Fangs for the Memories (19 page)

She shrugged. “I can tell from the few things that you’ve told me that you are the reliable one. I’ve met Sebastian—he’s happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care. You said that Christian is the wild one. And
Elizabeth
is the baby. That leaves you to care for everyone.”

She fell silent after her explanation. Maybe she’d said too much. But somehow, she knew that was the truth—Rhys did care for others. His amnesia didn’t affect that. He was a good person, a compassionate person.
The kind of person who would save a stranger.
She knew that firsthand.

After a few moments, she realized that he was still silent. His eyes had lost their excited glitter, and his mouth was set in a solemn line. He suddenly reminded
her a
lot of the man she’d met in the bar.

“I should have taken better care of them.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted them back. He didn’t even understand why he said them. He had done his best to care for his siblings since their parents’ deaths.

But he should have done more. If he’d been stronger, he could have stopped everything that happened. He should have…

“Well, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’ve done a wonderful job,” Jane’s sweet voice said, pulling him back from wherever he’d been.

He blinked. “I hope so.”

“It can’t be easy to be the oldest. All the burdens fall on you.”

That was true.
Sometimes far too much burden.

He gazed down at Jane at his side. She offered him a reassuring smile. He smiled back, glad that she was there. Maybe she’d help him. Help him cope with all the burdens.

They both focused on the sidewalk in front of them.

“Oh, look,” Jane said suddenly, pointing to a cart selling hotdogs. “I have to get one.”

He smiled, bewildered by why she would be so excited about a common barrow. But he nodded.
“All right.”

She let go of his hand and dashed up to the cart. The man with olive skin and a thick
mustache
didn’t appear nearly as thrilled to wait on her as Jane was to order.

Rhys picked up his stride to join her.

“I’ll have a hotdog with mustard and relish.
Lots of mustard, please.”
She shot Rhys a proud sidelong glance as if she had done something amazing. “You always see people in movies—I mean, people always talk about ordering hotdogs from street vendors in
New—
er
,
London
.”

Rhys noticed that the barrow man raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by that comment, too.
Hotdogs?
What an odd thing for Americans to find so fascinating. He didn’t even know that
England
was famous for that particular product.

“What can I get you, buddy?” the man asked him as he prepared Jane’s food.

Rhys breathed in deeply, and even though the smell of the hotdogs didn’t appeal to him, he ordered one anyway—exactly the same as Jane’s.

“My treat,” Jane told him as she pulled money out of her coat pocket.

Rhys started to argue, but Jane smiled saucily and said, “Tough.” She thrust a bill at the barrow man.

After the change had been given, and they both got their foil-wrapped meals, Jane led him over to a low concrete wall that ran the perimeter of a fountain.

They
sat,
their backs to the gushing water. Jane happily peeled open her food and bit into the yellow and green slathered concoction. Her eyes closed in bliss, and she moaned with
complete
satisfaction.

Rhys’s
body reacted immediately to the throaty sound. Hunger of his own ripped through him, his eyes fastened on her rapturous expression. Then his gaze strayed from her face to the glimpse of bare skin at the base of her throat.

Suddenly he wanted to taste her there. He had to taste her.

“Are you going to try it?”

He blinked, focusing back on her eyes. She lifted her hot-dog and then gestured to the one he still held.

It took him a few moments to calm his raging desire, but finally he managed a nod. “Yes.”

After a few more moments, he followed her earlier actions and
unwrapped
the foil. He hesitated, inspecting the unappetizing tube of meat. Then he took a bite.

He immediately grimaced, chewing slowly, fighting back a gag. How could she enjoy this? The meat tasted old and rancid, like the sausage had been improperly smoked.

He forced himself to swallow, even though every muscle in his body was ordering him to spit out the vile creation.

“Good Lord,” he groaned, after he could speak. “That is absolutely disgusting.”

She chuckled, having to finish chewing before she could ask, “You’ve never had a hotdog before?”

He shook his head. “No. Nor will I ever have one again.”

She laughed again. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she grabbed the remainder of the horrible meal from his hands.
“Oh, no!
You probably aren’t supposed to have them. Sebastian said you are allergic to a lot of foods.”

“Yes, I remember you saying that,” he said, giving her a wry look. “And I have no idea where he gets that information. Surely, I’d remember if I had these allergies. In this case, I don’t believe I’m allergic—I simply think I dislike hotdogs.
Intensely.”

She studied him for a minute. Then relief softened her features. But the look was quickly replaced by another look that was almost impish. “Then I just have to eat yours, too.”

He shuddered,
then
laughed.
“By all means.”

They sat there quietly.
Jane happily munching.
Rhys still feeling hungry, but certainly not for hotdogs.
He was hungry for something out of his reach. Something he couldn’t quite define.

He watched Jane. Maybe he was mixing up hunger with desire, although he didn’t have
to
try to figure out what he desired. Jane.
Definitely Jane.
Too bad, for the time being, she was out of reach, too.

Jane finished, wadded up the wrappers and sighed. “That was great. Sorry you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Well, I enjoyed watching you. I have to respect a lady with a hearty appetite.”

She blushed. “I don’t think that is a compliment.”

“It certainly is,” he assured her, then leaned in to steal a quick kiss, despite the fact that it was just a frustrating torture. A sweet taste of what he couldn’t have. Not for a little longer anyway.

She responded immediately, as she always did.

When they parted, she shivered.

He hoped it was desire that caused the tremble, but he asked, “Are you getting cold?”

She shook her head, but her voice didn’t sound quite as definite. “I’m fine.”

“Maybe we should try to find a place to get out of the night air for a while.”

Jane shook her head again. “No, I’m having a wonderful time walking around, taking in all the sights. Just as you said I would.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She stood. “Plus, I’ll warm up once we start walking again.”

Rhys relented.
“Where to, then?”

“Let’s go to
Central Park
,” she suggested with a wide grin.

He smiled indulgently. “You mean
Hyde Park
.”

Her smile slipped slightly at her mistake.
“Right.”

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “You’ll remember where you are soon enough.”

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Rhys took Jane’s hand as they started down

They reached an intersection and were waiting to cross the street when the rich, wonderful scent of coffee filled her nostrils. She looked around, noticing a coffee bar on the corner behind them. Several bundled-up patrons exited with steaming, white cups in their hands.

“
Oow
, I would love a hot cup of
chai
.
How about you?”

Rhys followed her gaze. “I don’t drink—
chai
. But let’s get you one. Maybe it will warm you up.”

She smiled, touched that he was still concerned she was cold. She just wasn’t used to someone looking after her.

“Yes,” she agreed, and they headed inside.

The place was packed, people lounging on overstuffed, purple, velvet chairs and sofas, sipping lattes and cappuccinos. Several read books or typed on laptops, but most of the patrons sat chatting, filling the room with a warm buzz that combined nicely with the pleasant scent of roasted coffee.

“Why don’t you wait here,” Rhys said, gesturing to the one vacant chair. “I’ll order for you.”

She glanced at the line waiting to order and the limited space at the registers. “Okay. I’ll have a spiced
chai
. Tall.”

Rhys frowned. “Spiced? Tall?”

She laughed. “It’s the type of tea and the size.”

“Oh.
Right.
Tall.”

She nodded, grinning as she watched him head up to the long line, confusion still clear in his handsome features. She settled into the comfy chair and took in her surroundings. It was a neat place—sort of edgy bohemian, if there was such a thing. And the patrons looked very much like she pictured young New Yorkers—stylish even in their casual clothes. Hip, interesting.

She glanced down at her jeans, thick sweater and bulky parka. She looked like a Mainer—all she needed were the L.L. Bean boots and a hat with ear flaps.

Her gaze found Rhys again. He fit in here with his classy all black attire, right down to his chunky-soled shoes. And black looked fantastic on him. It brought out the shades of amber and gold in his dark hair and made his skin look warm and perfect.

Then she noticed the woman in front of him, a tall woman with exotic dark eyes and long, glossy dark brown hair. She kept turning to cast sidelong glances at him, and there was no missing the interest on her face.

Finally, she must have caught
Rhys’s
attention, because she smiled openly at him and said something. Jane couldn’t see
Rhys’s
reaction, because his back was to her. But something that felt altogether too much like jealousy welled in Jane’s belly.

She had no right to feel jealous. Did she?

Well, she had slept with him, but she had no way of knowing whether that was a common thing for Rhys. After all, he was an extraordinarily beautiful man, and he had to garner a lot of female attention.

Obviously, she thought bitterly as the woman laughed at something Rhys said.

Jane sank back in the chair, feeling even more unfashionable compared to the tall brunette. She glanced down at herself again. And as if the heavy, cumbersome coat wasn’t bad enough, she noticed a small blotch of mustard on the dark green material.

She sat up and swiped at the splotch, looking around for napkins. She spotted them over by the door on a table with creamers, sweeteners and straws.

After waiting for a man to add nearly a dozen packets of sugar to his coffee, she finally got to the napkin dispenser. She grabbed a couple of the brown paper napkins and rubbed at the spot until it was only a faint discoloration on the material.

Barely noticeable, she told herself as she started back to the chair where she’d been sitting. The man with the very, very sweet coffee sat there, relaxed against the soft cushions.

She glanced back at Rhys, trying to decide if she should just go join him, when she noticed he was still talking to the brunette. Then Rhys glanced over at the chair where he’d left Jane. When he saw the man there, he quickly searched the room until he spotted Jane. Something flickered in his eyes when he located her, but she couldn’t quite make out what it was.

He smiled, but then he turned back to the other woman.

Disappointment filled Jane. What had she expected him to do? Blow her a kiss? Yell across the room that Jane was his girlfriend? Or that he loved her?

She paused, her gaze fastened onto his back. Why had she even thought that?
Love.
She should laugh at such a crazy thought—but instead she felt sick. She couldn’t be thinking that she actually wanted Rhys to be in love with her. Or that she could fall in love with him.

She was still staring at him, completely freaked out by that train of thought, when someone brushed against her.

“Sorry,” a deep voice said, right beside her ear.

She started and turned to look up into a pair of eyes so pale they appeared closer to white than the blue she knew they must be.

“That’s—okay,” she managed.

The man gave her a small, closed-lip smile. “Waiting for someone?”