Read Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems for Free Online Page B

drew the unwitting heroine in.
    And then he shifted, away from the amorphous mass into something leaner, more dangerous, with lizard scales that were surprisingly warm to the touch. And she was touching him, staring up into yellow eyes as she ran her fingers across the fine scales….
    â€œWake up, girly,” a voice broke through. “He’s ready to see you.”
    Meg didn’t move. She’d slept so soundly, she hadn’t heard Salvatore open the creaking door, slept so soundly that he was able to materialize beside her bed. “Go away,” she said, pulling the heavy damask cover over her. “I’m not ready to see him.”
    â€œI’m glad you’re enjoying our hospitality. It might be a hell of a long time before you get another chance.”
    She’d already accepted the fact that she had no choice in the matter. She pulled herself upright, pushing her hair out of her face, and glared at Salvatore. The candles around the room had burned down low, and several of them had guttered out. She felt rumpled and sleepy and bad tempered, and suddenly, oddly afraid. She no longer felt like some Greek maiden abducted into hell. She felt like someone approaching a Gorgon. One look, and she’d be turned to stone. Or, like the fabled Mrs. MacInerny, she’d go stark staring mad.
    Ridiculous, she chided herself. The contents of the bookcase should have tipped her off. Salvatore and his employer clearly read too many Stephen King novels. She wasn’t going to let them terrorize her, she simply wasn’t.
    â€œAll right, I’m coming,” she said grumpily, squinting at her watch. Her reliable Rolex, a present from her father on her twenty-fifth birthday, had inexplicably stopped working. All of a piece, she thought wearily. “What time is it, anyway?”
    â€œMidnight,” Salvatore said. He was holding a candlestick in one meaty hand, and his face looked shadowed and positively evil.
    â€œWhat else? I’ll be ready in a moment.”
    â€œHe doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
    â€œI don’t like to be kept prisoner,” Meg shot back. “He can wait while I use the bathroom, can’t he?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œHe’ll have to.” She slammed the door behind her. For a moment, she leaned against the closed door whose hook held a terry robe that was a twin to the one in her dungeon. What was this place, the Gothic Hilton, she thought with a misplaced giggle.
    Cool water didn’t do much to help her wake up. Brushing her hair into a semblance of order didn’t do much to restore her state of mind, and she wondered why she was doing it. Did she want to impress Ethan Winslowe? She wanted to murder Ethan Winslowe, and she had every intention of telling him just that. Maybe. Still, it didn’t do a woman any harm to feel confident, she thought, pinching some color into her pale cheeks and wishing she’d brought her makeup with her. At least her lashes were naturally dark. Otherwise, she’d look like a ghost. A fitting resident for this house of horrors.
    Salvatore was exactly where she’d left him, looking bored. His hangdog eyes surveyed her improvements and he smirked. Clearly he’d noticed everything she’d done, and she wished to heavens she’d left herself looking like something the cat dragged in. “Take me to your leader,” she said flippantly.
    She watched with sudden surprise as he unlocked the bedroom door. Why had he bothered to relock it in the first place? And the noise of the key in the lock, the sound of the door creaking open, was surprisingly loud in the room. How could she, normally a light sleeper, have slept through that? Unless he’d come in some other way.
    She glanced over her shoulder as he stepped into the corridor. There were no other doors in the room besides the one leading to the bathroom. There was no way he could have gotten in. Was