Chapter 8
When Megan got home from work, she found Shirl stretched out on the sofa, a folded washcloth draped over her forehead.
“Another migraine?” Megan asked, dropping her handbag and coat on a chair.
Shirl nodded.
“You’ve been having them more often lately. Maybe you should go to the doctor.”
“Never.”
Sitting on the love seat, Megan kicked off her heels. Shirl hated doctors and hospitals, probably because she had spent so much time in one during her father’s illness last year. “Can I get you anything?”
“Another head?”
“I’ll call Frankenstein and see if he has a spare.”
“Very funny.”
“Who are the flowers from?” Megan asked, noticing the huge bouquet on the mantel.
“I don’t know. They’re for you. They arrived a few minutes ago.”
“For me?” Tired as she was, Megan jumped to her feet. Who would be sending her flowers? And where on earth had whoever it was found a florist who delivered at this time of the night?
“What’s the card say?” Shirl asked. “It was all I could do to keep from reading it.”
Megan opened the envelope and withdrew the small white card. “It says, ‘I’m sorry for being such a cad. Can we start over? RC.’”
“Who’s RC?”
“The guy I told you about.”
Sitting up, Shirl folded her arms under her br**sts. “You mean the one who scares you?”
“The very same.” Megan ran her fingertips over the roses. There must have been three dozen flowers, each one a perfect, blood red bud.
“I thought he hadn’t been coming around?”
“He hasn’t.”
“And that’s a good thing, right? Right?”
“What? Oh, right.” Megan plucked a bud from the vase, then sat down on the end of the sofa.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Well…”
“Go on.”
“I miss him.”
“Apparently he misses you, too. I’ll bet those roses cost a good three hundred dollars, not to mention an extra couple of bucks for that vase. It looks like real crystal. And I’ll bet it cost him a pretty penny to get the florist to make a delivery this late, too. So, what is it about Mr. RC that scares you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Something he did? Something he didn’t do? Something he said?”
“No, nothing like that. I think I’m just, I don’t know, letting my imagination run away with me. How’s your headache?”
“Better,” Shirl said with a yawn. “I think I’m gonna try to get a few hours’ sleep. And as for that RC guy, maybe you ought to give him another chance.”
“I thought you said to trust my instincts?”
“I did, didn’t I?” Shirl yawned again. “I don’t know, Meggie,” she said as she headed for the stairs. “He’s young, rich, and thoughtful. Doesn’t sound that bad to me. Maybe we can double date some time.”
Megan shook her head. So much for Shirl’s advice about following her instincts. She glanced at the roses on the mantel. Should she give Rhys another chance? Even if she didn’t want to see him again, the least she could do was thank him for the flowers. She could look up his number at the store tomorrow.
She felt a bubble of excitement at the thought of hearing his voice again.
Smiling, she replaced the rose in the vase, then went up to bed. The sooner she went to sleep, the sooner tomorrow would come.
She dreamed of him that night, a strange dream unlike any she had ever had before. It was so vivid, so real, it didn’t seem like a dream at all. She heard his voice in her mind, entreating her to let him in, and because it was what she wanted, she bid him come to her, and in an instant, he was there, inside her bedroom, kneeling on the foot of her bed, a strange reddish glow in his devil-dark eyes. When he held out his arms, she went to him gladly, only then realizing just how much she had missed him.
He cradled her to his chest as his hand stroked her hair. “You should tell me to go, now, before it’s too late.”
“But you just got here.”
“I’m no good for you.”
She looked into his eyes; such deep, dark eyes. Hypnotic eyes.
“Megan. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t stay away.”
“Then don’t.”
“Foolish girl.” His hand stroked her neck, slid over her shoulder and down her arm. “If you only knew…”
“Knew what?”
“Who I am.” His hand cupped her breast. “What I am.”
Her eyelids fluttered down as he caressed her. “It doesn’t matter.” She moaned softly as he feathered kisses over her cheeks, the curve of her throat. His mouth was hot, so hot it sent waves of heat spiraling through her. Trembling with need, she clung to him.
He groaned deep in his throat. Drawing her down on the bed, he stretched out beside her, his arms holding her body close to his, their legs intimately entwined. He kissed her again and yet again, kissed her until she was aware of nothing but his touch, his voice. Her need.
He sobbed her name, his body tensing, and then she felt his teeth at her throat. There was a sharp pinprick of pain followed by a wave of intense sensual pleasure.
The pain startled her. You didn’t feel pain in a dream.
Reaching for the bedside light, she switched it on, expecting to see Rhys lying beside her.
But no one was there.
Rhys cursed himself as he fled Megan’s house. He hadn’t gone there with the intention of drinking from her. He had only wanted to be near her again, to bask in the warmth of her presence. Damn! As for the flowers, he had sent them in a moment of weakness. Weakness! Damn her. What was there about Megan DeLacey that made him think of settling down? He swore a vile oath. He was a vampire, not some puny mortal. Even if he desired a wife and a family, which he didn’t, that life was impossible for such as he. And yet Megan…ah, Megan with her sweet lips and her luscious body, she made him long for the kind of life that was forever denied him.
A thought took him to his club. Several of the regulars were sitting at the bar, sipping drinks. He grabbed the nearest female and took her to his private room. He was a single, white male, the Master of the West Coast Vampires, one of the most powerful creatures in the world. Why was he mooning over one mortal female?
The woman, Monique, smiled up at him when he closed the door, obviously pleased that he had chosen her.