would stay here for another ten or twenty years, until people
began to talk about the fact that he never seemed to age, and then he would
move on and find another house located in a remote place. Perhaps he’d be an
antique dealer again. Perhaps not.
He felt the heaviness descend on him as the sun climbed
toward its zenith. Turning away from the window, he ascended the narrow
stairway that led to the attic. It was a large room with a sloped ceiling and
an oak floor. A small, oval window was set high in the far wall. He had boarded
it up long ago.
Stepping into the room, he bolted the door and sat down on
the edge of the big brass bed located in the far corner of the room. No damp
cellars for him, he mused as he removed his shoes and socks, shrugged out of
his shirt and pants. No morbidly confining silk-lined casket. He much preferred
a firm mattress and clean sheets that smelled of soap and sunshine…
Naked, he slid under the covers. With a sigh, he closed his
eyes and felt the lethargy of his death-like sleep steal over him. Just once,
he thought, just once he would like to know what it was like to fall asleep in
the arms of a woman.
* * * * *
The sound of someone pounding on the front door roused him
from a dreamless sleep.
Rising, Navarre pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and
made his way downstairs. A glance out the window told him it was a few minutes
after six.
He raked a hand through his hair before opening the door.
The woman stood on the porch. He had not seen her face that
morning; now, in a single sweeping glance, he saw that her eyes were a vibrant
shade of blue, her nose was small and straight, her mouth full and sensuous.
She wore her dark blonde hair in a loose roll at the nape of her neck.
Adrianna couldn’t help staring at the man standing in the
doorway. She had expected an older man, someone in his late sixties, perhaps,
but the man standing before her was in the prime of life. Handsome, virile, and
so tall she had to tilt her head back to see his face.
And what a face! His eyes were a clear gray beneath straight
black brows. His mouth was wide, his nose sharp as a blade, his jaw square and
firm. He wore a black sweater that emphasized his pale complexion. A pair of
faded blue jeans hugged his long, muscular legs. His feet were bare. He had
hair any woman would die for; thick and black, it fell past his shoulders.
“Mr. Navarre?”
“Yes.”
“I…” She swallowed, flustered by his intense gaze. She had
the fleeting impression that if she looked into those fathomless gray eyes too
long, she would lose her very soul. “May I… That is, are you open?”
He nodded. Taking a step backward, he motioned for her to
enter. She noted his hands were large, the fingers long, the nails short and
square.
Adrianna hesitated a moment before she stepped inside,
wondering if she was making a mistake. The house, which had appeared old and
romantic in the bright light of early morning, now seemed fraught with menace
when viewed in the shifting shadows of twilight.
Or perhaps it was the man who intimidated her, with his
sober mien and cool gray gaze. Such a deserted stretch of land suddenly seemed
an unlikely location for an antique store. Was it merely a front for something
more sinister? Had she stumbled on a Mafia hideout? A meth lab?
“Everything on the first two floors is for sale,” Navarre
said. “Feel free to wander around. I’ll be in the kitchen if you have any
questions.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
Adrianna stared after him until he was out of sight, the
sound of his voice echoing in her mind. Never had she heard such a voice, so
soft, so deep, so compelling. And his eyes… She shuddered. Was it her
imagination, or was there something otherworldly about those eyes?
One thing was certain, there was something decidedly
mysterious about Mr. V. Navarre and she stood there for a moment, trying to
decide what it was. Shaking off her fanciful
began to talk about the fact that he never seemed to age, and then he would
move on and find another house located in a remote place. Perhaps he’d be an
antique dealer again. Perhaps not.
He felt the heaviness descend on him as the sun climbed
toward its zenith. Turning away from the window, he ascended the narrow
stairway that led to the attic. It was a large room with a sloped ceiling and
an oak floor. A small, oval window was set high in the far wall. He had boarded
it up long ago.
Stepping into the room, he bolted the door and sat down on
the edge of the big brass bed located in the far corner of the room. No damp
cellars for him, he mused as he removed his shoes and socks, shrugged out of
his shirt and pants. No morbidly confining silk-lined casket. He much preferred
a firm mattress and clean sheets that smelled of soap and sunshine…
Naked, he slid under the covers. With a sigh, he closed his
eyes and felt the lethargy of his death-like sleep steal over him. Just once,
he thought, just once he would like to know what it was like to fall asleep in
the arms of a woman.
* * * * *
The sound of someone pounding on the front door roused him
from a dreamless sleep.
Rising, Navarre pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater and
made his way downstairs. A glance out the window told him it was a few minutes
after six.
He raked a hand through his hair before opening the door.
The woman stood on the porch. He had not seen her face that
morning; now, in a single sweeping glance, he saw that her eyes were a vibrant
shade of blue, her nose was small and straight, her mouth full and sensuous.
She wore her dark blonde hair in a loose roll at the nape of her neck.
Adrianna couldn’t help staring at the man standing in the
doorway. She had expected an older man, someone in his late sixties, perhaps,
but the man standing before her was in the prime of life. Handsome, virile, and
so tall she had to tilt her head back to see his face.
And what a face! His eyes were a clear gray beneath straight
black brows. His mouth was wide, his nose sharp as a blade, his jaw square and
firm. He wore a black sweater that emphasized his pale complexion. A pair of
faded blue jeans hugged his long, muscular legs. His feet were bare. He had
hair any woman would die for; thick and black, it fell past his shoulders.
“Mr. Navarre?”
“Yes.”
“I…” She swallowed, flustered by his intense gaze. She had
the fleeting impression that if she looked into those fathomless gray eyes too
long, she would lose her very soul. “May I… That is, are you open?”
He nodded. Taking a step backward, he motioned for her to
enter. She noted his hands were large, the fingers long, the nails short and
square.
Adrianna hesitated a moment before she stepped inside,
wondering if she was making a mistake. The house, which had appeared old and
romantic in the bright light of early morning, now seemed fraught with menace
when viewed in the shifting shadows of twilight.
Or perhaps it was the man who intimidated her, with his
sober mien and cool gray gaze. Such a deserted stretch of land suddenly seemed
an unlikely location for an antique store. Was it merely a front for something
more sinister? Had she stumbled on a Mafia hideout? A meth lab?
“Everything on the first two floors is for sale,” Navarre
said. “Feel free to wander around. I’ll be in the kitchen if you have any
questions.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
Adrianna stared after him until he was out of sight, the
sound of his voice echoing in her mind. Never had she heard such a voice, so
soft, so deep, so compelling. And his eyes… She shuddered. Was it her
imagination, or was there something otherworldly about those eyes?
One thing was certain, there was something decidedly
mysterious about Mr. V. Navarre and she stood there for a moment, trying to
decide what it was. Shaking off her fanciful
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