Eternally

“Oh, that’s a lovely thought,” she mumbled, shaken.

Her eyes felt gritty, her stomach was twisted into knots and her brain hadn’t stopped racing all night. Arms wrapped around her up-drawn knees, she heard Kieran’s voice over and over again in her mind. She saw his eyes, those pale blue depths that seemed to stare right through her. And she tasted his kiss on her lips.

Everything he’d said replayed over and over again in her mind. Fear warred with desire and lost miserably. She had no proof he was dangerous. After all, he hadn’t killed her. And he’d had plenty of time to.

“Great,” she whispered. “Just the quality a woman should look for in a man. ‘Hey, he hasn’t killed me yet.’ Yeah. My hero.”

Outside her room, the night crawled past. The party carried on for hours, music, laughter and shouts subtly invading her room at the back of the house. And despite being irritated by the rumble of sound, she was also grateful for it. At least she didn’t have to be alone in a silent house with nothing but her own crazed thoughts for company. At least she knew there were other people nearby.

And when the party finally ended, she knew that Alicia and Katie were there in the house with her. She wasn’t alone.

Staring blankly while her mind raced, she waited hours for the dawn to streak the sky outside her window. Rocking in place, she watched the night slowly, inevitably, fade. And when those first pale colors deepened into scarlet and violet, she drew her first easy breath.

“Idiot,” she muttered, safe now in daylight, apart from the intangible fears that had clawed at her for hours. She crawled stiffly out of bed, and switched off the bedside lamp and the overhead light that had burned throughout the long night.

She’d spent the night terrified—all because of a great kisser with a hell of an act and a sword he probably carried for compensation. He’d scared her, given her dire warnings and despite all of that, nothing had happened.

She hadn’t been threatened.

She’d simply been had.

“Does he just enjoy playing night marauder? Suckering some idiot woman into buying that man of the night routine?” She pushed her hair out of her face, letting her temper kick in—being mad, much better than being scared. “Does he get his jollies by scaring somebody then disappearing?”

Julie’s voice echoed hollowly in her room and didn’t give her an ounce of satisfaction. Because despite the fact that nothing had happened to her, that she felt like an idiot for locking herself up and staying awake all night—a part of her still believed that Kieran hadn’t been playing games.

“Which means what exactly?” Frowning, she muttered an answer to her own question. “It means that you’re talking to yourself. Not a good sign. If you don’t watch it, girl, you’ll be as crazy as he is.”

Groaning slightly as her cramped muscles screamed in silent protest, she stretched, wincing, then stumbled toward the bathroom. As the day began, she stood under a steaming hot shower, hoping the stinging spray would wash what was left of her fears away.

But even as she dried off and smoothed on the jasmine-scented body lotion she habitually splurged on, Kieran’s face drifted through her mind again. She closed her eyes and felt his hands on her arms, his mouth on hers, the hard ridges and planes of his body pressed against hers. And something inside her quickened into an eager gallop. Obviously it had been way too long.

“Oh for God’s sake.”

Grumbling, she pushed his memory away, determined to not let him influence her day as he had her night. Fear had kept her company for hours. She’d jolted at every sound, kept her gaze fixed on her locked door and hadn’t even relaxed when the party finally wound down and the house settled into silence.

Now she had to get dressed, drop in at the paper and pick up the notes in her desk. She had an interview scheduled with Selene—no last name—hairdresser to the stars. Making a face, she shook her head and reminded herself that these fluff pieces paid well and were usually picked up by the AP.

Didn’t take her long to climb into what she privately thought of as her “uniform.” Black pants, white shirt, black jacket and black boots. Not exactly a fashion plate, but the photographer assigned to her wouldn’t be taking shots of her.

Julie gathered up her briefcase, made sure she had her mini tape recorder, a fresh steno pad and at least three pens with her. Then she swallowed the last vestiges of her nighttime nerves, stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her.

Her boot heels clicked musically on the floor as she walked into the kitchen and stopped dead. It looked like a small nuke had been detonated nearby. Dirty glasses, empty food platters and wadded up napkins littered the counter. A shattered wineglass was splintered across the floor and a curtain rod hung drunkenly from only one hook.

“What the hell?” She took a step, listened to the crunch of glass beneath her foot and winced, stepping wide of the mess and walking along the edge of the room toward the swinging doors.

She pushed the door into the living room open wide and expelled one long, disgusted sigh. The damage in here was even worse than the kitchen. Remnants of what must have been a beaut of a party were scattered throughout the living room and connected dining room. Sofa cushions were half on the hardwood floor, someone’s discarded shirt draped across the coffee table, empty arms hanging over the edge and a bowl of chips lay on its side, its contents spread out and crushed into oily oblivion.

Stale cigarette smoke hung like blue fog in the room and the smell fought for precedence over the stink of spilled liquor. Only a few minutes ago, she’d been grateful for her housemates. Now she wanted to kick both of them.

Shaking her head, Julie shoved empty glasses aside and laid her briefcase onto the dining room table. She crossed the room, opened up two of the windows and then, still muttering dire threats, walked into the living room, and stomped across the littered floor to the French doors leading to a tiny, walled patio.

“God, Alicia,” she muttered darkly, as her right foot slipped in a puddle of congealing guacamole, “couldn’t you at least have picked up the garbage before crashing?”

But, knowing her housemate, Julie figured Alicia had hooked up with some guy at the party and decided to put off clearing the rubble for as long as possible. Alicia wasn’t exactly known as Ms. Clean. And Katie wasn’t much better, though she would at least feel guilty for leaving the mess.

Julie turned the latch on the brass doorknob, flung open the French doors to air the house out and took a deep breath of fresh morning air. Irritation simmered inside as she noticed Alicia, stretched out on one of the two cushioned chaise lounges, her face turned away from the house and toward the rising sun.

Still wearing her party clothes, right down to the ridiculously high heels she’d spent a fortune on, she’d obviously stretched out to relax the night before and had fallen asleep.

Shaking her head, Julie started across the flagstone patio and accidentally kicked an empty beer bottle, sending it skittering across the stone and into the bushes lining the wall. She sighed as it clinked against the bricks.

“Alicia,” she started, frowning at a swarm of ants climbing a tiny mountain of dried onion dip splattered on the patio. The last of her fear drained away under a rising tide of disgust. “Damn it, Alicia, the house is a wreck and I’m not cleaning it this time.”

Usually straightening up after parties fell to Julie simply because she was the only one who couldn’t live with the mess. Kate and Alicia’s slob tolerance level was way higher than her own.

Still Alicia hadn’t moved. Hell, she didn’t even stir and Julie’s temper spiked up a notch or two. “Hello?” she snapped. “Don’t you have an audition this morning?”

Her friend didn’t even flinch.

“God.” Julie blew out a breath, came up behind the other woman and reaching down, grabbed Alicia’s shoulder and gave her a shake. “You could sleep through a bomb blast, couldn’t you?”

Alicia slowly tipped to one side, her blond hair falling in a sleek arc, sliding down until her head hung over the edge of the chaise. A bloody mockery of a smile ringed the base of her neck.

Julie took an instinctive step back as she stared into her housemate’s wide, staring, empty eyes.

The bright, cheerful sunlight showcased the river of blood that had soaked into the blue flowered cushion beneath Alicia’s body. Birds screeched and tittered from the trees. A car whizzed down the street, its engine roaring.

And on the tiny patio, shielded from its neighbors, Julie felt the world tilt out from under her feet. She took a breath and released it in a scream.

She was still screaming when the first squad car arrived.

Chapter 4

She couldn’t stop shaking.

Julie hugged herself tight and hunched deeper into the cushions of the couch. Reaching out with one hand, she pushed a bag of chips out of her way and curled her legs up beneath her. In one corner of her mind, she realized that she was trying to be invisible. To hide from the reality of what her world had suddenly become.

And she didn’t care.

God, she wanted out of this house. Away from the scents of blood and the overpoweringly strong mingled scents of aftershave coming from the dozen or so men wandering through her house.

Blindly she stared at them all as if she still couldn’t believe they were there. Crime scene investigators jostled uniformed police officers. Radios crackled and whispered conversations rose and fell like the tide as two detectives studied the patio where Alicia still lay as if waiting for evidence to jump up and shout Here I am!

Outside the French doors, shade dappled the patio that Julie would never again be able to step onto without seeing Alicia lying there staring sightlessly. A soft wind rippled through the house, caressed Julie’s skin and made her shiver.

Crime scene techs twirled their brushes, decorating every flat surface with the graphite powder they used to lift fingerprints. A pointless exercise, since half of Hollywood had been in the house last night. But there were routines to follow, rules to obey and she was too stricken to care what they did.

What did any of it matter now?