Fangs for the Memories (13 page)

“I—I can’t take anymore,” she panted at him. She blinked up at him, her eyes clouded with passion.

He grinned at her, his own eyes dark with desire.

“Then tell me what you want? You have to invite me in.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

She stared into his eyes, and the hunger she saw there gave her courage. It stole away her inhibitions.

“Rhys, I want you inside me. Please.”

Then he moved so the full, hard length of his body was on top of her.
Skin against skin.
Muscles flexing.
Heat burning.

She gasped again.

He braced himself, lifting some of his weight off of her. “Are you all right?”

All right?
She sighed, moving her hands to stroke the muscles of his back, drawing him more fully against her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been better,” she said sincerely.

He stared at her for a moment,
then
gave her a smile, rich with desire and awe.
“Nor I.”

His head came down, and he kissed her again. His body rocked gently against her, a wonderful friction along her breasts and belly. But she wanted more. She wanted all of him.

She parted her legs, cradling his hips, feeling his heavy erection against her.

He continued to kiss her, his tongue swirling with hers as his hand moved down between her spread thighs. His fingers parted her, and he swirled a finger around her clitoris.

She moaned into his mouth and writhed.

“Please,” she begged again, against his lips, and she felt him smile.

His hand left her to position himself to enter her. Moving carefully, he held her gaze as he penetrated her, inch after inch of heavy, thick pressure.

“Are you all right?” he asked when he was deep inside her.

She nodded. She felt stretched and sensitive, but she also felt wonderful, full of this gorgeous, powerful man.

Rhys remained perfectly still. It was damned near killing him, but he wanted this to be good for Jane. He wanted to show her that she was marrying a generous lover—not the beast from the other night. That she would never regret becoming his.

But damn, she felt good.
Tight and hot and so wet.

He ground his teeth and kept his hips motionless. Balancing his weight on one hand, he slid his other hand over Jane’s body. He teased her puckered, rosy nipples, but when she began to squirm, he slipped his hand down between their joined bodies.

She was parted wide, filled with him. Her clitoris
bared
to him. He touched the tiny, engorged nub, brushing over and around her until Jane’s hips began to move, slight jerks up and down his erection. A miniature imitation of the hard, deep thrusts he planned for later. But right now, this was about exquisite torture for both of them.

He increased the pressure of his fingertip on her.

She moaned, the sound almost pained.
Her hips lifted higher, forcing him deeper. Her muscles flexed, pulsing around his erection.

He pressed his finger harder against her, quickening his pace, a rapid, relentless flutter until she cried out and contracted violently around him, nearly pulling him over the edge with her.

He watched her as she closed her eyes, her pants gradually turning to slower, deeper breaths. Finally she blinked up at him, her eyes clouded with dazed satisfaction, her cheeks pink.

“Oh, my,” she managed in a breathy voice.

He smiled. That seemed to be her favorite response to an orgasm.

“Good?”

She nodded, the pink in her cheeks deepening to red.

“How about this?”
He pulled the full length of himself out of her body, until only the head was still inside her warmth. Then he slowly but steadily entered her again.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my,” she breathed, her hands pressing against his back.

He grinned, and then moved again.
And again.
Thrusting harder and deeper until they were both straining and panting, and this time he didn’t stop until they both cried out in ecstasy.

Jane whimpered softly when Rhys withdrew from her. As strange and foreign as it had initially been to have him filling her so completely, it felt even odder to have him gone.

He rolled and pulled her with him so they were face-to-face, legs tangled, hands still touching each other’s warm bodies.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m—wonderful,” she told him.
“Beyond wonderful.”
And that was absolutely true. She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect with a more perfect man.

“It was perfect,” he agreed as though he could hear her very thoughts. He stroked his large hand up and down her hip, the touch tender.

She sighed. So this was what girls had giggled about in her high school locker room and young women had discussed over their coffees in the college snack bar. Jane had always felt different from those women, too busy with her studies and her strange home life to experience romance and boys. Now, at twenty-five, she understood. Before she thought better of it, she added, “I finally feel normal.”

Rhys’s
eyebrow shot up and he gave her a wry grin.
“Normal?
Not exactly the result I was hoping for.”

Why had she said that? “I—I…” She winced, as she struggled for the right explanation. “I meant that I now understand what I have heard other women talking about.”

His smile broadened. “Women talk about bedding men?”

She widened her eyes, surprised by the question.
“Oh, yeah.
All the time.”

Rhy’s
expression appeared caught between amusement and surprise.
“Really?
So all those proper ladies are not nearly as proper as they seem, then?”

She frowned. She’d managed to forget again that Rhys wasn’t living in the same time period as everyone else. “Well—I suppose
proper
women don’t talk about that sort of thing too much.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t associate with proper ladies?” He grinned and pulled her closer to him.
“Or that
you
aren’t a proper lady?”

No, she wasn’t a proper
lady, that
was for sure. If she’d had a respectable bone in her body, she wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. She would have left his bed as soon as she’d woken. But as usual all her appropriate behavior and rational thoughts fled at the sight of him.

“I… I’m certainly not the woman you think I am.” She sighed, wondering what he’d think of her when he got his memory back. She didn’t imagine he’d have a very flattering picture of her.

Rhys shifted away from her, his eyes locking with hers. He regarded her silently for a few moments. “Why do you say that?”

What could she say?
I’m not your betrothed. I’m some woman you met in a seedy bar
.

“What do you mean?” he asked again, his voice lower, more demanding.

“I—I just mean…” She didn’t know what to say.

He moved suddenly, his weight pinning her into the mattress—his face above hers. “I don’t care who you were, Jane.
Because now, now you are mine.”

His mouth came down on her parted lips, capturing her startled gasp. The kiss was possessive, insistent, leaving no room for her to deny him. Not that she wanted to. She wanted to be his—desperately.

He ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it. Peering down at her, his eyes roamed her face, and for the briefest moment, Jane wondered if he was remembering something.
Remembering who he was—who she was.

“You are exactly who I thought you were,” he said softly, his voice rasping over her like velvet.
“A beautiful, sweet, honest, and so, so desirable woman.”

The words should have melted her into a delighted puddle in the center of the mattress, but they couldn’t—not when they weren’t true.
Especially not the honest part.

He sighed, his brow creasing. “Again, I am not achieving the desired effect.” He tempered the grim look by brushing back a lock of her hair from her cheek.

“I feel…” She struggled for the truth. A truth that Rhys could hear, that wouldn’t upset the world he’d created. “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

He stared at her. Then he laughed, rolling back to his side, hugging her against him. The rumbling in his chest created a warm vibration throughout her body.

He shifted back so he could see her face, but their chests continued to be pressed together. “I rather like that. Now
you
will have to make an honest man of me.”

She smiled back, but guilt made the gesture strained. Honest. There was that word again. She was the one “bedding” him under false
pretense
. She felt like a total… what was a good historical term?
Trollop?
Yeah, that one fit.

Somehow she didn’t think this was what Sebastian had in mind when he hired her to take care of Rhys.

Sebastian sat in the living room, reading
Salem’s Lot
, when Rhys strolled into the room.
Whistling.

“Good morning.”

Sebastian gaped at his brother. Rhys did not whistle. And he was never agreeable when he first arose.

And what was he wearing?

“What do you have on?”

Rhys glanced down at his clothes, a dark brown, button-front shirt and faded jeans. He smiled again. “Jane brought these from
America
for me. At least I think she did, and I thought it would be rude not to wear them.” He examined them again. “They are actually rather comfortable.”

Sebastian had no idea what to say.
Rhys in jeans.
He was too morose for normal clothes like that. He always wore black. In fact, Sebastian was surprised that Rhys hadn’t resorted to dressing like Dracula—lurking around like a menacing head waiter.

Rhys flopped down in a chair and put his feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. He smiled broadly.

Sebastian blinked,
then
finally found his voice. “You are certainly… happy.” Lord, it would take some time to get used to using that word to describe Rhys. And he kept smiling—it was actually a bit unnerving.

“Well, it seems that my betrothed feels as if she has taken advantage of me.” He sighed with satisfaction. “I’m well and truly compromised.”

Sebastian smiled himself. Ah, so Rhys had gotten himself laid. That certainly explained a lot. And it hadn’t taken the two of them long. He’d thought one of them would fight the attraction—for a while anyway.

“That’s great. You’ve needed to be compromised for a long,
long
time,” Sebastian pointed out.

Rhys grinned. “I suppose she will have to marry me now.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. Leave it to Rhys to still be morally uptight—even in his delusions.

Rhys grew serious. “I do need to call the banns. I should go now. I think I will go have Spencer ready a carriage.” He stood up.

Sebastian jumped up, too. “You—you did that already.”

Rhys frowned. “I did? I already requested the banns? 0 told Spencer to have the carriage readied?”

“The banns.
Right after Jane got here—on the way from the boat—I
mean,
ship.”

“I did? While drunk?”

Sebastian gave him a shrug and a nod. “You liked what you saw, so you figured why wait.”

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face,
then
peered at Sebastian “As if she was some horse I decided to buy on impulse? Good Lord,
it’s
little wonder she didn’t flee right then and there.”

“She seems to like you.”

“I cannot imagine why.
Or how I will make all this up to her.”

“I’d stick with the sex. She seems to like that, right?”

Rhys gaped at him. “And to think, mother wanted you to go into the church.”

Sebastian shuddered. Yes, he’d dodged a bullet of his now by choosing vampirism. Mother would be proud.

Rhys shook his head, obviously still aggrieved by his imaginary bad behavior. “I should go see what Cook has
prepare
for breakfast. Jane must be famished.”

Sebastian stepped forward to block him. “
Holiday
,” he said quickly.

A puzzled frown creased
Rhys’s
brow.

“Cook—all the
staff actually—are
on holiday.”

“All at once?”

Sebastian nodded. “It seemed like a good decision at the time.”

“Let me guess.
While we were drunk?”

“Yeah.”

“Remind me again why I ever trust Christian,” Rhys muttered more to himself than Sebastian,
then
left the room heading toward the kitchen.