After Twilight - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,1

touch those lips with his own, to sip the sweet crimson nectar from her veins.

Leanne frowned. "Is something wrong?"

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

She should say no. There were a lot of sick people running around these days, obsessive fans, psychotics,,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 smile 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 be far safer with one of the city's lowlifes than she was with him.

The bar 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.

They took a booth in the rear. She ordered a glass of red wine, as did he.

"So," Jason said, "tell me about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

She felt his gaze move over her face, soft as candlelight. "Everything."

"I'm twenty-three," Leanne said, mesmerized by his gaze. "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, echoing words she wished to hear?

"How long have you been with the play?"

"Two years."

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

"I'm not sure."

"How long have you been acting?"

"This is my first role." Leanne smiled. "I always wanted to be on stage, and I decided, what the heck, why not go for it? So, I tried out and they hired me." She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her 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'd ever seen. Dressed in a loose fitting white sweater, a pair of black jeans, and cowboy boots, he looked more like a movie star than a cop.

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. "You don't look like a cop."

"How's that?"-

"No mustache," Leanne said, running a fingertip over his upper lip. "All the cops I know have a mustache."

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

"Not really. Where do you work?"

"Hollenbeck."

"That's a rough area."

Jason shrugged. "I like it." Their drinks had arrived during their conversation, but neither had 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."

"And long life?"

His gaze was drawn to her throat, to where her pulse beat strong and steady. "Long life can be a curse," he muttered.

"A curse! What do you mean?"

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

"I don't agree. Life is precious at any age."

"And do you think you'd like to live forever?"

"I know I would." She laughed softly. "This conversation is getting too morbid for my taste. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for recreation?"

"Nothing very exciting. Read. Watch TV. Ride my horse."

"You have a horse? Where do you keep it?"

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

"I've always loved horses. Do you think I could ride sometime?"

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

"How romantic," she said, her voice low and husky. "Perhaps we could go riding together sometime."

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 her hair, her neck, flooded him with desire. He glanced away lest she see the sudden heat, the hunger, that he knew was burning in his eyes.

"It's getting late," he said, tossing