Everlasting Desire (6 page)

As she turned in a slow circle, her gaze came to rest on a statue of a golden-haired Madonna. “She's lovely.” Funny, Megan thought, it had never occurred to her that Rhys might be a religious man.

Rhys nodded. “She's very old.” He ran a hand over the statue's shoulder. He had stolen her from a Catholic church soon after he had been turned. For a time, she had been his only companion.

Moving to a covered table located against the wall, Rhys lifted the cloth, revealing a bottle of vintage wine and an assortment of fruit, cheese, crackers, and chocolates. “I thought you might be hungry.”

He filled two glasses and handed her one.

“What shall we drink to?” she asked.

“To forgetting the past,” he murmured, and wished it were possible.

Smiling, Megan touched her glass to his. “And starting over.”

“Starting over,” he repeated.

For a moment, it seemed as though his eyes glowed red, but then she realized it was probably just the reflection of the wine.

It was while she was filling her plate that she noticed there was only service for one. “Aren't you having anything?”

“I'm not much for fruit and cheese.”

“Or chocolate?”

“Or chocolate. But I thought you might like it.”

“What woman doesn't like chocolate?” She glanced at the sweets. Light, milk, and dark chocolates of every variety filled a large crystal bowl. “You don't expect me to eat all of that, do you?” she asked, although she didn't think it would be much of a hardship.

He shrugged. “I didn't know what kind you liked, so I got a little of everything.”

“Good choice,” she said, grinning. “Since I like a little of everything.” She picked up a dark chocolate truffle.
Nirvana,
she thought as it melted in her mouth. “What do you like?”

“I like you,” he said quietly. “Far more than I should. Far more than is good for you.”

Megan stared at him, suddenly reminded that she knew almost nothing about this man. That they were alone in an empty building. That no one would hear her if she screamed for help. An innate sense of self-preservation had her taking a step backward, even though there was no place to go.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”

She searched her mind for some flip reply to ease the tension that stretched between them, but nothing came to mind. Why was she suddenly so afraid?

“Megan.” Putting his glass aside, he ran a hand through his hair. He had known bringing her to his lair had been a bad idea from the start. Having her here, so close, was proving to be even more of a temptation than he had expected. If only her eyes weren't as soft and brown as sun-warmed earth, her skin so incredibly smooth, her lips so pink and inviting. If only her blood didn't sing to him. “I should take you home.”

She nodded, but she made no move toward the door, and neither did he.

Muttering an oath, he took a step toward her. She was here, and he wanted her.

The next move was hers. Only she didn't move.

As though frozen in place, Megan stared up at him.

With a sigh, he closed the distance between them, took the plate from her hand, and set it on the table.

Megan's heartbeat shifted into overdrive when he reached for her. Like a rabbit hypnotized by a hawk, she could only stand there, waiting, wondering what would happen next. Would he carry her into his bedroom and ravish her? Would she care?

Rhys inhaled deeply as he took her in his arms. The scent of her blood, her fear, enticed him. He fought the urge to taste her; instead, he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his.

The sweet warmth of her lips was more intoxicating than the wine that lingered on her tongue. She pleased him in every way. Her scent enflamed his hunger, her lush curves aroused his lust.

She moaned softly, and Rhys drew back, not certain if her muffled cry was a whimper of pleasure or a plea for him to stop.

“Megan.” Hoping for enlightenment, his mind brushed hers as he murmured her name. As he had feared, her thoughts were indecisive. Her body wanted him; her mind was advising caution; her instincts were screaming for her to back away before it was too late.

She looked up at him, her gaze confused, her lips slightly parted.

Rhys swore softly. He could easily bend her will to his, but he didn't want to take her by force, didn't want to take her to his bed until it was her own idea. Blowing out a sigh of frustration, he lightly stroked her back.

“Relax. We won't do anything you don't want to do.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to one of the sofas and urged her to sit down, then he went back to the table for her plate, hoping that doing something as ordinary as eating would calm her nerves.

“Please, eat,” he said as he offered her the plate.

“Thank you.” She was relieved that her hands barely shook at all as she licked the rich, dark chocolate off a plump red strawberry.

While Rhys sat at the other end of the sofa, thinking how lucky that strawberry was.

It was early morning when Rhys drove her home. It wasn't until they were standing outside her door that Megan realized her car was still at Shore's.

“What time should I pick you up for work tomorrow night?” Rhys asked. “Seven thirty?”

“That would be great. You must have been reading my mind,” Megan said with a smile. “Since I forgot all about my car.”

He winked at her. “I'll see you then.”

She nodded, a flurry of anticipation rising in her stomach as she waited for him to kiss her good night.

She didn't have to wait long.

“Megan?”

She looked up, her gaze meeting his, felt herself falling into the depths of his deep brown eyes as he drew her into his embrace. His lips were cool against her skin as he lightly kissed her brow, her cheeks, the curve of her throat. She moaned softly as his teeth grazed her neck, only for a moment, and then his mouth covered hers and he kissed her again. Kissed her until she was dizzy with the heat of it.

Moments later—or was it longer?—she was standing in the doorway watching him drive away.

Megan frowned. Had she missed something? She didn't remember going into the house, or telling him good night.

Lifting a hand to her neck, she went inside and closed the door, wondering how she could still be hungry after all the fruit and cheese—and chocolate—she had eaten earlier.

She wobbled a little as she went into the kitchen. Had she had too much to drink? Was that why she felt so woozy?

Shaking her head, she filled a glass with orange juice. Maybe she was drunk, she thought with a faint grin. Oh, yeah. Drunk on Rhys Costain's kisses.

 

“I have tickets to Drexel's concert this coming Saturday night,” Megan said. “Would you like to go? I already asked Mr. Parker for the night off.”

Rhys had driven her to work earlier and was now in the process of trying on three-quarter-length Armani coats to replace the one that had been ruined in the attempted robbery.

“Drexel? Is he the kid that was in here the other night? The one who wants to marry you?”

“That's him. By the way, Mr. Parker's been telling all of our customers what a hero you are. One of them is a reporter for the
Times
. He'd like to interview you for a human interest story.”

“No, thanks.”

“Don't you want your fifteen minutes of fame?”

“Not even five minutes.”

“Most people these days will do almost anything to get their names or pictures in the news.”

“True enough,” he agreed. “But I'm not like most people.”

She couldn't argue with that. Lifting her hand, she smoothed the collar of his coat. “This one fits like it was made for you. Check it out in the mirror.”

“No need.” He smiled at her. “I can see myself in your eyes.”

It occurred to her that, in all the times he had been in the shop, she had never once seen him look in a mirror.

Shrugging out of the coat, he handed it to her. “Do you want to meet me when you get off work?”

“I don't think so.” Megan yawned behind her hand. “All these late nights are starting to catch up with me.”

“Maybe I could come over before you go to work tomorrow night?”

“All right. Shirl's dying to meet you.”

“Shirl? She's your roommate?”

Megan nodded. “She's been seeing a cop pretty regularly and suggested the four of us go out for dinner and a movie sometime, if you want to.”

“Sure,” Rhys said agreeably, although dinner might present a problem. But he'd worry about that later.

“I told her about your nightclub. She said she'd like to see it.”

“As I recall, you mentioned she was into the Goth scene at one time.”

“Right. Do you want to try on anything else?”

“No, I'll take this one.”

“Okay, just let me wrap it up.”

He followed her to the counter, content to stand there, watching her, as she slipped one of Shore's distinctive vinyl garment bags over the Armani.

“What time tomorrow night?” he asked, taking the coat from her hand.

“Well, I have to be at work at eight. How about five? It's my night to fix dinner.”

The hour wasn't a problem. He could endure the sunlight for brief periods of time. But the food. Short of planting the thought in her head that he was eating, there was no way to get around it, so he said, “Go ahead and eat without me. I've got a meeting with some associates in the evening. I'll try to be at your place around six thirty.”

“We can always eat later.”

“Don't worry about me. I'll grab something on my way over.”

“All right. Too bad about dinner, though. I'm a pretty good cook when I want to be.”

“I'm sure you are,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I'll see you tomorrow night.”

Megan nodded. “Associates,” she murmured as she watched him leave the store. What kind of associates? Business? Or pleasure?

 

Adrianna brushed a lock of hair from her brow as she settled onto the sofa. “So, we're all here,” she said impatiently. “Now what?”

“You have something better to do?” Rhys asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I haven't fed yet, and I'm hungry. Why are we meeting so early?”

“Because I've got a date,” Rhys said, which got everyone's attention. “That rogue vamp has left New Orleans and seems to be heading our way. There have been several killings reported in Houston. Bodies all drained of blood. No clues left behind. Have any of you heard anything?”

“Just what's been on the news,” Nicholas said, shrugging. “I still don't think it's anything for us to worry about.”

“Unless he comes here, you idiot,” Seth Adams said. “One rogue vamp is all it takes to stir up the sheep.”

“If he comes here, it'll be Costain's problem,” Adrianna said, looking bored as she examined her fingernails. “After all, he's the Master of the West Coast Vampires.”

Rhys turned his gaze on Adrianna. “If it comes to a fight, I'm sure we're all hoping I'll win,” he said, his voice harsh.

“Of course,” Adrianna replied smoothly. “Besides, there's nothing for you to worry about. After all, there aren't many vampires around who are older than you.”

Rhys grunted thoughtfully. He could count those older than himself on one hand—first and easily the most dangerous was Tomás Villagrande, the oldest vampire in existence. Tomás ruled the East Coast. After Tomás came Gregor McCarthy, an eight-hundred-year-old vampire who laid claim to both England and Ireland. Next came Baiba. Tall and svelte and seven centuries old, she made her home in Russia. Lastly, there was six-hundred-year-old Sandoval, who kept his primary lair in Madrid.

The ancient ones might defeat him, but Rhys had no fear of any of the other vampires who might come against him. He knew most of those who resided in the United States who might pose a threat. Volger ruled the states in the Midwest; a cocky vampire known as Tristan claimed the North; the South belonged to Morag, one of the oldest female vampires in existence, though not so old as Baiba.

Rhys dismissed the Council with a wave of his hand, and then he smiled. It had been a long time since he'd fought another vampire to the death. He discounted the fight with Mariah. That hadn't been a battle so much as an execution.

But tonight, he had a date with Megan DeLacey.

 

A knock at the door had Megan's heart racing like a runaway train. He was here.

“You okay, girlfriend?” Shirl called as Megan went to answer the door. “You're looking a little frazzled.”

Frazzled didn't begin to cover it, Megan thought. Just thinking about Rhys sent her hormones into overdrive.

“Don't worry,” Shirl said, a smile in her voice. “As soon as I get a look at him, I'll make myself scarce.”

Megan nodded. She paused to take a deep breath before she opened the door. “Hi.”

Lord, the man was gorgeous. Tonight, he wore a gray-and-black–striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up over a black T-shirt, black jeans, and boots. When he smiled at her, she thought she might melt.

“Hi.” He arched one brow at her. “You gonna invite me in?”

“What? Oh, yes.” She took a step back, thinking how good he smelled as he moved past her into the living room where Shirl waited.

Megan quickly introduced Rhys to her roommate, and then, true to her word, Shirl excused herself and went upstairs, but not before giving Megan a wide-eyed nod of approval.

“So,” Megan said, gesturing for Rhys to sit down, “what did you do today?”

He lifted one shoulder in a graceful shrug. “Nothing much. Worked on the books. Ordered some new stock for the bar, that kind of thing.”

“Oh. How did your business meeting go?”

“About as I expected.”

“Have you owned the nightclub very long?”

“A few years. It keeps me busy.”

“So, what do you think of Shirl?”

“She's a knockout.”

It was the response Megan had expected, but she couldn't help feeling a little jealous just the same. Men rarely paid any attention to her when she and Shirley were in the same room.

“But not as pretty as you.”

“That's nice of you to say, but it isn't necessary. Or true.”

“Hey, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And to me, you're beautiful.”

She felt her cheeks warm at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Okay if I kiss you?”

She laughed softly. “You've never asked before, but, yes, it's okay.”

She closed her eyes as his arm slid around her shoulders, drawing her closer. His lips were cool, yet, at their touch, heat flowed through her, turning her blood to liquid fire. She had been kissed by other men, but never with such intensity. If kissing were an art form, he would surely be the master, she thought dreamily. The Michelangelo of osculatory delights. The Picasso of kissers.

Somehow, they were lying on the sofa, with Rhys's body covering hers, his mouth trailing fire as he rained kisses on her forehead, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, and her cheeks before returning to her lips. She moaned softly, every nerve and cell in her body straining toward him. It had been years since her divorce, years since she had taken a man to her bed. Or wanted to.

She felt bereft when he took his mouth from hers and gained his feet.

A rush of heat flooded her cheeks when she looked past Rhys and saw Shirl standing in the doorway, a smirk on her face. “I hate to interrupt you, but Mr. Parker just called.”

“He did?” Sitting up, Megan smoothed a hand over her hair. “I didn't hear the phone.”

“I'm not surprised. Anyway, he said he's going to be late tonight and wants to know if you can go in a little early and open up.”

“Is he still on the phone?”

“No. He said to call back if you can't make it.”

Megan glanced at her watch. It was seven fifteen. “I guess I'd better get ready.”

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Shirl said, looking at Rhys. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Costain.”

He grinned at her as he raked a hand through his hair. “Just Rhys.”

“Rhys it is,” she said, returning his grin. “See you tomorrow, Meggie. Good night, Rhys.”

He waited until Shirl left the room before taking Megan by the hand and pulling her to her feet. “Meggie?”

“I hate that name.”

“Would you like me to drive you to work?” he asked.

“That isn't necessary.”

He was about to say he would be glad to do it when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me.” Turning his back to Megan, he flipped open the phone. “What is it?”

“There've been three more murders,” Rupert said. “Bodies all drained of blood.”

“Where?”

“Fort Worth.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Rhys said, and ended the call.

“Is something wrong?” Megan asked.

“Some business at the club I need to take care of,” he replied. “I'll see you tomorrow night.”

A quick kiss, and he was gone.

“He's a hottie, that one,” Shirl said, coming up behind her.

“What? Oh, yes, he is.”

“He sure left in a hurry.”

“Some business at his club. I'll have to take you there some time. You'll love it.”

“He's gorgeous, but I can see why he scares you. There's an edge about him, something…I don't know.”

“You sensed it, too?”

“How could anyone miss it?”

“I thought maybe it was just me.”

“Another thing, he seems really, I don't know, really worldly wise and self-assured for someone so young. You know what I mean?”

Megan nodded. She had noticed that, too. “He doesn't act his age, that's for sure.”

“Be careful, girlfriend,” Shirl admonished. “I think this one plays for keeps.”

 

Rhys swore softly as he drove to the club. He didn't want to have to worry about some rogue vamp, or what it might mean if the renegade decided to come to LA. As Master of the West Coast Vampires, Rhys had only one rule for those in his territory—don't leave any bodies drained of blood where they could be found. Most vampires were smart enough not to call attention to their kind. They preyed on transients or the homeless—people who wouldn't be missed. But this rogue, he was killing indiscriminately, and that boded ill for all of them.