Fangs For The Memories

CHAPTER 20

Rhys poured himself another scotch. He downed half the fiery liquid in one swallow.

He was a coward.

He sat here, in the library, while Jane still lounged in the tub, her gorgeous skin pink from the warm water, her body so responsive to his.

She'd given him exactly what he wanted from her. She had opened to him. They had bonded in a way he knew he never could with another woman.

But after she'd found her release, he'd fled. She didn't know he'd fled. He told her to enjoy the rest of her bath, and he'd return with some food for them.

But once he'd left her presence, what was the eloquent word Sebastian had used when Jane first arrived? Oh, yes. He'd freaked.

Whatever had just happened between Jane and himself went beyond mere sex. Even great sex. He'd known her thoughts. She had known his. And somehow he'd controlled the whole experience.

How could that be? Was that even possible?

"What are you doing in here?" Sebastian asked as he strode into the room. He headed to the bar to retrieve a glass, then joined Rhys, dropping down into the chair across from him.

"I don't suppose it dawned on you to ask if I wanted company?"

"Moi?" Sebastian reached over the table and pulled the crystal decanter toward himself. "Of course you want my company."

Rhys grunted, then took another sip of his drink.

Sebastian stopped pouring, the decanter still in his hand. He narrowed his eyes, studying Rhys. "Are you back?"

Rhys frowned at his brother. "Where have I been?"

"You tell me."

Rhys set down his glass with more force than necessary. "Sebastian, sometimes you make me weary."

Sebastian raised a noncommittal eyebrow to that and finished filling his glass.

Both brothers drank silently, until Rhys finally asked, "Do you believe in ghosts-the occult?"

Sebastian, who had been about to take a sip of his scotch, paused. "Why do you ask?"

Rhys shook his head. He didn't know if he wanted to share the odd events of the past few hours with his brother. Sebastian would likely just think him mad. And there was nothing worse than someone as frivolous as his little brother thinking him mad.

"You can't ask a question like that and not tell me why."

Rhys took another sip of the amber liquid. Oh, what the hell. Perhaps he was mad.

"Jane has felt a presence in her bedroom. I thought she was just having vivid nightmares. Until this last time." He hesitated. "I felt something in her room, too."

Sebastian sat forward in his chair, his knees bumping the coffee table. But he didn't seem to notice; he was too intent on Rhys. "You felt it."

Rhys nodded. "And…" How did he tell Sebastian this? The ghost thing was strange enough. "I also felt Jane's fear."

Sebastian didn't look particularly shocked. Instead he almost appeared as though he expected Rhys to say that.

"That isn't possible," Rhys stated, hoping his own determination would garner Sebastian's agreement. But of course not.

Sebastian shrugged. "If it happened, it must be possible."

"No." Rhys didn't want to hear that. He wanted Sebastian to verify it was impossible. That it all had to be a figment of his imagination.

Just like what had happened in the tub. He hadn't heard Jane's thoughts. He hadn't been able to send her his.

All just strange coincidences. All just imagination.

"Maybe you are out of the ordinary," Sebastian suggested, his voice casual, his eyes not. "Maybe you can sense things like emotions. Presences."

Rhys shook his head. "No. Those things don't exist. And I've never experienced anything like that before. Why should it appear now?"

"Maybe you have experienced them before."

"No," Rhys insisted.

"What did the presence feel like?"

Rhys didn't want to think about it. He never should have brought this up. He'd nearly convinced himself it was all a strange nightmare anyway.

Then the bathtub. What was that? Not a nightmare. A fantasy. A dream. A perfect moment.

But still filled with the same type of "knowing."

"The presence… It was more a scent in the air. Sour and tainted."

Sebastian nodded, and there was still no surprise on his face.

"Did it intend harm to you or Jane?"

"It was around Jane."

"And you saved her."

This time.

"Rhys, I know you don't want to, but I think you need to pay attention to these signs."

Rhys stared at his brother. "Why?"

Sebastian polished off the rest of his drink, set the empty glass on the table, then stood. "Unfortunately, I think you are the only one who knows."

Rhys watched as Sebastian left the room.

He did know. But God, he didn't want to.

Jane rested her head on the edge of the tub, soaking in the heat of the water and her new knowledge. She had been almost relieved when Rhys offered to go get them some food. Her realization that she was head over heels in love with him was too startling. She needed a moment alone to digest it.

Although now, in retrospect, she supposed it wasn't a real surprise. She'd been falling in love with him from the moment he saved her life. Maybe even earlier. It was almost silly that she hadn't given her emotions that name sooner. Her love for him was the most natural thing in the world, really.

The best reason for her to stay, which was all she'd wanted to do. No matter how much she told herself otherwise. The best reason to become intimate with him. The best reason to explain why she felt so connected to him.

What was the saying? Sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees?

She grinned to herself, fishing through the slowly cooling water for the soap. She lathered her hands like Rhys had, but she didn't massage the bubbles over herself with the same slow, arousing strokes. Strokes and caresses that had been designed to show her how much he treasured her, cared for her.

He hadn't used the word love either. But after what had just happened, she didn't doubt he felt the same. She couldn't. Love had swirled around them, the emotion a palpable thing in the air. Like the water that now covered her body, virtually unseen, but all around her.

She finished washing her arms, then her legs. Then she stood, letting the water sluice down over her.

She suddenly didn't feel unsure, or afraid. She knew her feelings for Rhys. And she knew his.

There really was no logical explanation why this time, opposed to all the other times Rhys had made love to her, she felt so joined with him. But she had.

The other times she'd felt satisfaction, so much satisfaction her toes curled against the slick porcelain just thinking about it. And she'd also felt connected to him as though they were one.

But this time… She reached for one of the thick, white towels. This time she'd felt him. What he felt as he held her. As he touched her.

She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the tub. She turned, flipped the stopper, and the water gurgled down the drain.

She padded out into his bedroom. The room was empty, and she considered going to find him.

Then a much better idea struck her. She hurried out into the hallway. She didn't want Rhys to beat her back to his room.

She quickly ran to her room, crossing to her nightstand. The necklace that Rhys had given her Christmas night still lay on the table, the jewels twinkling in the light.

She picked it up, touching the center stone that reminded her so much of Rhys's unusual eyes. Then she put it around her neck, fumbling slightly with the clasp as nerves and her anticipation caused her fingers to shake.

Once the necklace fastened and the pendant nestled between her breasts, she dashed back to Rhys's room, relieved to see he hadn't returned.

She sat on the edge of the bed and waited.

Rhys left the library, knowing what he had to do, even if he didn't fully understand why. Things weren't that clear in his head. It was as if he would just realize why odd things were happening, and his mind would lose its place. Like a song where he could begin to hum the tune, but the title was just out of his reach.

But he knew he had to talk to Jane.

He reached his bedroom, the door was ajar, but he couldn't see her. But he didn't need to see her to know she was there. He could smell her flowery scent warm on her flawless skin.

He closed his eyes tight, willing the thoughts, the senses, to go away. He was Rhys Young, the fifth Viscount of Rothmere. He was…

He swallowed and pushed open the door. He hesitated for just a fraction of a second, then stepped into the room.

Jane sat on the bed, but she rose when he entered. Her tiny, perfect body was wrapped in a towel. Her hair, still damp from the bath, clung to her cheeks.

"Hi," she said. "You-you forgot the food."

He looked down at his hands. That's right, he was supposed to be getting food.

She took a step toward him, her toes sinking into the thick pile of the dark carpet. "I wasn't hungry anyway."

He closed his eyes again. Damn, he was starving.

When he opened his eyes, Jane stood just an arm's length away from him. His gaze roamed from her wide eyes to her full mouth, then to the pale skin of her shoulders, her neck, her chest.

He was ravenous.

"I enjoyed my bath," she said softly, her eyes holding his.

He nodded, unable to speak. He knew he had to, but to say what?

"And I want to make you feel the same way." She came to stand directly in front of him.

He watched as her dainty fingers moved to the front of his shirt. She worked each small button through its hole until the shirt fell open. Then her hands left his shirt to rub up over his chest.

A hitched breath escaped his lips as her fingers paused at his nipples, teasing them like he'd done to her. Then her hands continued upward, her fingers and palms shaping the muscles of his shoulders as she nudged his shirt off.

He let the garment fall to the floor.

She stroked down his arms, then back up again, her hands contouring the shape of every muscle. Her inquisitive fingers wandered back down his chest over his stomach to the top of his trousers.

He thought for a fraction of a second to stop her. To tell her…

The button of his pants popped free. Then she slowly worked down the zipper. Once they were open, she caught the waistband and pushed them down his hips. His erect penis bobbed free, then pulled up against his stomach, rock-hard, throbbing.

Jane knelt to slip the pants off over his bare feet, but instead of rising again when the pants were cast aside, she remained on her knees.

As if in slow motion, she reached out to touch his erection, her fingers, light and cool, brushing the sensitive underside, shaping over the head.

"You're soft and hard at the same time."

He swallowed as she touched him again, this time curling her fingers around the girth.

"And you are hot," she murmured. Her fingertips reached the rounded top and the glistening bead at the tip. "And wet."

She smiled up at him. "Not so different than me, after all."

He felt his chest tighten. So different, Janie. So very different.

She rose up slightly, the towel parting so he could see the bare curve of her thigh and hip.

He watched as she leaned forward and brushed her lips against him. Then again. And again. Each kiss getting braver, more daring, until her tongue flicked out to taste him. To drive him mad.

He remained perfectly still, the lucid scraps of his brain telling him he shouldn't react.

Then her tongue lapped across the bulbous head, circling it, then flicking over the top again.

He swallowed, trying to keep control. The hands at his sides trembled.

Her lips parted, and he was surrounded by searing heat. And that swirling tongue.

Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her closer.

She didn't resist, but slipped those full, beautiful lips over him, savoring him, devouring him.

His head fell back, his eyes closed. He couldn't think, couldn't comprehend anything but the feeling of Jane loving him. Her mouth slid up and down. Her tongue traced the column of nerve endings that ran up the center of his cock, then curled over the head. Her hands stroked the rest of his length, which she couldn't take into her small mouth. Her other hand touched his stomach, his thighs, his testicles.

Light burst behind his closed lids. Pale light. Bright yellow light. Oranges, and pinks, then back to clear, warm light. She was giving him all her light. All her sunrises, all her sunsets.

His penis pulsed against her tongue, under her lips. His testicles pulled tight against his body. And he felt heat spiral through him, the heat of her mouth, then the heat of the light. The light she was giving him.

But just as his muscles tensed and he was about to come, he pulled back, dropping his hands from Jane's hair to her arms, lifting her to her feet.

"Jane, I have to be inside you." His voice was low, rough, demanding.

She stared up at him, her lips rosy from rubbing over him and damp. And for the first time since Rhys met her, he couldn't read her expression. Fear ripped through him, intensifying the need pulsating in his veins.

Then she stepped back and unknotted the towel, letting the white cloth fall away from her.

Her pale skin glowed like pearls in the lamplight. Her small, round breasts creamy and topped with raspberry nipples. Shapely legs and dark curls at the apex of pale thighs, soft, inviting. She stole his breath, all sense, reason. She was his only thought. Janie. Beautiful.

Then his gaze finally centered on the jewel glinting between her perfect breasts. Topaz and diamonds twinkled against her skin.

The necklace.

"I wore it for you, because I am the very person it was intended for. Like you said."

Rhys's gaze jumped back to hers. She wore a small, unsure smile. But in her green eyes, he saw courage and knowing.

She took a step toward him, but she didn't need to take any more. He closed the small gap between them, pulling her tight against him, his mouth finding hers.

He walked her backward, until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed. She lost her balance and sat heavily on the mattress.

A laugh started in her throat, but he caught her shoulders, pushing her down on the bed.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. He knew he must look wild, half-crazed. He was.

The sight of that necklace. Of her body splayed out before him. This was his woman. His.

His hand slipped between her thighs, massaging her with rough, greedy strokes. She didn't reject his possessive touch, writhing against his hands. She was ready for him. His finger slid into her wet vagina easily.

He moved his hands to her knees, spreading her wide, and he entered her, impaling her to his hilt with one thrust.

She cried out, the sound one of shock, but also pleasure. Her muscles embraced him. Her arms held him.

And they began to move, coming together, drawing apart. Their craving to touch each other, feel each other, uncontrollable, hungry.

She arched under him, her breasts thrusting upward, her vagina constricting around him.

He watched her. The pleasure on her face. The sinuous movements of her body. The emotion darkening her eyes.

And just as her muscles pulsed around him with her release, he felt them. Their lengthening. The sharp pierce of them against his lips. The tang of blood on his tongue.

Under him, Jane clenched her eyes shut and arched up against him, her body begging for release, crying out to him for it.

He threw back his own head, his teeth bared.

"I love you, Rhys! I love you."

He stopped for a fraction of a second, her words shaking him to the core. But then her confession, like the necklace, served only to intensify his hunger, to make him insane with need to have her.

He fell forward, his canines plunging into the fragile skin of her neck at the same time his cock filled her to her womb.

She screamed out, a keen filled with devastating ecstasy.

And as he drank in her bliss, her release, he joined her in their unnatural rapture.