Everlasting Desire (5 page)

Rhys stood hipshot against the end of the bar as he listened to the idle chatter of the well-dressed men and women around him. Outwardly, he seemed much the same as the other men. He wore the same expensive clothes, drove a flashy car, owned real estate in the city, including the building where he kept his primary lair. But inside, he was still the bastard son of a prostitute. The world changed. Kings and queens and presidents came and went. People were born, grew up, grew old, and passed on, but he remained always and forever the same, never quite able to shake off the feeling that he was inferior to those around him, never able to forget the scared little boy who had become a thief to survive.

He was still stealing, he mused somewhat bitterly, but instead of gold and silver and fancy baubles, he stole the life's blood of his victims.

He snorted softly. The humans in the room were no better than he was. He could hear their innermost thoughts—the middle-aged man to his left had just embezzled three million dollars from his employer; the brunette at the other end of the bar was having an affair with her husband's brother; the well-dressed black man standing near the entrance was checking the crowd, looking for an easy mark. The balding man on his right had just lost his job and was contemplating suicide.

Straightening, Rhys closed his mind to those standing nearby. He had no interest in their mundane lives, didn't care a lick whether they solved their problems or not. What mattered was that it was almost midnight. Time to visit Shore's and the ever so lovely Megan DeLacey.

 

Megan paused in the act of hanging a new pair of slacks on the circular rack in the center of the store. Rhys was coming. She knew it by the sudden, rapid increase of her heartbeat, by the way her skin grew warm all over.

She was trying to figure out the how and the why of her reaction when he walked into the store.

Tall and blond and wearing clothes she had sold him, he looked like he had just stepped off the cover of
GQ
. She couldn't help wondering if he had spent as many minutes as she had deciding what to wear.

He smiled his hypnotic smile as he closed the distance between them. For a moment, she forgot where she was, forgot everything but the incredible attraction that flowed between them. What was there about him that left her feeling weak and shivery inside, that made her want to give him anything he desired?

“Megan, how pretty you look this evening.”

“As do you.”

His dark eyes reflected his pleasure at her words.

His nearness made her nervous on several levels. She folded her hands to keep from fidgeting. “Did you come for the other half of your reward?”

“Reward?”

“The new coat Mr. Parker offered you. To replace the ruined one, remember?” She forced a smile. She hated being reminded of that dreadful night.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.” He couldn't possibly have come to buy more clothes. He had already purchased enough shirts, pants, ties, and socks to keep three men clothed for a year. What would she do when he tired of coming into the shop? The nights would be unbearably dull when he no longer stopped by.

Before he could reply, the front door opened and Drexel swept inside, followed by his entourage. The young rock star was dressed as flamboyantly as always, from his fluorescent green shirt to his mustard-colored slacks. He wore his long brown hair slicked back. A diamond stud sparkled in the lobe of one ear. His hazel eyes lit up when he saw Megan. Grinning, he swaggered toward her.

She didn't know what other stores he frequented when he was in town, but one thing was certain; he hadn't bought that garish outfit at Shore's.

“Hey, babe, what's shakin'?” His exuberance faded a bit when he noticed Rhys. “Who's this guy?”

“Drexel, this is Mr. Costain. He's a new client of mine.”

“Yeah, well, nice to meet ya, dude, but I'm gonna need Megan for an hour or two. I've got a happenin' gig tomorrow night, and I need to look smokin' hot.”

“You should have called in advance,” Megan quietly reminded him.

“It's a last minute thing. I just found out about it this morning, babe. I need something fresh, and I need it now.”

Megan looked up at Rhys. “Do you mind?”

Rhys shrugged. Had Drexel been a grown man, he would have quickly put him in his place, but what the hell, he had all night, and the kid couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen. “Go ahead, I'll wait.”

Megan smiled at Rhys as she led Drexel away.

Rhys grinned as he heard Drexel say, “So, babe, when are you gonna marry me?”

As Megan helped Drexel put together an outfit guaranteed to get him noticed, she was ever aware that Rhys's gaze followed her every move. Drexel never stopped flirting with her, never stopped complimenting her. Once, when he used a line she recognized from a recent movie, she saw Rhys smile. Had he overheard what Drexel said? But that was impossible. Drexel had spoken to her in a whisper, and Rhys had been at the other end of the store.

Megan breathed a sigh of relief when, after a grueling two hours, Drexel finally rounded up his entourage and left the store. In those two hours, he had proposed three times and tried to kiss her twice. On his way out, he had given her two tickets to his upcoming concert and told her he would send a limo to pick her up. Megan would have refused the tickets, but it had been easier, and quicker, just to smile and accept. Besides, it might be fun.

Megan smiled at Rhys, surprised he had waited so long. “He's like a tornado, that one,” she remarked.

“If he lays a hand on you, he'll answer to me.”

“Oh, for goodness sake. He's just a kid.”

“He's old enough.”

“I don't believe what I'm hearing,” Megan exclaimed. “Not to mention the fact that it's none of your business.”

“You think not?”

Megan glared at him, momentarily speechless. And then her temper kicked in. “I don't have to answer to you, Mr. Costain, or to anyone else, for that matter. Just because we shared a glass of wine doesn't make you my keeper. Good night.”

With a toss of her head, she pivoted on her heel and stalked into Mr. Parker's office, where she slammed the door so hard, the glass rattled.

Rhys stared after her, one brow raised in wry amusement. His kitten wasn't as tame as she appeared. But that was all right, he thought with a grin. He liked a woman with a little fire in her blood.

 

Mr. Parker looked up from the papers scattered across his desk when Megan stormed into his office. “What'd Drexel do now?”

“Nothing,” Megan said quickly.

Mr. Parker regarded her quizzically for a moment, then shrugged. “I'm ready to lock up.” He gathered the papers on his desk and dropped them into a drawer. “You ready to call it a night?”

“More than ready.”

“He's like a whirling dervish, that boy,” Mr. Parker remarked, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “But he's sure good for our bottom line.”

No doubt about that, Megan thought. Drexel had spent enough tonight to pay the rent on the building.

Stifling a yawn, she grabbed her handbag from the storeroom and followed Mr. Parker out the back door to the parking lot.

And found Rhys Costain waiting for her beside her car.

Startled, she pressed a hand to her heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought we'd go out for a drink so you could apologize for your little tantrum.”

“Excuse me?”

Rhys held up one hand. “I'm kidding about the apology, but not the drink. What do you say?”

She studied him while she tried to make up her mind. Dressed all in black, he blended into the darkness. No. He
was
the darkness. She didn't know where that thought had come from, but it raised the hair on her arms. For all that he seemed to be a gentleman, she really didn't know anything about him other than his name and the fact that he owned a nightclub and had a great deal of money. He looked normal enough, and yet…

“It was an easy question,” he remarked.

Quite the contrary. There was nothing easy about this man.

“Yes or no, Megan?”

Her common sense said no, but her curious heart said, “Yes.”

A slow smile spread across his face. In the darkness, his teeth looked very white. And sharp.

The better to eat you with, my dear.

Megan took a step backward. Had she heard those words in her head, or had Rhys spoken them aloud?

“My car, or yours?” he asked.

“I…” She bit down on her lower lip as she recalled Shirl's advice.
Follow your instincts.
And right now, her instincts were screaming for her to get in her car and drive away just as fast as she could. Which was odd, since she had felt completely safe when he'd stayed with her the other night. Why was she so conflicted?

As though sensing her change of heart, Rhys took a step backward. “Another night, maybe?”

“Maybe.” Wrenching open the car door, she slid behind the wheel and shoved the key in the ignition as he thoughtfully shut the door for her.

When she glanced into the rearview mirror, he was gone.

Megan blinked and looked again. How could he have vanished so quickly? She told herself he was still there, she just couldn't see him because he was dressed all in black. Like the night.

Because he was the night.

Suddenly chilled, she turned on the heater, hit the door locks, and drove out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

Shirl always left a lamp burning in the window for her, and tonight was no exception. Never before had that light looked so welcoming or been more appreciated.

There's nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light,
her mother had always said. But tonight, in the dark with Rhys Costain, Megan might have argued with her.

Once inside, Megan double-locked the door, then laughed at her own foolishness. She was lucky she hadn't gotten a ticket for speeding on the way home. Standing in her own living room, with the door locked and the lights on, she wondered what she had been so afraid of.

 

After making sure Megan got safely home, Rhys went to his club to ponder whether he should continue to pursue the delectable Miss DeLacey. She was beautiful, and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman, living or Undead. She was attracted to him, as well, but tonight she had shown that she possessed a strong sense of self-preservation. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had recognized the darkness within him and fled from his presence.

He raised the glass in his hand. “Here's to you, Megan, my sweet. May you have a long and happy life.”

 

Rhys didn't show up at Shore's the next night, or any night that week, or the next. On the one hand, Megan told herself she was relieved, and it was partly true. He frightened her on a level she didn't fully understand, nor could she put her finger on what it was about him that troubled her. On the other hand, he was the most fascinating man she had ever known. Not to mention the sexiest. His touch, his voice, his very presence, enflamed her senses. Had he hypnotized her? Drugged her?

Megan fretted over him on her two days off, two days that seemed even longer because Shirl had gone to San Francisco to visit her folks. Megan cleaned the house from top to bottom, did the laundry, washed the windows, and even waxed the kitchen floor, but all the mindless chores in the world couldn't keep her from thinking about Rhys, or wondering what he was doing, and whether he was thinking of her.

She arrived at Shore's half an hour early Tuesday night, eager to get out of the house and back to work.

Her ten o'clock appointment arrived right on time. Shelby Brooks was a big-name Hollywood producer. In his midsixties, he had thick gray hair, blue eyes, and a no-non-sense attitude about shopping. He always brought a list, then sat in an empty dressing room, reading over a script, while she gathered the items he needed. He never tried anything on and rarely returned anything. She often wondered why he didn't just phone in his order and have his chauffeur pick it up.

Time and again, as she moved through the store, Megan found herself glancing at the front door. Even though Rhys rarely arrived before midnight, she kept hoping to see him striding toward her.

When she finished filling the order for Mr. Brooks, he thanked her profusely, handed her a small black velvet box, waved to Mr. Parker, and left the store.

“Well, it's been a good night,” Mr. Parker said, coming to stand beside her. “What with Brooks and that agent who was here earlier…yes, a good night, indeed.” He jerked his chin at the box. “What did he bring you this time?”

“I don't know yet.” Mr. Brooks always brought her a gift—a watch from Cartier, a silk scarf by Forzieri, a bracelet from Tiffany's. Megan opened the box, revealing a jeweled comb for her hair.

“Nice,” Parker said.

Megan nodded. Mr. Brooks had impeccable taste.

Mr. Parker glanced at his watch. “Well, what do you say we close up early?”

Megan couldn't stifle a wave of disappointment. It was only a little after eleven. If Rhys should decide to come by, she wouldn't be here. But she could hardly argue with the boss.

Pasting a smile on her face, she tucked the velvet box into her handbag, grabbed her coat, and followed Mr. Parker out the back door.

Her heartbeat accelerated when she saw a dark shadow by her car but, to her disappointment, there was no one there.

 

Rhys watched Megan from the shadows. In spite of his good intentions, he couldn't stay away from her. Like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to her humanity, her warmth.

Would she destroy him if he flew too close?

After five hundred and twelve years of living alone, would he even care?

When Megan got home from work, she found Shirl stretched out on the sofa, a folded washcloth draped over her forehead.

“Another migraine?” Megan asked, dropping her handbag and coat on a chair.

Shirl nodded.

“You've been having them more often lately. Maybe you should go to the doctor.”

“Never.”

Sitting on the love seat, Megan kicked off her heels. Shirl hated doctors and hospitals, probably because she had spent so much time in one during her father's illness last year. “Can I get you anything?”

“Another head?”

“I'll call Frankenstein and see if he has a spare.”

“Very funny.”

“Who are the flowers from?” Megan asked, noticing the huge bouquet on the mantel.

“I don't know. They're for you. They arrived a few minutes ago.”

“For me?” Tired as she was, Megan jumped to her feet. Who would be sending her flowers? And where on earth had whoever it was found a florist who delivered at this time of the night?

“What's the card say?” Shirl asked. “It was all I could do to keep from reading it.”

Megan opened the envelope and withdrew the small white card. “It says, ‘I'm sorry for being such a cad. Can we start over? RC.'”

“Who's RC?”

“The guy I told you about.”

Sitting up, Shirl folded her arms under her breasts. “You mean the one who scares you?”

“The very same.” Megan ran her fingertips over the roses. There must have been three dozen flowers, each one a perfect, blood red bud.

“I thought he hadn't been coming around?”

“He hasn't.”

“And that's a good thing, right? Right?”

“What? Oh, right.” Megan plucked a bud from the vase, then sat down on the end of the sofa.

“You don't sound convinced.”

“Well…”

“Go on.”

“I miss him.”

“Apparently he misses you, too. I'll bet those roses cost a good three hundred dollars, not to mention an extra couple of bucks for that vase. It looks like real crystal. And I'll bet it cost him a pretty penny to get the florist to make a delivery this late, too. So, what is it about Mr. RC that scares you?”

“I don't know.”

“Something he did? Something he didn't do? Something he said?”

“No, nothing like that. I think I'm just, I don't know, letting my imagination run away with me. How's your headache?”

“Better,” Shirl said with a yawn. “I think I'm gonna try to get a few hours' sleep. And as for that RC guy, maybe you ought to give him another chance.”

“I thought you said to trust my instincts?”

“I did, didn't I?” Shirl yawned again. “I don't know, Meggie,” she said as she headed for the stairs. “He's young, rich, and thoughtful. Doesn't sound that bad to me. Maybe we can double date some time.”

Megan shook her head. So much for Shirl's advice about following her instincts. She glanced at the roses on the mantel. Should she give Rhys another chance? Even if she didn't want to see him again, the least she could do was thank him for the flowers. She could look up his number at the store tomorrow.

She felt a bubble of excitement at the thought of hearing his voice again.

Smiling, she replaced the rose in the vase, then went up to bed. The sooner she went to sleep, the sooner tomorrow would come.

 

She dreamed of him that night, a strange dream unlike any she had ever had before. It was so vivid, so real, it didn't seem like a dream at all. She heard his voice in her mind, entreating her to let him in, and because it was what she wanted, she bid him come to her, and in an instant, he was there, inside her bedroom, kneeling on the foot of her bed, a strange reddish glow in his devil-dark eyes. When he held out his arms, she went to him gladly, only then realizing just how much she had missed him.

He cradled her to his chest as his hand stroked her hair. “You should tell me to go, now, before it's too late.”

“But you just got here.”

“I'm no good for you.”

She looked into his eyes; such deep, dark eyes. Hypnotic eyes.

“Megan. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't stay away.”

“Then don't.”

“Foolish girl.” His hand stroked her neck, slid over her shoulder and down her arm. “If you only knew…”

“Knew what?”

“Who I am.” His hand cupped her breast. “What I am.”

Her eyelids fluttered down as he caressed her. “It doesn't matter.” She moaned softly as he feathered kisses over her cheeks, the curve of her throat. His mouth was hot, so hot it sent waves of heat spiraling through her. Trembling with need, she clung to him.

He groaned deep in his throat. Drawing her down on the bed, he stretched out beside her, his arms holding her body close to his, their legs intimately entwined. He kissed her again and yet again, kissed her until she was aware of nothing but his touch, his voice. Her need.

He sobbed her name, his body tensing, and then she felt his teeth at her throat. There was a sharp pinprick of pain followed by a wave of intense sensual pleasure.

The pain startled her. You didn't feel pain in a dream.

Reaching for the bedside light, she switched it on, expecting to see Rhys lying beside her.

But no one was there.

 

Rhys cursed himself as he fled Megan's house. He hadn't gone there with the intention of drinking from her. He had only wanted to be near her again, to bask in the warmth of her presence. Damn! As for the flowers, he had sent them in a moment of weakness. Weakness! Damn her. What was there about Megan DeLacey that made him think of settling down? He swore a vile oath. He was a vampire, not some puny mortal. Even if he desired a wife and a family, which he didn't, that life was impossible for such as he. And yet Megan…ah, Megan with her sweet lips and her luscious body, she made him long for the kind of life that was forever denied him.

A thought took him to his club. Several of the regulars were sitting at the bar, sipping drinks. He grabbed the nearest female and took her to his private room. He was a single, white male, the Master of the West Coast Vampires, one of the most powerful creatures in the world. Why was he mooning over one mortal female?

The woman, Monique, smiled up at him when he closed the door, obviously pleased that he had chosen her.

When she started to speak, he held up his hand, silencing her. He didn't want conversation. Didn't want anything from her but relief from the twin talons of thirst and desire that he couldn't satisfy in Megan's arms.

 

Frightened and confused, Megan sat up in bed, the blankets tucked under her arms. What had just happened? Had it all been a dream? Of course, she thought, what else could it have been? And yet it had seemed so real. Her skin still tingled from the memory of his touch.

Rising, she padded into the bathroom and turned on the light, then stood in front of the mirror, turning her head from side to side. There! Were those bite marks on her neck?

She ran her fingers over the bites. They were definitely real. And strangely hot to the touch, as if she had a fever. Spider bites? Of course. She shook her head. Vampires, indeed!

After filling a paper cup with water, she took two aspirin and went back to bed. It was hours until dawn.

 

In the clear light of day, it was easy to convince herself it had been nothing but some weird dream. Besides, the proof was right in front of her eyes. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she ran her fingertips over her neck, relieved to find that the bite marks were gone.

After taking a quick shower, she went downstairs to fix something to eat. Shirl, of course, had already left for work and, as usual, she had left her dirty dishes in the sink, but that was all right. They had an agreement. Megan did the dishes, dusted, vacuumed, and did the shopping. Shirl did the laundry, watered the plants, and took out the trash. They took turns cooking dinner.

With several hours to kill, Megan slipped a DVD into the player, then curled up on the sofa, planning to lose herself in the movie Shirl had rented the night before.

She grimaced when she realized it wasn't the love story she had been expecting but a horror movie. She should have known. Shirl had a thing for vampires, werewolves, and other creepy things that went bump in the night. Megan had a feeling that, deep down, Shirl hoped vampires really existed.

In spite of herself, Megan soon found herself caught up in the story of a young vampire who was in love with a mortal woman. Of course, it ended badly, but then, how else could it end?

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.