He was there again, standing on the corner, his long angular face bathed in the hazy glow of the streetlight.

Leanne felt his hooded gaze move over her as she left the side entrance and made her way toward the parking lot across the street. Behind her, she could hear the excitement build as Davis Gaines, who many considered to be L.A.'s best Phantom, appeared at the stage door to sign autographs and pose for pictures.

She was unlocking the car door when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she whirled around.

It was him. Up close, he was even more handsome than she had thought. His face was made up of sharp planes and angles, totally masculine, totally mesmerizing. His hair was black and straight and fell well past his shoulders. His eyes were an intense shade of blue, and as her gaze met his, she knew she had been waiting a lifetime for this moment, this man.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said in a deep, resonant voice. He held out a theater program. "I was hoping you'd sign this for me."

Leanne smiled. "Why would you want my autograph? I'm only in the chorus."

"But you have such a lovely voice."

She laughed softly. "You must have excellent hearing, to pick my voice out of dozens of others."

His smile was devastating. "My hearing is quite good for a man of my age."

Leanne's gaze moved over him curiously. She didn't know how old he was, of course, but he didn't look to be much more than thirty at most.

He offered her a pen, one brow raised in question.

"Who should I make it out to?" Leanne asked.

"Jason Blackthorne."

"Blackthorne." She gazed up at him intently. "Why does that name sound so familiar to me?"

"Does it?"

She nodded, then took the pen from his hand. He read the inscription over her shoulder:

"To Jason, May you always have someone to love, and someone to love you. Leanne"

He felt a catch at his heart. Someone to love? Jolene. Leanne's resemblance to his first and only love was uncanny.

He smiled his thanks as she handed him the program, his gaze moving over her face, lingering on her mouth before moving to the pulse that beat in her throat. She was small, petite, with skin that looked as though it rarely saw the sun, hair the color of sun-kissed earth, and luminous green eyes fringed with dark lashes. She wore a Phantom sweatshirt, a pair of black tights that clung to her shapely legs like a second skin, and sneakers.

Jason clenched his hands at his sides as he fought the urge to take her into his arms, to touch those lips with his own, to sip the sweet crimson nectar from her veins.

Leanne frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I was just wondering if we might go somewhere for a drink."

She should say no. There were a lot of sick people running around these days, obsessive fans, psychotics,,and yet there was something in Jason Blackthorne's eyes that made her trust him implicitly.

"I know a little place not far from here," she suggested with a tentative smile.

"I'll follow you in my car," Jason said, somewhat surprised by her ready acceptance of his invitation. Didn't she read the papers? Muggings and rapes and murders were rampant in the city.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he crossed the parking lot to his own car. Indeed, he mused as he slid behind the steering wheel, she would be far safer with one of the city's lowlifes than she was with him.

The bar was located on a narrow side street. He knew a moment's hesitation as he followed her inside, and then sighed with relief. There were no mirrors in sight.

They took a booth in the rear. She ordered a glass of red wine, as did he.

"So," Jason said, "tell me about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

She felt his gaze move over her face, soft as candlelight. "Everything."

"I'm twenty-three," Leanne said, mesmerized by his gaze. "I'm an only child. My parents live in Burbank, but I have a small apartment not far from the theater." She smiled at him, a shy intimate smile. "Someday I hope to make it to Broadway."

"Have you a boyfriend?"

"No."

You have now.

Did he speak the words aloud, or was her mind playing tricks on her, echoing words she wished to hear?

"How long have you been with the play?"

"Two years."

"I hear it'll be closing soon. What will you do then?"

"I'm not sure."

"How long have you been acting?"

"This is my first role." Leanne smiled. "I always wanted to be on stage, and I decided, what the heck, why not go for it? So, I tried out and they hired me." She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. "What do you do?"

"I'm a cop." The lie rolled easily off his lips.

"You're kidding!" He didn't look like any police officer she'd ever seen. Dressed in a loose fitting white sweater, a pair of black jeans, and cowboy boots, he looked more like a movie star than a cop.

One black brow lifted slightly- "I take it you don't care for the police."

"No, no, it's just that?" She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "You don't look like a cop."

"How's that?"-

"No mustache," Leanne said, running a fingertip over his upper lip. "All the cops I know have a mustache."

Jason grunted softly. "And do you know a lot of cops?"

"Not really. Where do you work?"

"Hollenbeck."

"That's a rough area."

Jason shrugged. "I like it." Their drinks had arrived during their conversation, but neither had paid much attention. Now, Jason picked up his glass. "What shall we drink to?"

Leanne lifted her glass. "Long life and happiness?" she suggested.

"Happiness," he repeated softly. "I'll drink to that."

"And long life?"

His gaze was drawn to her throat, to where her pulse beat strong and steady. "Long life can be a curse," he muttered.

"A curse! What do you mean?"

He dragged his gaze from her neck. "Just what I said. I've seen too many people who've lived past their prime, people with nothing left to live for, with nothing to hope for but a quick death, an end to pain."

"I don't agree. Life is precious at any age."

"And do you think you'd like to live forever?"

"I know I would." She laughed softly. "This conversation is getting too morbid for my taste. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for recreation?"

"Nothing very exciting. Read. Watch TV. Ride my horse."

"You have a horse? Where do you keep it?"

"I have a small ranch in the hills, nothing elaborate."

"I've always loved horses. Do you think I could ride sometime?"

Jason frowned. "I sleep days, so I usually ride at night."

"How romantic," she said, her voice low and husky. "Perhaps we could go riding together sometime."

Jason swallowed hard. Was he imagining things, or was she suggesting more than she was saying? The thought of holding her close, of having his arms around her waist, of burying his face in her hair, her neck, flooded him with desire. He glanced away lest she see the sudden heat, the hunger, that he knew was burning in his eyes.

"It's getting late," he said, tossing a handful of bills on the table. "I'd better let you go home and get some sleep."

"We don't have to go," Leanne replied. "I'm a bit of a night person myself."

"Then we have more in common than a love of horses," Jason replied dryly. "Perhaps we could go to a late movie tomorrow night?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll pick you up at the stage door."

Leanne gazed into the depths of his eyes and felt the instant connection between the two of them, as if their souls had found each other after traveling through years of darkness.

She had been born for this man.

The thought entered her mind, quiet and unshakable, like the answer to a prayer.