A WHISPER OF ETERNIT

Page 20



"It is for the best." His voice was gruff and unsteady.

"One morekiss ?" she begged shamelessly.

Turning, he pulled her quickly into his arms and kissed her, his lips hard and demanding, bruising hers. His tongue plundered her mouth. His hands delved into her hair, loving the touch of it, alive and silky against his skin.

With a hoarse cry, he let her go and left the house, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Tracyfollowed him. Standing in the doorway, she stared after him, bemused. His footsteps made no sound on the pavement. He seemed almost to float above the ground as he made his way to his car. He slid behind the wheel; a moment later, the car growled to life, the headlights cutting through the darkness as he gunned the engine and raced away.

Tracyfrowned, puzzled by his abrupt departure and then, overcome with a sudden, overwhelming need to paint, she ran up the stairs.

In her bedroom, she threw off her chic black dress, kicked off her heels, and peeled off her nylons. Slipping on a pair of faded jeans and an old T-shirt, she walked down the hallway to her studio, tying her hair back in a ponytail as she went.

She grabbed her smock and put it on, then took a fresh canvas out of the closet and placed it on an easel.

She had intended to start the Old English castle one of her clients had requested but her hand refused to paint the image in her mind. Instead of rough-hewn stones and parapets, her brush strokes took on the shape of a man—a tall man with hair as black as a midnight sky and mysterious gray eyes.A man whose full lips were drawn back to reveal sharp white fangs. Clad all in black, he stood alone on a high cliff that looked very much like the one upon which Nightingale House now stood. A long black cloak billowed from his broad shoulders. The ocean stretched away behind him, the waves tossed by a cold winter wind. Overhead, turbulent clouds chased each other across an indigo sky.

She worked like a woman possessed throughout the rest of the night, never stopping for rest or refreshment. The first faint light of dawn was brightening the eastern sky when she stepped away from the canvas.

It was easily the most unsettling piece she had ever done. The image in the painting looked frighteningly alive as it stared back at her, his face half in shadow, half in winter-cold moonlight. His eyes, as turbulent as the clouds overhead, held a wealth of closely guarded secrets and a whisper of eternity.

She took a step to the left and felt a chill run down her spine when his eyes seemed to follow her.
Overcome with a sudden sense of uneasiness, she quickly cleaned her brushes and threw off her smock.

Hurrying out of the room, she slammed the door behind her,then stood in the hallway, one hand pressed over her heart, feeling utterly foolish. It was only a painting, after all.

There was nothing to be afraid of.