Fangs for the Memories (17 page)

Jane splashed water on her face,
then
groped around on the sink counter for a towel. Finding the fluffy cloth, she patted her face dry,
then
left the bathroom before she caught even a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

She didn’t want to see herself.
The woman who so desperately and so pathetically wanted to believe Rhys.
She wanted to believe every word he’d said. She wanted to be a part of his family. She wanted a life here. She wanted laughter.

She threw back the bedcovers with more force than necessary and crawled underneath, tempted to pull the blankets back up over her head in shame.

Instead she covered herself, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ceiling.

What was she doing? Instead of distancing herself, she was just getting more involved. But to be fair to
herself
, Rhys did have an intensity that was hard to ignore. She’d noticed that back in the bar, even before she ever spoke to him.

And he was pretty intent that he wanted her.

Even now, her heart sped up at the memory of the passion in the kiss he had given her earlier. It had been as though he wanted to completely possess her. And she had wanted to be possessed. Not one
fiber
of her being had told her to fight, to say no.

The physical attraction would have been a big enough
problem
, but tonight, he had also added to his emotional appeal, as well. He had understood her resentment toward her father right away. And he’d thought her feelings justified. That didn’t alleviate the guilt she still felt and had felt since her father’s death. But it had been so nice for someone to understand.

She closed her eyes. She was doomed. If she stayed in
Rhys’s
presence—she was so doomed. He made it so easy to care about him, to want him.

But she would stick to her plan and try to distance herself until he had his memory back.
Then…

Then she prayed that he would feel the same way about her, because she wanted him. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in her whole life. And given she’d lived a life filled with wants—that was saying something.

Jane woke instantly, and a slight gasp escaped her before she clamped her lips closed. A primeval instinct told her to remain motionless so the predator lurking in the dark wouldn’t notice her.

But her first reaction didn’t make a difference. The evilness, the same feeling she’d experienced the night before, glided over her like fog rolling in off the water, cold and damp and growing denser.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she fought the panic pooling in her belly and rising in her throat. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream—a nightmare. But the sensation felt very real.

She peered into the darkness, trying to make out a shape or even a billowing mist, but she couldn’t see anything. The room was absolutely black—the door shut, the curtains drawn.

Then the thickness began to settle on her, heavy and menacing.

She knew she couldn’t wait any longer—she had to run.
Had to get out of that room.

She had to get to Rhys.

She leapt from the bed and ran toward where she thought the door was. A terrified and frustrated sob strangled her as she fumbled for the doorknob.

The fog was intensifying around her again, clinging to her, suffocating her. Or was that
her own
blind fear?

She forced herself to calm her movements, to concentrate. With trembling fingers, she made steady sweeps along the wall. She cried out again, only this time because she located the knob, the metal rattling under her fingers.

She turned the handle and yanked the door open, half afraid whatever was surrounding her would slam it shut again. But t
hank
fully, the “thing” didn’t, and she raced down the hallway to
Rhys’s
room.

This time she didn’t bother with the bathroom light, or even trying to wake Rhys first. She slammed his door shut, twisted the lock on the doorknob and scrambled into the bed beside him.

Rhys didn’t wake fully—he simply rolled over and pulled her against him.

She closed her eyes with relief, all the terror, all the panic, slowly evaporating until she was left limp and exhausted in his arms.

Christian materialized in the shadows of the deserted bedroom. He grinned as he heard the sound of a door slamming and the jiggle of a doorknob as the lock was worked into place.

A locked door would hardly be a deterrent if he really wanted to get to her. Of course, the fact that his brother was also in that room was definitely a discouragement.

He knew his brother would protect her. Rhys had coupled with the mortal—Christian had smelled the fervor of sex as soon as he entered the room. Although the stupid fool probably would protect her without the incentive of sex. Not that mortal sex was appealing after his union with
Lilah
. Mere mortal sex was base and unpleasant comparatively.

But let Rhys continue his lowly affair. Christian even hoped he developed real emotions for her. He wanted Rhys to understand the pain he’d left when Rhys had taken
Lilah
. Of course,
Rhys’s
pain would be even more horrendous, because after Christian took the little mortal, he was going to kill her.

When Jane woke again, she nearly groaned. She’d done it again. She was back in
Rhys’s
bed. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she could feel him beside her.

Reluctantly she lifted her head. Rhys leaned on an elbow, watching her. The covers had slipped down, revealing his muscled chest, flat stomach, and the jut and sinew of his hip. He was utterly magnificent.

And she had decided to stop touching all that magnificence? She was such a fool.

She quickly dragged her gaze back to his face. His slight, arrogant smile told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“I am not sure why we go to sleep in separate beds,” he stated. “We always seem to end up in the same one by morning.”

“Or by evening,” Jane pointed out, opting to be nitpicky versus actually addressing his point.

He frowned at the radio alarm clock with its glowing red numbers. “So it is. Our schedules certainly are confused.”

Everything was confused, she thought wryly. But now that he was sufficiently off the topic of why she was in his bed, she started to slip away from him, before she did something stupid.
Something delightfully and so, so pleasurably stupid.

But his hand shot out to stop her, his fingers stroking the curve of her waist.

“Did something frighten you again?” he
asked,
his eyes serious and concerned.

She paused, loving the feel of his hand on her. Funny how just a touch from him could blot out all the fear she had felt the night before. As soon as she’d crawled into bed with him and he’d held her, a sense of safety had encompassed her. But now it wasn’t safety that skipped over her nerve endings and made her skin tingle.
Although this touch was equally as distracting.

“I think—I do think it must have been a nightmare.” Now, lying here with Rhys, the sensations of the night before seemed distant and surreal.

“I really think you should consider just sleeping in here from now on.” Even though he sported a teasing grin, Jane didn’t think he’d complain if she said okay. She wouldn’t complain either.

But she determinedly shook her head. “Not until everything is—settled.”

“Believe
me,
I’ll be questioning Sebastian about that special marriage license later. First, however, I am going to steal a kiss.”

He leaned forward and pressed a sweet, gentle kiss to her mouth. “And then I am going to take my betrothed out to see some of the sights.”

It took a moment for the lovely warmth of his kiss to diminish and for his words to sink in. But once they did, she immediately sat upright. “No! We can’t do that.”

He frowned, although the amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Of course we can. I realize it is rather gauche to walk, since I have no coachmen available. But I could hire a hack. Perhaps we can see a play, if you like. There is an opera that I’ve
been wanting
to see, if you like opera.”

“I think we should stay right here,” she insisted.

His amused frown disappeared, replaced by a rather lascivious grin.
“Right here?
Did you have anything in particular planned?”

She would have laughed at the almost hopeful quality to his voice if she wasn’t so concerned with how she was going to keep him in the apartment.
And so determined to do the right thing.

“We could play a game.”

He raised an intrigued eyebrow.

She nearly groaned. She was definitely giving him the wrong idea.

“Or—” She tried to think of something else, something with no connotations. “We could—we could find Sebastian.” She needed him to handle this.

“As I said, I intend to talk with him before we leave.”

“I’ll find him,” she said, slipping out of his hold, and dashing to the door.

“Jane?”

She paused at the door, looking back at him.

His eyes roamed over her. “I must request you dress before approaching my brother. He is only mortal, after all.”

Jane glanced down at her
pajamas
, a T-shirt and shorts set. It wasn’t exactly skimpy—not by today’s standards—but she was dealing with Regency standards, wasn’t she?

She nodded,
then
started to open the door again.

“Jane?”

She stopped again.

“Dress warmly.
London
can be very cold this time of year.”

She nodded and left the room. She needed to find Sebastian.
Now.

Unfortunately, after much searching, she didn’t have any luck. The apartment was Sebastian-free.

She headed back to her room to dress and to decide how to stop Rhys from leaving the apartment on her own. All she needed was to have Rhys lose his memory forever.

As she reached her room, her mind shifted to the happenings of last night. She stood in the doorway, trying to sense anything strange. Could she feel something oppressive in the air? Was there something lurking in the shadows?

She took a hesitant step into the dark room, ready to run if she sensed anything—but she didn’t. Chills didn’t run down her spine. She didn’t even feel nervous to cross the shadowed room and turn on the bedside lamp. The white and blue room felt like any other room. No evidence of anything eerie.

Although there was evidence of her rushed escape.
The covers hung half off the bed from her mad dash out of the room and straight to Rhys.

As she made the bed, she half wondered if it was her subconscious coming up with excuses to be close to him. But as she fluffed a pillow and threw it beside its mate at the head of the bed, she rejected the idea. She must have had a nightmare—that was the only feasible explanation.

Maybe because of her lifestyle, living in a funeral home, or maybe because of her father’s illness, she’d always discredited the supernatural. She’d decided at a young age there was nothing that went bump in the night. But the past two nights had seemed so real.

No, she told herself firmly. It was a nightmare—nothing more.

Sighing, she left the bed to search for something to wear. Warm, Rhys had said—but she didn’t know if she should humor him. After all, the goal was to keep him in the apartment.

“Something to keep him here,” she muttered as she sorted through her clothes.
“Something to keep him here.”

“I can think of several things that would keep me here,” Rhys said from the doorway, causing her to drop the shirt she was holding up for inspection.

She spun toward him.

He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder on the door frame. “But since we did agree to wait until after the wedding, I think we had better go explore
London
. Otherwise I will definitely break my promise.”

His eyes wandered over that tiny outfit she wore, which hugged the lovely curves of her breasts and waist and revealed the enticing length of her legs.

He recalled those legs wrapped around him. His cock stirred.

He straightened and said more harshly than he intended, “Get dressed.” Then he tempered his voice, since it was hardly her fault he could barely control his desire for her. “We have much to see.”

He started to leave the room, when she said, “You know, I’m actually feeling a little sick.”

He turned back to her, studying her coloring. She certainly looked fine.
Much, much better than fine.
Although unease did shadow her eyes.

He knew he should just give in to her wish to stay home, but he couldn’t. He could not be here alone with her and keep his promise to wait until after they were wed to make love again. He wanted to spend time with her, but he also needed distraction.