Into the Spotlight by Heather Long Page A

cream dress the night before hinted at demureness, tonight’s dress screamed seduction. Gold bangles decorated her wrists while golden threads climbed from her heels to her calves. A band of gold twined around her upper right arm, twisting into another symbol for eternity while the wheel of fortune decorated her costume's choker, disguising the treasured bite mark.
    Stan opened the door and they passed into the tiered dining area of the Midnight Mystery Lounge. Malcolm waited on the second step to the dining tables. Worry etched deep grooves into his face. He stepped up to her, arms closing around her and lifting her from the ground. He buried his face in the crook of her throat, inhaling deeply.
    The sigh of his breath against her skin turned her muscles to liquid. Her hands snaked up to sink into his hair, holding him tight.
    “You’re all right.” His muffled voice tingled against her skin. He smelled of sandalwood, leather and sunshine. “He swore to me you would awaken again, but until I saw you take to the stage, I was terrified.”
    “I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out. “I wish you’d never seen me like that.”
    His arms squeezed her, trapping her against the rock hard breadth of his chest. “I’m sorry it happened to you.” Malcolm lifted his head and studied her, his blue eyes kindling with flame. “What does that to you, my darling Jeannie? What does it so that I can make it never happen again?”
    “Malcolm.” Jeannie sighed. She’d asked him for help that first night, an impulsive move. “You can’t and I shouldn’t have asked.”
    “I can and you should have.” The worry in his expression hardened to determination. He looked past her to Stan. “We’re going up to my suite.” He didn’t wait for her agreement or Stan’s, for that matter, carrying her out of the lounge and across the lobby to the private elevators.
    Embarrassment flooded Jeannie, and she hid her burning face against his chest. She could only imagine what they looked like, her body wrapped so firmly against his. But the fluttering in her heart tripped over anticipation and desire, not fear or shame. Thankfully, the elevator carried them straight to his floor, and Malcolm didn’t release her until they were inside with Stan shut out once more.
    Three steps into the foyer, Malcolm fused his mouth with hers. Her pulse thrilled at the deep taste as his tongue probed her lips. She sampled whiskey, a hint of iron and butterscotch mingling with the flavor that was distinctly Malcolm’s own. His ragged breaths echoed her passion when he finally lifted his head. Despite the promise of sex in Malcolm’s gaze, his mouth thinned into a hard line.
    “Are you alive, Jeannie?” The words jarred her from the pleasured lethargy, awakening the shakes once more.
    “Yes. Right now, I am alive.”
    “And the other—in the morning, when the sun kisses the sky—are you dead?”
    “No.” Jeannie swallowed, fingers toying with his hair. She didn’t want to say it aloud. Giving voice to the truth reminded her of the harsh reality of her existence, an existence that Malcolm helped her forget. Her body rumbled with a drowsy pleasure stirring back to life.
    All she wanted to do was lose herself in the decadent stupor of it until thought and feeling were indistinguishable from each other.
    Malcolm carried her down the steps to the fountain and past the lounge where they’d fused bodies the night before, directly into an office with ancient oak paneling and a desk large enough for three. A fire burned in the man-sized hearth. A wine bottle, two glasses and a silver covered plate rested on the table between two great Edwardian chairs. Malcolm carried her over and settled her in one of the chairs, falling to one knee before her.
    “Tell me everything.”
    “Everything?” Trepidation flared its ugly head again. Malcolm’s hands rested on her thighs, the heat of him poured into her, easing the chill nipping at heart.
    “Everything.