Everlasting Desire (Everlasting 2)

She didn’t have to wait long.

“Megan?”

She looked up, her gaze meeting his, felt herself falling into the depths of his deep brown eyes as he drew her into his embrace. His lips were cool against her skin as he lightly kissed her brow, her cheeks, the curve of her throat. She moaned softly as his teeth grazed her neck, only for a moment, and then his mouth covered hers and he kissed her again. Kissed her until she was dizzy with the heat of it.

Moments later—or was it longer?—she was standing in the doorway watching him drive away.

Megan frowned. Had she missed something? She didn’t remember going into the house, or telling him good night.

Lifting a hand to her neck, she went inside and closed the door, wondering how she could still be hungry after all the fruit and cheese—and chocolate—she had eaten earlier.

She wobbled a little as she went into the kitchen. Had she had too much to drink? Was that why she felt so woozy?

Shaking her head, she filled a glass with orange juice. Maybe she was drunk, she thought with a faint grin. Oh, yeah. Drunk on Rhys Costain’s kisses.

“I have tickets to Drexel’s concert this coming Saturday night,” Megan said. “Would you like to go? I already asked Mr. Parker for the night off.”

Rhys had driven her to work earlier and was now in the process of trying on three-quarter-length Armani coats to replace the one that had been ruined in the attempted robbery.

“Drexel? Is he the kid that was in here the other night? The one who wants to marry you?”

“That’s him. By the way, Mr. Parker’s been telling all of our customers what a hero you are. One of them is a reporter for the Times. He’d like to interview you for a human interest story.”

“No, thanks.”

“Don’t you want your fifteen minutes of fame?”

“Not even five minutes.”

“Most people these days will do almost anything to get their names or pictures in the news.”

“True enough,” he agreed. “But I’m not like most people.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Lifting her hand, she smoothed the collar of his coat. “This one fits like it was made for you. Check it out in the mirror.”

“No need.” He smiled at her. “I can see myself in your eyes.”

It occurred to her that, in all the times he had been in the shop, she had never once seen him look in a mirror.

Shrugging out of the coat, he handed it to her. “Do you want to meet me when you get off work?”

“I don’t think so.” Megan yawned behind her hand. “All these late nights are starting to catch up with me.”

“Maybe I could come over before you go to work tomorrow night?”

“All right. Shirl’s dying to meet you.”

“Shirl? She’s your roommate?”

Megan nodded. “She’s been seeing a cop pretty regularly and suggested the four of us go out for dinner and a movie sometime, if you want to.”

“Sure,” Rhys said agreeably, although dinner might present a problem. But he’d worry about that later.

“I told her about your nightclub. She said she’d like to see it.”

“As I recall, you mentioned she was into the Goth scene at one time.”

“Right. Do you want to try on anything else?”

“No, I’ll take this one.”

“Okay, just let me wrap it up.”

He followed her to the counter, content to stand there, watching her, as she slipped one of Shore’s distinctive vinyl garment bags over the Armani.

“What time tomorrow night?” he asked, taking the coat from her hand.

“Well, I have to be at work at eight. How about five? It’s my night to fix dinner.”

The hour wasn’t a problem. He could endure the sunlight for brief periods of time. But the food. Short of planting the thought in her head that he was eating, there was no way to get around it, so he said, “Go ahead and eat without me. I’ve got a meeting with some associates in the evening. I’ll try to be at your place around six thirty.”

“We can always eat later.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll grab something on my way over.”

“All right. Too bad about dinner, though. I’m a pretty good cook when I want to be.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Megan nodded. “Associates,” she murmured as she watched him leave the store. What kind of associates? Business? Or pleasure?

Adrianna brushed a lock of hair from her brow as she settled onto the sofa. “So, we’re all here,” she said impatiently. “Now what?”

“You have something better to do?” Rhys asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I haven’t fed yet, and I’m hungry. Why are we meeting so early?”

“Because I’ve got a date,” Rhys said, which got everyone’s attention. “That rogue vamp has left New Orleans and seems to be heading our way. There have been several killings reported in Houston. Bodies all drained of blood. No clues left behind. Have any of you heard anything?”

“Just what’s been on the news,” Nicholas said, shrugging. “I still don’t think it’s anything for us to worry about.”

“Unless he comes here, you idiot,” Seth Adams said. “One rogue vamp is all it takes to stir up the sheep.”

“If he comes here, it’ll be Costain’s problem,” Adrianna said, looking bored as she examined her fingernails. “After all, he’s the Master of the West Coast Vampires.”

Rhys turned his gaze on Adrianna. “If it comes to a fight, I’m sure we’re all hoping I’ll win,” he said, his voice harsh.

“Of course,” Adrianna replied smoothly. “Besides, there’s nothing for you to worry about. After all, there aren’t many vampires around who are older than you.”

Rhys grunted thoughtfully. He could count those older than himself on one hand—first and easily the most dangerous was Tomás Villagrande, the oldest vampire in existence. Tomás ruled the East Coast. After Tomás came Gregor McCarthy, an eight-hundred-year-old vampire who laid claim to both England and Ireland. Next came Baiba. Tall and svelte and seven centuries old, she made her home in Russia. Lastly, there was six-hundred-year-old Sandoval, who kept his primary lair in Madrid.

The ancient ones might defeat him, but Rhys had no fear of any of the other vampires who might come against him. He knew most of those who resided in the United States who might pose a threat. Volger ruled the states in the Midwest; a cocky vampire known as Tristan claimed the North; the South belonged to Morag, one of the oldest female vampires in existence, though not so old as Baiba.