liked being independent. A few of her friends felt as if they had to have a guy in their lives or else they were at loose ends, incomplete somehow, missing out on life. Not Chloe. She valued her alone time and her independence. If and when the right man came into her life, that would be great. Until then, she wasn’t looking, and she wasn’t desperate. She’d watched too many of her friends end up with losers when they thought they couldn’t snag anyone better. A time or two, she’d fallen into the loser trap herself. Okay, three times, before she’d come to her senses. She wasn’t going to settle for Mr. Right Now because she was afraid Mr. Right wasn’t ever going to materialize.
Chloe had often thought that if she had one major characteristic, it was that she was level-headed. Wow, wasn’t that impressive? But she made a great assistant manager, and one day she’d make a great manager, with an MBA, her level head, and her organizational skills—which did not, she admitted, extend to her guest room. She’d get there, though.
She had the whole summer ahead of her to get the spare room in order, get her responses thought out and lined up for the inevitable arguments her parents would fire at her, and get rid of the weird braid that had invaded her dreams. In the bright light of the kitchen, that last detail sounded downright ridiculous. Who let a dream about hair keep her awake at night? Maybe she subconsciously wanted to dye her hair. The color ofthe braid really was nice. Maybe she’d seen someone on the street with a long braid like that one and she’d mentally filed it away without realizing it.
But what about the sensation that she wasn’t alone? Maybe she did need to seriously consider looking for that elusive permanent man, even though she wasn’t quite ready to settle down. She could start cruising bars until she found a willing and acceptable man—nope, wasn’t going to happen. Her level-headedness said that kind of behavior was both sad and dangerous.
She’d have to take up jogging again, dammit. She should have been doing it all along, but she simply hadn’t had the time. Now that she was out of school for the summer, she didn’t have that excuse. Everyone in Washington jogged, so she’d get out and join the herd.
“Chloe …”
The voice didn’t just surprise her, it shocked her like a slap to the face. Her half-full glass of milk slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor, sending glass and milk shooting across her bare legs and the tile floor. Wildly she looked around, certain that someone was there. The voice, that hoarse whisper of her name, had been right
there
. The sound had been directly in her ear.
No one. Nothing. She was completely alone.
She began shaking. She wasn’t asleep, she couldn’t write the whisper off to dozing in the middle of the kitchen while she stood there drinking milk and making plans to drag her running shoes out of the closet. The voice had been real, as real as the mess she had to clean up, as real as the thin trickle of blood where a sliver of glass had cut her leg.
After a minute she controlled her ragged breathing, and her panicked senses began settling down. Stepping carefully to avoid the broken glass that surrounded her, she concentrated on cleaning up the mess, focusing on the task so she didn’t have to think of anything else. Bythe time every speck of milk and glass had been cleaned up and disposed of, she could take a deep breath and let it go. She hadn’t really heard anything; her imagination had gotten the best of her, that was all.
It was either that or admit that she was losing her mind, and pragmatic Chloe couldn’t allow herself to go there.
Across the city, Hector paced in his private quarters. His ability to read energies, to see bits and pieces of the future, had grown in his years as a vampire, but he couldn’t see everything. What use was such an incomplete ability in a time of turmoil? How did he benefit from
Chloe had often thought that if she had one major characteristic, it was that she was level-headed. Wow, wasn’t that impressive? But she made a great assistant manager, and one day she’d make a great manager, with an MBA, her level head, and her organizational skills—which did not, she admitted, extend to her guest room. She’d get there, though.
She had the whole summer ahead of her to get the spare room in order, get her responses thought out and lined up for the inevitable arguments her parents would fire at her, and get rid of the weird braid that had invaded her dreams. In the bright light of the kitchen, that last detail sounded downright ridiculous. Who let a dream about hair keep her awake at night? Maybe she subconsciously wanted to dye her hair. The color ofthe braid really was nice. Maybe she’d seen someone on the street with a long braid like that one and she’d mentally filed it away without realizing it.
But what about the sensation that she wasn’t alone? Maybe she did need to seriously consider looking for that elusive permanent man, even though she wasn’t quite ready to settle down. She could start cruising bars until she found a willing and acceptable man—nope, wasn’t going to happen. Her level-headedness said that kind of behavior was both sad and dangerous.
She’d have to take up jogging again, dammit. She should have been doing it all along, but she simply hadn’t had the time. Now that she was out of school for the summer, she didn’t have that excuse. Everyone in Washington jogged, so she’d get out and join the herd.
“Chloe …”
The voice didn’t just surprise her, it shocked her like a slap to the face. Her half-full glass of milk slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor, sending glass and milk shooting across her bare legs and the tile floor. Wildly she looked around, certain that someone was there. The voice, that hoarse whisper of her name, had been right
there
. The sound had been directly in her ear.
No one. Nothing. She was completely alone.
She began shaking. She wasn’t asleep, she couldn’t write the whisper off to dozing in the middle of the kitchen while she stood there drinking milk and making plans to drag her running shoes out of the closet. The voice had been real, as real as the mess she had to clean up, as real as the thin trickle of blood where a sliver of glass had cut her leg.
After a minute she controlled her ragged breathing, and her panicked senses began settling down. Stepping carefully to avoid the broken glass that surrounded her, she concentrated on cleaning up the mess, focusing on the task so she didn’t have to think of anything else. Bythe time every speck of milk and glass had been cleaned up and disposed of, she could take a deep breath and let it go. She hadn’t really heard anything; her imagination had gotten the best of her, that was all.
It was either that or admit that she was losing her mind, and pragmatic Chloe couldn’t allow herself to go there.
Across the city, Hector paced in his private quarters. His ability to read energies, to see bits and pieces of the future, had grown in his years as a vampire, but he couldn’t see everything. What use was such an incomplete ability in a time of turmoil? How did he benefit from
Similar Books
Death in Venice and Other Stories
Thomas Mann
Line of Fire
Franklin W. Dixon
The Heather Blazing
Colm Tóibín
Wholehearted
Cate Ashwood
A Baron in Her Bed
Maggi Andersen
With a Twist
Heather Peters
Stamping Ground
Loren D. Estleman
Unraveled by Her
Wendy Leigh