Dead By Dusk

She wondered briefly if he would say such., a thing in the hopes of making her jealous, but she just didn't think so. And still… Lena doing such a thing? Even if Stephanie had assured her that she and Grant were no longer a couple, Lena wasn't the type to be… lascivious.



Stephanie hurried up the stairs. The hall and bathroom lights were on; the bedroom itself was dark. The windows were closed.



She walked over to the bed. Placing a hand on Lena's forehead, she was relieved to feel that it seemed a more normal temperature.



"Stephanie?" Lena asked. She sounded like a little girl.



"Yes, it's me. I'm just seeing how you're doing."



"Better… just weak. Hey, the sliding glass doors are closed. There's no air in here," Lena said fretfully.



"I'm not sure you need air tonight. The temperature in here is just right, Lena."



Stephanie's eyes were growing more accustomed to the dim light. Lena looked restless. Her fingers were curled around a medallion or cross she was wearing around her neck.



"Maybe you're right," Lena murmured. "But you know… the doctor left me some sleeping pills right on the dresser. Would you give me one? I had one earlier… sleep seems to help a lot."



"Sure, hang on."



Stephanie went for the vial, thinking it was strange—sleeping pills were helping Lena. They had definitely helped her. And maybe having the place shut up was good, too. The dreams didn't seem to be as bad with the sliding doors closed.



Could dreams have made Lena ill, she wondered.



She brought Lena a pill. She had a bottle of water at her bedside, and used it to take the pill. Settling back, she smiled at Stephanie. "Thanks."



Stephanie looked at the cross Lena was wearing. She hadn't seen it on her before.



"That's a pretty piece," she said.



Lena touched it, troubled. "This… yes, thanks. I think I bought it here. I must be losing it somewhat, because I don't remember putting it on. It's strange, though. It's irritating around my neck. Want to help me get it off?"



"Sure."



Stephanie sat at her side, and Lena twisted around. For several minutes, Stephanie struggled with the clasp. "This is ridiculous, but… it's a strange hook. I can't quite get it."



"Never mind, then. I'll live with it until the morning," Lena said. "Hey… you know, just in the last few hours, I really have started to feel better."



"That's great!" Stephanie told her.



"Hey, how is the new girl?"



"She's working out fine, so you shouldn't worry."



"Now I am worried! She's not so fine that you'd rather have her permanently?" Lena said.



"No—you're still the better comedian. But she's fine."



"Thank God!" Lena breathed. "Still, I'm so sorry to miss the opening."



"Well, better to miss the opening than be really ill."



"Right."



"I'll see you in the morning, then," Stephanie said.



"Thanks. Thanks a lot! You're the busiest one, and the only one to come by and see me!" Lena told her.



Stephanie had been halfway out of the room. She paused, looking back. "What?"



"You're the only one who has come!"



"Grant said he was up earlier."



"If he was, I didn't see him," Lena told her.



"But…"



Lena shrugged. "Maybe I was asleep."



"Maybe," Stephanie said. "Well, good night."



"Good night!"



Stephanie hurried down the stairs. Grant was waiting. His expression was guarded. "How was she?"



"Doing much better."



"Well, good. I'm glad to hear that."



Stephanie studied him as they went out. He turned and checked that the door was relocked.



"She says she never saw you today," Stephanie told him.



He whirled around and looked at her. She didn't think he was acting.



And yet… it was Grant.



"I told you the truth," he said flatly.



"Okay, so… maybe she was a little delirious?" Stephanie suggested.



"She was a little something," he muttered.



They crossed the distance to her cottage. Stephanie opened her door. Even as she did so, she was aware of him behind her. And she was startled by the sudden, almost desperate urge she had to ask him in. She felt…



Stimulated… as if she'd been engaged in heavy petting for the last hour. As if she had to grab hold of him, rip into his clothing…



"Good night!" she gasped out quickly.



She didn't let him hover, or even respond. She got into her cottage, closed and locked the door, and leaned against it, stunned at herself, and alarmed.



"Stephanie! Make sure—"



"Yes, yes, I'll lock up. I'll lock everything," she assured him. She didn't wait then, but ran up the stairs to the bedroom, making certain that her footsteps were heavy, audible just outside where Grant stood.



She walked straight to the shower, shedding her clothing. She turned on the water, and let it slush over her in cold rivulets.



In just seconds, she thought she'd been crazy. She turned the water to warm. After a few minutes, she stepped out, dried, brushed her teeth, and crawled into one of her long, cotton T nightgowns.



She hesitated, left the bathroom and stairway lights on, turned off the bedroom overhead, and crawled in.



The room was too silent.



She turned on the television, and lay down again.



After a while, the lulling sound of the BBC reporter's smooth voice wrapped around her, making the world seem normal, and she began to drift to sleep.



She bolted up.



There, at the foot of her bed, was Grant.



Bronzed, naked, erect. It looked as if he had been greased, as if for some kind of bodybuilding competition. Every shadow and nuance of his muscles seemed to glimmer and excite. Though he was still, he seemed filled with electricity and vibrance. She felt her breath catch in her throat, and it started to happen again. She ached. Agonized. Sexually, sensually… and felt that if she didn't reach out and touch him…



Stephanie… I'm waiting. You can see… come… come on… come to me…



Yes. She was an idiot. He wanted her, and she had thrown him away. And nothing else in the world mattered now except getting to him, touching him, having him inside of her, having him…



No.



Another voice. Someone else in her room again. Someone calling her back. She turned… silly, there was nothing behind her except for the wall.



She turned back to where Grant had stood, hair falling in his eyes, body as sleek, muscle-bound, and aroused as a hungry Adonis…



Except that… he wasn't there. There just seemed to be a… shadow. A huge, eclipsing shadow where he had stood.



A shadow like wings.



A sharp sound exploded nearby. She jumped up with a scream, and realized that the sound had woken her and that she had been dreaming.



Just dreaming again.



But the sound had been real. It was coming from the glass doors.



A slam exploded against them again. Terrified, Stephanie let her hand fly to her throat. She barely swallowed back a hysterical scream.



She forced herself to rip open the draperies.



Chapter 8



"So… everyone is tucked in?" Liz asked, closing the drapes as she turned and saw that Clay had come into the room.



"All tucked in."



"And Lena? Did you see to her?"



"Oh, yes."



Smiling, Liz strolled over to where he stood. She touched his face, and then reached for the top button of his shirt, and methodically, to undo it, and then the others. She slid her hands against his bare chest, then stood on her toes, whispering against his ear.



"Stephanie is very… I do mean very beautiful. Those blue eyes, and that dark, dark, nearly ebony hair.



And the way she's built… I don't need to be jealous, do I?"



"You?" He smiled, struggling out of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor. "Never!" He slid his hands beneath the silky shoulders of her see-through nightgown, causing it to fall to the floor. He crushed her against him, feeling the pressure of her breasts against his flesh.



She reached for his belt buckle, undid it. Slowly, listening to the rasping sound of it, pulled down the zipper. Palms against his hips and lowering, she pressed down the jeans.



"Never!" he repeated, pressing his lips against her throat.



The thrill of desire swept through her. She cradled his buttocks, and felt the pressure of his sex hard against her.



She hesitated, just briefly. "The cross?" she whispered.



"Taken care of," he murmured against her flesh.



"You're sure?"



"It will all break soon enough."



"But tonight… ?" she asked.



"Tonight… tonight, now, we… rest."



"Rest wasn't what I had in mind."



"Let me rephrase… tonight, there's just you. And I. It's been too long," he told her.



They parted, just briefly. Long enough for him to shed shoes, socks, and the jeans.



"My love!" she whispered, flying against him.



His touch was as desperate, as savage as her own. And in the darkness of the night, they fell upon one another.



"Grant!"



Stephanie was stunned. He stood outside her window—no, he was almost attached to it, like a silly little stuffed creature, suction-cupped to a car window.



Except that he wasn't little. He was towering. And his eyes were a blue that blazed with a terrible intensity.



"Let me in!" he demanded.



She wasn't sure why, but she obeyed, snapping the lock, sliding the windows open. He entered, fingers tearing through his hair as he brushed past her, looked wildly through the room, entered the bath, and ran down the stairs.



"Grant, what the hell is the matter with you?" she cried after him.