Fangs For The Memories

CHAPTER 7

Jane couldn't believe this. She had agreed to live with two men she didn't know. One of them was paying her an inordinate amount of money to do so, and the other… the other thought he was engaged to her. Oh, and he thought he was living in nineteenth century England.

Who was the crazy one in this whole scenario? They'd probably have to draw straws at this point.

She looked around the bedroom that Sebastian told her would be hers during her stay. Well, the digs were definitely good.

She wandered to the bed, running her hand over the luxurious blue velvet duvet that covered the mattress. Then her fingers brushed the wispy silk that created a canopy over the top and around the perimeter. Definitely a lot different than the creaky brass bed she'd slept in most of her life.

She moved over to the windows and parted the thick damask curtains. It was evening, but she couldn't even make out the city skyline. Thick frosted glass muted all light.

For a moment, she was disappointed. She wanted to see the view and, hopefully, get some bearings of where she was. Then she realized the windows must be for Rhys. To protect him from the sun.

Rhys sure had a lot of strange ailments. He didn't look like a man with any afflictions. Physically, he appeared perfect.

She pushed the image of that perfect body out of her mind. She had to get her attraction to him under control-somehow.

She thought again about his allergies. How strange to never go out in the sunshine. But she supposed she didn't spend much time in the sun, either. She hated sun bathing-it just made her freckle and burn. And she always got her second wind in the evening-often reading into the wee hours of the night.

Food, however, she couldn't give up. Who didn't love a yummy hot fudge sundae or a gooey pepperoni pizza?

Sighing, she let the curtain drop and headed to explore the bathroom. She had her own bathroom, another convenience she'd never known in her house. But this bathroom went far beyond simple convenience. It was downright opulent.

She touched the smooth white marble of the sink. Then she wandered over to the tub. The huge, inset tub was easily big enough for two. Then there was a separate shower. This was luxury.

But as luxurious as it was, she knew she couldn't stay any longer than it took her to sort out her finances.

She walked back out to her bedroom and moved her new suitcase over the bureau. Someone named Mick, a security guy for the club, had driven over to her hotel and gathered her stuff. She unzipped the case and started to pull out a stack of clothes, to place in the dresser. Then she rethought the idea and dropped the clothes back into her luggage.

There was no point in unpacking or getting too comfortable. Even though she'd like to cling to the reasoning that the situation was just too strange, the real reason she couldn't stay was that she was so ridiculously attracted to Rhys. And she couldn't be attracted to a man who didn't even know who she really was. Heck, he didn't know who he was. That was a relationship that was doomed from the get-go.

She sighed and pulled out a clean pair of jeans, a green turtleneck sweater and underwear.

Maybe a long, hot bath would help her put things in perspective and maybe even help her remember what happened last night.

The only explanation she'd been able to come up with for her lost memories was the tequila. Or maybe a combination of the tequila and the stress of all the horrible events of yesterday.

But what had happened to cause Rhys's amnesia? Could both their memory losses be connected? Short of alien abduction, which probably wasn't out of the question given how weird things had been, she couldn't figure out what could have happened to them. Maybe she would talk to Rhys's doctor, too. He might have some ideas. About mass amnesia? Yeah, right.

She dropped her clothes onto the closed lid of the toilet, then perched on the edge of the tub to close the stopper and turn on the faucet.

She watched the steaming water for a few moments, then went to the sink to look for soap. As she searched, she caught her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

She looked a wreck. Her hair stood out all over her head, and she had traces of mascara under her eyes. The smudged makeup made the purplish circles under her eyes look even darker.

Why would a gorgeous hunk like Rhys be fascinated with her? Sebastian had to be mistaken. But she had been in bed with Rhys. And he'd…

Her cheeks flamed, making her complexion a colorful pink, mottled against the purple under her eyes.

She closed her eyes, releasing a hitched breath. She couldn't remember last night, but she could certainly remember the feeling of Rhys's hands on her when she woke up.

Heat drained from her flushed cheeks to pool in her belly, then lower. She'd never felt anything as wonderful as Rhys's fingers against her.

As if by their own will, her fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse. Not opening her eyes, she pretended it was Rhys's fingers loosening the buttons, parting the white cotton. The wisps of steam from the hot water filling the tub moistened her skin, and she pretended it was Rhys's kisses warming her flesh.

What was she doing? She'd never been the type to fantasize about men. And especially fantasies like this. But she'd also never had a man touch her like Rhys had. It had been so… thrilling.

She let her blouse fall to the floor, and she moved her fingers to the front clasp of her bra. The filmy material separated, and her nipples peaked against the humid air.

Embarrassed, but unable to stop herself, she brushed her fingers over them, trying to remember exactly how Rhys's lips had felt suckling her.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of a quiet cough, and she spun toward the open doorway.

Rhys stood there, watching her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide herself and to somehow hide what she'd been doing. But she could tell from the smoldering glow of his eyes, he'd seen.

The burn of embarrassment mingled with the fire those intense eyes created inside her. She so wanted this man.

His gaze left her covered chest, and he held her eyes with his.

She shifted slightly under the hunger she saw there.

"Sorry," he said, his voice huskier than usual. "I thought I heard you calling me."

She stared at him. Well, her body had been calling him, but she didn't think her voice had. "I… No."

He nodded sharply. "Then I will leave you to your bath."

They stared at each other for a moment longer; then Rhys bowed slightly and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Jane sagged against the sink, still clutching her breasts.

This was impossible. It had taken every bit of her rational mind to not invite him to join her in the tub. What was wrong with her? She'd always been so practical, so reserved. Now she was acting like a wanton.

Rhys shut both Jane's bathroom and bedroom door, and he still seemed to sense her desire pulling at him, begging him to come back to her. He stopped in the hallway, his own desire telling him to go back. She was his betrothed after all. They weren't married yet, but they would be soon, as soon as he could arrange it, and then that delectable body of hers would be his.

He nearly groaned, thinking about what she'd been doing when he arrived at her bathroom door. Her hands caressing her creamy skin. Shaping themselves to the rounded curves of her breasts. Her fingers teasing her swollen pink nipples.

He still remembered the taste of them. The heat of her body. His cock pulsed painfully in his trousers.

She was already his, but soon, he'd have her beside him every night.

Forcing himself to ignore his overly enthusiastic body, he searched for Sebastian. His brother had left him after their celebratory drink to talk with Jane again. Rhys was curious to see what Jane had told his brother.

Sebastian was in his room. He finished buttoning his shirt, then shrugged on a jacket.

"Where are you off to?"

"To the club." Sebastian combed his fingers through his blond hair. The locks fell into their usual unruly tangle.

Rhys nodded. "I would join you, but I'm certain Jane already believes me a complete reprobate. I believe I should stay with her this evening and try to convince her otherwise."

Sebastian smiled, a puzzlingly amused twist of his lips. "Yes, I think you should."

Rhys frowned slightly, then went over to pick up a tie lying on Sebastian's bureau. How on earth would anyone get a proper cravat out of that skinny thing? He tossed it back onto the bureau.

"Where is Wilson?" Rhys had not seen their valet all evening. Not that any of the brothers utilized the man much. They all agreed that if a man couldn't dress himself-well, he was truly inept.

Sebastian frowned; then his eyes widened. "Oh, Wilson. We gave him a holiday-for Christmas."

Christmas? That was right. Today was Christmas. Good Lord, Jane must think she was the one about to wed a savage. He hadn't even wished her a happy Christmas. And what of a proper Christmas meal-surely the staff hadn't forgone the meal because Elizabeth and Christian were away? And they had left on Christmas, too?

Rhys frowned. How very curious.

"I won't be at the club long," Sebastian said. "But I thought it would be nice for you and Jane to have a little time alone."

Rhys glanced at his brother, no longer bothered by his siblings being away. In fact, he quite liked the idea of having Jane to himself, too. He just wished he had thought to arrange a proper Christmas celebration, even if it was only for the two of them. He had so much to make amends for-he hoped she was an understanding woman.

"Have fun," Sebastian said. Again that knowing little grin was on his lips.

Rhys supposed his brother found him actually being taken with his betrothed quite humorous-especially after all the objections he'd had. Rhys had to admit it was mildly amusing. If he'd known what he was missing, he would have arranged for her to join him sooner.

The bath didn't have the desired effect Jane had hoped it would. She was too unnerved by all the events of the past two days to relax. Not that she wasn't tempted to hide in her room the rest of the night. But she was supposed to be watching Rhys.

She finished drying her hair, then brushed on a little mascara, hoping it would make her look a little less tired. Examining her reflection, she decided it didn't help much, but at least she was suitably clad, her turtleneck and jeans very modest.

She took a fortifying breath, then exited her room, going to find the "beautiful brothers."

She walked down the hall toward the living area. She pushed open one of the dining room doors, but no one was in there. She paused, her hand still on the door, and listened.

The whole apartment was silent as if not another living soul was there. Worry filled her. What if Rhys wasn't here? What if he'd left the apartment?

She softly closed the door and hurried farther down the hall. The hall opened out into a large living room. It was as lavish as the rest of the apartment with more dark antique furniture covered in rich upholstery. But other than a cursory scan of the room, she didn't stop to study the decor too closely.

She rushed straight to another door at the far end of the living room. The door was ajar. She pushed the wood panel open and stepped inside.

Rhys stood in front of a huge stone fireplace, his profile to her, a drink held loosely in his hand.

She didn't say anything for a moment, too captivated by how gorgeous he was. The firelight glinted off his hair. The simplicity of the black sweater and black pants he wore seemed to enhance the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips.

After a few moments, he glanced over at her. "Do come in. I promise I won't bite."

Jane felt her skin burn again from the mixture of mortification and the yearning his words sent through her. She could vividly recall him nipping her, and her breasts ached at the memory.

She sucked in a calming breath and walked into the room, her legs only a little unsteady. Perching on the edge of one of the soft, cushy chairs, she made herself focus on the room.

This room, like all the others in the apartment, was huge. One wall was taken up almost completely by three arched windows. The glass in here was clear. Outside, she could see the twinkle of the city lights.

The rest of the free wall space was filled from floor to ceiling with hundreds and hundreds of books. Despite the size of the room, the space somehow felt cozy. Maybe it was the fire. Or maybe it was the warmth of the shiny wood floors stained a deep brown. Or it could have been the large, overstuffed furniture and the piano in the corner near the windows. But Jane fell in love with the room.

She stood and walked over to the windows. The view was incredible. The windows looked out over the city. Lights twinkled, and snow swirled softly in the winter air.

"This is my favorite room."

Jane started. Rhys was right beside her; she could feel heat radiating from him.

He continued to look out the window. "The view is amazing, is it not?"

"Yes," Jane agreed, turning to admire the view again, too. "It's beautiful, and so different from where I lived."

He turned his head toward her. "I forgot this is all new to you. I must show you all the sights."

Jane smiled. Exploring New York with Rhys-that sounded wonderful. "That would be nice."

"London can be daunting, but you will soon feel comfortable here."

She blinked, and the reality of her situation came back to her. He didn't even know he was in New York. And he couldn't show her around, not until his memories returned, and by then, she would have to move on and out of this strange world in which she now found herself.

"What is America like?" he asked, moving away from the windows and back to the fireplace.

She didn't know how to respond. Did she tell him about Maine? Did she modify her responses to fit the time period he believed he was in?

"It's-different. Very rural. Lots of trees and lakes and wildlife." All true and nothing that would confuse him.

"It sounds like my estate in Derbyshire. We will spend our summers there. The manor is set amongst rolling hills, and there is a pond, where we often swim."

Jane smiled. She wished the place he described existed. It sounded lovely.

"I also have another estate much closer to London. That is where Christian and Elizabeth are currently. They are attending a house party at the Earl of Barrington's. He hosts a gathering every year at this time. My little sister, Elizabeth, hates to miss the event as she loves to wear her prettiest dresses and dance. Not to mention the fact that she is also quite taken with the duke's son, Lord Granford. She is a hopeless romantic." He smiled with fond indulgence.

Jane smiled back, finding his affectionate expression very endearing, so different from the unreadable man who had walked her back to her hotel.

"Now, my brother Christian is quite the opposite. I fear he is the troublemaker of the family. He's quite the scoundrel and inordinately proud of it." Again, Rhys didn't seem upset by his apparently wild sibling.

Jane caught herself. It was so easy to forget that these people were all figments of Rhys's imagination. He spoke about them so easily. Then again, maybe they weren't imaginary. Maybe Rhys did have a sister and another brother.

"Christian is the reason I owe you an apology. He is notorious for getting both Sebastian and me into all manner of debacles, which was why I was in the state I was in last night. But I assure you that will not happen again."

She nodded, unsure what to say since she really had no idea what he was talking about.

But Rhys seemed to mistake her confusion for doubt. "I hope…" He cleared his throat. "I hope that the evening was-enjoyable to you, despite my condition and my far too bold behavior."

She blinked again. Following his words was like trying to sort out a riddle-in another language.

"It was-very enjoyable."

Relief washed over his face, but then the earnestness returned. "I will, of course, call for our banns right away."

She nodded. What on earth was he talking about? She thought back to the several Regency romances she'd read. Did they talk about banns?

She couldn't remember, so she finally said, "Okay."

Rhys smiled, apparently relieved again by her agreement. But the smile disappeared as his eyes roamed over her. His gaze lingered on the fit of her sweater and then dropped to her jeans.

Suddenly her unexceptional outfit seemed very daring.

"American men must be very liberal. Your style of dress is far more revealing than what English women are encouraged to wear."

She stared at him. He didn't intend for her to wear a bustle or something? No, they wore empire waists and petticoats. She knew she was supposed to humor him, but there was only so much she would do.

"This outfit is considered very practical."

He walked up to stand before her. "I am sorry. I imagine many of our ways will be different. And it is not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable." He leaned back slightly to look at her clothes again. "Plus, I must admit I rather like this look." He reached out and traced a finger along the seam of her jeans, running it slowly down over her hip.

Jane gazed at him, amazed she could feel the light touch so unmistakably through the thick material.

One finger joined another until his broad palm was pressed to her hip.

Then, just as she thought he would stroke his full hand over her, he removed it and stepped back from her.

"And I certainly cannot talk about style," he said, his voice self-disparaging and far steadier than Jane felt. "Wilson, my valet, has chosen some interesting clothing selections for me as well." He pulled his sweater away from himself and frowned down at it. "This is different. And he didn't pack me a single cravat or proper dinner coat."

"The times they are a- changin'," she said distractedly as she still struggled with the longing in her belly, in her limbs.

Rhys laughed, the sound deep and rich. "Indeed they are."

Jane stared at him for a moment, amazed that everything about this man could be so unbelievably attractive. She forced herself to look away. She wandered over to the piano, running a hand over the glossy black lid.

"Do you play?" Rhys asked.

She shook her head. "No. My mother did."

"Did?"

"My mother died when I was ten."

Rhys looked genuinely sorry. "That must have been difficult. Do you have siblings?"

"No, I'm an only child."

"Yet, your father sent you so far away to marry and live. That must have been painful for him."

A dull pain squeezed her chest as it always did when she thought about the loss of her father. "He passed away, too. Almost a year ago."

Rhys stared at her for a moment, then crossed the room, coming to stand in front of her again. "We have that in common, then. My parents died a little over three years ago."

She nodded, wondering if he then understood the loss and the loneliness that accompanied death. When her father passed away, she lost the only world she'd ever known.

Then she realized maybe Rhys's parents weren't even dead. He was telling her about a life that didn't exist. Or maybe it did. Maybe he did understand.

"Jane," Rhys said softly, pulling her from her sorrow. His hand came up to cup her face, his fingers strong and warm. "I want you to know that I will take good care of you. You will want for nothing, and-I believe we can find happiness together."

As crazy as it was, she'd never wanted to believe someone's words more-to finally have someone care about her. To have someone to help her. To not be alone.

Then reality hit her again. This man believed they were engaged. He believed they would marry soon. He believed they would have a life together. But none of that was true-especially the happily ever after.

Still, she reached up and held his hand, pressing the palm to the side of her face, savoring the slightly rough texture of his fingers and palms. It was nice to feel kindness and compassion, and not feel alone-even if it was for just a few moments and it was all pretend.

His thumb moved to caress the sensitive flesh of her lower lip. He stared down at her, his eyes golden in the firelight.

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are, guileless and as green as new grass?" His voice was low and husky, slipping over her skin like his fingers.

She shook her head, just a slight movement against his palm.

"No? How about your lips? Has anyone ever told you how soft and delectable they look?"

The lips he described parted, and a small breathless noise escaped them. Again she managed a tiny shake of her head.

"Hmm," he said. "That has been a major oversight by the male population in general. But I must say, I am very glad I'm the first to tell you."

She was, too. She couldn't imagine wanting anyone else to compliment her like this.

"Now, my little betrothed, I should warn you that you might want to close those lovely eyes-because I intend to sample those pretty lips." His head lowered, and his mouth caught hers.

Jane did close her eyes and twined her arms around his neck, his hair tickling over the backs of her fingers.

She knew at the moment she was living in as big a fantasy world as Rhys, but she didn't care. It simply felt too right.

Rhys tasted Jane, savoring her softness, her delicious taste. Had any other woman ever felt this perfect in his arms? He certainly couldn't remember.

He traced her soft lips gently with his tongue, begging her to open for him so he could taste her fully, feel her heat.

She did, her own tongue darting out to touch his delicately, tentatively.

Her timidity was more arousing than any practiced move by an experienced lover.

He kissed her for a moment longer, then ended the embrace, feeling as though he was losing control too quickly. Damn, he wanted her.

He looked down at her; her green eyes were hazed with passion, and her sweet lips were still parted.

Possessiveness fused with his need, making his longing even more intense. He had meant every word he said to her. He planned to make sure she was happy, cared for, safe. And for some reason he couldn't understand, he knew he needed to keep her safe.

He supposed it was because she was alone in the world. Still, something niggled at the back of his brain. He couldn't figure out what-but it didn't matter; he'd be there for Jane. Forever.

He reached up behind his neck and captured one of her hands that were still around his neck. Linking her small fingers through his, he led her to the carpet in front of the fire.

"Sit," he said with mock sternness. "I have something for you."

She obeyed, curling her legs under herself, watching him with curious eyes.

He went over to the table and retrieved a rectangular, green velvet box.

He seated himself down beside her, stretching his long legs out in front of him, then held out the box.

She frowned at it, her eyes darkened with confusion. "Rhys, what is this?"

He smiled wryly. "Well, you have to open it to discover that." He offered it to her again.

She still hesitated, but then took the box. She glanced at him again, before she opened the lid. Her eyes widened. She shook her head, trying to shove the case back at him.

"No, Rhys," she said adamantly. "No. I can't accept this."

Rhys chuckled at her shaken expression. "Of course you can. You are precisely who was intended to accept it."

His mother had left him several pieces of jewelry that were to be given to his wife one day. He had never really thought about them over the years, but now, he wanted this woman to have the heirlooms.

He plucked the necklace out of the box and held it up. Firelight danced in a single golden topaz and made the surrounding diamonds twinkle. He slid closer so he could loop the chain around her neck.

She remained perfectly still as he hooked the clasp. Then she shifted to face him. The necklace hung low enough to nestle in the faint valley between her breasts.

The top she wore, which had seemed so improper only moments before, suddenly covered far too much. He wanted to see the glittering pendant against her pale skin. He wanted to make love to her while she wore nothing but the necklace-a sign that she was his.

"Rhys, please, I can't take this."

He studied her for a moment. "I want you to have it. Not only as a gift to my betrothed, but also to celebrate our first Christmas."

Her green eyes began to glitter like large polished emeralds as they welled with tears.

He frowned, concerned. "Why do you cry?"

"Because I wish this was real," she said, then bit her lower lip as if she thought she'd said something wrong.

He captured her chin gently with his forefinger and thumb. "Jane, this is very real. More real than anything has ever been to me." He couldn't say why he felt that way, but he knew it was true. "Please wear it. For me."

She stared down at the pendant for a moment. Then she nodded, a minute movement of her head, which he was starting to recognize was how she reacted when she was unsure.

Rhys smiled. Then he pulled her to him, situating her between his long legs. She leaned uneasily against him, her ramrod straight back to his chest. But she didn't pull away.

They sat that way, quiet, watching the fire. Contentment filled him. And he knew this was a rare moment, a rare sensation in his life, that happiness had eluded him for a long time.

But why? He should be very happy with a wonderful family and all the trappings of the well-to-do. Why did he suddenly think the past had not always been this satisfying?

He breathed in deeply, trying to understand his nebulous thoughts, when her clean, flowery scent reached him.

He couldn't resist nuzzling the softness of her hair. His arms tightened around her waist, and he noticed she didn't seem as stiff against him.

Suddenly his indistinct recollections didn't matter. He was happy right this minute and vowed that Jane would also know the same happiness.

He'd make sure of it-just as he was sure he was the fifth Viscount of Rothmere.