opening number was followed by a first-rate magic act in front of the drawn curtains. Less than ten minutes later, when the curtains opened again, the mirrors had been taken away, and the stage had been transformed into an ice rink; the second production number was done on skates against a winter backdrop so real that it made Elliot shiver.
Although Magyck! excited the imagination and commanded the eye, Elliot wasn't able to give his undivided attention to it. He kept looking at Christina Evans, who was as dazzling as the show she had created.
She watched the performers intently, unaware of his gaze. A flickering, nervous scowl played across her face, alternating with a tentative smile that appeared when the audience laughed, applauded, or gasped in surprise.
She was singularly beautiful. Her shoulder-length hair— deep brown, almost black, glossy—swept across her brow, feathered back at the sides, and framed her face as though it were a painting by a great master. The bone structure of that face was delicate, clearly defined, quintessentially feminine. Dusky, olive complexion. Full, sensuous mouth. And her eyes . . . She would have been lovely enough if her eyes had been dark, in harmony with the shade of her hair and skin, but they were crystalline blue. The contrast between her Italian good looks and her Nordic eyes was devastating.
Elliot supposed that other people might find flaws in her face. Perhaps some would say that her brow was too wide. Her nose was so straight that some might think it was severe. Others might say that her mouth was too wide, her chin too pointed. To Elliot, however, her face was perfect.
But her physical beauty was not what most excited him. He was interested primarily in learning more about the mind that could create a work like Magyck! He had seen less than one-fourth of the program, yet he knew it was a hit—and far superior to others of its kind. A Vegas stage extravaganza could easily go off the rails. If the gigantic sets and lavish costumes and intricate choreography were overdone, or if any element was improperly executed, the production would quickly stumble across the thin line between captivating show-biz flash and sheer vulgarity. A glittery fantasy could metamorphose into a crude, tasteless, and stupid bore if the wrong hand guided it. Elliot wanted to know more about Christina Evans—and on a more fundamental level, he just wanted her.
No woman had affected him so strongly since Nancy, his wife, who had died three years ago.
Sitting in the dark theater, he smiled, not at the comic magician who was performing in front of the closed stage curtains, but at his own sudden, youthful exuberance.
7
the warped door groaned and creaked as vi vienne Neddler forced it open.
Aiii-eee, aiii-eee . . .
A wave of frigid air washed out of the dark room, into the hallway.
Vivienne reached inside, fumbled for the light switch, found it, and entered warily. The room was deserted.
Aiii-eee, aii-eee . . .
Baseball stars and horror-movie monsters gazed at Vivienne from posters stapled to the walls. Three intricate model airplanes were suspended from the ceiling. These things were as they always had been, since she had first come to work here, before Danny had died.
Aiii-eee, aiii-eee, aiii-eee . . .
The maddening electronic squeal issued from a pair of small stereo speakers that hung on the wall behind the bed. The CD player and an accompanying AM-FM tuner and amplifier were stacked on one of the nightstands.
Although Vivienne could see where the noise originated, she couldn't locate any source for the bitterly cold air. Neither window was open, and even if one had been raised, the night wasn't frigid enough to account for the chill.
Just as she reached the AM-FM tuner, the banshee wail stopped. The sudden silence had an oppressive weight.
Gradually, as her ears stopped ringing, Vivienne perceived the soft empty hiss of the stereo speakers. Then she heard the
Although Magyck! excited the imagination and commanded the eye, Elliot wasn't able to give his undivided attention to it. He kept looking at Christina Evans, who was as dazzling as the show she had created.
She watched the performers intently, unaware of his gaze. A flickering, nervous scowl played across her face, alternating with a tentative smile that appeared when the audience laughed, applauded, or gasped in surprise.
She was singularly beautiful. Her shoulder-length hair— deep brown, almost black, glossy—swept across her brow, feathered back at the sides, and framed her face as though it were a painting by a great master. The bone structure of that face was delicate, clearly defined, quintessentially feminine. Dusky, olive complexion. Full, sensuous mouth. And her eyes . . . She would have been lovely enough if her eyes had been dark, in harmony with the shade of her hair and skin, but they were crystalline blue. The contrast between her Italian good looks and her Nordic eyes was devastating.
Elliot supposed that other people might find flaws in her face. Perhaps some would say that her brow was too wide. Her nose was so straight that some might think it was severe. Others might say that her mouth was too wide, her chin too pointed. To Elliot, however, her face was perfect.
But her physical beauty was not what most excited him. He was interested primarily in learning more about the mind that could create a work like Magyck! He had seen less than one-fourth of the program, yet he knew it was a hit—and far superior to others of its kind. A Vegas stage extravaganza could easily go off the rails. If the gigantic sets and lavish costumes and intricate choreography were overdone, or if any element was improperly executed, the production would quickly stumble across the thin line between captivating show-biz flash and sheer vulgarity. A glittery fantasy could metamorphose into a crude, tasteless, and stupid bore if the wrong hand guided it. Elliot wanted to know more about Christina Evans—and on a more fundamental level, he just wanted her.
No woman had affected him so strongly since Nancy, his wife, who had died three years ago.
Sitting in the dark theater, he smiled, not at the comic magician who was performing in front of the closed stage curtains, but at his own sudden, youthful exuberance.
7
the warped door groaned and creaked as vi vienne Neddler forced it open.
Aiii-eee, aiii-eee . . .
A wave of frigid air washed out of the dark room, into the hallway.
Vivienne reached inside, fumbled for the light switch, found it, and entered warily. The room was deserted.
Aiii-eee, aii-eee . . .
Baseball stars and horror-movie monsters gazed at Vivienne from posters stapled to the walls. Three intricate model airplanes were suspended from the ceiling. These things were as they always had been, since she had first come to work here, before Danny had died.
Aiii-eee, aiii-eee, aiii-eee . . .
The maddening electronic squeal issued from a pair of small stereo speakers that hung on the wall behind the bed. The CD player and an accompanying AM-FM tuner and amplifier were stacked on one of the nightstands.
Although Vivienne could see where the noise originated, she couldn't locate any source for the bitterly cold air. Neither window was open, and even if one had been raised, the night wasn't frigid enough to account for the chill.
Just as she reached the AM-FM tuner, the banshee wail stopped. The sudden silence had an oppressive weight.
Gradually, as her ears stopped ringing, Vivienne perceived the soft empty hiss of the stereo speakers. Then she heard the
Similar Books
Red Rose Moon (Seasons of the Moon)
SM Reine
Her Errant Earl
Scarlett Scott
Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4)
Cheryl Holt
Soulmates
Mindy Kincade
Highland Sinner
Hannah Howell
Sacred Revelations
Harte Roxy
Ruin (The Ruin Saga Book 1)
Harry Manners
Heart's Desire
Laura Pedersen
Dragon's Flame
Jory Strong
Tabitha
Andrew Hall