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“Oh,” Jane whispered. “That was just…so very odd.”
“What?” he demanded, eager to hear what else Jane had discovered about Shana.
In a compelling tone, she said, “We have to help her.”
He cocked his head to the side. His gut clenched. There it was again—trouble looming on the horizon. It was so palpable, he could feel it. And inescapable, he knew it.
Still, he hedged. “We do?”
She nodded. “Yes, yes.” She turned to Drake and wrapped a slender hand partially around his upper arm. Her tone was back to the confident, lilting one she’d started with this evening as a smile touched her lips. “Drake, it’s not just Shana’s photo that caught your attention. It’s not just her face and her body you’re drawn to. I remember the day you downloaded several of the compositions from the orchestra she performed with. From the very first note of her very first solo, you were mesmerized. I don’t even think you realized how many times you played the haunting pieces, over and over. And then I found the articles she’d written that you’d printed out. They were scattered all over your desk. Dozens of them. You connected with her on more than just a physical level. There’s something about this woman, something inside her that sort of…calls to you. To me too.”
His brow jerked up. “She’s human, Jane. That means off-limits. To both of us.”
“You don’t understand. Reassurance is what Shana needs, yes. But not just assurance that she’s attractive—it goes far beyond that,” she said as she lifted her hand from his arm and waved it in a dismissive way. “She has no idea how captivating she is, true. Her passionate nature has been channeled into her career—which is what you respond to and find so stirring. But there’s so much more within her that needs to be unleashed.”
Unleashed.
Now that was a word worthy of raising more red flags than he could process all at once. Yet damn it all to hell, he was sucked in by how Jane’s eyes lit with determination and exhilaration. Her grin turned downright wicked as she stared up at him, coming to whatever conclusion she’d derived from her brief encounter with Shana’s soul.
“Drake,” she continued, the twinkle of lust and excitement returning to her eyes. “May we help her? Please?”
He groaned. Oh what a loaded question that was.
As he raked a hand through his hair, he asked, “What exactly do you propose we do?”
“Draw Shana from the protective shelter in which she hides.”
“For reasons we know nothing about, Jane.” They had no idea why Shana felt the way she did, why she was so reclusive. They had no idea what had happened to her to make her abruptly leave a world-renowned orchestra and emerge a year later as an entirely different person with a completely different identity. All of his late-night research and constant digging had not provided him these answers.
Granted, he wanted to solve the puzzle that was Shana White. But what would be the outcome? The consequences of his and Jane’s actions could be devastating to the three people involved in this unexpected scenario.
For him, the reality of the situation was glaring and unsettling. Were Shana to discover his and Jane’s true natures, they’d have to close shop and disappear for a while. A long while.
Drake wasn’t inclined to pull up stakes just yet. He liked the club and the few human acquaintances he’d made here and trusted, like body-paint artist Finn Griffith and his girlfriend, Yvette Samson. Not “trusted” in the sense of believing he could reveal his real identity to them, but he could have a cocktail with them on occasion. Plus he admired Finn’s steadfast rule to donate to charity a portion of the proceeds from the sale of his commissioned murals following the real-life displays in the club.
But the fact still remained that no one at Body Scenes aside from Jane knew he was a vampire. Even his staff had no idea. His existence was fairly easy to maintain given his detachment and the fact that he only opened the club’s doors once a month. He didn’t run with the secret society of demons, nor did he try to infiltrate the human world more than he did with Body Scenes and his limited human connections.
For centuries, he’d flown under the radar no matter where he was. If he were to take his attraction to Shana to a more intimate level. That could prove hazardous to both his business and his lifestyle.
Yet he simply couldn’t bring himself to tell Jane to let the whole thing lie. To leave Shana alone. To let her enjoy her night at the club without knowing anything about his or Jane’s existence.
His silence spoke volumes.
Without another word on the touchy subject, Jane crossed to her desk and picked up the phone. “Michael, this is Miss Van Kamp. You’ve just let Shana White into the club. Would you please escort her backstage? Mr. Halston would like to give her a private tour.”
Despite his mounting reservations, Drake said, “Clever tactic, love.”
Jane replaced the receiver. “Our artists use models of all body types. There’s no way Shana can feel self-conscious with the provocative figures parading around backstage. Not to mention all those naked bodies being painted—and knowing the shagging that goes on before and after each curtain rises and falls on a mural—serves as a potent aphrodisiac. It might help to open her up a bit and let loose of some of her insecurities.”
He wasn’t at all comfortable with this new course of action, particularly when he was wound so tight and the woman of his dreams was about to be in very close proximity to him. But he had to concede. He honestly couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend time with Shana this evening, even knowing it was dangerous.
“You have a point,” he said to Jane. “There’s definitely an air of eroticism backstage that seems to make people less inhibited.” In fact, he had a steadfast rule that Jane wasn’t allowed to spy on the models when they were positioning themselves behind the curtains of their respective stages—or peek in on them after the curtain dropped. He knew what went on down there and privacy was a professional courtesy he extended his artists and their subjects, much to Jane’s dismay.
And of course he wanted to meet Shana in person, there was no denying it. Seeing her reaction to the artwork and how it all came about intrigued him as well. So he went against his better judgment, caving not only to Jane’s will, but to his own.
; He strode over to the wet bar and retrieved a bottle of Cristal from the mini-fridge. He popped the cork and nestled the bubbly in a gold-rimmed crystal bucket filled with ice. Jane joined him, setting out three champagne flutes on the sturdy wooden coffee table that sat before the sectional and chaise lounge in front of the fireplace. A warm and cozy setting in his private office.
