| Shelby Reed |
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| Excerpt of The Midnight Rose The Midnight Rose Copyright � 2002 By Shelby Reed Gideon paused in front of the hunting scene, his dark gaze fixed on Kate�s face. �Jude owes you an apology,� he said when she reached the foot of the staircase. �But right now he�s resting. If you�ll join us for dinner this evening, I think things�ll go a little more smoothly.� She nodded, folded her hands behind her back because she couldn�t think of what else to do with them. Staring up at him while the golden sun poured through the clerestory windows and encircled his head did something funny to her insides. Her stomach fluttered, her pulse quickened. He took a single step down, watching her. The air was thick with unspoken sentiments, but she couldn�t guess their nature. It seemed like a prime moment for him to mention their silent exchange last night between the pool and balcony, and for an instant, she feared he might. But he continued to descend the stairs, slow and easy, his gaze hot on her face, his expression unreadable, until he finally reached her. �You�re very pretty,� he said. �Jude�s used to dour old schoolmarms who�ve retired from long and distinguished careers spent rapping knuckles.� Kate swallowed. Men didn�t usually tell her she was pretty in such a direct way. Sexy maybe, if the mood and lighting were right. Heads occasionally turned when she walked past a construction site, which was no real compliment considering the catcalls and whistles that usually accompanied such a mortifying examination. But this man�this man with his liquid, obsidian eyes, sculpted features, sensuous smile and killer body�he�d called her pretty, and she stood captivated by the idea that he might be right. �I�Thanks.� She smoothed a quick, nervous hand up the nape of her neck to check her bun. �So now you�re going to give me the beginner�s course on this place? I haven�t ventured outside the path from my bedroom to the kitchen. I know I�d never find my way back.� He inclined his head with a smile. �Sister Oaks isn�t as big as she looks,� he said, gently grasping her elbow as they walked toward the formal dining room beyond the foyer, �but she�s scary, and for good cause.� �Oh?� �She�s haunted.� �Of course,� Kate said, smiling. �I knew that the minute I saw this place.� �This is the dining room, which we�ll never use. Too chilly and formal.� And completely empty except for a crimson Persian that swallowed their steps as they crossed to the massive fireplace. �I agree.� She felt some of the tension drain from her muscles as she grew accustomed to his touch at her elbow. �That�s an incredible fireplace.� �Six feet by seven,� Gideon said. �The painting above it is a Gainsborough.� �Amazing.� Kate gazed at the lush, romantic landscape, before her attention was inexplicably drawn back to Gideon�s profile. He was as beautiful as his son, just an older version. Eyes so dark, they consumed the light. Skin as fair as if the sun had never touched a single cell. There was something surreal about a creature so exquisite. He might�ve stepped out of the painting before them. The shadow of beard on his jaw was the only element that rendered him less than perfect, and saved him from appearing�ghostly. �If you look at me any harder, I�m going to feel self-conscious,� he said, attention focused on the painting. Embarrassment sizzled through her. �Well.� She cleared her throat. �Maybe you�re pretty, too.� He didn�t meet her gaze, but she saw the pleasure that curved his lips as he backed away and motioned toward a set of doors at the end of the dining hall. �This way to the billiard room, the conservatory, and the library.� �Sounds like a board game I played as a child,� she said with a helpless laugh. �Jude owns that exact game. Naturally, we�ve already played it in every corresponding room in this house, so you�ll be spared that particular agony.� The billiard room was richly furnished in maroon and navy, set around a magnificent antique billiard table with mammoth claw feet and gold fringe at each pocket. �Do you shoot pool?� Kate asked, fingers drifting along the smooth, carved wood as she circled the table. �When I�ve had too much to drink,� he said. �You?� �Same. I was quite skilled in my youth.� �Ah.� His eyes warmed as they lingered on her face. �A hustler. Say it isn�t so.� Kate laughed, but inside she had dissolved to jellified pleasure. Gideon Renaud was flirting with her in the most delicious way, and she, being a woman of contemporary liberty, felt compelled to leap across the pool table and devour his delectable, beautiful mouth. She didn�t, of course. Instead, she wandered over to the leather and mahogany bar and peeked behind it. An impressive array of fine liquor sparkled in crystal decanters on every shelf. �Do you entertain?� �Yes.� He moved closer to her, rested his hips against the table. �All sorts of amazing possibilities, at the moment.� Her head came up and she stared at him, wondering how long she could keep up this tantalizing repartee before she wobbled to the ground like damp spaghetti. �I meant�do you have parties?� �Not here, yet. But if I do, I�ll invite you first.� �I�d be delighted.� She followed him through another set of doors and stepped from the billiard room�s cool, dark interior into a bright, circular hall with multi-paned, floor-to-ceiling windows covered by silken sheers. The sunlight poured through the filmy material, danced on the graceful crystal chandelier, casting prisms of color on every wall. The room reminded her of�a wedding cake. A mahogany Steinway sat in a curved niche, flanked by marble busts of distinguished-looking composers. Nearby, a harp rested by a dainty, gilded chair with turned legs and a tapestry seat. The sheet music lay open on the music stand, as though the musician had only recently abandoned his station. Speechless, Kate gazed around. Somewhere in the space between her body and the ceiling fourteen feet above, phantom strains of music floated in sinuous, invisible wisps. They reached down and plucked at her, echoing, disjointed notes, until she shook her head and blinked. �This room�� �The conservatory.� Gideon was watching her with a curious smile, as though he, too, heard the otherworldly melody. �This is a special place.� �I could live in here.� She crossed to the piano, entranced, following the music. The moment her fingers touched the Steinway�s lid, the notes halted. Silence. It was deafening. She sought Gideon�s face, alarmed. �What happened?� He wandered over to where she stood. �Do you play?� �Yes, a little. I took lessons for years.� She hesitated, unwilling to look like a fool, but driven for an explanation. �Why did the music stop?� �You touched the keys. You play.� He glanced around the room. �It�s waiting for you. For your music.� It was too strange. The hairs on her neck stood at attention and she shivered once, hard, and wrapped her arms around herself. �You said there�s a library, too?� �This way.� Moving ahead of her, he threw open yet another set of double doors, and Kate was greeted by the faint scent of lemon furniture polish, aged paper, leather and a hint of mustiness. Bookshelves climbed every wall in the long, narrow room. A wrought iron catwalk ran the perimeter above their heads, providing access to the highest shelves. Leather wingback chairs and sofas and Chippendale tables were grouped in cozy settings, offering a comfortable place to curl up and read away a rainy day. The colossal fireplace to the right showcased an oil painting that caught Kate�s eye, and she moved toward it hesitantly, feeling an inexplicable excitement as she drew closer. It was a portrait of a dark-haired man and boy, both dressed in Victorian finery. The man, posed in a leather chair, stared from the aged canvas with eyes as black as coal; cool, pale, enigmatic. The boy leaned on his father�s shoulder, his ebony gaze just as direct, just as defiant; his complexion just as milky white. Father and son. So eerily like Gideon and Jude, Kate could see why Gideon would�ve purchased the painting. �This is incredible, Mr. Renaud. Where did you acquire such an uncanny portrait?� �I�ve owned it for a very long time,� he said behind her. �And my name is Gideon.� She glanced over her shoulder at him, found him staring at her, and suddenly felt swimmy-headed, dizzy. �I�m sorry?� �I�m Gideon. Will you say it?� Her pulse jolted and sped up; the floor tilted beneath her. Her fingers made a weak motion toward the painting. �Gideon.� She swallowed, tried again. �The portrait looks like you and Jude.� He moved closer to her; the roar of blood in her ears grew louder, and low in her belly a restless throbbing began. �Do you think so?� he said, or something dismissive as that, but Kate could hardly hear. Her gaze fixed on his mouth, his somber, unsmiling mouth; the same lips as the man in the portrait from a century ago. She blinked, and somehow, in the instant when her lashes lowered and lifted, Gideon kissed her. She hadn�t known he stood so close; he couldn�t have possibly reached her across three feet of space that quickly, but his mouth was on hers, his hands grasping her upper arms, holding tight when desire robbed her legs of the ability to support her. She tasted his mouth, cool and delicious, the flavor of his want and hunger. Felt his tongue make a single, lush sweep between her lips, breathed in his harsh exhalation, his low expression of astonished pleasure. And within the space of a second blink, he stood by the door, watching her, as though he�d been across the room all along, as though he�d never touched her. Kate frowned, lifted a trembling hand to her lips, horrified to realize that she�d only imagined it. Some sort of hallucination or�or overzealous fantasy. She didn�t look at the portrait again. The roar in her ears was gone; the floors beneath her feet steady, her pulse even. �I have work,� Gideon said, his voice remote. �We�ll have to walk the grounds tomorrow. But you�re welcome to stay here and read.� He glanced at his watch, a pricey glimpse of gold on a broad wrist. �Jude�ll sleep till dark.� �Maybe I�ll take a walk by myself,� she said, desperate suddenly to escape the thick, closed air of the mansion. �Yes.� He threw open the doors, waited until she passed by him before adding, �The pool is heated, Miss O�Brien. It�s at your disposal anytime, day or night.� Kate shot him a quick, searching look, but found no hint of teasing in his face; only a closed, abrupt withdrawal that said something had happened in the library�something only he understood. |
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| Shelby Reed has been writing since the tender age of ten, starting with fantasy/romance and paranormal fiction. Writing romance comes naturally to her and colors most of her work, since she first fell in love with love after reading Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice years ago. She strives to write about real women with contemporary issues, who manage to find love despite the trials and tribulations of today�s single female. While she�s currently hard at work on two book-length manuscripts, she slipped into the world of writing with short fiction, most of which contain romantic and supernatural themes. Writing as Shelby Rohlwing, she has published Drawing from the Heart, Pieces of Love, The Starting Over Club, The Kiss of A Friend, and The Way You Look Tonight. Most recently she won a short fiction contest at NovelBooks, Inc. Her story, Pleasure of the Heart, is published in the anthology, Pleasure of the Heart & Other Stories. Her first contemporary novel, Lover's Moon, will be released by NBI in August 2003. The Midnight Rose, her first attempt at paranormal romance, recently won second place in The Golden Pen Contest sponsored by RWA's The Golden Network. The Fifth Favor, a contemporary erotic suspense, won second place in the RWA-sponsored Ignite the Flame Contest. When not churning out fiction, Shelby utilizes her BA in art as a portraitist, works on the side as an editor, and considers herself a full-time author since she recently quit her day job to throw herself headlong into fiction writing. Her husband owns a motorcycle dealership in North Florida, a world teeming with the most amazing and lively characters�many of who appear, in one form or another, in Shelby�s fiction! Learn more about Shelby at http://www.geocities.com/shelbyreed34 |
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