A damned dream…
He watches her every night, rehearsing alone in his theater,
her beauty aglow in the gaslights. With every hour that passes, Marcus Stafford
is more entranced with the passionate Gabriela Rozina, and the dream she
refuses to give up. His obsession is dangerous and he knows it. She can never
know who—or what—he is, and why he can never step nearer than the shadows.
But her heartbreak is his undoing. Sorrow is a currency he’s
traded in for two hundred years.
A breathtaking stranger…
Gabriela is moved by the stranger with the silver eyes who
emerges from the darkness yet brings brilliant light to her world. Soon, she
wants something more from Marcus than his mentorship with her acting. She begs
for his touch, his body and his heart—but more than anything, to share his dark
secret by giving him her blood.
A doomed love?
As the night draws near of Gabriela’s most vital performance
ever, she is in danger of never making it to the stage—unless Marcus fulfills
her wish and shares his life force with her. But in the doing, he risks
everything, including both their souls.
**This title is a reissue of a 2006 release.
* AMAZON * BARNES & NOBLE *
Silence.
Had she expected something else?
He's not there.
It was the same inner demon that delighted in tugging at her
insecurities before auditions…and long ago, had heckled her each visitor's day
at the orphanage.
A voice she fought now with shaking fists.
The heckler persisted.
He told you to go away once. He meant it. You
didn't listen. He's not there.
"No."
She secured her stance tighter. Blast it, she knew what she
felt, despite the dark theatre answering her desperate gaze. Freezing fingers
of sensation claimed her skin more boldly than they'd dared this morning. Her
heartbeat pounded like a triple timpani with each passing second into the
night. Worst of all, she couldn't shed this breath-catching awareness…this
super real sensation that he still watched her, followed her, haunted her.
She moved to the edge of the stage. Stopped when her toes
jutted out into the dark—and tried not to liken the view to the unreadable
abyss of her senses.
"Coward!" she accused into the chasm.
"Backing down from the challenge, now that I've figured out a little more
than I should? Hiding in your precious shadows, Sir High and Mighty Theatre
Owner? Enjoying the drama of the hopeless actress, going slowly insane?"
As she backed off the edge, she shook her head in
slow-burning fury. "I hope you like tonight's repertoire, Marcus. It's the
last you'll get. I don't play to ghosts." She pivoted toward the wings.
"Or thieves."
As she marched across the stage, she refused to let the dry
heat behind her eyes liquidate. She refused to let her shoulders sag or her
step falter. She'd give in to her humiliation only after escaping those
all-seeing silver eyes.
Wherever the bloody hell they were.
Two steps from the stage left wings, she gasped and skidded
to a halt. Two black-clad, black-booted legs stepped into her path. Her journal
and reticule hit the floorboards between those boots with a forceful thwack.
They were tossed there from a long-fingered hand.
Gabriela's stare connected that hand to an arm, the arm to
an endlessly broad shoulder, encased in billowy black silk. Her sights
continued up the cords of a taut neck, to the spiritual intensity of Marcus's
face.
If it were possible, the otherworldly force of him radiated
even more potent impact tonight. He looked hewn of dark gold granite under the
gas lights, his hair swept around his high forehead like onyx turned to velvet.
But most of all, he looked furious.
He glared at the purse and the journal, then back to her.
"I am not a thief."
Gaby didn't pick up the items. Not yet. She nudged one foot
forward, her reticule on one side, his boot on the other.
She raised her stare, issuing the same challenge to his
eyes. "You took them without my permission. You stole them."
"I borrowed them."
"Borrowed?" She sliced out an incredulous laugh.
"Oh, this is a new way to play the scene."
"Gabriela—"
"You mean to tell me you decided to
borrow my reticule—"
"Aye.”
"Planning a big evening out and didn't have one of your
own?"
"Gabriela."
"And my journal. That’s the worst of it, Marcus. Did
you stop to think what you took from me—the record of my deepest thoughts and
feelings? Did you consider asking before you violated my
privacy, my life?"
For a long moment, he issued no reply. But with the
slightest motion, he’d pressed his boot against her foot—beckoning her sights
up to his again. She cursed the thousand butterflies in her belly that lifted
wing along with her gaze.
"If I asked…where would your answer have lie?"
Gaby compressed her lips, letting silence stretch again.
"I rest my case." He dropped his gaze. But not
before Gabriela glimpsed a flash of silver light beneath his dark lashes—his
surrender to a moment of such intense pain, his eyes looked as if they really
did glow…
She shook her head. This was no time for such
hallucinations. Blast it, he'd wronged
her, not the other way around. She snatched her pity back
from him, recognizing it for the dangerous emotion it was. But she held on to
the anger.
"Well?" She locked her arms across her chest.
Marcus didn't look up. "Well what?"
She slid her foot away from his. Suddenly, her voice didn't
come so strongly. "Well…did you read it?"
He considered her question for what felt like hours.
Finally, he looked up again. Slowly leaned toward her, appearing like a great
beast used to watching every step for fear it would crush something.
"Aye."
Damn him.
Damn him for saying it with such meaning, for looking
penitent yet proud as he did. Again, as if he'd
experienced every fear and feeling, every triumph and sorrow she'd expressed on
those pages.
"Bastard."
"That will not procure you an apology." He towered
closer. So mesmerizing. A fine wine in human form, dominating her senses,
whether she liked it or not. "I am not sorry I did it."
"Yes." She snorted. "I know."
"Your words are beautiful."
"Stop it."
"I memorized them."
"You think that's going to redeem you?"
"Sweeting, nothing can redeem me."
The night held its breath around them.
Hi there. I'm Angel: book lover, writing addict, hopeless
romantic, pop culture geek and avid shoe lover.
A bit about me...
I've been hooked on books since I was a kid but it got worse
in my twenties, when I discovered romances--the hotter, the better. Growing up
in Southern California, with lots of surfer manliness surrounded me, was
certainly a good boost for reading about delicious alpha guys and the women who
adore them. When I learned I had a knack for telling these stories too, I guess
you could say I was doomed--though my path toward romance novelist took a few detours
via a concert-reviewing gig for my college newspaper (free show
tickets...backstage passes...that was a no-brainer), artist interviews for a
Beverly Hills dance music mag, personal assistant work for a record producer,
dance club disc jockey, and a lot of fun in the hospitality industry.
These days, I still live in California, and have found an
amazing alpha guy of my own who was brave enough to marry me. We live on a
street that looks like Brigadoon, with our beautiful daughter. I have the best
life ever, and never forget to thank the Big Guy Upstairs for it, either.
No comments:
Post a Comment