incredibly warm and sweet passed over Lauren’s heart and she found herself clutching the
phone to her ear. “You hardly know me.”
“I know everything there is to know about you, my sweet Lauren. For as long as I have existed I have
sought you. I have traveled many thousands of miles just to be near you.” His voice was silky and tender
as he spoke.
“You’re drunk,” she accused, feeling embarrassed by what she thought were words brought forth out of
an alcoholic haze.
“And you are the dearest, sweetest creature to which I have ever been drawn.” There was a long pause
then he sighed. “Aye, sweet lady. I am drunk. Forgive me.”
“Mr. Cree?” she called out, afraid he was about to hang up.
“Don’t call me that,” he pleaded with her in a hurt tone. “My name is Syn.”
“Please don’t drive home if you’ve been drinking. It’s a long way out to—”
“Say it,” he asked.
“I don’t—”
“I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear my name on your lips,” he begged.
“It wouldn’t be proper.”
“If you won’t say my name, I won’t be responsible for the damage I might cause on my way home.” He
sounded like a little boy. “There’s many a stop sign between here and my driveway, Lauren.”
Lauren laughed. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?”
“I’m drunk,” he told her. “I don’t consume human food, but I can damned sure guzzle booze like there’s
no tomorrow. It’s the one vice I am allowed.”
“Will you give your keys to someone there at the party?”
“Will you say my name?”
“Syn.” The name was like a feather touch on her spine as she spoke it, causing tingles all the way from
her shoulders to her feet.
She heard him sigh with contentment. “Good night, my sweet Lauren. You can sleep now.” He hung up.
Lauren stared at the phone. A warm feeling was encroaching on her cold heart, a heart no one had ever
cared enough about to heat. As she slowly replaced the receiver, his face drifted before her and she
smiled.
“Good night, Syn,” she whispered.
She lay down, her eyelids feeling heavy. Behind one long, deep breath, sleep crept softly, protectively
over her and she fell gently into that good night.
His hands wereall over her, rough and painful: the way she had always liked a man’s hands on her.
Pinching, pushing, probing, pulling, prying, punishing. So powerful, so strong, so sure of themselves, his
hands lifted her, positioned her, dug their lustful fingers into the thick mane of her blond hair.
“Open,” he demanded, his voice hard and vicious, and she eagerly obeyed. She felt him enter her with a
violent thrust of blinding pain.
Beth’s eyes flew wide open; she came awake, her hands clawing up to push him away from her. But
there was no one there. No one above her on the bed.
“You will never slap my lady again,” was the last thing Beth Janacek ever heard.
Chapter Five
Lauren had justreturned from Sunday morning Mass at St. Rose of Lima when the doorbell rang. Her
heart did a strange little flutter and her lips broke into an amused smile. She laid down her jacket and
walked to the door, expecting to see him standing on her porch, her neighbors peeking out from behind
their curtains, but instead, her landlady—who was also the owner of the bookstore where Lauren had
worked for three years—was standing at her screen door, smiling at her.
“Good morning, Lauren.”
“Mrs. Hellstrom.” Lauren heard the surprise in her own voice. She blushed and pushed open the
screened door. “How are you?”
“Better than I have been in a very long time,” Angeline Hellstrom answered. She glanced beyond Lauren
into the little house. “May I come in?”
Lauren’s blush deepened and she stepped back. “I’m sorry. Of course. Please do.”
Angeline looked around her as she entered the tiny room. Her brows lifted in surprise. “Why, Lauren,
it’s absolutely lovely!” She turned a bright smile to the
phone to her ear. “You hardly know me.”
“I know everything there is to know about you, my sweet Lauren. For as long as I have existed I have
sought you. I have traveled many thousands of miles just to be near you.” His voice was silky and tender
as he spoke.
“You’re drunk,” she accused, feeling embarrassed by what she thought were words brought forth out of
an alcoholic haze.
“And you are the dearest, sweetest creature to which I have ever been drawn.” There was a long pause
then he sighed. “Aye, sweet lady. I am drunk. Forgive me.”
“Mr. Cree?” she called out, afraid he was about to hang up.
“Don’t call me that,” he pleaded with her in a hurt tone. “My name is Syn.”
“Please don’t drive home if you’ve been drinking. It’s a long way out to—”
“Say it,” he asked.
“I don’t—”
“I want to hear you say my name. I want to hear my name on your lips,” he begged.
“It wouldn’t be proper.”
“If you won’t say my name, I won’t be responsible for the damage I might cause on my way home.” He
sounded like a little boy. “There’s many a stop sign between here and my driveway, Lauren.”
Lauren laughed. “You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?”
“I’m drunk,” he told her. “I don’t consume human food, but I can damned sure guzzle booze like there’s
no tomorrow. It’s the one vice I am allowed.”
“Will you give your keys to someone there at the party?”
“Will you say my name?”
“Syn.” The name was like a feather touch on her spine as she spoke it, causing tingles all the way from
her shoulders to her feet.
She heard him sigh with contentment. “Good night, my sweet Lauren. You can sleep now.” He hung up.
Lauren stared at the phone. A warm feeling was encroaching on her cold heart, a heart no one had ever
cared enough about to heat. As she slowly replaced the receiver, his face drifted before her and she
smiled.
“Good night, Syn,” she whispered.
She lay down, her eyelids feeling heavy. Behind one long, deep breath, sleep crept softly, protectively
over her and she fell gently into that good night.
His hands wereall over her, rough and painful: the way she had always liked a man’s hands on her.
Pinching, pushing, probing, pulling, prying, punishing. So powerful, so strong, so sure of themselves, his
hands lifted her, positioned her, dug their lustful fingers into the thick mane of her blond hair.
“Open,” he demanded, his voice hard and vicious, and she eagerly obeyed. She felt him enter her with a
violent thrust of blinding pain.
Beth’s eyes flew wide open; she came awake, her hands clawing up to push him away from her. But
there was no one there. No one above her on the bed.
“You will never slap my lady again,” was the last thing Beth Janacek ever heard.
Chapter Five
Lauren had justreturned from Sunday morning Mass at St. Rose of Lima when the doorbell rang. Her
heart did a strange little flutter and her lips broke into an amused smile. She laid down her jacket and
walked to the door, expecting to see him standing on her porch, her neighbors peeking out from behind
their curtains, but instead, her landlady—who was also the owner of the bookstore where Lauren had
worked for three years—was standing at her screen door, smiling at her.
“Good morning, Lauren.”
“Mrs. Hellstrom.” Lauren heard the surprise in her own voice. She blushed and pushed open the
screened door. “How are you?”
“Better than I have been in a very long time,” Angeline Hellstrom answered. She glanced beyond Lauren
into the little house. “May I come in?”
Lauren’s blush deepened and she stepped back. “I’m sorry. Of course. Please do.”
Angeline looked around her as she entered the tiny room. Her brows lifted in surprise. “Why, Lauren,
it’s absolutely lovely!” She turned a bright smile to the
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