Night Song Read online

  “Hi.”

  Unable to make out any of his facial features, just the tall silhouette she’d seen the night before, she straightened and peered through the shadows. He stared at her and a dark tremor shot up her spine, but she couldn’t tell if it was apprehension or just an appreciation for his wonderful physique.

  “Come in,” he said, and she silently added, said the spider to the fly. But she took a step in anyway. The tinted windows made the inside darker than usual, but she could still see that he had one of those plush leather couches and matching chairs. A plasma screen TV sat in the corner, next to a beautiful stone fireplace. Modern art hung on the walls.

  “Could you shut the door, please?”

  She jumped and pulled her gaze from the expensive furnishings to him. He lurked in the shadows, his skin ghostly pale.

  “Uh, sure.” She reached out and pushed the door just enough for it to close slightly. She wasn’t stupid enough to close off her only exit.

  “I brought you cookies.” She held the plate up. “To welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  His dark-eyed gaze dropped to the plate in her hand, then came back to her. He stepped closer and her breath caught in her throat, her mouth dried up, and the extended plate wobbled.

  Oh. My. God. The man was just about as perfect as perfect could be. Her eyes began to water because she forgot to blink. She licked her lips and his almost-black eyes followed the movement. Geez Louise. Her knees knocked in sexual excitement and she almost groaned. Dark blond hair flowed well past his shoulders. Well-chiseled cheekbones and a strong jaw completed the look.

  He took the plate without taking his eyes off her. Heat radiated from those black depths, warming her until she was so hot she thought she’d combust. His fingers brushed against hers, sending fiery tingles shooting through her arm straight to her stomach. Get a grip, Amy.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice smooth as warm honey. Bedroom eyes. Bedroom voice. Her gaze lowered to the sweatpants riding low on lean hips that flared to muscular thighs. Bedroom body.

  Holy mama.

  He placed the plate of cookies on a chrome and glass side table, his biceps bunching and flexing with the movement. He took another step forward and suddenly she felt as if she were the last endangered dodo bird being stalked. He kept staring at her, a strange mix of hunger and desperation burning in his eyes. His glance slid to her throat where she thought for sure he could see her pulse on overdrive. Her hands began to sweat and her back tingled.

  He raised his hand and let it hover between them. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe as she waited for him to do something. With one long finger, he hooked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His hand skimmed her throat and stopped for a moment on her pounding pulse.

  It was an intimate touch, too intimate for people who hadn’t met, yet she found she couldn’t step away.

  The tip of his tongue shot out and caressed his lower lip. Amy was helpless to pull away, could only stare, her insides turning to mush. Never before had a man turned her on as much as this one. Never before had a man mesmerized her to the point that she lost all rational thought. His hand fell to his side where it curled into a fist as if he were hoarding the heat from her skin. The movement broke the spell he’d woven around them, jerking her back to reality.

  “I, uh, should go. I need to pick Claire up from choir practice.” She stared at him a moment longer, memorizing his muscular form, the mix of emotions in his eyes, the way his gaze caressed her as if he wanted her. Ridiculous, of course. She was an overworked single parent. No man looking like that would want her.

  “Wait.” His hand shot out and clutched her upper arm. She looked at him, attempting to ignore the spark of electricity that ran through her body. “You didn’t tell me your name,” he said, those dark eyes penetrating her.

  “Amy. Amy Carmichael.”

  He held his hand out to her. “Aiden Reed. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He drew the word pleasure out until it wrapped around her, silently promising things she could only dream about.

  “Me too. A pleasure that is. To meet you.” Sheesh, she sounded like she was in high school. “I have to go.” For my peace of mind, for my sanity, and before my daughter pitches a fit that I’m late again.

  She opened the door to a night that had fallen since she’d been inside. He—Aiden—walked her to the door, leaning a bare shoulder against it. The streetlight illuminated his skin and the mat of dark blond hair that sprinkled his chest, tapering down his torso and disappearing into his sweatpants. She jerked her eyes back up to his. Amusement twinkled in the black depths and a small smile hovered over his lips as if he knew the attraction she felt for him. Her face heated in a blush.

  “See ya around.” Her brain suddenly stalled for something more mature to say. She ran down the steps on wobbling knees, praying she would make it to her car before she melted into a puddle.

  “Amy.” His warmer than warm voice followed her, quiet yet commanding. Automatically she turned. His brows were drawn down in a frown. “Be careful out there.”

  Chapter Three

  Amy reached the safety of her car and locked the doors. That woman who’d entered her neighbor’s house wasn’t her. No way. She didn’t react to men like that. She was a cold fish, an ice princess. Frigid. Rob had told her that and sometimes she still believed him. But even she had to accept that she was too busy, too overworked and too stressed to feel anything remotely sexual.

  She pumped the accelerator and started the ignition, listening to it sputter before it decided to fire up. But, oh man, the reaction she’d had to Mr. Aiden Reed scared her to death. He was cotton candy, chocolate chip cookies, and gooey butter cake all rolled into one fine looking male and her mouth watered at the sight of him.

  Stop this, Amy Carmichael. What has gotten into you?

  She groaned and forcefully pushed Mr. Reed from her thoughts, concentrating instead on the housework piling up, the work she’d brought home, and the batches of lemon poppy seed bread she needed to make for Mary.

  Aiden leaned his forehead against the closed door and groaned. That had been close. She’d woken him from a deep sleep and as soon as he’d seen her, his hunger had taken on a life of its own. He’d used every ounce of his willpower to fight the craving and the need to feed on the woman. He’d won the inner battle, but now he couldn’t avoid his hunger. He tilted his head back, his body straining.

  Blood. He needed blood.

  Thoughts of the little girl and boy next door rose to his mind and a small part of him screamed No. Aiden raced into his bedroom and tore off his sweatpants, pulling on a pair of balled-up jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt. His chest heaved and he licked his fangs as he ran out of his house, pushing the remote starter on his SUV and hopping in the front seat to head to the seedy part of town. In this sleepy, New England burg, ‘seedy’ meant a few streets where the down and out congregated.

  Aiden patrolled the area, searching for his meal. Feeding off humans didn’t bother him. It was the intense hunger he suffered before he fed that made it uncomfortable. The actual feeding was finished in a few minutes. The human walked away with no memory of it and Aiden walked away well-nourished.

  He spotted his mark on the street corner. A punk kid with too many piercings and a too large ego with hunger in his eyes. Aiden stopped the SUV a few blocks up and walked toward him. He’d feed, then regain control of himself, then he’d hunt Cerian. After that he’d return home to his addiction—watching Amy.

  Her scent stayed with him, a warm, floral vanilla mixed with fear. The fear had called to his dark side, the vanilla and flowers to the other, larger, part of him—the man that wanted her. He wanted to smell that again, to inhale it until nothing but her crowded his mind.

  He approached the kid and held out two twenty-dollar bills. Quick as lightening the boy snatched the money and they both melted into the shadows of the alley. The feeding was quick and painless for the victim. Tomorrow he wouldn’t remember what happened
and he’d be forty bucks richer.

  Having fed, Aiden’s thoughts sharpened, his senses became honed. He left the teen lying in the alley and tucked another twenty in the pocket of his denim coat. When he emerged he felt more alive than he had in days. Automatically his mind turned to Amy.

  Amy.

  He had a name to put with the sexy brunette. Amy Carmichael. Mother of Claire, Robby and Lydia. She wore no wedding bands. So what did that mean? Where was Mr. Carmichael? Aiden licked his lips and smiled. He would find out.

  Two nights later Robby stomped through the house, his face set in a fierce scowl. Claire, quiet as always, trudged along behind him.

  “Hey, sweeties,” Amy sang out while stirring her chicken and rice in the Crock-Pot. Robby mumbled something as he banged up the stairs, while Claire sank into a kitchen chair and pulled her books out.

  “How was school?” Amy asked. She hated this part of the day. Claire was at the age where any little thing would set her off on a bout of tears and recriminations usually aimed at her mother. When Rob left, Amy couldn’t afford the pricey private schools they’d been sending their kids to. She also couldn’t afford the mortgage on the house he’d so generously left her. She almost snorted at that. Generous, Rob was not. He left her the house knowing she couldn’t afford the payments and would have to sell.

  She’d taken the proceeds from the sale of her dreams and left Washington DC, heading for the small town she’d used to visit every summer with her family. Now the kids went to the local school and Amy worked there several days a week as an aide. Although she liked to think they were settled, they really weren’t. Claire was constantly moody, her grades sliding. Robby, lacking a strong male influence, was out of control, and Lydia… Amy smiled. Lydia was her rainbow in the downpour that had become her life. Lydia didn’t remember much of her father and she was okay with that, adjusting her world to fit her personality and showering all her love on her mother.

  With dinner still a few minutes from serving, Amy pulled out the chair across from Claire and sat. “So how was school?” she repeated.

  “Fine.” Her daughter didn’t raise her head, didn’t look at her. Her long hair shielded her face but Amy knew from experience she would have a sullen look.

  “Much homework tonight?”

  One small shoulder lifted, then fell. Amy bit back a sigh. Being a single parent was almost impossible. Frustrated and knowing she wouldn’t get any further with her oldest, she stood and checked on the bread baking in the oven. Robby came trudging back down the stairs, his backpack trailing behind him, thumping on each step. He thrust a piece of paper in her hand, then lifted his chin.

  Amy read the paper and her eyes started watering. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. “Oh, honey—”

  “I don’t care,” he cried. “I don’t wanna go anyway, but my pack leader said I have to show you this paper. So there—” he snatched the sheet from her hands and balled it up. “I showed you.”

  Helpless, her hands fell to her sides in defeat. There was nothing she could do, nothing she could say that would heal her son’s wounds. Robby’s Boy Scout pack was holding its annual weekend Father-Son Camp Out and they both knew Rob wouldn’t show for it.

  She did all she could to be both mother and father. Robby hadn’t been in the pack long and so far she’d managed to step in and fill the gaping hole his father had left behind. But this she couldn’t do. A mom was neither wanted nor needed at a father-son event.

  She somehow got through dinner, helped Claire with her homework, and read Lydia a bedtime story while hiding her tears and fighting her grief and anger. When the house was quiet and the last of the bread in the oven, she took her glass of wine and went to her private retreat—her back deck—where she finally let the tears fall. Silently they slid down her cheeks, a concrete reminder of how screwed up her life had become and how little control she had over it. This happened every time. Just when she thought life was on an even keel—bam—a curve ball threw her for a loop.

  She tilted her head back, the tears streaming into her hair and ear. How much more could she take? When was her life going to even out? When would she be happy again? She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then wiped her hand on her shirt.

  “Amy?”

  Heart hurtling into her throat and her stomach dropping to her toes, she jumped and looked around. Aiden stood at the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the last step, a hand resting on the railing. Night had fallen long ago and the only light came from the tiki candles she’d lit earlier. Their flames cast his face in shadows and flickering orange light.

  How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen? While privately Amy didn’t mind an occasional crying jag, she’d never allowed herself to show such emotion in public.

  “Aiden? What are you doing here?” She sat up straighter and surreptitiously wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “I was walking in the woods and saw the light from the tikis.” He climbed the steps, never taking his eyes off her.

  His total concentration unnerved her. He’d done that the other day when she brought him the cookies.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She laughed, but quickly cut off the sound when it threatened to move into hysteria. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

  He reached out and touched the damp hair where her tears had run. “You’re crying.”

  “Am not.” The response was automatic and sounded just a tad bit like Robby. She rolled her eyes while he smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, so I was. Nothing major, okay?” Drop it, please.

  He folded himself into the chair next to her, his long body all grace and poetry in motion. “So what made you cry?”

  She sniffed, and to her utter mortification, the tears threatened once again. He sounded so sincere, like he really, truly wanted to hear her problems. And the need to talk to somebody almost overwhelmed her. She had no friends here, was too busy trying to make ends meet to take the time, and she so needed a friend.

  But not this man. No, this man was more suited to hot, wild sex. Slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Not cozy little chats that emptied your soul.

  He stroked the top of her hand, his warm calloused fingers doing funny things to her insides.

  “Tell me.”

  The soft words almost broke down her defenses. No, they did break down her defenses.

  “Life,” she admitted, looking out over the trees, not daring to look at him.

  “Life had you crying?” He shifted so that he too stared out over the trees and she was glad he wasn’t looking at her. Those dark eyes disturbed her, making her want things she couldn’t have.

  “Yes.”

  “Care to elaborate?” His voice held a touch of amusement and she found herself smiling.

  “Not really. Would you care for some wine?”

  He turned to look at her, his silky hair tied back in a ponytail sliding over his shoulders. She clenched her fingers in her lap, wanting to touch it, to pull the rubber band from it and sift it through her fingers then bury her hands in it. Instead she looked away.

  “I’d love some wine,” he said.

  She closed her eyes against the sexy voice that floated to her through the darkness.

  Oh, God, what was she getting herself into?

  Chapter Four

  Aiden hadn’t lied. He had been walking in the woods. What he didn’t tell her was that he timed his walk to coincide with her nightly ritual of sitting on the deck with her glass of wine. She’d been late tonight and he’d almost given up, but his patience had been rewarded when the sliding door opened and she stepped through.

  He’d been more than stunned to see the shimmer of tears on her cheeks and could no more have stayed away than deny his insatiable hunger for blood. He had to know what was wrong, what made her sad.

  But she was reluctant to talk and her mortification was apparent, so he let it go for the time being. That thought alone should have been enough to send him running for the h
ills. She was human and she was a mother on top of it. A bad combination in his book. But this woman was different and that both drew him to her and made him step back.

  It was insane to get to know her.

  Yet he couldn’t stay away even if he wanted—and at the moment he didn’t want.

  She left the deck to get his wine. He followed and stood just outside the sliding glass door, surveying her kitchen. It was everything his home was not. Lydia’s drawings covered the front of the refrigerator held there with big, colorful magnets. An overlarge calendar was taped up, each day marked with different colored pens. Papers had been pushed off to the side of the kitchen table. Cooling loaves of bread littered the small space. Aiden took a deep breath and held it. Lemon bread, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  He rarely ate food, and only then to appease the human he was with, but the scents coming from Amy’s kitchen made his stomach grumble. His gaze went to her as she bustled around the cluttered kitchen. Just like the other night, he wanted to step inside and just be with her. But, as a vampire, he wasn’t allowed inside unless invited. The ruling went back thousands of years and had begun as a protective measure for his people. The vampire community had been determined to keep their race pure, free from human blood. Nowadays both species intermingled on a frequent basis, even if the humans didn’t know it. And though the ruling was outdated, vampires still had to follow it or face the Rogue Hunters.

  Amy shot him a warm look over her shoulder as she pulled more loaves from the oven. “Come in,” she said with a smile. “Sorry about the mess.”

  He stepped inside, savoring the smell of warm lemon bread, entranced at the sight of her rear end bent over the open oven door. His breath caught in his lungs and he stepped even closer. She closed the door and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of wine.