See You In My Dreams Read online

  Off-camera, a fan blew Nikki's blonde mane away from her face. In a word, the former street kid presented a ravishing sight. So beautiful, he thought. So incredibly lovely.

  The forceful driving beat of techno-rock filled the air. Nikki moved to the music, becoming seduction incarnate. Glad of his dark vantage point, Max found it difficult to breathe. He shifted his stance, uncomfortable from the sudden tightness in his trousers. For the hundredth time, he wondered why this one girl fascinated him so. It was more than her beauty. It was ... indefinable.

  Max looked at his watch. Would the shoot never end?

  As if on cue, Starr called out, “That's it, luv. We'll call it a night. You were great."

  Nikki stopped posing, shaking her hair with a sigh of apparent relief. “Thanks, Mr. Starr."

  “Now, now, remember wot I told you. The name's Ian. Call me Ian.” He walked toward her, placing an arm around her shoulder. “'Ow ‘bout you coming with me to meet some blokes I know? We're going to party at a private club in Soho."

  Nikki's eyes widened with interest. “Sure. Just let me get out of this stuff."

  Max couldn't resist. “Nikki, you're a little young for his crowd. Why don't you let me take you out for a late dinner or home?” Too late. The words had left his mouth. He'd made a mistake, and if he had any doubts, she quickly dispelled them.

  “I'm not hungry,” she declared, jutting her chin at him. “And I haven't been to a party for at least a month."

  “Well, we mustn't ‘ave that.” Ian grinned, first at Max, then at Nikki. “Come on, luv. We'll have some fun, won't we?"

  “Sure. Why don't you join us, Max?” she asked, with a toss of her head.

  Max hesitated, sorely tempted. “I'd better not. I have an early meeting."

  Nikki shrugged and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “Suit yourself. Ian will see me home, won't you?"

  “O’ course, doll. O’ course."

  “See, I'll be fine.” Nikki's blue eyes narrowed, challenging him, again, “You could still tag along with us, be my chaperone, my older uncle or something."

  Max seethed. Against his better judgment, he ground out, “I'd better not. As I said, I have an early meeting.” Truly he did have an early meeting, but just as truly, he feared losing control if in another social situation with Nikki, so soon after the last.

  Dammit. He'd been out-maneuvered by a sixteen-year-old girl who would have her way or know the reason why ... and he wasn't about to let her know the reason why.

  “Fine.” Nikki stalked off to the dressing room, never giving him another glance.

  “Didn't mean to poach on your territory, guv. I didn't know you were ‘ot for ‘er too."

  “I'm not. Nikki's a minor. Remember that."

  “Sure, mate, no problem."

  Max stepped into Starr's space and stared into the photographer's pale blue eyes.

  “There'd better not be,” he warned, then spun on his heel and strode from the studio. Misgivings? He had plenty. But he couldn't live Nikki's life for her. She had to make her own choices, whether he approved of them or not.

  ~ * ~

  Nikki looked around the dimly-lit private club. Terry's was little more than a dive, but the jazz band was top-notch. She recognized a familiar face from the agency, as well as a couple of celebrities.

  She looked at her drink. No one had bothered to card her. It made her feel grownup. Here she was hanging out with a famous fashion photographer, and all he wanted to do was grab her butt. She'd managed to shame him into keeping his hands to himself, for a while, but now he was at it, again. “Look ‘ere, mate,” she said imitating his Cockney accent, “keep your bloomin’ ‘ands off me bum."

  “Isn't she cute?” Ian asked his friend on the left. “I don't know w'en I've ‘eard a better Eliza Doolittle.” Ian reached over and attempted a smacking kiss, but Nikki turned her face away.

  “Cool it.” She stood up. “I tell you what, Ian. I'm going to the Ladies Room, and then I'm calling a taxi."

  “Aww. Don't be a spoil sport. I guess old Max's got you under his thumb."

  “I don't give a fu—” she paused, hesitating to use the most appropriate obscenity. “Think whatever you want. I'm outta here.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the rest room.

  Five minutes later, she'd called her taxi from the pay phone. She made her way to the door, walking past Ian and his friends.

  “Look doll, no ‘ard feelings. Finish your drinkie, and I'll be'ave meself. Really, I will."

  Ian gave her a charming smile. Being strict and straight-laced really wasn't her style. She relented, smiling back at him. “Okay, but only till my taxi comes. Then I'm going home."

  “Sure, luv. Wotever you say."

  Nikki picked up the martini glass and swallowed the remaining contents, puckering her mouth at the strong taste. “It's really kind of gross, you know,” she said.

  Ian leaned forward and whispered in her ear,” You don't ‘ave to rush off, y'know. I'll be on me very best be'avior, if you stay a little longer. Look, doll. You're a grownup now, so don't pull this little girl routine. Won't work, not if you want to be taken seriously, as a model, I mean."

  “Just keep your hands to yourself, and we won't have a problem."

  “Y'know ‘ow it is? A bloke's got to try, otherwise, ‘e's not much of a man, is ‘e? See wot I mean?"

  “Well, you've tried. So get over it."

  “Yeah, yeah. All right."

  A wave of nausea hit Nikki.

  “I say, wot's wrong? You're looking a little pale, all sudden like."

  “I-I don't feel very good.” She looked toward the door. “Is my cab here yet?” She tried to focus, but her eyes didn't want to cooperate. Ian seemed to be wavering. Was he drunk? Couldn't he sit still? Another wave of nausea hit her. She just had to close her eyes for a minute. She reached out and felt someone grab just in time to keep her from falling.

  ~ * ~

  Nikki opened her eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. Funny, she didn't remember going to bed. Had she fallen? Passed out? She stretched and ... freaked.

  She didn't have a stitch on.

  And there was someone else in the bed.

  Nikki rubbed her eyes again. It had to be a nightmare.

  No. Still there. She jumped out of the bed, yanked the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around her. Taking a deep breath, she fought the panic threatening to choke her. She reached out and gave the sleeping male form a tentative nudge, then jumped back when the no-longer-sleeping person turned toward her, giving a bleary grin.

  Ian Starr. “What am I doing here?"

  “Don't worry about it, luv. You were great."

  “What do you mean ‘I was great?’ What the hell happened?” she shrieked and retreated to the far side of the bedroom.

  Ian threw back the covers and swung long skinny legs over the side of the bed. Nikki felt her mouth drop open. Dear heaven, he was naked too. She backed up against the wall. “Where's the bathroom?” She looked around, frantic ... suddenly aware of discomfort ... and an unpleasant stickiness between her thighs.

  “Ohmigod.” Tears formed and rolled down her cheeks. “What have you done to me? Oh, God, oh God.” She spied her panties beside the bed and snatched them up along with the jeans she'd worn the night before. The pain told her what Ian had done, but she couldn't take it in. How could he?

  “Nothing you didn't beg me for, ya know.” Ian stood up and walked toward her. Tall and thin, he towered over her. “Listen, luv. Not like it was your first time. I mean I can tell."

  “Stay the hell away from me,” Nikki cried. “You bastard. You drugged me."

  “No way, doll. You might ‘ave been a little shaky on your pins, but you were ‘ot for it."

  “No. No, no, no, no, no!” Nikki grappled with the bathroom door, flung it open and stumbled inside. After slamming it shut and locking it behind her, she leaned back against the door and slid down to the floor. The tile floor was cold to her bare bottom.r />
  Sobs racked her entire body. ‘Not the first time.’ What did he mean by that?

  Pull yourself together. You've got to get out of here. She stood up, wincing from the stab of pain between her thighs, aware of Ian's pounding on the other side of the door.

  “Come on, luv. Let me in. We can shower together, save on water usage. You know, save the planet. Come on, Nikki,” he cajoled.

  Save the planet? Nikki shivered. “Rot in hell!” she yelled back, brushing away the tears.

  Nothing to do but dress and get the hell out of there. A shower. God, how she wanted one, but no way was she going to hang around long enough to take it.

  It was then she looked into the mirror. Two purple-red blotches on her neck and one on her breast. They stood out like stains on her fair skin. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. The SOB had certainly left his brand on her.

  Ian banged on the door again. She jumped.

  “Come on, luv. We both ‘ad a good time last night. You're blowing this all out of proportion."

  Nikki swallowed. Damn good thing she didn't have a gun. She'd blow him into next month. Instead, she pulled on her jeans and yanked her sweater on over her head.

  Didn't give a damn how she looked. Escape. That's the ticket. Summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, she squared her shoulders took a deep breath, unlocked and opened the door.

  Ian jumped back then reached for her. “Now see here—"

  Unable to stomach the sound of his whining voice, Nikki shoved him away and stalked out of the bedroom. If she kept her back straight and head high, she might just make it without dissolving into tears again.

  Home, she had to get home. Renée would be so worried. God, what kind of excuse could she give for staying out all night. Her mentor was strict, but fair. No way was she about to tell her what had really happened. No way, whatsoever. She was too ashamed.

  Once out of Ian's apartment, she met no one. At the elevator, she jabbed at the down button several times, as if that would make it come any faster. The elevator doors opened. Her path of escape was empty. Entering the elevator, she leaned against the back wall and took a deep ragged breath.

  The sides of the elevator car were covered in a highly reflective bronze tinted metal, revealing her ravaged image. She'd come a long way since leaving the streets and pursuing a modeling career.

  Oh yeah, a long way, baby. How would she ever face Maman... or Max?

  With a sickening lurch in her stomach, Nikki felt the elevator slow as it reached the ground floor. Again, she squared her shoulders and held her head high. The doors opened. She rushed out and made a straight line for the doorman. “Taxi,” she told him, staring at a point over his shoulder, attempting to ignore his knowing glance.

  “Right away, miss.” The doorman gave her another look, a slow appraising up-and-down glance which seemed to take forever, then turned and opened the door for her.

  At least his reply was polite, even if his facial expression left a lot to be desired. Right now, she'd be grateful for small favors and followed him outside. The early morning air, crisp and clear, she wrapped her arms across her chest and shivered.

  The doorman stepped to the curb and blew his whistle at an oncoming cab. The driver brought his vehicle to a halt, scrubbing its tires against the concrete curb.

  “Idiot,” the doorman muttered and shook his head in apparent disgust. “They're all idiots. No pride."

  Nikki mumbled something she hoped was appropriate. All she cared about was getting home. At home, she could scrub to her heart's content—but would she ever feel clean?

  The doorman opened the rear door, gesturing for her to enter. And enter she did. With a great sigh of relief, she plunged into the dank back seat. She gave the driver Maman's address, then buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  ~ * ~

  Renée Devereaux paced back and forth. Hours ago, frantic with worry, she'd actually dug out an ancient pack of cigarettes and now puffed furiously on the last one. Should she call Maxim, again or should she give her charge a little longer to turn up? Were all teenagers so inconsiderate? While the battles with Nikki over smoking and coarse language had been easily won, Renée had often wondered when the young runaway's independent streak would re-assert itself.

  Apparently, it had, now. She-checked her appointment book. The only entry for the day before was the afternoon shoot with the English photographer. She'd offered to accompany Nikki, but the girl had stubbornly refused. ‘I can take care of myself, Maman. Really, I was on the streets for several months. No photographer is going to mess with me.’ What worried Renée most was Starr's reputation for seducing his models, but surely he wouldn't be so stupid as to try anything with one as young as Nikki.

  If Nikki didn't show up by nine, she would call Maxim and let him decide what to do. She felt so helpless. What she would do if something terrible had happened, she didn't know. She had become so fond of Nikki. In spite of the girl's street-wise facade, she was really very sweet and quite devoid of artifice.

  Walking back to the kitchen, Renée poured another cup of coffee. She stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette, sat down and looked at her watch for at least the twentieth time that morning. Seven-fifteen. She hadn't had more than an hour of sleep the entire night. Oh, she'd dozed off several times; only to awaken suddenly when she thought she heard the girl come in. But it hadn't been Nikki. It hadn't been anyone. Only the thought that Nikki might be with Maxim kept her from calling the police.

  She reached for the phone, sorely tempted to call her son, but it rang the moment she touched it. Frantic in her haste to answer the telephone, Renée dropped it. “Merde.” Grabbing the receiver, she managed a ragged, “Nikki?"

  “Non. C'est moi,” Maxim replied. “What's wrong?"

  Near tears, Renée cried, “Nikki didn't come home last night."

  “What? Dammit! I knew I should have kept her from leaving with Starr."

  “Mon Dieu. Surely, you didn't allow her to go out with him?"

  “Short of slinging her over my shoulder, I couldn't stop her. She was very determined."

  “She's never done—” Renée broke off. “I hear her key in the door. She's home,” she said with a great sigh of relief. She lay the receiver on the counter. “Nikki?"

  No response—save the sound of rapid footsteps first in the entryway, then up the stairs.

  “Nikki!” Renée called again. A door slammed.

  Renée grabbed the telephone, again. “She's home, but something's wrong. I have to go.” She hung up without waiting for Maxim's response.

  At least she's alive. A new sense of unease caught in her throat. The more she considered what could have happened, the worse her fear became. Dreading what she might learn, she took a deep breath and walked slowly from the kitchen into the hall. She paused at the long stairway, crushed by a sudden feeling of profound weariness. It had been a very long night.

  She climbed the stairs and walked to Nikki's door, knocking tentatively. “Nikki?” Through the door she heard the sound of water running. Renée hated to intrude, but staying out all night was not acceptable behavior in a sixteen-year-old girl. They might as well have it out, right now.

  She tried the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, she opened the door and walked into her bedroom. “Nikki,” she called again and stepped to the bathroom door. “When you're finished with your shower, we need to talk."

  “G-go away. Please.” Nikki's voice sounded muffled as if she were crying.

  “What's wrong?"

  “J-just go away."

  “Non. I'm coming in.” Renée opened the door. Nikki hadn't bothered pulling the shower curtain. Water from the shower had splattered on the white tile floor. She crouched in the corner of the shower stall, red-faced and crying. A scrub brush hung limply from her right hand. Renée took in the red scratches, marring the former runaway's body ... and the passion marks.

  “P-please, l-leave me alone.” Nikki hid her face against the shower wall. A
t the same time, she resumed scrubbing her body with a brush never meant to touch human flesh.

  Sick at heart, Renée grabbed a white bath sheet and held it toward her charge.

  “Stop it, Chèrie. You're hurting yourself. Please, come out of the shower,” Renée coaxed, her tone soft.

  Nikki shook her head and cringed, putting up her hands as if warding off evil.

  “Shh,” Renée murmured, gently taking the brush from the girl's hand. Renée wrapped the soft bath sheet over Nikki's head and around her shoulders. “It is all right. Everything is all right. You are safe.” Renée cradled the sobbing girl in her arms and walked her into the bedroom.

  “S-stupid. I'm so stupid.” Nikki shivered in Renée's arms.

  “No. No, you're not.” Renée guided Nikki to her bed, pulled back the duvet and sat her down on the side. “I'm going to get you a fresh night gown and a comb for your hair."

  “Just go away and leave me alone. You're too good to me. I-I—” Nikki dissolved into shaking sobs and fell against Renée's shoulder.

  She stroked Nikki's damp hair and crooned, “Mon Dieu, what has happened, Chèrie?” Regretfully, Renée had a very good idea what had happened, but needed to have it confirmed in words. “Now, now.” She cradled Nikki in her arms, rocking her back and forth."

  ~ * ~

  After a few minutes in Renée's comforting arms, Nikki stopped crying. As if from a distance, she watched Renée stand up, walk to the armoire and remove a nightgown. After picking up a comb from the bureau, Maman came back to Nikki.

  “Here, stand up while I put this on you."

  Like a small child, Nikki stood and held up her arms, allowing Maman to pull the gown over her head and down around her body, removing the bath sheet as she did.

  “There, ma petite. Now, sit down and let me comb your hair,” Renée murmured, her soft accented voice soothing Nikki's raw emotions.

  Nikki sniffed.

  “Here.” Renée offered a corner of the bath sheet. “Blow your nose."

  Obediently she took the bath sheet and blew.

  While Renée continued combing Nikki's hair, she closed her eyes, wishing she could block out the last twenty-four hours as easily. Maman's touch was gentle, just what she needed.