Everlasting Desire

After a moment’s indecision, she fixed a tall glass of iced tea, grabbed her sunglasses, plucked the latest Dean Koontz from the coffee table, and went outside to read. Of course, with her head filled with images of the sexy vampire in her bed, and that same sexy vampire washing her back—and perhaps the rest of her, as well—she couldn’t really concentrate on the story.

With a sigh, she put the book aside and seriously contemplated her future. Should she stay with Rhys? Or end their relationship before it went any further? Did she want to spend her life with a man who would never grow old? A man who couldn’t give her children? Did she want to live without him? Should she try? What were the chances that she could find a man she would love as much as she loved Rhys?

She sipped her iced tea as she tried to imagine finding a man who could take Rhys’s place. Of course, it would be impossible. No mortal man could ever compete with a vampire’s supernatural abilities or paranormal charisma. Rhys was like a rare vintage wine, unique and unforgettable. Compared to him, any other man would seem like cheap ale.

Of course, she could be taking a lot for granted. Maybe Rhys didn’t want to spend the next thirty or forty years with her. And why would he? Why would any young man want to stay with a wrinkled old woman? Sure, he might stay with her for ten or fifteen years, but after that, he would surely want a younger woman, one who could make love all night long.

Megan shook her head. Why was she doing this to herself? There could be no happy ending for the two of them. Pairing a vampire and a mortal was like pairing a lion and a lamb. Sooner or later, the lamb was going to get hurt.

Shaking off her troubling thoughts, she spent the next couple of hours working in the yard, which had been badly neglected lately. She pulled weeds, trimmed the rose bushes, watered the grass.

Deciding she needed a break, she went into the house and fixed another glass of tea, then returned to the backyard. Standing in the shade, she sipped her drink, her thoughts again drawn to the man sleeping in her bed.

Her gaze followed her thoughts, and she glanced up at her bedroom window. Impulsively, she set her glass on the patio table and went inside. She hesitated at the bottom of the staircase, took a deep breath, and slowly climbed the stairs. She had seen him earlier, but he hadn’t really been asleep.

She paused outside the door, her hand on the knob. Another deep breath, and she opened the door as quietly as she could and peeked inside.

Rhys lay on his back, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting on his chest. She stared at him for several moments. Was he breathing?

Curious, she tiptoed into the room and stood beside the bed. The phrase as still as death whispered through the back of her mind.

She was about to turn away when his hand clamped around her wrist.

Megan gasped. She hadn’t even seen him move, but he was awake now, staring up at her, his eyes narrowed.

Muttering “sorry,” he released her, then sat up. “Is anything wrong?”

“No. No, I was just…” she shrugged, “curious.”

“Ah.” His gaze probed hers. “Were you repulsed by what you saw?”

Megan shook her head. “No, but you weren’t breathing.” She stared at his chest. He was breathing now.

“I don’t have to breathe,” he said. “I do it when I’m awake because it makes me less conspicuous. But when I sleep there’s no need.”

“Oh.” Just when she thought she knew it all, there was more creepy stuff to learn. It made her wonder once again if they could make things work between them. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

“I’m not.” He held out his hand in invitation. “As you can see, I’m wide awake now.”

“What?” She frowned, and then she saw the evidence of his desire beneath the sheet. “Oh! Now? In the daytime?”

He arched one brow. “With you, anytime.”

Laughing, Megan peeled off her clothes and crawled under the sheet. Doubts be damned, Rhys was here now, and she wanted him. And if he broke her heart later, then, so be it. Maybe it was time to live in the moment, to grab happiness with both hands while she could and stop worrying about the future. After all, she reminded herself, life was uncertain, and no relationship was perfect.

But he was, she thought, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Wrapped in his arms, she kissed and caressed him with an abandon she had never felt before, no doubt because now, for better or worse, she had tied her future to his. He must have sensed the change within her because his kisses grew longer, deeper, as his hands stroked her flesh.

She whispered, “I love you,” when he rose over her.

“And I love you,” he said, his voice a throaty growl in her ear. “Be mine forever, Megan, my love. Say you’ll marry me.”

“I will.”

He reared back, a look of surprise on his face.

She grinned at him. “Didn’t expect me to say yes, did you?”

“Well, not without taking a few days to think it over.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Of course, but—are you sure?”

“Very sure,” she murmured, and pulled him closer, linking her arms around his neck as his body merged with hers, his movements strong and slow, arousing her until she writhed beneath him, her mind empty of everything but her need for Rhys.

She felt his fangs at her throat. Her body arched upward, the pleasure of his bite sweeping her over the edge. She sobbed his name, her nails digging into his back as wave after wave of sensual heat flowed through her.

Sated, she closed her eyes, felt herself smiling as she curled up against him. He loved her. They were going to be married.

She was on the brink of sleep when Rhys jackknifed into a sitting position. “Dammit! He’s struck again.”

“What?” Megan blinked up at him.

“That bastard, Villagrande. He’s killed another of my people.”

Suddenly wide awake, she sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. “How do you know?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, then gained his feet. “I know.”

“How?”

“I just know.” There was no way to explain it, but he knew Hastings had been destroyed, his existence snuffed out at Villagrande’s hand only moments ago. Pacing the floor, he muttered, “That makes four.” Dammit! Why hadn’t Hastings stayed with the others?

“What are you going to do now?”

Rhys paused in front of the window. Drawing the curtains aside, he stared out into the gathering darkness. “I’m going to give him what he wants.”

Chapter 39

It was nearing nine o’clock that night when Megan got out of the shower. Glancing at the clock, she decided there was no point in getting dressed. Instead, she pulled on her bathrobe, then went downstairs. Since she was too hungry to cook anything that took more than a few minutes, she settled for scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice.

It had been an exhausting day, what with working in the yard and then making love to Rhys, not once but three times. Tugging her bathrobe around her, she smiled at the memory, then yawned behind her hand. He might be inexhaustible, but she wasn’t! Not only that, but she hurt in places that had never hurt before. And in some places she hadn’t even known she had, she thought, amused. But it was a pleasurable kind of pain, a reminder of the most wildly erotic, passionate afternoon of her life.

A day she would never forget because Rhys had proposed to her and she had said yes. She smiled as she recalled how she had said yes without a second thought, and how surprised he had been when she accepted. She was getting married. All she had to do was name the day and decide whether she wanted a big church wedding with all the trimmings. Or a small, intimate ceremony. Or if they should just elope.

Her smile faded as she recalled Rhys’s anger and distress when he sensed that another of his vampires had been destroyed by Villagrande. Had Rhys meant it when he said he was going to give Villagrande what he wanted? And what, exactly, did that mean? She was sorely afraid there might be more to it than just leaving the city.

With a sigh, she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then stood at the sink staring out into the darkness.

Rhys had gone out, but he would be back soon. She was thinking about slipping into a sexy black nightgown she had bought on a whim and never worn when the doorbell rang. Wondering who it could be, she drew her robe around her and went to the door.

Looking through the peephole, she saw her former best friend standing alone on the front porch. But it wasn’t surprise that had Megan gasping. It was the blood dripping down Shirl’s face and neck, the complete lack of color in her face.

Without thinking of the consequences, Megan opened the door and reached for her friend. Shirl staggered forward, then came to an abrupt halt at the threshold.

Megan tugged on her arm, frowning, and then, after muttering “Shirl, come in,” she helped her friend inside and guided her to the sofa. “Shirl, what happened to you?”

“Tomás…he got angry with me because I refused to try to trick you into coming to the boat. He beat me and drank from me and…”

“Are you going to be all right? What can I do?”

“I could use a glass of wine.”

“Of course.”

Megan hurried into the kitchen, her thoughts tripping one over the other as she opened a bottle of wine and pulled a glass from the cupboard. Shirl needed to get away from Tomás, she thought as she filled the glass. But that wasn’t all. Shirl needed fresh blood to heal her wounds and a place to stay. Maybe Rhys would know what to do.

Megan was still weighing possibilities when she returned to the living room, only to come to an abrupt halt when she saw Tomás Villagrande standing in front of the hearth, a smirk on his face.

Feeling betrayed, Megan looked at Shirl, who had miraculously recovered. “How could you?”

“We’ve no time for this,” Villagrande said.

Before Megan could respond, he was at her side, his arm snaking around her waist. She stared up at him, a hard, cold knot of fear forming in her stomach as his gaze trapped hers. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">