Twilight Phantasies. Maggie Shayne
dreams you begged me to come.”
Her eyes had begun to drift closed as his hand stroked her cheek, but they flew wide now. She searched her brain frantically. How could he know about the dreams? She shook her head quickly. “No, that isn’t true.”
“What isn’t true? That you dream each night before dusk? That the dreams are testing your sanity, Tamara? That you cry out to someone in your sleep and cannot recall the name when you wake? Do not forget, you confided all of these things to me last night.”
Relief nearly made her limp. “That’s right, I did.” She had told him about her nightmares. That explained why he knew.
“The dream was different tonight, though,” he said softly.
Again her eyes widened. It had been different. He couldn’t know that. She hadn’t told him that. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “The name I call, I can’t remember what it is, but I know it isn’t Marquand. Why do you want to play with my mind?”
“I want only to ease your mind. It is true, you have never cried my surname. It is my first name you call in your sleep.” His hand had fallen from her face, to gently stroke her hair.
Breathlessly she whispered, “I don’t even know your first name. So it can’t be—”
“Yes, you do, Tamara.” His gaze took on a new dimension as he stared into her eyes. “You know my name. Say it.”
And she did. Just like that, she knew the name she’d cried over and over again in her recurring dream. She knew it as well as she knew her own. The shroud had been lifted from her memory, and she knew. But it couldn’t be him. She shook her head. “You aren’t—”
“I am.” Both his hands rested on her shoulders now, and he squeezed gently. She winced inwardly because he’d put pressure on the spots where Curt had held her last night, and the skin there had bruised. He immediately readjusted his grip on her, as if he’d sensed her discomfort at the instant she’d felt it. “Say it, Tamara.”
Choking on unshed tears, she croaked, “Eric?”
He nodded, his face relaxing in an approving half smile. “Yes. Eric. If you require confirmation, I’m certain your St. Claire can provide it.”
She looked at the floor, her relief so great the muscles of her neck relaxed. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew he told the truth. Why this intense relief, though? And why had she dreamed of him in the first place?
“You’ve begged me to come to you, Tamara, and I am here.” He caught her chin in gentle fingers, and lifted her face to him. “I’m here.”
She wanted to fling herself into his arms. She wanted to hold him desperately and beg him not to leave her ever again. But that was crazy. It was insane. She was insane. As tears spilled over and rolled slowly down her face, she shook her head. “This isn’t happening. It isn’t real. I’m hallucinating, or it’s just another dream. That’s all. It isn’t real.”
He pulled her against him suddenly, his arms going around her, his hands stroking her back and shoulders, lifting her hair, caressing her nape. “It is real, Tamara. I am real, and what you feel for me is real…more real, I think, than anything else in your life.” His head turned and she felt his lips pressed to her hair just above her temple…lower, to her cheekbone…lower, to the hollow of her cheek. His voice uneven, he spoke near her ear. “How did St. Claire manage to get custody of you? What happened to your family?”
She found herself relaxing against him, allowing his embrace to warm and comfort her. “I was six when I fell through a plate glass window,” she told him, her voice barely audible to her own ears. “I severed the arteries in both wrists and nearly bled to death. They called it a miracle when I pulled through, because they hadn’t been able to locate any donors with my blood type. Everyone expected me to die.” She drew a shuddering breath. In truth, she remembered very little about the accident, or her life to that point. Daniel had always insisted it was probably best for her not to try to remember. What was blocked out was blocked out for a reason, he’d said. If her mind didn’t think she could handle it, she probably couldn’t. After all, near-death experiences were traumatic, especially for a six-year-old child.
She released the air she’d taken in, drew a steadier breath and continued. “I was still hospitalized when my parents were taken with an extremely rare virulent infection. By the time the virus was isolated and identified, they…they’d both succumbed.”
“I am more sorry for that than I can tell you,” he said softly, his breath caressing her skin as he spoke. “I wish I had been there for you.”
“So do I,” she blurted before she had a chance to consider the words. She cleared her throat. “But Daniel was there. He worked part-time in the research lab at the hospital then. As soon as he heard about the miracle girl upstairs, he came to see me. After that he was there every day. He brought presents with every visit, and constantly went on about how he’d always wanted a little girl like me. By the time my parents got sick, Daniel and I were best friends. When they died he petitioned the courts for custody, and got it. I had no other close relatives. If it hadn’t been for Daniel, I would’ve been alone.”
She felt his swift inhalation, and the slight stiffening of his body. “I’m sorry.” The words were almost a moan, so much pain came through in them. His arms tightened around her and he rocked her slowly.
God, why did his touch feel like heaven? Why did the wide, hard chest beneath her head and the steel arms around her feel like the safest cocoon in all the world?
His voice only slightly more normal, he said, “It was Daniel who arranged for your employment at DPI, then.” She only nodded, moving her head minimally against his chest. “And what do you do there, Tamara? Do you work with St. Claire?”
“No,” she mumbled into the fabric of his coat. “My security clearance isn’t—” She broke off, stiffening, and jerked away from him. My God, he’d played her well! “DPI is a government agency, a subdivision of the CIA, for God’s sake. And you are the subject of one of their most long-running investigations. I certainly don’t intend to discuss what I do there with you.” She broke eye contact, and shook her head in self-deprecation. “God, you’re good. I was actually buying all of this. You just wanted to milk information from me.”
“You know better.” His deep voice held anger now, and for the first time Tamara felt afraid of him. She backed up another step and felt the iron rail press into the small of her back. Eric Marquand stood between her and the doors. “I only want to discern whether I can trust you. St. Claire is out to destroy me. I cannot dismiss the possibility that you are a part of that plan.”
“Daniel wouldn’t hurt a fly!” She bristled at the suggestion that her beloved Daniel was anything less than the sweet, loving man she knew him to be.
“I know that to be false. I do not need proof of his intent. I already have it. It is you I need to be sure of, Tamara. Tell me what your duties entail.”
He took a step nearer and there was nowhere for her to go. “I won’t,” she told him. “I can’t betray the division…or Daniel.”
“You would rather betray me?”
She shook her head fast, confusion muddling her brain. “I couldn’t betray you. I know nothing about you.”
“You could easily be the instrument of my destruction.”
“But I wouldn’t—”
“Then tell me. Answer whatever I ask, it is vital—” She shook her head again. He sighed and pushed one hand back through his hair, loosening several black silk strands from the queue in the back. When he looked into her eyes again the intensity had returned. “I can force you, you know.”
Fear tiptoed over her spine. “If you touch me, I’ll scream.”
“I don’t need to touch you. I can make you obey my will just as I made you come out here