Forever and the Night (The Black Rose Chronicles) by Linda Lael Miller Page B
Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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Neely pulled into the parking lot of a tacky motel and, with no small amount of trepidation, turned off the engine. If the motor wouldn’t start in the morning, she told herself wearily, she would abandon the heap with no real regrets and step onto a bus.
Maybe that would be better anyway, she thought, taking her purse and overnight case and heading for the front office. A neon sign burned dimly in the window, announcing a vacancy.
The clerk was a taciturn Yankee woman, clad in a chenille bathrobe and furry slippers that looked as though they might be developing mange, and she was none too pleased to be awakened. Neely signed the register with a false name, purposely illegible, and paid cash. She was given a key with a red plastic tag emblazoned with a 6.
The room was small and smelled vaguely of mildew and stale cigarette smoke, but Neely was far too tired and distraught to care about amenities. As long as the sheets and the bathroom were clean, she could overlook the rest.
After carefully putting the chain lock on the door, she undressed, put on a nightgown, brushed her teeth and splashed her face with warm water, then toppled into bed. She was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and unconsciousness offered a welcome respite from reality.
Lying in the darkness, she found herself longing for Aidan. The desire was not merely sexual, though there could be no denying, at least in the privacy of her own mind, that she wanted him with a wild, primitive, even violent sort of ardor. No, there was much more to her yearning; it was complex, a living thing rooted in the very core of her spirit, spreading graceful vines into her mind and heart and even into the deepest recesses of her unconscious.
Despite her loneliness, life had never seemed sweeter or more precious to Neely. There were so many things she wanted to see and feel and do—not the least of which was to give herself to Aidan—and now she was probably going to die.
Neely turned onto her stomach, buried her face in the musty pillow, and wept, softly at first. Soon, however, her sniffles turned to unrestrained howls as she grieved for a future that might well be denied her.
In the charcoal-smudged hours just before dawn, something awakened Neely, a feeling rather than a sound. She lifted her head from the pillow, squinted into the darkness, felt a twinge at the realization that she was not at home in her trailer, but on the road, and running.
She groped for her watch, which was lying on the nightstand, and peered at the numbers.
3:20 A.M.
With a sigh, Neely rolled onto her back and, in the next second let out a low, croaky cry.
A cloaked form towered at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, God,” Neely whimpered. She didn’t want to think the shadowy shape belonged to one of the senator’s business associates or some serial rapist, but the possibilities had to be considered.
She had just made up her mind to fight the intruder with everything she had when a familiar voice spoke.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Neely snapped on the bedside lamp and gasped. She blinked hard, but when she looked again, Aidan Tremayne was still standing there, smiling at her.
She was at once wildly relieved and totally mystified. Had she conjured an image of him somehow, by entertaining all those scandalous sexual fantasies just after she went to bed?
Neely scrambled to the foot of the mattress, tugged at his cloak to assure herself that it had substance, and then hurtled back to the other end.
“It is you,” she said in a tone that was almost accusing.
“Quite so,” he replied gently, folding his arms.
Neely swallowed hard. She was at once terrified, sensing in her deepest being that Aidan had not entered her room by ordinary means, and at the same time wanting him to hold and caress and finally take her.
“Damn it, what’s going on here?” she cried impatiently.
Aidan raised both hands, palms out, in a conciliatory, calming gesture. “I’m about to tell you the
Maybe that would be better anyway, she thought, taking her purse and overnight case and heading for the front office. A neon sign burned dimly in the window, announcing a vacancy.
The clerk was a taciturn Yankee woman, clad in a chenille bathrobe and furry slippers that looked as though they might be developing mange, and she was none too pleased to be awakened. Neely signed the register with a false name, purposely illegible, and paid cash. She was given a key with a red plastic tag emblazoned with a 6.
The room was small and smelled vaguely of mildew and stale cigarette smoke, but Neely was far too tired and distraught to care about amenities. As long as the sheets and the bathroom were clean, she could overlook the rest.
After carefully putting the chain lock on the door, she undressed, put on a nightgown, brushed her teeth and splashed her face with warm water, then toppled into bed. She was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and unconsciousness offered a welcome respite from reality.
Lying in the darkness, she found herself longing for Aidan. The desire was not merely sexual, though there could be no denying, at least in the privacy of her own mind, that she wanted him with a wild, primitive, even violent sort of ardor. No, there was much more to her yearning; it was complex, a living thing rooted in the very core of her spirit, spreading graceful vines into her mind and heart and even into the deepest recesses of her unconscious.
Despite her loneliness, life had never seemed sweeter or more precious to Neely. There were so many things she wanted to see and feel and do—not the least of which was to give herself to Aidan—and now she was probably going to die.
Neely turned onto her stomach, buried her face in the musty pillow, and wept, softly at first. Soon, however, her sniffles turned to unrestrained howls as she grieved for a future that might well be denied her.
In the charcoal-smudged hours just before dawn, something awakened Neely, a feeling rather than a sound. She lifted her head from the pillow, squinted into the darkness, felt a twinge at the realization that she was not at home in her trailer, but on the road, and running.
She groped for her watch, which was lying on the nightstand, and peered at the numbers.
3:20 A.M.
With a sigh, Neely rolled onto her back and, in the next second let out a low, croaky cry.
A cloaked form towered at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, God,” Neely whimpered. She didn’t want to think the shadowy shape belonged to one of the senator’s business associates or some serial rapist, but the possibilities had to be considered.
She had just made up her mind to fight the intruder with everything she had when a familiar voice spoke.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Neely snapped on the bedside lamp and gasped. She blinked hard, but when she looked again, Aidan Tremayne was still standing there, smiling at her.
She was at once wildly relieved and totally mystified. Had she conjured an image of him somehow, by entertaining all those scandalous sexual fantasies just after she went to bed?
Neely scrambled to the foot of the mattress, tugged at his cloak to assure herself that it had substance, and then hurtled back to the other end.
“It is you,” she said in a tone that was almost accusing.
“Quite so,” he replied gently, folding his arms.
Neely swallowed hard. She was at once terrified, sensing in her deepest being that Aidan had not entered her room by ordinary means, and at the same time wanting him to hold and caress and finally take her.
“Damn it, what’s going on here?” she cried impatiently.
Aidan raised both hands, palms out, in a conciliatory, calming gesture. “I’m about to tell you the
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