Fangs For The Memories yb-1 Page 19

  “Did-did you see it?” Her voice shook, and her eyes still looked wild.

  “No,” he told her, but he had felt something.

  “Rhys, I tried to convince myself it was a dream. Some crazy nightmare that I was having. But tonight, I know, whatever it is, it’s real.”

  He stared at her for a moment, his attention on her, but also focusing on what had been there. The smell was completely gone; only Jane’s fear remained.

  “You’re sleeping with me.”

  She nodded, crawling out of the bed. He wrapped an arm around her and led her out of the room. She shivered against him, and her skin felt icy under his hands.

  Once they were in his room, under the covers, her body pulled tightly to his, she finally asked, “Did you feel anything? A presence? Something?”

  He started to nod, but then stopped. What good would it do to tell her what he’d experienced? He didn’t even understand it himself. Instead he breathed in the fresh scent of her hair, of her skin. Whatever he’d sensed was gone. Jane was safe. That was all that mattered.

  “I think you must have had a very vivid dream.” He rubbed his hand up and down over her back, hoping the caress would calm her.

  She was silent for a few moments. Disappointment that he didn’t believe her radiated from her skin.

  He did believe her. He just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to think about what that smell meant, what it symbolized. He wouldn’t.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  His hand paused. “Ghosts?”

  She nodded, her short hair tickling his chin. “Yes. I never did. Even growing up in a funeral parlor. Maybe because of growing up in one. Maybe because of my father. But now… Now I don’t know.”

  “Janie, it wasn’t a ghost,” he assured her. Again, he didn’t question how he knew that.

  She lifted her head, and even though there was no light in the room, Rhys could see the bright green of her eyes. “So you don’t believe in some sort of existence after death?”

  Oh, he believed. He knew.

  But instead of telling her that, he kissed her. Savoring the life he tasted there. And the goodness.

  “I think you had a very bad nightmare,” he told her after they parted.

  She let out a slow breath. “It seemed so real.”

  “Some nightmares are very real.” He knew his words were an understatement.

  “How did you know I needed you?” Her voice was growing calmer, quieter, and he realized his touch was lulling her into a drowsy state.

  But her innocent question made him feel agitated, uncomfortable. Another question that he knew the answer to, but the answer shouldn’t make sense. He was a viscount. A man who ran several estates, had the luxury of a reasonable fortune, and who enjoyed a good fox hunt. He was a normal fellow, about to be blessed with a marriage to a truly remarkable woman. He shouldn’t be able to sense her fear, feel and taste and smell it in the air.

  “I must have heard you cry out,” he finally said, realizing it was the only logical answer.

  She snuggled closer to him, and she managed to say through a yawn, “I don’t remember crying out.”

  She hadn’t cried out, not verbally. But she had been calling to him. And he’d heard her loud and clear.

  “It called me Janie,” she mumbled, just before she drifted off into a tranquil slumber, but the soft words left Rhys’s body cold.

  He knew the name Rhys had given her. It didn’t mean anything. She had a nightmare.

  A nightmare they shared.

  *

  Christian lay on his makeshift bed, his body completely drained to the point he couldn’t even lift a finger. He’d be lucky if he could even rouse tonight to feed. But the crippling exhaustion was well worth it. His outer body journey had shown him much, plus it had just been fun.

  His powers were growing stronger. Very few middling vampires could actually leave their physical form and travel in the daylight.

  He was still weak, and couldn’t sustain the travel, but he had done well enough. He’d scared his brother and his little mortal.

  He closed his eyes. And he’d learned something else interesting. Rhys still had no idea who or what had been in the room.

  Avenging Lilah’s death was really going to be painfully simple.

  *

  “Now you’re the one who is freezing,” Jane murmured against Rhys’s ear as she snuggled closer to him, her chest pressed to his back, her head on the pillow next to his.

  “I’m fine,” he said, although he knew his voice sounded nearly as cool as his skin felt. A voice in his head kept repeating that he needed to pull away, distance himself from her.

  But she didn’t seem to notice his detached reaction as she snaked her arms around him, splaying her small hands on his chest. Her leg looped over his as if she could act as his own personal blanket.

  He closed his eyes, willing himself not to respond.

  Her fingers brushed over the coarse hair on his chest. Her thumbs inadvertently, or maybe not so inadvertently, rubbed over his flat nipples until they hardened. Warm breaths stirred his hair.

  He didn’t have to let her go. He could take care of her. Keep her safe. He could.

  She moved behind him, levering herself up to nibble his ear, then to press sweet, hot kisses along the column of his neck. Then along his jawline.

  His reaction was immediate, his cock engorging against his stomach. He rolled over, pinning her under him, kissing her, his mouth telling her how much he needed her. Even if he shouldn’t.

  “How do you do that?” she murmured against his lips.

  “Do what?”

  “Make me forget everything.”

  He chuckled dryly. “I was wondering the same thing about you.”

  She touched her fingers to his face. “Are you forgetting something?”

  Her question startled him. It was too probing, too accurate.

  He shifted away from her, a look between a frown and irritation on his flawless features. “Weren’t we originally discussing you forgetting, not me?”

  “Yes. But don’t-don’t you suppose there are things you are forgetting, too.”

  Rhys sat up, his first reaction to pull away. But then his emotions calmed. He had no reason to be upset by her words. After all, the answer was very simple. If he was forgetting anything, it was only to be with her, to protect her.

  “I would imagine we all forget things that are unpleasant. It’s a way of dealing.”

  She sat up, too, and rested her head on his shoulder, her hand brushing lightly over the tense muscles of his back.

  “Just remember-no matter what, you can always have me.”

  Her soft words were like bolts of lightning. He couldn’t imagine anything more awe-inspiring, but with so much potential to damage him, and more importantly, her.

  No, everything was fine. The strange events in Jane’s room were…

  It was nothing.

  He leaned over and kissed her.

  “Since that is settled, I think we should take a bath.” He rose from the bed. “Stay here while I draw the water.”

  Jane watched as he strode into his bathroom, unable to stop herself, even though her mind whirled. A totally muddled mind couldn’t stop her from appreciating him, his long muscular legs, firm bottom and broad shoulders. Beautiful…

  But she could not believe what she’d said!

  No matter what, you can always have me.

  She fell back against the mattress, her heart still jumping against her rib cage. It seemed as though the overactive organ had made the decision her brain should have. What had happened to last night, and trying to do what was best for both of them? What had happened to being rational?

  She’d always considered herself a sensible person. Sensible to the point of dull. But since she walked into that seedy bar on Christmas Eve, the person she knew had totally disappeared. And all because of a pretty face.

  No. Rhys certainly did have a pretty-everything. But
she was drawn to everything about him. The way he laughed. The way he made her feel beautiful. The way he made her feel protected and cared for.

  She closed her eyes, listening to Rhys start the water.

  The interesting thing was Rhys seemed to know he was repressing something. He didn’t know what, but when she mentioned forgetting, he’d gotten distinctly uncomfortable.

  Maybe he was close to remembering. And he would need her, need her affection to help him deal with all those repressed memories.

  At least that was her hope.

  But she knew the truth now. She couldn’t walk away. She couldn’t stop being with him. It was too late.

  He had this ability to make her believe. Believe they would be together forever. That they were destined to be. And she wanted to believe. She wanted him. Just as she had from the moment she saw him in the bar. She knew, as surely as she knew her own name, she’d always want him.

  “The water is ready,” Rhys said, poking his head out the doorway, a lopsided grin on his wide lips.

  She smiled back. Please, please let us be destined to be.

  Rhys watched with anticipation as Jane slipped out from under the covers and walked toward him, her expression a combination of excitement laced with shyness.

  “How can you possibly be shy around me?” he asked as he caught her hands, walking backward, pulling her into the bathroom.

  She blushed, the steam in the air making her skin look dewy like rose petals at dawn.

  He frowned. What did he know about rose petals at dawn? When had he last seen a dawn or admired rose petals? Certainly not while he could.

  He closed his eyes briefly. He had no reason to think like that. Not when he had Jane. Here. Now. She had managed to give him back all the things he’d lost.

  He gazed down at her. She continued to hold his hands, her fingers delicate and warm in his.

  He leaned forward and captured her mouth, and as he hoped all other thoughts except Jane were banished. Her sweet taste. Those delightful, timid brushes of her tongue against his. Her lovely scent swirling around him, cocooning him, protecting him from things he did want to think about.

  She made him feel safe. As safe as he would keep her.

  Jane wrapped her arms around Rhys’s neck. Desire and longing churned with a sudden feeling of security that seemed to encompass her as tangibly as his strong arms.

  You make me feel safe.

  The words bounced through her head as clearly as if they had been spoken, but they were quickly drowned under the heat and hunger created by his lips molding to hers. His lips played over hers, their tongues mingled, and she was lost in the lovely sensation of him.

  But to her dismay, he pulled away far too soon.

  She groaned, not able to hide her disappointment. She loved Rhys’s kisses.

  “I’m supposed to be giving you a bath,” he said, his voice husky and his eyes rich with the invitation to all sorts of decadent delights.

  She did love his kisses, but she loved his hands on her just as much. This seemed to be a win/win proposition.

  He grinned then, and she had the strange impression that he knew what she was thinking.

  He pulled her toward the tub, which was the same deep-set style as the tub in her bath. The water lapped the rim, and steam curled off its surface. Towels and a washcloth rested on the edge.

  And she was about to get the chance to see if the luxurious tub was indeed big enough for two.

  Unless, he didn’t intend to join her in the bath.

  Self-consciousness swept over her at the idea of being the focus of all his attention, even though she desperately wanted to accept his offer.

  Let me bathe you, Janie.

  Again, the words were clear in her head. But they weren’t her words. It seemed as if Rhys had gently whispered them in her ear.

  She turned her gaze from the water to him. He stood, silent, watching her, waiting for her response.

  She nodded, unable to speak. Her mind too muddled, her body too aroused by the intimate words echoing in her head as if he knew her fears, her desires, without her saying a word. There was something infinitely thrilling about that-even if it was only her own imagination.

  He lifted her sweatshirt up over her head, leaving her standing in front of him in a pale blue bra and panties.

  Warm summer days, and clear blue skies.

  Again Rhys’s husky voice tickled in her ears and caused tingles to dance over her skin. Yet, he still gazed at her, silent.

  “I love these,” he whispered as he reached out to finger the lace covering her breasts. “As blue as cloudless skies.”

  She breathed in sharply, startled by both his words and aroused beyond belief by them.

  His hands cupped her breasts, kneading them, stroking them, before they left to slip around her back. His mouth returned to hers as he unfastened the clasp at the center of her back and the scrap of lace fluttered to the floor.

  “The water is getting cold,” he said against her lips.

  She didn’t care about the water. She just wanted him to continue touching her.

  “I will keep touching, darling,” he promised, responding to the words she knew she hadn’t said aloud.

  Then his hands ran down her body, the pads of his fingers leaving sizzling trails of heat over her sides and belly, moving to her undies, and all other thoughts were lost.

  He nudged her panties down over her hips, and they slipped down her legs. He lifted her out of them and placed her in the tub.

  Warm water lapped around her feet and ankles, stopping just above her knees. But the wet heat seemed to curl upward to lap all the way up her legs until a matching moisture pooled between her thighs.

  She shivered.

  Rhys followed her into the tub, standing in front of her, facing her.

  Her eyes roamed over him, his achingly beautiful face, his lean muscles, his throbbing, thick erection. The embodiment of power and beauty. Like a god rising from the sea.

  The birth of Venus.

  She blinked, her gaze lifting back to his face. He watched her, his eyes hot with hunger.

  He picked up a washcloth from the edge of the tub, wetting the cloth. Then he brought it to her chest, stroking out over her shoulders. Water beaded on her skin, down her arms, over her aching breasts, along the slight curve of her belly.

  She trembled, the water going from hot to cold as it teased over her skin, oversensitizing her nerve endings.

  “Does that feel good?” he whispered as he repeated the wonderful torture, as more water trickled hot to cold over her aroused flesh.

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  She closed her eyes, her body naturally swaying toward his. She wanted his hands on her, to satisfy the yearning inside her.

  More water seeped down her body. Fire, then ice.

  Open your eyes. Watch me. Watch me love you.

  She obeyed the voice in her head, her body too stimulated, too hungry, to care whose voice was whirling through her mind. She just knew she needed to respond to it.

  She watched as Rhys lowered his head to lick a drop of water that clung to her erect nipple.

  Like rain on a plump pink raspberry.

  His tongue curled around the hardened bud, and her legs no longer seemed capable of holding her. His arm came out to catch her, pulling her tight to his muscular chest.

  “Perhaps you should finish the rest of your bath seated.” A smug grin curved his lips.

  He should be proud. Surely no one made love like this man.

  He turned her away from him and eased himself down into the hot water. Then he reached up to grip her hips and guided her down between his legs.

  The water lapped over her breasts, teasing her, and her sex pulsed and ached against the surrounding heat. But again, she knew the water was a very, very insubstantial lover to the man pressed firmly to her back.

  As if to prove that fact, his hands came around her to cup her breasts.

  He caressed her, the water
creating a pulling friction as he gently twisted his fingers around the distended nipples.

  Then he reached forward, his chest rubbing against her back, his chest hair both silky and rough all at once. He grabbed a bar of soap from the built-in soap dish. Lather bubbled through his long fingers as he twirled the bar around and around in his hands.

  The soap slipped through his hands, danced through the water and disappeared somewhere underneath their twined limbs. But her attention was promptly brought back to Rhys as his soapy hands shaped to her breasts, massaging her in slow, slick sweeps, causing her heart rate and her breathing patterns to completely go haywire.

  “Does that feel good,” he murmured in her ear, or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was his sinful voice resonating in her head.

  Either way, it felt wonderful.

  She moaned, letting her head fall back against his chest as his hands continued their slippery kneading.

  Then one hand left her breast to glide down her belly.

  Watch, Jane. Watch me touching you.

  She managed to lift her head, although she felt weak with need, barely able to focus on anything other than his hands, his fingers.

  Look, darling.

  And on his voice.

  She opened her eyes, blinking down to where he touched. Suddenly she was mesmerized by the sight of large hands moving over her, the way his long, masculine fingers looked against her pale skin. One hand still lingered at her breast, teasing the swollen nipple, while his other hand brushed over the curls at the junction of her thighs. The tiny curls undulated in the water, inviting him to touch her.

  He did, just a light, tantalizing brush over the curls. Then another, touching her a little firmer, but still not parting her, not finding that one spot that pleaded to be touched.

  When he caressed her a third time, tracing the folds of her labia, she began to writhe, desperate for his full touch.

  Patience, Jane.

  “I can’t,” she muttered to him, to the voice echoing through her mind. “Please touch me.”

  His pleased laugh rumbled against her back, as stimulating to her as everything about Rhys.

  But he did relent, parting her, touching her with repeated light strokes. The continual swish of warm water, the fleeting brush of his slightly callused finger. More water. Another faintly harder massage of his finger. And the steady build of her arousal, being nudged forward with each sweep, each swish. Until she reached down and caught his hand, pushing it tight against herself.