Fangs for the Memories (12 page)

Just as she was about to leave to go check Sebastian,
Rhys’s
eyes fluttered open. “Jane?”

“Oh, t
hank
heavens,” she cried, and flung her arms around him as much as his reclining position would allow.

Lethargically, almost as if he was drugged, his arms came up to hug her back. “Jane—what is it?”

She pulled away from him. “Someone is in my room.”

Rhys frowned up at her, confusion clear on his face. “What?”

Jane could tell by the heaviness of his eyelids, it was his exhaustion rather than her words that confused him. So she said them again slowly, “Someone is in my room.”

“Did you see someone?”

“No—but I could tell he was there.”

He nodded, although she was fairly sure he didn’t believe her. He patted the other side of his bed. “Get in.”

She hesitated, then scooted around the bed and scrambled under the covers. She turned to face Rhys, but she could tell he had already fallen back to sleep. He was once more totally still.

She rolled back over and stared at the closed and locked door. The cold, creeping feeling on her skin was gone. Everything felt normal, but there was no way she was stepping back into that hallway. Or back in her room.

She shivered and pulled the covers tighter over her. Maybe it had been a nightmare. Or residual anxiety over what had happened to her with the guy from the bar. Or even the mugging. But it didn’t really matter, because she was staying right here—even if Rhys did think she was a big chicken in the morning.

* * *

Christian materialized into the derelict building that he had converted into his makeshift home just as the first rays of sun peeked over the city’s skyline.

He crawled onto the mattress he’d situated in the center of the building, where those lethal rays couldn’t reach him.

Exhaustion overcame him as it did for all his kind, especially on a day that was clear and the sun was bright.

But his last thought before he sank into blackened oblivion was that Rhys had a woman. He’d gone to see if he could sense how Rhys had fared his attack, and he found the little mortal from the alley. And he could sense
Rhys’s
possession all over her.

Very interesting.

He would have to keep an eye on that.

Rhys leaned on an elbow and watched Jane sleep. Both of them had managed to sleep the whole day away.

She lay snuggled against his
side,
her head nestled in the crook of his arm. Even, quiet breaths whispered warmly over his chest and shoulder.

He didn’t understand what he found so fascinating about just watching her breathe. But there was something so mesmerizing about it.
Something thrilling about the tiny flutter of her pulse just above the slight jut of her collarbone.

He lifted his hand to touch the spot, but instead brushed a strand of her cropped hair away from her cheek. His fingers lingered, and he marveled at the softness of her skin, the flawlessness of her complexion like porcelain decorated with pale pink. A single finger trailed down to her lips, the skin there pinker and even softer.

He moved his hands away, hating to disturb her sleep. She looked so relaxed, so unguarded—not at all like the often wary, uncertain woman from the night before.

Of course, he could understand her apprehension. She had been uprooted from everything she’d known and thrust into a whole new world, surrounded by strangers who were completely different from her.

Too different, his mind warned, but he pushed the thought away. No—he had gone about things wrong. He just needed to make sure she understood, truly understood that he intended to care for her. He sensed boldness buried under that uncertainty. She would be fine here.

He moved his hand to rest on her waist and held her.

She burrowed against him with a content sigh. Then her eyes flew open, and she stared up at him, all that trustfulness gone.

“Good morning.”

“Hi,” she said, shifting away from him.

He knew he should let her go, it was the gentlemanly thing to do, the appropriate thing, but his hand held her fast.

Her eyes widened more, but she stilled against him. She swallowed,
then
said, “I shouldn’t have come here. I—I thought there was someone in my room. But I think it must have been a nightmare.”

He nodded. He remembered. “I will check your room for you. I should have checked last night, but I must have been more tired than I realized.”

“Then I should let you rest.” She tried to slide across the mattress again.

He had been tired, more exhausted than he could ever recall feeling. Sleep had fallen over him like inescapable blackness. But now he felt incredible.
Rejuvenated, energetic.

“I’m very well rested,” he assured her, allowing her to put a little space between them, but not releasing her waist completely. He rubbed his hand gently over her side, the touch not insistent or aggressive but rather lulling, coaxing.

She quieted again, those green eyes holding his.

“I know I should let you go,” he told her honestly. “But I love holding you.
Touching you.”

Nervousness filled her eyes, but Rhys knew it was desire that darkened them to the shade of evergreens at dusk.

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she admitted, “I like you touching me, too.”

Her tentative words were all the encouragement he needed. He pulled her against him and pressed his mouth to hers.

Jane kissed him back, her arms coming up to clasp around his neck. Her rational mind still insisted this was not the right thing to do, that she could get hurt. That it wasn’t fair to Rhys either. But her body was merrily singing,
tra
la
la
, and completely ignoring her mind.

She gave in to her singing body, which now hummed as well with a combination of nervous excitement and passion. She sank her fingers into
Rhys’s
silky hair, pressing tighter to his hard length.

His mouth molded to hers, caressing her, tasting her. His teeth nipped gently, and his tongue teased.

She moaned, loving each different touch, mimicking them, wanting him to feel exactly as she did.
On fire.

He responded with a groan of his own and deepened the kiss.

His hand continued to stroke her through the thin cotton of her
pajamas
, sliding slowly upward and then down, then back up again. His palm felt huge and hot, his fingers magical. She wanted them on her bare skin, all over her. She didn’t know she could feel this way or want so badly. And even though she was nervous and uncertain of what exactly to do, she didn’t want this to ever stop.

But it did. His lips left hers and he stared down at her. The room was illuminated only by the faint light from the bathroom, but she could see his eyes, burning as if flames blazed in their amber depths.

“Jane, tell me to stop. Tell me this is unfair to you. Tell me we should wait.”

She stared up at his beautiful face, at his wide, sculpted lips and the arrogant flare of his nose. And those eyes that seemed to penetrate deep inside her.

She reached up and brushed a lock of his hair back from the
chiseled
line of cheekbone. This was the time to do the right thing.
To stop.

“I can’t,” she whispered. She wanted him too much, and she’d waited so long to feel this way.

He groaned as if her words caused him pain, but his lips returned to hers with such fierce hunger she couldn’t feel any shame in her weakness. Everything felt too right.

One of her hands caressed the smooth skin of his shoulders, delighting in the ripple of his muscles under her fingertips as he levered himself over her.

The hand at her waist caught the hem of her camisole
pajama
top, pushing it slowly up her stomach, his broad palm velvety against her skin. He nudged the material upward until her breasts were bared. He drew back, his gaze roaming over her.

“Oh, God, Jane, you are so beautiful.”

Bliss skipped through her veins, over her skin. She’d never felt this way. She’d always thought she’d be embarrassed for someone to stare at her naked, too self-conscious, but she felt no embarrassment, only deep, agonizing need.

Her breasts ached and throbbed. Her nipples tightened, ordering him to touch them. And he obeyed, swirling the hardened peaks gently with his fingers and thumbs. And still he watched her. He watched his fingers teasing her, and her reaction as he did so.

She groaned and arched into his touch, begging him for more.

Again he obeyed, leaning forward to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, suckling her, carefully rasping the tender flesh with his teeth.

She gasped and squirmed against his length, registering for the first time that he was naked as she felt his hard arousal sear her thigh. Her surprise was quickly overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth on her, suckling her.

His mouth moved to lavish the same excruciatingly wonderful attention to the other nipple.

“Please, Rhys,” she begged.

“Please what, Jane?” he asked, his voice breathless, his eyes glowing even brighter than before.

“I—I don’t know how to tell you what I want.”

His eyes held hers. “Just tell me. You can tell me anything.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, in her ears.
Anything
?
His words were the most thrilling fantasy she could imagine.

She stared up at him. He was so beautiful, the cut of his
jawline
, the shape of his lips, his silky hair framing his face.
And his body.
He was truly a fantasy personified.

And she didn’t have a clue what to do with him.

“How about this,” he said as he leaned forward to nuzzle her ear, his breath caressing her skin, his words soft and rich like brushed suede. “I’ll do something, and you tell me if you like it.”

She nodded, letting her eyes drift shut, savoring the feeling of his lips so close to her earlobe.

He nibbled the soft flesh there.

She whimpered, feeling the tiny bite throughout her body.

“Do you like that?”

She nodded again.

He kissed her neck, his lips teasing the sensitive skin below her ear.

She shivered, again feeling thrill dance through her limbs.

His lips lingered for a moment, before he asked, “Did you like that?”

“Yes.” Her voice was breathy.

“Should I stay here?” He licked her neck. “Or move back to these?” He lifted himself up on one arm, so he could move a hand to her breasts, lightly brushing his palm over her so it barely skimmed the erect, aching points of her nipples.

She gasped, the sound almost anguished.
“My—my breasts.
Please.”

He grinned at her, the curve of his lips so arrogant, yet his eyes were filled with so much desire that he was breathtaking. Then his finger plucked at one of her swollen nipples, and her breath rushed back in a low hiss.

“Do you like this?” He squeezed the hardened bud again, rolling it gently between his thumb and forefinger.
“Or this?”
He replaced his fingers with his mouth.

“Rhys.” His name was a broken cry on her lips.

He continued to draw on her aching nipples, pulling them deep into his mouth, using his tongue to tease her.

She held her breath, the ache inside her so strong and intense it was almost unbearable. Is this how making love always felt? As though she was careening toward something she didn’t quite understand, and Rhys was the only one who could save her.

“I love touching you,” he murmured against the swell of her breast. He rasped his tongue over her other nipple. “I love tasting you.”

She writhed under him, her body begging for the things she couldn’t voice.

“Where should I touch you next?” His question would have sounded offhanded if his breathing wasn’t as labored as hers.

She wiggled against him again. One point on her body, centered between her thighs, desperately pleaded for his attention. But she still couldn’t tell him what she wanted.

“Maybe you would like to be touched down here.” He trailed a finger between her legs, a faint brush against where she was desperate for him to caress, to touch.

Her hip instinctively lifted, pressing herself against his hand.

He groaned deep in his throat, then muttered roughly, “Janie, you are enough to kill a man.”

She wasn’t sure that was a compliment, but she didn’t have much time to contemplate his words, because his fingers hooked the waistband of her
pajama
bottoms and tugged them down. Then his finger parted her to touch that one focal point.
That one spot that would both drive her mad and give her back her sanity.

He stroked her, until his name was just a mindless mantra that she repeated over and over. And several times she thought the wonderful magic of his fingers against her and her repeated
prayer were
going to give her release. But just as she was on the edge, he’d pull back.