When the movie was over, she sat back with a shake of her head. It hadn’t been a bad story, but what woman in her right mind would fall in love with a vampire, if such things actually existed, and let him drink her blood?
And even as the thought crossed her mind, she lifted a hand to her neck as the memory of the last night’s dream rose, unbidden, in her mind. She knew it had only been a dream but now, with the memory of the movie she had just seen fresh in her mind, she couldn’t help thinking how vampire-like her dream had been, with Rhys bending over her, his teeth grazing her throat….
“Stop that right now, Megan! It was just a dream, that’s all. There’s no such thing as vampires!”
After switching off the TV, she went into the kitchen. Shirl was doing a night shoot, so she wouldn’t be home until late. Megan ate soup and a toasted cheese sandwich for dinner, then went into her bedroom to get ready for work.
Megan rang up her fifth sale of the evening. They had been busy all right, thank goodness. At home, she had done a fair job of keeping thoughts of Rhys Costain at bay, but the minute she had walked into Shore’s, he was all she could think about. She had hoped to distract herself with work, but everything reminded her of Rhys.
She was straightening one of the shelves when a sudden ripple in the air sent a shiver down her spine. Lifting a hand to her neck, she went suddenly still. He was here. She knew it. Hardly daring to believe, she glanced over her shoulder. And he was there, as tall and handsome as she remembered. All her foolish imaginings and ridiculous fears took flight as he glided toward her. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Everything about him appealed to her—the red silk shirt that clung to his broad shoulders, the black slacks that emphasized his long legs, the dark blond of his hair. His eyes, so brown they were almost black.
“Megan.” As he murmured her name, he offered her a single blood-red rose.
She looked up at him. Every female on the planet knew a single red rose meant “I love you.” Had that been his intent, or was he just partial to red roses?
“It’s beautiful.”
His gaze moved over her face. “Your beauty puts it to shame.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“For what?”
“For acting like a jealous fool.”
“I think we both acted like a couple of idiots,” Megan allowed. “Let’s just forget it, shall we?”
“Would you like to go out for a drink after work?”
“Yes, very much.”
“I’ll see you then,” he said, and taking her hand in his, he kissed her palm.
His lips were cool against her skin, yet they sent a shaft of heat straight to the core of her being.
“Till then,” he murmured.
Too stunned to reply, Megan could only nod. Oh Lord, the effect that man had on her senses was almost hypnotic.
He was waiting by the back door when she got off work. “Where would you like to go?”
“I don’t care.” She had been counting the hours until this moment, when she would see him again, hear his voice. Whatever magic he possessed, she was helpless to resist it. Nor did she want to. Their separation, though brief, had made her realize she never wanted to be without him again.
He walked her to his car, opened the passenger side door, then went around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. She had never known a man who moved with such innate power, or such effortless grace.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.
“How would you feel about going to my place?”
“The club?”
“No. My apartment.”
Her common sense told her it probably wasn’t a good idea to go to a man’s apartment, alone, at two in the morning, but her curiosity about seeing where he lived kicked her common sense under the rug. Smiling, she said, “Let’s go.”
In minutes, they were on the 101 Freeway heading toward Hollywood. Forty minutes later he pulled into the driveway of a tall, glass-fronted building.
“You live here?” she asked, staring out the window.
He nodded. “On the top floor.”
Her heart was racing a mile a minute when he pulled into a space marked PRIVATE in the underground garage.
After opening the car door, he took her by the hand. Her heels echoed loudly off the cement floor as he led her to an iron-barred door. He unlocked it and ushered her inside. Overhead lights came on when she crossed the threshold.
Giving her hand a squeeze, he led her down a wide corridor inlaid with black and white tiles to a bank of elevators. It was creepy, being in such a large building when everything was closed. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch when they stepped into the elevator. What was she doing here? No one even knew where she was.
When they reached the tenth floor, they took a private elevator up to the eleventh floor. Moments later, the elevator opened, revealing yet another door, this one made of what looked like solid steel.
Flashing a reassuring smile, Rhys unlocked the door and bowed her inside. Megan looked around in wonder as her feet sank in dark blue-gray carpet that must have been two inches deep. Twin sofas made of black leather faced each other in front of a white marble fireplace. Megan wasn’t well versed in the art of the Old Masters, but she thought the painting over the fireplace might be a Botticelli.
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.