Masquerade

He was there again, standing on the corner of Temple and Grand, his long angular face bathed in the hazy amber glow of the street light.

Leanne felt his hooded gaze move over her as she left the side entrance of the theater and made her way toward the parking lot across the street. Behind her, she could hear the excitement of the waiting crowd build as Davis Gaines, who many considered to be L. A.'s best Phantom, appeared at the stage door. She agreed with his fans. Davis had the most incredibly beautiful, powerful voice she had ever heard. It was easy to see why the people loved him. The role of the Phantom was physically demanding, yet he was always generous with his time, signing programs, answering questions, posing for pictures. It was Leanne's dream to one day be cast in a leading role, to hopefully make her mark upon the world. To have people shouting her name, clamoring for her autograph, a photo.

She was about to unlock her car door when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she whirled around.

It was the tall dark man she had seen on the corner. Up close, he was taller and more handsome than she had realized. And more forbidding. His face was made up of sharp planes and angles, totally masculine, totally mesmerizing. His hair was black as pitch. Straight as a string, it fell well past his broad shoulders. His eyes were an intense shade of blue, deep and dark.

She stared into those fathomless eyes and had the ridiculous yet inescapable feeling that she had been waiting her whole lifetime for this moment.

This man.

"I did not mean to frighten you," he said in a deep resonant voice. He held out a theater program. "I was hoping you might sign this for me."

"Why on earth would you want my autograph?" she exclaimed. "I'm only in the chorus."

"Ah, but you have such a lovely voice."

She laughed softly. "You must have excellent hearing, to be able to pick mine out of all the others."

His smile was devastating. "My hearing is quite good for a man my age."

Leanne's gaze moved over him curiously. She didn't know how old he was, of course, but he didn't look to be much more than twenty-five or twenty-six, thirty at the most.

He offered her a Sharpie, one brow raised in question.

"Who should I make it out to?"

"Jason Blackthorne."

"Blackthorne." She gazed up at him intently. "Why does that name sound so familiar to me?"

"Does it?"

She nodded, then took the pen from his hand. "This is my first autograph, you know."

"The first of many, I'm sure." Looking over her shoulder, he read the words aloud as she wrote them. "To Jason, may you always have someone to love, and someone to love you. Leanne"

He felt a catch at his heart. Someone to love...ah, Jolene, forever lost to him. Leanne's resemblance to his first and only love was uncanny. It was that resemblance which sent him to the theater night after night.

He smiled his thanks as she returned the program, his gaze moving over her face, lingering on her lush lower lip before moving to the pulse beating in her throat. She was small, petite, with skin that looked as though it rarely saw the sun. Her hair was the color of sun-kissed earth; her eyes a deep, luminous green fringed with thick dark lashes. She wore a black tee shirt emblazoned with the Phantom logo, a pair of black tights that clung to her shapely legs like a second skin, and sneakers.

Jason clenched his hands at his sides as he fought the urge to draw her into his arms, to touch her lips with his own, to sip the warm, sweet crimson nectar that flowed through her veins.

She frowned up at him as she capped the pen and handed it to him. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I was just wondering if we might go somewhere for a drink."

She knew she should say no. There were a lot of crazy people running around these days, obsessive fans, stalkers and serial killers, and yet there was something in Jason Blackthorne's eyes that made her trust him implicitly.

"I know a little place not far from here," she suggested with a tentative smile.

"I'll follow you in my car," Jason said, somewhat surprised by her ready acceptance of his invitation. Didn't she read the papers? Muggings and rapes and murders were rampant in the city.

A faint grin tugged at his lips as he crossed the parking lot to his own car. Indeed, he mused as he slid behind the steering wheel, she would undoubtedly be far safer with one of the city's low life's than she was with him.

The bar she had suggested was located on a narrow side street. He knew a moment's hesitation as he followed her inside, and then sighed with relief. There were no mirrors in sight.

He led her to a booth in the rear, then slid in beside her. When the waitress came, Leanne ordered a glass of red wine, as did he.

"So," Jason said, leaning back in his seat. "Tell me about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

His gaze moved over her face in a caress as soft as candlelight. "Everything."

"I'm twenty-three," Leanne said, mesmerized by the look in his eyes. "I'm an only child. My parents live in Burbank, but I have a small apartment not far from the theater." She smiled at him, a shy, intimate smile. "Someday I hope to make it to Broadway."

"Have you a boyfriend?"

"No."

You have now.

Did he speak the words aloud, or was her mind playing tricks on her, supplying the words she wished to hear?

He draped one arm along the back of the booth, his hand dangling near her shoulder. "How long have you been with the play?"

"A little over two years."

"I hear it will be closing soon. What will you do then?"

"I'm not sure. I keep hoping it will be extended."

"How long have you been acting?"

"Actually, this is my first role. I've always wanted to be on the stage and I decided, what the heck, why not go for it? So, I tried out for the chorus and they hired me." She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. "What do you do?"

"I'm a cop." The lie rolled easily off his lips.

"You're kidding!" He didn't look like any police officer she had ever seen. Dressed in a white shirt, thigh-length black coat, black jeans, and cowboy boots, he looked more like a movie star or a model than a police officer.

One black brow lifted slightly. "I take it you don't care for the police."

"No, no, it's just that..." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "It's just that you don't look like a policeman."

"How's that?"

"No moustache." Leaning forward, she ran the tip of one finger along his upper lip. "Every cop I know has a moustache."

Jason grunted softly. "And do you know a lot of cops?"

"Not really," she said, grinning. "Where do you work?"

"Hollenbeck."

"That's a rough area."

Jason shrugged. "I like it." Their drinks had arrived during their conversation, but neither paid much attention. Now, Jason picked up his glass. "What shall we drink to?"

Leanne lifted her glass. "Long life and happiness?" she suggested.

"Happiness," he repeated softly. "I'll drink to that."

"Not long life?"

His gaze was drawn to her throat, to where her pulse beat strong and steady. "Long life is not always a blessing," he said quietly, almost as though he were speaking to himself. "Sometimes it can be a curse."

"A curse!" She shook her head, puzzled by his reply. Most people wanted to live forever. "Why do you say that?"

He dragged his gaze from her neck. "I've seen too many people who have lived past their prime, people with nothing left to live for, nothing to hope for but a quick death, an end to pain."

"No matter the circumstances, life is always precious."

He leaned forward, his gaze burning into hers. "And do you think you would like to live forever?"

"I know I would."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what. Life is a gift to be treasured, not wasted or thrown away." She sipped her wine, then said, "I don't know about you, but this conversation is getting way too morbid for me. So, tell me about yourself. What do you do when you aren't making the streets of Los Angeles safe for the rest of us?"

"Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid. Read. Watch TV. Ride my horse."

Her eyes lit up with interest. "You have a horse? Where do you keep it?"

"I have a small place up in the hills, nothing elaborate."

"Oh. I've always loved horses. Do you think...do you think I might be able to ride yours sometime?"

"I sleep days, so I usually ride at night."

"How romantic," she remarked, her voice suddenly low and husky. "Perhaps we could go riding together some evening."

Jason swallowed hard. Was he imagining things, or was she suggesting more than she was saying? The thought of holding her close, of having his arms around her waist, of burying his face in the wealth of her thick dark hair, flooded him with desire. His gaze moved to the pulse throbbing in her throat once again and he glanced away lest she see the sudden heat, the hunger, he knew was burning in his eyes.

"It's getting late," he said, tossing a handful of bills on the table. "I'd better let you go home and get some sleep."

"We don't have to go," Leanne replied, reluctant to see him leave. "I'm a bit of a night owl myself."

"Then we have more in common than a love of horses," Jason replied dryly. "Perhaps we could go to a late movie tomorrow night?"

"Sounds good to me."

"I'll pick you up at the stage door."

Leanne felt her cheeks grow warm as their eyes met. There was no mistaking the attraction that sparked between them, the sexual awareness. But it was more than that, as if an intangible bond had formed between them. As if their souls had found each other after wandering through years of darkness.

She had been born for this man.

It was a fanciful thought, yet it lingered in her mind, quiet and unwavering, like the answer to a prayer.