Fangs for the Memories (11 page)

Rhys stared at her for a moment,
then
crossed the room, coming to stand in front of her again. “We have that in common, then. My parents died a little over three years ago.”

She nodded, wondering if he then understood the loss and the loneliness that accompanied death. When her father passed away, she lost the only world she’d ever known.

Then she realized maybe
Rhys’s
parents weren’t even dead. He was telling her about a life that didn’t exist. Or maybe it did. Maybe he did understand.

“Jane,” Rhys said softly, pulling her from her sorrow. His hand came up to cup her face, his fingers strong and warm. “I want you to know that I will take good care of you. You will want for nothing, and—I believe we can find happiness together.”

As crazy as it was, she’d never wanted to believe someone’s words more—to finally have someone care about her.
To have someone to help her.
To not be alone.

Then reality hit her again. This man believed they were engaged. He believed they would marry soon. He believed they would have a life together. But none of that was true—especially the happily ever after.

Still, she reached up and held his hand, pressing the palm to the side of her face, savoring the slightly rough texture of his fingers and palms. It was nice to feel kindness and compassion, and not feel alone—even if it was for just a few moments and it was all pretend.

His thumb moved to caress the sensitive flesh of her lower lip. He stared down at her, his eyes golden in the firelight.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are, guileless and as green as new grass?” His voice was low and husky, slipping over her skin like his fingers.

She shook her head, just a slight movement against his palm.

“No? How about your lips? Has anyone ever told you how soft and delectable they look?”

The lips he described parted, and a small breathless noise escaped them. Again she managed a tiny shake of her head.

“Hmm,” he said. “That has been a major oversight by the male population in general. But I must say
,
I am very glad I’m the first to tell you.”

She was, too. She couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else to compliment her like this.

“Now, my little betrothed, I should warn you that you might want to close those lovely eyes—because I intend to sample those pretty lips.” His head lowered, and his mouth caught hers.

Jane did close her eyes and twined her arms around his neck, his hair tickling over the backs of her fingers.

She knew at the moment she was living in as big a fantasy world as Rhys, but she didn’t care. It simply felt too right.

Rhys tasted Jane, savoring her softness, her delicious taste. Had any other woman ever felt this perfect in his arms? He certainly couldn’t remember.

He traced her soft lips gently with his tongue, begging her to open for him so he could taste her fully, feel her heat.

She did, her own tongue darting out to touch his delicately, tentatively.

Her timidity was more arousing than any practiced move by an experienced lover.

He kissed her for a moment longer,
then
ended the embrace, feeling as though he was losing control too quickly. Damn, he wanted her.

He looked down at her; her green eyes were hazed with passion, and her sweet lips were still parted.

Possessiveness fused with his need, making his longing even more intense. He had meant every word he said to her. He planned to make sure she was happy, cared for,
safe
. And for some reason he couldn’t understand, he knew he needed to keep her safe.

He supposed it was because she was alone in the world. Still, something niggled at the back of his brain. He couldn’t figure out what—but it didn’t matter; he’d be there for Jane.
Forever.

He reached up behind his neck and captured one of her hands that were still around his neck. Linking her small fingers through his, he led her to the carpet in front of the fire.

“Sit,” he said with mock sternness. “I have something for you.”

She obeyed, curling her legs under herself, watching him with curious eyes.

He went over to the table and retrieved a rectangular, green velvet box.

He seated himself down
beside
her, stretching his long legs out in front of him, then held out the box.

She frowned at it, her eyes darkened with confusion. “Rhys, what is this?”

He smiled wryly. “Well, you have to open it to discover that.” He offered it
to
her again.

She still hesitated, but then took the box. She glanced at him again, before she opened the lid. Her eyes widened. She shook her head, trying to shove the case back at him.

“No, Rhys,” she said adamantly. “No. I can’t accept this.”

Rhys chuckled at her shaken expression. “Of course you can. You are precisely who was intended to accept it.”

His mother had left him several pieces of
jewelry
that were to be given to his wife one day. He had never really thought about them over the years, but now, he wanted this woman to have the heirlooms.

He plucked the necklace out of the box and held it up. Firelight danced in a single golden topaz and made the surrounding diamonds twinkle. He slid closer so he could loop the chain around her neck.

She remained perfectly still as he hooked the clasp. Then she shifted to face him. The necklace hung low enough to nestle in the faint valley between her breasts.

The top she wore, which had seemed so improper only moments before, suddenly covered far too much. He wanted to see the glittering pendant against her pale skin. He wanted to make love to her while she wore nothing but the necklace—a sign that she was his.

“Rhys, please, I can’t take this.”

He studied her for a moment. “I want you to have it. Not only as a gift to my betrothed, but also to celebrate our first Christmas.”

Her green eyes began to glitter like large polished emeralds as they welled with tears.

He frowned, concerned. “Why do you cry?”

“Because I wish this was real,” she said,
then
bit her lower lip as if she thought she’d said something wrong.

He captured her chin gently with his forefinger and thumb. “Jane, this is very real. More real than anything has ever been to me.” He couldn’t say why he felt that way, but he knew it was true. “Please wear it.
For me.”

She stared down at the pendant for a moment. Then she nodded, a minute movement of her head, which he was starting to recognize was how she reacted when she was unsure.

Rhys smiled. Then he pulled her to him, situating her between his long legs. She leaned uneasily against him, her ramrod straight back to his chest. But she didn’t pull away.

They sat that way, quiet, watching the fire. Contentment filled him. And he knew this was a rare moment, a rare sensation in his life, that happiness had eluded him for a long time.

But why?
He should be very happy with a wonderful family and all the trappings of the well-to-do. Why did he suddenly think the past had not always been this satisfying?

He breathed in deeply, trying to understand his nebulous thoughts, when her clean, flowery scent reached him.

He couldn’t resist nuzzling the softness of her hair. His arms tightened around her waist, and he noticed she didn’t seem as stiff against him.

Suddenly his indistinct recollections didn’t matter. He was happy right this minute and vowed that Jane would also know the same happiness.

He’d make sure of it—just as he was sure he was the fifth Viscount of
Rothmere
.

Jane lay in bed, holding the necklace up in front of her, watching it sway and glimmer in the lamplight. The center stone was larger than a silver dollar, oval cut and multifaceted so it seemed to capture light in its golden depths. Square-cut diamonds encircled the large stone and twinkled like a dozen stars.

She wouldn’t even hazard a guess at how many carats it was or how much it must have cost. And she didn’t doubt the stones were real. She shook her head, disgusted with herself. She shouldn’t have taken it, even in
pretense
. That was a necklace intended for someone else—not a woman Rhys didn’t even know.

Why had she accepted it? She could have argued. She could have convinced him it was too soon in their engagement.
Anything.
But she had taken it, and worn it. And for a brief moment, she pretended the exquisite gift was really for her. Not because the item was obviously expensive, or beautiful, but because the necklace made her feel as though she belonged—to him.

She rolled over and gently placed the pendant on the night-stand, the chain pooling like liquid gold around the jewel.

Resting her hands under her cheek, she continued to stare at the present.

Sadly, this had been one of the nicest Christmases she’d ever had. What did that say about her life?

She let her eyes drift shut as memories of her life in
Maine
came back to her. Christmases in a run-down, eerie old house,
her
father too lost in his fantasy world to give his daughter the attention she ached for.
The loneliness.

As always, guilt filled her. Her father had done the best he could. And maybe she had always expected too much.

She opened her eyes again and gazed at the necklace. She’d just hold on to this night for what it had been—a lovely time.
The gift and the snow and the fire.
That had all been so nice.
And
Rhys’s
kiss.
So very nice.

She rubbed the knuckle of her forefinger over her lips. The soft skin tingled even now from the memory of
Rhys’s
kiss. His touch had been so wonderful, so perfect. And while he was holding her, the thought hadn’t even entered her mind that she shouldn’t be returning the kiss. When he touched her, it was as if everything was okay and suddenly made sense.

The night had been wonderful, and she would remember it that way—even after the real world came tumbling back to them both.

She closed her eyes again, exhausted. Who knew, maybe this was all just a dream anyway, and tomorrow she’d be home in
Maine
.
Alone.

Jane started, her eyes snapping open as she tried to get her bearings. She was in
Rhys’s
apartment, in the lovely blue and white room. But the room no longer felt comfy or safe. Something hung in the air, eerie and sinister.

She held herself very still, barely
breathing,
the covers up to her chin, listening. The room was absolutely silent; not even the sounds of the city penetrated the stillness. But she didn’t need to hear whatever was in the room. She could
feel
it. Dankness hung in the air and crept over her skin like cold, clammy hands even under the thick covers. She fought back a shiver, remaining perfectly still.

The sensation didn’t subside. In fact, it grew stronger. The clamminess encircled her legs, moving up them. It swirled around her arms, pressing down on her, restraining her.

Moving only her eyes, she glanced at the clock. It was after six-thirty A.M. The room was still softly lit by the lamp on her nightstand, and soon the sun would rise. She knew she was being ridiculous, but none of that seemed to matter. She still felt someone there.
Someone or something that she could only describe as evil.
And she knew she had to run. The pressure was increasing, suffocating her.

Mustering her courage, she held her breath and shoved out of the bed. She leapt over the platform, directly to the floor. The action might be the behavior of a frightened child, afraid of a monster under her bed, but she didn’t care. She just knew she had to get out of that room.

She raced past Sebastian’s door, even though his room was closer. Her only thought was to get to Rhys.

She didn’t knock, but thrust the door open and ran inside. She slammed the door behind her only to realize that left her shrouded in complete blackness. She cracked the door just slightly to allow a hint of light from the hallway and rushed to the bathroom. She flicked on the light switch, then ran back to the door and closed it again. This time she flipped the lock too.

She peered at the bed where Rhys lay on his back, the blankets covering him from the waist down, leaving his chest bare. His eyes were still closed.

How had he slept through her running around, slamming doors?

She crossed to the bed and touched his shoulder. The coolness of his skin surprised her.

“Rhys,” she whispered.

When he didn’t move, she whispered his name louder.

No response. Panicked, she jostled him, practically shouting his name. What if the evil she’d felt in her room had gotten to Rhys first? He wasn’t moving, and in the dim light, she couldn’t tell if his chest was rising and falling as he breathed.