Any Way You Want It. Kathy Love

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      “So, what did your psychic tell you?” Erika asked as soon as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

      Despite the bright sunlight and the ever-present humidity, a chill clung to Maggie’s skin. That had all been too strange. And a little too accurate. A small face with long hair flashed in her mind. The arrangement of leaves could have looked like a dozen different things. But it hadn’t. She and Hattie had seen the very same thing.

      “Maggie? Are you okay?”

      Maggie nodded, even as another chill prickled her skin. She couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.

      Instead she asked Erika what her reading said. She was relieved when Erika excitedly told her. She was going to have a great year. Her career, as an artist, a sculptor, was going to finally take off. She’d actually have several very successful shows. She’d also meet a new guy.

      Maggie hung onto that last prediction, telling herself she was right. All fortune-tellers foretold new loves.

      “A blond, dark-eyed prince,” she told Maggie, wagging her eyebrows. “Overall, it sounds like everything is going to fall into place.”

      Maggie said something appropriate, although she couldn’t have said what it was a minute later.

      “Are you hungry?” Erika asked as they approached a restaurant. The smell of spicy food managed to penetrate Maggie’s frazzled thoughts.

      “Sure.” Although she wasn’t the least bit hungry, food would be a good grounding sort of distraction.

      “So,” Erika asked again once they settled at a table in a quaint courtyard. “What did your reading say?”

      Maggie busied herself with the menu, still reluctant to talk about it. But she knew Erika wouldn’t let it go. She’d have to spill eventually.

      Maggie pushed the menu aside and said, “I think that musician from last night was in my cup.”

      Erika didn’t look nearly as stunned by the announcement as Maggie was.

      “Then I guess we know where we’re going tonight,” Erika said, then turned to place her order with the waiter.

      Chapter 6

      Ren’s glance returned to the doorway yet again as another woman entered the bar. Platinum blonde.

      Not her.

      Today had seemed like an eternity. Quite a statement for a vampire. But he’d been anxious to get here tonight and see if Maggie showed up again.

      His sleep should have been an escape from thoughts of her. Slumber was always black and empty. He never dreamed. But even with the relentless, drugging weight of the sun’s rays overhead, dreams had still managed to penetrate the blackness. The enforced rest had been filled with images of a strawberry blonde with green-gray eyes and bow-shaped lips.

      As he rose for the evening, surprised and confused by the images, he told himself his subconscious had managed to think of her because of the question she’d asked about the sonata.

      How could she know that music? Any print version was long gone. Yet she said she was an authenticator. Of classical music. Was it possible she’d somehow seen it? And where?

      He had to know.

      It could be dangerous if she somehow tied the music of a composer known as Renaldo D’Antoni to him. Such a discovery would certainly require a lot of explaining on his part.

      But in truth, he could handle that. He could manufacture some believable lie. After all, she was hardly likely to think, “Ah-ha, vampire!” That just wasn’t the first explanation a person leapt to.

      So if she wasn’t going to piece together that Ren, the Bourbon Street rocker, and Renaldo, the classical composer, were the same person, then why not let all this go? There was no risk, no danger. He should just leave her alone.

      His focus returned to the doorway to his left as another group entered. Two guys and a girl with a hairdo that went out of style in the eighties. Or should have.

      Not even close to Maggie.

      He ignored the sinking disappointment in his belly. Okay, he did wonder about whether she had indeed recognized the music. And he could argue that was the reason he hoped she would return. But did he care that much? Those days were far, far in his past and better forgotten.

      His attention snapped back to the doorway as three women stepped into the dim barroom. His pulse jumped as he saw black hair—Maggie’s friend. Then he realized all the arriving women had black hair, and they were Asian.

      Another wash of disappointment deadened his hope.

      Okay, maybe he also needed to admit that he wanted to see Maggie again too. Something about her—she just drew him.

      “Dude,” Drake said after they finished up the song, “you’re doing it again. Josie only goes on a vacation far away once.”

      It took Ren a moment to figure out what his bandmate was talking about. Had he really repeated the first line of the Outfield song they were performing? Damn, he knew that song like he knew his own freakin’ name. Better, maybe.

      “I’ve been distracted.”

      Drake nodded. “I can see that.”

      Ren opened his mouth to ask what they should play next, when a prickling of awareness, like needles of both fire and ice, tattooed down his spine. He spun to see Maggie and her friends enter the bar from the left side door.

      She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second, then she looked back to her friend. The tall, black-haired one. Erika?

      He watched as they crossed the room and stood at the bar, facing away from the stage. Waiting for a drink. Pretending not to be back here to see him.

      Ren moved to the mic, trying to ignore that he felt almost…euphoric? Euphoric was not an emotion he was familiar with but—he paused, curling his fingers around the mic—yep, it sure seemed like euphoric. Even if she was making a vain attempt to ignore him.

      “How are you all doin’ tonight?” He played up his learned southern accent, because people seemed to like it. He wondered if Maggie did.

      “I gotta tell СКАЧАТЬ