Divine Madness by Melanie Jackson Page A

minute—nearly twice that of the cyclist Lance Armstrong. Her muscles refused to build up lactic acid so she almost never fatigued—at least not physically. Mentally she wasvulnerable to exhaustion, especially near the time when her body needed to renew, but there was no way to measure that fatigue unless she gave herself over to a neurologist or headshrinker, and she didn’t want either near her.
    Ninon leaned into the mirror, peering down at her legs. She smiled a little at the patch of red-gold pubic hair she had neglected to color. She would take care of it as soon as she found a drug store that carried hair dye. There had been just enough color for her head and the cat; her nether regions had had to remain unaltered. She didn’t anticipate getting naked with anyone in the next few weeks, but she knew the importance of details. Perhaps she should just shave.
    Turning, she reached for the bottle of skin tanner and began smoothing it over her body. She had to reapply it almost daily. Corazon wrinkled his nose at the scent of soggy cornflakes and hurried away. He was an hour late for his early midafternoon nap anyway.
    Ninon waited for the lotion to dry and then dressed with care. She had found a lovely turquoise and sea-green blue sundress by Alfred Shaheen in an antique store in Texas and been unable to resist. She carefully adjusted the angel wings over the bust. She made a perfect vamp—seductive but the tiniest bit innocent. She hoped Miguel would approve.
    She touched her dress a last time, marveling in its texture and construction. She loved the feel of the bark cloth, the color, the exquisite architecture of the dress’s form. She was an outlaw in vintage designer sheep’s clothing, she thought, grinning briefly. But so was Miguel Stuart. And that meant there were no rules of engagement that she felt compelled to honor. Anyway, she liked pretty clothing for its own sake and wore it whenever she could. To have done otherwise would be to buy a racehorse and then cut its hamstrings. Of course, in this backwater town, she’d stand out like a whore at a church social in this dress.
    The thought made her grin again.
    On the run for your life, and still you have time to appreciate clothes . The voice in her head was amused.
    Of course . And Miguel Stuart would be coming to see her tonight. Ninon was dead certain of it. He was not the kind of man who waited politely for what he wanted.
    As if to underline this fact, a short note and a bundle of flowers—bird-of-paradise obtained who knew where—were waiting for her on the bedside table when she emerged from the bathroom. She didn’t think the maid had brought them in.
    You’ll have to see about securing that door tonight.
    Indeed . Though legend had it that no lock could keep out a vampire, if he’d been invited.
    A vampire?
    Perhaps.
    Ninon frowned as she looked at the tidy, straight script—likely a result of expensive schooling in Britain that even a long stay in America had not broken. It was her experience that some of the most ruthless men had the most controlled handwriting. It was about power and not being careless, ever.
    Of course, it was also possible that Miguel Stuart had had his hands beaten with a tawse until the training took. Children learned what they lived. The thought of childhood made her a little sad. But only until she thought about the fact that this supposed offering was Miguel’s way of checking up on her story, and that whatever he had lived as a child, he had less than honorable intentions toward her now. Sentimental compassion was not an emotion that she could afford to indulge.
    I do not know if you have cause to fear her. But, my son, if you feel you must kill her then know you do so with my blessing. However, you must act at once, before she discovers your intent and pulls on the strings of your heart with her wily hands. I have long observed her and can say with conviction that hers is not a citadel that will fall to romantic