Out Are the Lights Read Free

cologne?'
        'Yes.'
        'It's…' He cleared his throat, 'it's called Rawhide. It's new from-'
        'Let me,' she said. Fingertips lightly touching his chest, she leaned toward him. Her face moved close to his neck. He felt her breath. 'Yes,' she said. 'This is just what I want.'
        He licked his dry lips. 'Will there be anything else?' he asked.
        'Yes.' Her lips brushed his neck, and she whispered, 'You.'
        
***
        
        Thinking back as he drove toward her house, Dal could hardly believe it had happened. It was almost like a dream.
         Damn lucky I didn't faint, he thought. He laughed nervously.
        All day long, he'd relived those moments with her, analyzed them, wondered at times if it was only a hideous, cruel joke. But who would pull a stunt like that?
        No, it couldn't be a joke. It had to be real.
        Had to be!
         Please God, let it be real.
        Waiting at a stop light, he took out his wallet and found the slip of paper with her name and address: Elizabeth Lassin, 522 Altina . He put it back.
        Altina Road was halfway up a wooded hillside of the Highland Estates, a plush area north of town, an area way out of his financial range.
        Not necessarily out of Connie's, though. She could easily afford one now. If her next steamy historical romance ('rape epics', she called them) sold like the others, she'd start looking in this vicinity.
        Dal had planned to stick with her-marry her, if necessary.
        Until today.
        Until Elizabeth.
        Lovely Elizabeth. For her, he would gladly give up Connie. God, what wouldn't he give up, for her?
        For even one night with her.
        For even one hour!
        He found the address, and swung into a long, circular driveway. As he drove toward the lighted veranda, he gazed at the house. It looked like a southern plantation house-scaled down a bit, but nonetheless elegant. A fitting home for a woman like Elizabeth.
        He parked. He climbed from his car. He walked toward the door. He reached toward the lighted doorbell button.
        And stopped.
         Bet she doesn't live here, he thought. Gave me the address as a joke. Get the guy worked up, toy with him, lots of laughs.
         Damn her! If she did a shitty thing like that…!
        He jabbed the doorbell.
        It rang.
         God, this probably is her house!
        He rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants legs.
         She'll probably laugh at me.
         Christ, why didn't I bring her something? Flowers, wine…
         'Cause I'm a klutz.
         Oh shit, why didn't I…?
        The door opened and she stood in the dimly lighted foyer, her bare feet on the marble floor, her body draped in a white chiffon dress that hung on her like a wispy veil, the mild breezes shifting it against her skin. Her lips were moist and slightly open, her eyes intense, almost fierce.
        'Kiss me,' she said.
         I'm dreaming, Dal thought, and stepped across the threshold.
        

CHAPTER TWO
        
        The line in front of the Haunted Palace moved swiftly once the box office opened. Pete Harvey shuffled forward. Brit stuck close, a hand inside the back pocket of his jeans, a breast pushing softly against his arm.
        She was a bit clingy for Pete's taste, but he let her. If a gal clings, she has a reason. She's just more afraid, than some, of getting left behind.
        At the ticket window, he bought two tickets from a teenaged girl with straight black hair and white make-up. Supposed to look like a vampire, he supposed. She wore a black T-shirt with the logo, BEWARE OF SCHRECK.
        'Your hairdresser?' Pete asked.
        The girl laughed. 'It's a wig, and itchy as hell.'
        Pete moved along. He gave the tickets to a fat man in red-stained pants and undershirt, a nylon stocking over his head. His face, pale and weirdly mashed, looked grotesque enough to