was—what?

Toying with her, Meghann realized. He was toying with the mortal, like a cat with a butterfly—pick, pick, picking at it until there was nothing left and the cat moved in for the kill. Simon was toying with this mortal mistress, both through the degrading sex Vinny mentioned and the cutting insults.

Meghann filed the information away, feeling little sympathy for Louise. It wasn't as if this were some unwilling victim. No, Louise was using sex to get ahead but she'd picked the wrong person to play that game with. Meghann wondered when Simon would tear the veil from her eyes… let her see that all the insults she'd endured, all the depravity were for nothing.

"Have you any idea of what kind of position you're looking for, dear?" Louise asked.

"Oh, I don't know." Meghann spoke in a bland tone, though her eyes darkened to emerald with malice. "I kind of thought I'd spit on feminist ideals and sleep my way to the top so I could be part of keeping the glass ceiling firmly in place and perpetuate the myth that a woman can't succeed on her brains—only on her back."

Louise flushed an unflattering red and glanced at Simon, seeming undecided as to what he'd do if she retaliated. Simon met her eyes and lifted one corner of his mouth in a half smirk before he turned to Meghann. "Don't even joke that way, Meghann. You're far too special to sell your body like a common harlot for the purpose of advancement."

"Maybe," Louise said coldly, her blue eyes becoming little chips of ice, "we should reschedule our business meeting since you have to entertain your little guest."

"Yes," Simon replied absently, still looking at Meghann while he waved his hand, dismissing Louise as he would a servant. "Vinny will escort you home. Good night."

"Good night, Louetta," Meghann called, and the mortal spun around on her heel, nearly slipping on the polished laminate floor.

"What did you call me?" she gasped, and Meghann didn't have to read the mortal's mind to see her consternation—it was reflected in her bulging eyes and the hammering pulse at the base of her throat. Louise/ Louetta wanted to know how the hell this young girl she'd never seen before knew her real name.

"Louise," Meghann replied ingenuously and shrugged her shoulders, thinking she should tell the woman she wasn't the only one in the room keeping her true identity hidden. She smiled, not at all kindly, at the mortal's ill-concealed relief and said, "What else could I have called you?"

"Minx," Simon murmured into her ear after Louise headed for the foyer, taking one quick lick at the pearly pink shell of her earlobe. "No doubt you just brought to mind every distressing memory of the bluegrass trailer park and scrounging existence she's tried so valiantly to escape. Nice work, little one."

It was Meghann's turn to flush while ostentatiously wiping her ear. Just because she didn't care for the woman didn't mean she should be a willing participant in one of Lord Baldevar's sadistic games. She'd just behaved like an absolute bitch—what was the matter with her?

Simon tilted her head toward him so she could see the soft smile on his lips, the gloating expression in his eyes, and too late she realized why he'd brought Louise here when he never brought mortal lovers to his home. He'd wanted to make her jealous!

Well, it didn't work, Meghann told herself firmly and scowled at Simon's self-congratulatory grin, stifling a childish impulse to stick her tongue out at him. She was not jealous—Lord Baldevar could sleep with ten sluts like Louise for all she cared. It was just that the mortal's patronizing attitude had annoyed Meghann and she put Louise in her place. Who does Louise Caraway think she is, Meghann thought, daring to look down her plastic-surgery-enhanced nose at me?

Vinny came back into the house, laden with expensively wrapped packages Simon had ordered him to retrieve from the Bentley's trunk, while Louise hurried past him and out of the house.

"Kindly take Ms. Caraway home," Simon instructed his servant. "Then you may spend the rest of the evening in town—perhaps procure some more of that white powder you're so fond of."

Vinny blanched, looking shamefaced while Meghann gave him an I told you so look.

"Of course your recreational activities are none of my concern—though as I recall, narcotics were at the root of all your woes when we met," Simon said to his pale, trembling employee.

The mortal flinched and Meghann saw a flurry of images whiz through his mind—Vinny sitting in a jail cell thinking there were only two choices left to him, testify against his friends in exchange for immunity on the kilos of cocaine he'd been caught red-handed with or keep his mouth shut and rot away in a federal prison for the rest of his life. Then a third choice presented itself when an anonymous benefactor paid his bail—thirty-five years of service to a vampire, at the end of which time he'd be transformed.

"Of course," Simon went on, "I am not at all concerned that you'll betray my secrets to evade a deserved punishment but I will warn you that if the drug impairs your ability to carry out your duties, I'll have to dismiss you."

There were no pink slips in that fiend's service, Meghann thought while Vinny slunk out of the house. Vinny would be dismissed into a hole in the ground.

Meghann glared pointedly at the strong hand gripping her forearm, but Simon made no move to release her.

"I wasn't kidding around before," Meghann finally said after several minutes of tense staring. "I am meeting Charles and Lee at a club—they think it's high time I found someone and so do I. Now, kindly release me. I don't want to be late."

Meghann met his eyes and waited for the dire threats against her or any man she'd take to her bed. Let him say it, Meghann thought, spoiling for a fight. Let him make some hideous chauvinistic comment or try and detain me . . . Oh, how Meghann wanted him to do just one of those things so she could yell out all the fury she'd felt from the moment she saw Louise on his arm.

But all Simon said was, "How can you leave yet? You haven't opened any of your presents."

Meghann's shoulders actually sagged at the anticlimactic response but she rallied quickly and gave him her own nonchalant reply. "Maybe I don't want any of them. You should give them to that streetwalker instead."

The gifts were no surprise to Meghann. During their stormy, thirteen-year romance, Simon used to love to surprise her with presents—sometimes to make up for reprehensible conduct but more often the gifts were simply one of Simon's more tender gestures toward her.

"I'd give them to a leper colony before I handed her a tribute. At least look before you reject your gifts."

Simon urged and put a sleek gold shopping bag filled with beautifully wrapped presents at her feet.

"Fine," Meghann said, resigned to the notion that she wasn't going to get past him until she opened the gifts. She held her hand out and said, "Give me my presents."

Simon used her hand to pull her against him and then placed his other hand at the small of her back, imprisoning her against him.

"Do you mind if I take a small token for myself first?" Simon bent his head, barely grazing her lips when he leaned down to kiss her.

"Honeyed fruit," Simon murmured, running his tongue over her lips. "When I first kissed you, I thought that was your taste—sweet with an unexpected tanginess underneath."

Meghann wasn't thinking of fruit when his lips came down on hers. Push him away, part of her mind urged, but the thought of protest was quickly drowned out by the tongue that teased at the corners of her mouth, the firm lips that made her own part slightly under their gentle onslaught.

Meghann's hands lifted of their own accord, quickly stripping Simon of the Brioni silk necktie and undoing most of the buttons on his pinstripe shirt while she wrapped her legs around his waist and ran her tongue over his blood teeth, making him moan and crush her against him so her breasts were flattened against his chest.

At last, Simon came up for air, smiling at her flushed cheeks and overbright eyes. "Now, what is all this foolishness about going to a club?"

"Club?" she repeated before his words and the triumphant smirk penetrated her pleasure-addled mind. "What do you think… that this is some corny romance movie and you can just kiss me into blindly following your will? I hate you!"

Simon laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. "I merely wished to show you other uses for that sharp tongue of yours. Now, why don't you open your gifts or shall I resort to the maneuvers of cheap movies and see if another kiss doesn't make you more amenable?" At Meghann's stiff nod, Simon laughed again and reached into the shopping bag to hand her a small black jeweler's box.

Meghann felt shaken and horribly confused. Part of her wanted to tell him what he could do with both his kisses and his presents and another part wanted to rip off her dress and throw herself at him. Every time they met lately, she had such conflicting thoughts and left his company in a state of unsatisfied irritation, with an ache inside that never went away.

Was she being silly, thinking all integrity and conscience would be lost because of one romp in bed? Would it be so horrible to be with Simon just one night where right and wrong were merely words and she wasn't burdened by a code of ethics that never got her anything she wanted anyway?

"Meghann."

She looked up, and didn't pull away when Simon reached for her hand. He makes my name sound like a caress, she thought.

"Meghann," he repeated softly. "Don't look so downcast. You are quite right—what does your struggle to live up to my uncle's piety give you except an aching heart when you deny your true nature? Sweetheart, put the battle for good and evil out of your mind and enjoy the evening. Open your present."

Meghann popped open the small black jeweler's box she was sure contained a ring of some kind but her eager expression changed to one of horrified outrage when she saw its contents.

"Eeeck!" she yelled and flung the box through the French doors at the end of the room, putting a round, gaping hole in the tinted glass.

"Meghann," Simon said with a look of perplexed confusion on his face. "Didn't you say you'd rather wear a water bug on your finger than the ring I gave you? I only wanted to please you."

"You know I hate bugs," she said, giving a quick shudder at the thought of the two-inch-long vile insect she'd just stared at. She stood up and gave Simon a freezing glare. "I'm leaving."

"You won't do anything of the kind." Simon laughed, pulling her back down. "You haven't finished opening your presents."

"What else is in there—snakes? No, thank you."

"Stop pouting," he said and handed her a flat, gray box with the Cartier insignia on it. "I simply wanted to repay your harsh words. Now, open your present."

"You open it."

"With pleasure." Simon undid the clasp, revealing a wide gold bracelet, amethysts, rubies, and emeralds interspersed through it in the cabochon style he knew she loved.

"Thank you," she said coolly and put the bracelet on. "It's very pretty."

"Not half as pretty as you," Simon told her and reached into the bag for a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper.

Meghann tore off the paper and gasped at the oil painting before her.

"It's wonderful," she said softly, running a cautious hand over the exquisite painting of herself. "Who did it?"

"Who else could know your expression at that precise moment?"

Meghann gaped at him. "You… but, Simon, this is a work of art! I never knew you could paint."

Simon smiled at the compliment. "After Alcuin chased me from England, I spent a few decades in Italy—it would be impossible to live there any length of time and not be inspired to pursue artistic endeavors. Too, immortality means we have all the time in the world to develop talents we might never discover in the short lifespan of a mortal. Do you remember the scene of the painting, little one?"

"Of course," Meghann told him, settling into the crook of his arm. "We'd been together—what? Five years? That night was the first time I woke up during sunset… the first time it wasn't pitch-black outside when I opened my eyes."

Meghann could still remember her excitement, how she had nearly cried with delight when she opened the shuttered windows and saw the rose sky fading to purple. To see natural light again, the world lit up by the slowly setting sun instead of streetlights. She'd thrown her clothes on in a frenzy, imploring Simon to hurry, hurry, hurry! She had to get outside before it was completely dark.

She remembered Simon's soft laugh as she had pulled him out of the hotel and onto the crowded Paris street. "Patience, little one. This is not your last sunrise. Your powers are evolving—that is why you're starting to wake up earlier."

Meghann had all but floated down the street, not even seeing the famous Arc de Triumphe—she was far too entranced by the dying sunlight on the sidewalk. "How come the sun can't kill us now?"

Simon had laughed again and pulled her against him, putting his finger to her lips. Be discreet, little one. Dusk doesn't harm all vampires but you must be cautious. If you awaken when the sun first starts to set, don't rush outside—you could get second-degree burns all over your body.

"Did that ever happen to you?" Meghann had asked him aloud.

Before he was able to reply, though, she'd noticed a hat vendor across the street and rushed across the boulevard, ignoring the annoyed horns. She had grabbed the hat she favored off a dummy and stroked it lovingly. It was a beautiful creation—a large, floppy picture hat reminiscent of the beach hats of the early twenties. The deep-crowned hat was made from moss-green linen, with a dark green hatband of watered silk and a wide brim Meghann pulled up at the front.

"Perfectionnez pour rouges les cheveux," the vendeuse had approved, nodding at Meghann's bright red hair.

"Non, non," Meghann had said hastily when the woman handed her a small silver mirror. "Je sais qu'il est beau."

The vendeuse had brushed aside Meghann's protest that she knew the hat was beautiful. "Mais vous devez vous voir, mademoiselle."

"Non necessaire, Madame," Simon had said smoothly, waving the mirror away. "Je suis son miroir. N'est-ce pas, ma belle?"

Meghann had smiled up at him, thinking he was indeed her mirror. She knew she looked beautiful by the frank appreciation shining in his eyes. "I love you," she had told him and kissed him lightly.

And that's what Simon painted—that moment when she smiled at him. It was a masterful painting, Meghann thought. She couldn't detect any brushstrokes, and the way he'd fleshed out every detail was superb—the small shadow across her face, the wispy strands of red hair peeking from the brim of the hat—but the true genius of the portrait was the way Simon had captured her expression. How did he get that sparkle into her eyes, paint that dazzling smile that made her look so beautiful?

"You are beautiful, sweetheart. All I did was draw what I saw."

"No," Meghann said, awed by the beauty in the painting. "You painted what you made. I was pretty before you transformed me… nothing like that." She touched the vibrant, glowing face of the portrait.

"You were always beautiful," Simon told her. "It wasn't transformation that enhanced your beauty."

"It was love," Meghann said softly. Love was what made her smile like that… what made that painting so special. The artist's love for his subject shone through every line of the picture.

"Do you still insist there was never any love between us… any bond beyond animal lust?"

How could I have forgotten ? Meghann asked herself. Yes, there were horrible times between her and Simon. But she had loved him… how could she have fooled herself about that? How could she have forgotten how many times she smiled and threw her arms around him, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world because she was the one Simon chose to spend eternity with?

"Why didn't you show me this painting?" Why didn't you show me this side of yourself? Why was it so often the tyrannical monster she'd come to hate that he showed her?

"I did not paint this until 1970."

"What?" Meghann looked up at him in shock. "You painted this after I left you?" He had labored on a painting of a woman who put a stake in his heart?

"I needed to remind myself who you were," Simon said and brushed his hand over the painting. "That is the girl I fell in love with… a vibrant, sweet beauty who could light up the night for me with one smile. I despised Alcuin for taking you from me, twisting your mind with his insipid notions of good and evil. Painting you was my way of remembering what you were underneath the conscience that convinced you to leave me. Alcuin may have gained a lock on your conscience, but when I remembered those shining eyes full of love I knew I would always have your heart."

"But I tried to kill you," Meghann said. "Didn't you hate me for that? I thought… didn't you want to destroy me for that?" She just couldn't see Simon Baldevar, the amoral, vicious killer, spending forty years pining for a woman who had left him to die.

"Hush," Simon told her. "It would be different if you cold-bloodedly plotted my death. But that is not what happened… I backed you into a corner and you came out fighting. Getting a stake in my heart was far more a result of carelessness on my part than any action of yours. I know why you left me there, Meghann. You were frightened that I would kill you."

Meghann nodded… she'd spent forty years praying Simon was dead because she thought he'd destroy her if he wasn't.

"I don't want to hurt you, Meghann." He tilted her chin up, amber eyes mesmerizing her. "The only thing I want to destroy is the half-dead, listless creature that has replaced my beautiful consort. Let me make you shine again… let me free you from your guilt and lay the world at your feet."

"I don't want the world," Meghann said, speaking as though she were in a trance. "I just want…"

"Tell me."

She had to bite down on her tongue to keep from crying out—You, I want you! But she did want Simon—wanted him so badly her body shook. A part of her wanted to be loyal to Jimmy's memory, but she couldn't take having a lover that stared through her. She needed someone to hold her close and push the awful loneliness away, someone to set her on fire with his touch…

Be my someone, Meghann silently implored Simon and lifted her hands to his face, shivering at the contact of his skin against her palm. Why did people think vampires were cold to the touch? There was nothing icy or dead about the strong, warm flesh beneath her hand.

Simon kept still, allowing her shaking hands to explore his face. At first, she was tentative but her hands grew bolder as she traced the strong line of his jaw, ran her fingers over his high cheekbones.

Meghann inched closer to him, her eyes on the hollow of his throat, the strong pulse beating there. She rubbed her lips over it, savoring the salty-sweet taste of his skin. The scent of hot, pungent blood flowing beneath his skin roused her blood lust but she pushed herself away from his neck, wanting to prolong the pleasure before feeding.

Silently, she blessed his marvelous patience, the way he let her explore his body at her own leisure. Any other man would have thrown her beneath him by now—or tried to. Simon remained immobile, only his gold eyes showing how much he wanted her as she peeled off his shirt, kissing each inch of skin as she exposed it.

Meghann made her way from his heart down to his navel with light butterfly kisses, offering him a wicked grin before she peeled off the beautifully cut dark gray trousers and bent her head to him, bracing her hands on his muscular, well-shaped legs. Meghann grinned, basking in a delightful surge of power when she felt Simon tremble at her touch. His need made desire shoot through her when she ran her lips over his leg before she sank her blood teeth into the femoral artery on the inside of his thigh. Clever Simon, that was where he'd first taken blood from her, so she wouldn't notice the wounds right away.

"Meghann," she heard him moan while she sucked at the wound. The femoral artery was a virtual fountain of blood; the dark, rich substance flowed into her mouth and the pleasure she received in feeding was so great Meghann almost forget her true intention.

But she didn't want to drain his strength away or make him ill so she reluctantly raised her bloodstained lips from the wound and turned her attention to his penis, thick and hard and waiting to be drawn into her mouth, still full of warm blood.

Meghann felt his hands tighten almost painfully in her hair, forcing her closer to him. A long time ago, he'd taught her how to do this… how to suck slowly like she'd do with a Popsicle, how to tease the head by using her tongue in a circular, unhurried rhythm.

And she knew from past delightful experience that soon he'd yank softly on her hair, his signal that it was time for her to lie back and…

"Meghann!" A strident knock at the front door was followed by the aggrieved voice of Charles Tarleton. "Are you all right? Answer me!"

With a small cry, Meghann wrenched herself away from Simon, her eyes filled with loathing and self-contempt. What in the name of God was she thinking?

"Meghann!"

"I'm fine," Meghann called out, knowing her voice sounded anything but fine but speaking aloud to keep Charles from charging into the house. What a charming picture this would make for Charles… seeing her with her head between the legs of the devil they were supposed to kill when she went into labor. Hastily, she wiped at the blood on her chin and chest. "I'll be right there."

Shakily, she got to her feet and met Simon's eyes, shuttered and enigmatic as always. Was he angry? For once, he had a right to be… a right to be annoyed with a woman that threw herself at him and then backed away like a scalded cat. Why couldn't she either hate him or throw herself at him completely? She couldn't keep playing games like this where she wound up doing neither. Either she was Lord Baldevar's enemy or she was his… his what?

"I'm sorry," she finally said and started for the door like a sleepwalker, but she felt a hand slowly spin her around.

"Meghann." Simon ran one fingertip over her cheek. "It's not an apology I want from you and that is not all you wished to give tonight. Isn't that right?"

Meghann made some small sound of assent and Simon leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Run along now, child, and come back when you can resist the urge to run from me when the voice of your conscience comes calling. Remember I will be here when you are ready to listen to your heart."

Meghann nodded and left him to go open the front door for Charles.

Charles grabbed her, anxious eyes roaming over her. "We waited over an hour for you. Are you all right? Has he kept you here?"

"If I said I didn't want to talk about it right now, would you respect my feelings?"

"Of course," Charles said after a long, bemused glance at the slash of color in her cheeks and the green eyes that blazed in her ghostly pale face.

"Hey." Lee took her hand. "What do you say I ride with you and we'll meet Charles at the club? You still want to go out, don't you?"

"Sure," Meghann said, forcing false cheer into her voice. "That's just what I need now—bright lights and dancing till I can't breathe."

Charles watched his best friend and lover drive off before he turned to glare at Lord Baldevar, lounging elegantly against the door frame. He'd seen the guilt in Meghann's eyes and now he knew where it came from—seeing the way the bastard's hair was ruffled and his shirt was unbuttoned.

"Damn you," Charles burst out. "Why can't you leave her alone?" He knew Meghann wouldn't initiate anything with this fiend on her own. The despicable snake was taking advantage of her, using her vulnerability and loneliness to worm his way into her heart, as Charles had feared he would.

"Don't meddle in my pleasures, boy."

"I am not some boy and I'm not scared of you. I will not allow you to ruin Meghann's life! She doesn't want you. If she responds to you, it's your blood inside her—no more. I've known Meghann for forty years, Lord Baldevar. The only time she spoke your name was to curse you."

"When you have lived as long as I have, you will discover forty years is nothing. It is the present that counts, sodomite." Simon slammed the door, bored and uninterested in a battle of wits with a foolish novice.

Damn that troublesome creature! Meghann would be his by now if not for Charles Tarleton's constant interference.

The pain and confusion on Meghann's pretty face when that boy-lover showed up made Simon realize what an error he'd made when he opted to transform Jimmy Delacroix instead of destroying Charles.

That Meghann felt pain at her lover's fate, Simon didn't doubt. But his absence hadn't been the kind of crippling blow that would make her vulnerable to her master… not as long as she had Charles Tarleton to lean on. Now it was too late to kill him—Meghann could lose the child in her grief if the sodomite met with an untimely demise.

But he might not need to kill the boy, Simon reflected. Already Charles's involvement with that mortal doctor distracted him from his determination to keep Meghann from her master. And Meghann, with her actions this evening, was proving that she plainly did not want to be kept from him.

Good humor restored by the memory of the lust smoldering in his consort's eyes a few minutes earlier, Simon decided to summon Louise back. Lazily stretching his hands toward the phone, Simon thought he'd better enjoy making a mortal woman submit to whatever debauchery he craved while he could. Simon would never think of being unfaithful to Meghann once they were finally reunited, and tonight had proven it was only a matter of time before she came back to him.