After getting dressed, she took a cab to the bookstore, put on her happy face, and signed autographs and answered questions for the next two hours. But always, in the back of her mind, were thoughts of Ronan and the kisses they had shared in the elevator and the way he had left her at her door, as if he was scared to death of her.

It was a little after six when she returned to the hotel.

Ronan was in her room, waiting for her. Dressed in black slacks, a dark blue shirt, and a long black coat, he looked extremely handsome.

“How did the signing go?” he asked.

“It was good.”

“Any sign of Overstreet or Hewitt?”

“No, at least I didn’t see them.”

“Good.”

“I need to change my clothes and touch up my makeup before we leave for the theater,”

Shannah said. “Would you order me something to eat from room service?”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“A turkey sandwich and a small salad, please, and a glass of iced tea.”

Nodding, he picked up the receiver while she went into the bedroom to change.

Her dinner arrived a few minutes before she emerged from the bedroom.

Ronan whistled softly. She seemed to grow more beautiful each time he saw her. Tonight, she was wearing a deep blue silk dress that outlined every delectable curve and made her eyes glow like sapphires. She wore a pair of navy high heels that did wonderful things for her legs.

She twirled in front of him. “Do you like it?” she asked. “It cost a small fortune.”

“Believe me, it was worth that and more.”

Smiling, she sat at the table and spread a napkin in her lap. “I guess you’ve eaten?”

He nodded. “I’ll call for a cab so we won’t have to wait.”

Shannah ate quickly, her gaze darting to Ronan again and again. He couldn’t be more perfect if he had been sculpted by Michelangelo. His shoulders were broad, his arms and legs long and well-muscled, his face the epitome of masculine strength and beauty. And his eyes…she had never seen eyes like his. They were deep and dark and expressive; sometimes they were shadowed with pain she didn’t understand, at other times they were opaque, hiding secrets she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

He was pacing the floor in front of the windows. He moved with fluid grace, almost as if his feet weren’t touching the floor. His long black coat flowed behind him like a dark cloud. Sometimes he looked…she frowned, searching for the right word. Otherworldly, she thought. That was it, as if he was a visitor from another time, another place. She grinned at the thought. She had obviously been reading too many of his books.

Finishing her dinner, she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and apply fresh lipstick, and then she was ready to go.

She had never been to the theater before, and this one was beautiful. She wasn’t surprised to find that they had seats in the front row orchestra. Ronan always managed to secure the best of everything.

“This is so exciting,” she whispered as she thumbed through the program.

Ronan grinned at her. He probably thought she was acting like a tourist, but what the heck, she had never been to a Broadway show before.Beauty and the Beast had been her favorite fairy tale when she was a little girl, and it still was. She had seen both the French film and the Disney cartoon numerous times.

When the lights dimmed, Ronan’s hand found hers and gave it a squeeze.

She was mesmerized from the moment the curtain went up and she heard the narrator’s voice tell the tale of how the young prince had been cursed by an enchantress and doomed to live as a beast until he learned how to love. The settings, the actors, the songs, all held her spellbound.

She loved Belle’s enthusiasm, Gaston’s arrogance, Lefou’s clumsiness, Lumiere’s humor, Cogsworth’s gruffness that covered a soft heart, and Babette’s coy manner. But mostly she loved the Beast. She felt his anger and his frustration, his sense of hopelessness at the fate that awaited him because she, too, had experienced those emotions and never more so than now, when her life was draining away and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. She cried when he sang, “If I Can’t Love Her.” It was the most beautiful, heartbreakingly sad song she had ever heard.

They went out to the lobby during intermission. Shannah couldn’t help noticing that practically every woman they passed slid a glance at Ronan and smiled.

He bought her a soft drink and a brownie and then they returned to their seats.

The second half of the show was as wonderful as the first. She cheered silently as the Beast saved Belle’s life by fighting off a pack of wolves, smiled as Belle tended his wounds, felt her heart swell as Belle and the Beast danced to the title song. She loved the scene in the library when Belle read the story of King Arthur to the Beast because he didn’t know how to read. She felt his pain and his loneliness when he let Belle go, watched in awe as the Beast was magically transformed into the Prince right before her eyes at the end of the show. She wondered what was wrong with her that she liked him better as the Beast than the Prince.

She hated to see it end. She applauded until her hands hurt and left the theater singing “Be Our Guest.”

She was still humming in the cab on the way back to the hotel.

“I take it you liked the show,” Ronan remarked dryly.

“It was wonderful! The best play I’ve ever seen. Oh, I’d love to see it again some day. Thank you.”

Leaning toward him, she kissed his cheek. The next thing she knew, she was on his lap, cradled in his arms while his mouth moved over hers.

Moaning softly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as the world seemed to tilt on its axis, driving everything from her mind but the unmistakable evidence of his desire and the heat of his mouth on hers. As he deepened the kiss, images swirled through her mind, frightening images that made no sense. She saw Ronan moving swiftly through the night, his long black coat billowing behind him like the shadow of death. She saw him bending over a woman, his dark eyes blazing with an unholy light…

Startled, she drew away.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I saw you,” she said, her voice edged with disbelief. “You were with a woman. Who is she?”

“What are you talking about? What woman?”

“I saw you, in my mind. You were bending over a woman, and your eyes, they were…I don’t know, red, glowing.”

Ronan swore under his breath. He had never bonded with a mortal before, had no idea that giving Shannah his blood would give her access to his thoughts, his memories. He would have to block his thoughts from now on, he thought, lest she see other things she shouldn’t.

“What does it mean?” she asked in alarm.

“That you’ve been reading too many vampire books?” he replied, his voice light.

She stared at him. Was that all it was? Just her imagination supplying images to go along with her night-time fantasies? That had to be it. What else could it be? She had to admit that when she read his books, she always pictured him as the hero, and his heroes were usually vampires.

She forced a smile. “I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed.

But she wasn’t sure at all.

Chapter Fourteen

Shannah stood on the sidewalk in front of her parents’ house, an overnight bag in one hand.

She hadn’t been home in over a year and she was blown away by the changes her folks had made. The house, once a rather insipid shade of beige, was now a cheerful country blue with bright white trim and a red door. Shannah smiled as she walked up the red brick path to the porch. For as long as she could remember, her mother had been trying to convince her father to paint the house blue. After thirty-three years, her mother had finally prevailed.

“Shannah!” Verna Davis came through the doorway as if she had been shot out of a cannon.

“You’re here!”

“Hi, Mom.”

Verna engulfed her daughter in a hug and held on tight.

“Mom. Mom, please don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” Verna said, sniffing. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“I’m doing fine, Mom.” Shannah removed her sunglasses. Squinting against the sun, she dropped them into her pocket. “Really.”

Verna stood back, her gaze moving over Shannah from head to foot. “You look wonderful. Have they found a cure?” she asked hopefully.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then how…?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m in some kind of remission. All I know is I feel better than I ever have in my whole life.” Shannah slipped her arm around her mother’s waist. “You’re looking good, too, Mom. You’ve lost some weight, haven’t you?”

“Maybe a pound or two.”

Shannah smiled. Her mother was a pretty woman, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes and a figure that, while a little plump, still made men turn and stare.

“Where’s Dad?” Shannah asked as they walked up the porch stairs.

“Oh, he’s out in the backyard puttering around.”

Shannah dropped her bag inside the front door, her gaze moving around the living room. There was a new coat of pale green paint on the walls and a new flat screen TV, but other than that the place looked the same as always. Her father’s well-used leather recliner stood in the corner, there was a bag of knitting beside her mother’s favorite chair. Pictures of the family lined the mantel. A wooden rack held her mother’s salt and pepper shaker collection, many of them older than Shannah.

“I’ll just get some lemonade,” Verna said. “Why don’t you go out and say hi to your dad?”

“All right.”

Shannah found her father working on one of the sprinkler heads in the backyard.

He looked up when he heard the back door open. “Hey, Stinky, you’re home!”

Shannah grinned at the familiar nickname. “Hi, Dad.”

Rising, Scott Davis wiped his hands on his jeans before enfolding his daughter in a bear hug.