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“Shirley. We’ve been friends since college. She’s a high fashion model, very pretty. You’d like her.”
“I like you.”
The words, the tone of his voice, the sultry look in his eyes, sent a shiver down her spine. She took a sip of her wine, hoping it would calm her. His thigh brushed against hers, but it was more than his nearness that unsettled her.
She eased her leg away from his. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”
A smile flitted across his face before he said, “I own a little nightclub on the other side of town.”
“Oh? What’s it called? Maybe I’ve been there.”
He laughed softly. “I doubt it.”
“Why? What kind of club is it?”
“It’s a Goth hangout.”
“Goth?” she asked, frowning. “You mean those weird people who dress all in black and pretend to be vampires, that kind of thing?”
“Exactly.”
“Are they into the blood thing?”
“Some of them are.”
“Shirl dated a guy who was a Goth a year or so ago. She was really into that kind of thing for a while. You know, the whole vampire mythology, but I can tell you, she broke it off with him pretty darn quick when he said he wanted to drink her blood.” Megan grimaced. “I’m not sure vampires really exist. I mean, I’ve never met one. Have you?”
“Who can say? They don’t advertise it, you know.”
“No, I guess not.”
Rhys refilled his glass, then looked at her, eyebrows raised. “More?”
“Yes, please.”
He refilled her glass, wondering what she would say, what she would think, if she knew a five-hundred-year-old vampire was sitting beside her, contemplating how he might steal a taste of her blood.
When the band broke into something soft and slow, Rhys set his glass aside. “Care to dance?”
“Are you sure you want to?” She gestured at his arm. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“I’m a quick healer. So, what do you say?”
She considered it a moment, then nodded.
On the dance floor, he took her into his arms without hesitation. Her body fit against his perfectly, as he had known it would. She was warm with the juices of life, supple in his embrace. He took a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the clean scent of jasmine, the musky scent of a young female. And blood.
Her gaze met his. He knew what she was going to ask even before she spoke. “I have to know,” she said, almost apologetically. “Just how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” The lie slid easily past his lips. He was too young for her at twenty, too old at five hundred and twelve. “Relieved?”
“Yes. You look younger.”
“A blessing, don’t you think?”
“Some people never seem to age. Sometimes I hate to look in the mirror, you know? The other day, I found a gray hair.” Shirl was even more afraid of growing old than Megan was, since when Shirl’s looks went, so did her career.
“Not to worry,” he said with a faint smile. “You’ll always be beautiful.”
“Flatterer.”
“I call ’em the way I see ’em.” He regarded her a moment before asking, “If you could stay young forever, would you?”
She considered it a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Growing up, growing old, it’s what life is all about.”
“Yes,” he remarked. “Life.”
The song ended, and he escorted her back to the table.
Life, Rhys thought as he drove her home a short time later. Its flame burned bright within her, drawing him in, warming the cold, desolate places in his soul.
If he drank from her, he knew he would never be cold again.
Megan stood at the window, watching Rhys walk away. She had suggested he drive home in her car or call a cab, but he had dismissed her suggestions with a wave of his hand, saying the walk would do him good.
She had been a bundle of nerves during the drive home, wondering if Rhys would try to kiss her good night, wondering if she should let him. The knowledge that she had even considered it still astonished her. Maybe he wasn’t as young as she had thought, but she hardly knew the man. Still, a hero deserved a reward, and after what he had done tonight, he was definitely a hero.
Awfully full of yourself, aren’t you, Megan? Thinking one of your kisses would be ample reward for saving your life!
As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. When they reached her house, Rhys walked her to the door, made sure she was safely inside, and bid her a chaste good night.
She watched him until he was swallowed up in the darkness; then, after double-locking the front door, she went through the rest of the house, making sure all the windows were closed and locked, drawing the drapes to shut out what was left of the night. Funny, that while sitting in the club with Rhys, the events at the store had seemed distant, almost as if they had happened to someone else, but here, in her own home, she was suddenly afraid. She knew there was evil and violence in the world. She saw it in living color on the nightly news, but, until this evening, she had never experienced it firsthand.
She could have been killed tonight. They could all have been killed.
Folding her arms over her chest, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Maybe it was time to buy a gun, or at least a canister of pepper spray.
After changing into a T-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms, she went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of hot cocoa. She was sitting at the table, waiting for the chocolate to cool, when Shirl shuffled into the room. Even without makeup, her blue eyes puffy from too little sleep, and her long, silver-blond hair mussed, Shirl was gorgeous.
“I’m sorry,” Megan said. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s all right,” Shirl replied, smothering a yawn with her hand. “I have to be up in a couple of hours anyway.” She dropped into the chair across from Megan’s. “What are you doing up so late? Or so early? Did you just get home?”
“Yes.” Megan wrapped her hands around the mug. “We had some trouble at the store tonight.”
“Oh?” Shirl stared at her, suddenly wide awake. “What happened? Did anyone get hurt?”
“No.”
“Well, come on, girl, I want details.”
With a sigh, Megan quickly told her about Shore’s newest client and how he had come to the rescue. “Just like Batman,” she finished, “but without the mask, of course.”
