Fangs for the Memories (34 page)

“She will accept what you are.”

Rhys shot him a wry glance.

“Well, she will eventually.”

Rhys snorted at that.

“Do you think she’s really going to be safe with Christian out there?” Sebastian pointed out.

Rhys stared blankly at the mob below them. If he could convince Christian that Jane meant nothing to him, and he got her away from here, she’d be safe.

He’d been too rash tonight. Too determined to make Jane believe he didn’t care about her. That had been very careless on his part. He needed
to
be sure Christian didn’t realize there was any connection between them before he made her go.

He just hoped Mick had found her.

Where was he?

As if
Rhys’s
thoughts had called him, Mick appeared next to his chair.

“I couldn’t find her.”

“What?” Fear curdled in
Rhys’s
stomach.

Mick shook his head. “I followed her trail for a while. And it just vanished.”

Rhys swore to himself. How could he be so stupid? Why hadn’t he thought this out? He’d been so resolute about ending things; he should have been more careful.

He stood. He had to find her.
If Christian hurt her…
No, he had to believe that somewhere deep inside the cruel vampire was the brother he’d once loved.

He started to push past Mick, but the hulking man caught his arm.

“Shit,” Sebastian muttered from behind him.

Rhys didn’t even need to look at his brother or follow both men’s gazes. The scent of flowers laced with something foul had already reached his nose.

But he did look, immediately spotting Jane in the crowd. And right beside her was Christian, his arm looped through hers.

Their eyes met.
Pale blue clashing with hazel.

“It’s strange,” Jane shouted, gaping around her in amazement as she tugged off her coat. “I lived above this place, but this is the first time I’ve actually been in here.”

“Really?”
Even though Chris responded, she could tell he was distracted.

It was hard not to be with all the flashing lights and loud music.
And the people…
A guy with artificially black hair, heavy eye makeup and a three-piece suit walked past her. She frowned at the odd combination.

Suddenly, Chris’s hand clasped hers, and he pulled her toward the dance floor.

“Oh, no,” she protested, laughing.

But he didn’t seem to hear.

Next thing she knew, she was in the middle of a sea of writhing bodies, and Chris held her tight against the full length of his tall, lean body.

She tried to pull away, but he grasped her closer, the arms around her back like steel bands.

“Chris!”

He grinned down at her, and sudden uneasiness seized her.

“Don’t you like to dance?”

She didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t acting at all like the man she’d just spent the evening with. Even his features looked different, harsher, the bones of his face more pronounced.

One of his hands slid down her back to grip her bottom, the touch rough, designed to show possession.
Power.

“Do you think he likes to watch us dance?”

For a moment, she didn’t understand what Chris meant. Then she felt “him,”
a warmth
on her skin unrelated to the sweaty heat of the gyrating mob, or Chris’s shocking familiarity.

She looked around, spotting Rhys standing at the railing of the upper level. His eyes bore into her.

“That’s Rhys,” she stated, but then she realized Chris already knew.

He smiled again. “Yes. I know.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear, his voice low and silky and frightening. “Maybe I should have done a better job introducing myself. I’m Christian Young.
Rhys’s
brother.”

She tried to pull away, his words frightening her even more, although she couldn’t say why. But he held her fast, his grip unbreakable. Then his tongue traced the shape of her ear.

“Don’t forget to ask Rhys about
Lilah
.”

His words barely seemed to register in her ears before he was gone.
Disappearing into the sea of bodies.

She staggered, both startled by his sudden release and relieved.

Christian.

She started to leave the dance floor, her legs still shaky, her spinning mind made dizzier, more disoriented, by the swaying bodies all around her.

Then she saw Rhys.

He descended the curved metal staircase from the upper level, never taking his eyes off her, and she gave up trying to make her wobbly legs work. She just stood among the dancers, keeping her gaze locked with his, as if he were the beacon in a violent storm.

When he stepped onto the dance floor, she lost sight of him among the crowd. Then suddenly, he was right in front of her. They stared at each other, motionless in a sea of writhing bodies. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the confusion. She followed, unable and unwilling to do otherwise.

His long strides took them into a darkened corner of the club. He swung her in front of him and walked her backward until she was trapped between the wall and the hardness of his body. His amber eyes blazed down at her with anger, desire and fear.

Jane’s lungs seized to a halt.

“Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, still unable to inhale. She felt as trapped by
Rhys’s
intense stare as by the weight of his large, hard body.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine,” she managed in a breathy voice, amazed that with all the confusion and all the questions whirling in her mind, her body still reacted so readily to his touch.

She started to open her mouth to speak, to try and stay focused on what just happened, but Rhys didn’t give her the chance.

He shifted her hands over her head, pinning them there with one hand as his mouth came down on hers, fierce, desperate.

Despite her confusion, she couldn’t stop herself from responding. She met his kiss with the same desperate urgency, sucking on his lips and tongue. His free hand touched her everywhere, the strokes as frantic as his kiss, as if he didn’t truly believe she was all
right,
or maybe that she was even real.

He pulled his lips away from hers and began to stream open-mouthed kisses along her
jawline
, her neck, her chest. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, helpless under his frenzied onslaught.

Fingers tugged at the tie at the side of her shirt, and the material loosened. He peeled the shirt open, his mouth finding her nipple through the lace of her bra, sucking hard. His hand stroked her other breast, her stomach, her back.

She pressed against him as much as her restricted position would allow. She needed to touch him, too.
To calm him, to reassure him.

“Rhys,” she murmured, her voice pleading, filled with longing.

His mouth returned, plundering her soft lips as he held his body close to hers, her breasts flat against his chest and his knee between her legs.

His touch was rough and exciting. She couldn’t stop herself from rubbing against him, her nipples rasping the lace and cotton, her mound pressing silk and soft denim.

His knee nudged her legs open wider, and his hand touched her through her panties. Then the panties were pushed aside, and callused fingers tormented her, circling her, filling her.

She panted, her need for him, sharp, violent, seeming to match the pounding beat of the music that surrounded them.

His hands left her, and she bucked against him, demanding him back.

He returned, the thick head of his penis replacing his fingers, rubbing along her wet, swollen flesh. He used his legs to spread her knees wider as he positioned himself.

In one powerful stroke, he entered her, filling her completely, his body, his hands, his penis pinning her to the wall. His mouth held her mouth captive.

He drove into her, deep, with his erection, with his tongue. One thrust.
Another.
And another.
Pulsating music, flashing lights, and pounding, relentless desire, until spasm after spasm of violent release overtook her.

She cried out, the sound lost in his mouth, and her body fell limp under his.

Rhys stared down at Jane, unable to believe what he’d just done.
Taken her, against the nightclub wall.
In the dim corner and with the angle of his body, no one passing by would know he was buried deep inside her. But he knew. And he knew why he’d lost control.

The sight of Jane in Christian’s arms had nearly destroyed him. He’d been furious, blind rage tearing through him that Christian dared touch her.

Then his rage had turned to fear when Christian had lowered his head to whisper something in her ear. His mouth so near the tender skin of her neck. Sheer terror had gripped Rhys as he realized Christian might kill her right there.
Right on the dance floor.
Right in front of him.

But when he got to Jane and looked in her wide, green eyes, he had to hold her. Had to love her and make sure that she was all right. That she was still his.

But now with her collapsed against him, her eyes closed, her face a study in satisfaction, he couldn’t believe he’d let things get so out of hand.

He gently lowered her arms, afraid they might be stiff from the angle he’d had them in.

She opened her eyes then and gave him the sweetest smile. Not looking in the least like a woman who’d just been taken roughly against a wall.

He kept his body close to hers, shielding her from any
passersby
as he straightened her clothing, then his own.

She leaned on the wall, watching him. Not saying a word, although he knew she must have questions. About what they’d just done.
About Christian.

Once they were presentable, he took her hand and led her to the back entrance. The large bouncer that guarded the door simply stepped aside as they approached, and they exited the lights and the music.

The hallway was deafeningly quiet in comparison, but still neither spoke as they got on the elevator. Nor did they talk once they were inside the apartment.

It wasn’t until they were in the library and Rhys had poured them both a drink that Jane finally spoke.

And Rhys wasn’t at all prepared for her first words.

“Tell me about
Lilah
.”

Rhys’s
first reaction was to ignore her request. What could he tell her?

Oh, yes,
Lilah
. She was the evil bitch who crossed me and my brothers over to vampirism. She’s dead now, though.

“Was
Lilah
Christian’s girlfriend?”

Rhys almost smiled at that title. Christian’s girlfriend. It sounded so sweet.
So innocent.
So normal.
Christian’s relationship with
Lilah
had been none of those things.

“
Lilah
was the woman, and I use that term loosely, that destroyed Christian’s life. Quite literally,” he muttered.

Jane stared at the glass in her hands, rolling it slowly between her palms.

“He said you… took advantage of her.”

Rhys snorted. “Yes, he would say that.”

“Did you? Is that what this feud with Christian is about?” She still didn’t look at him.

He closed his eyes briefly. Why did it hurt that she might believe Christian’s words? What did it matter? If it convinced her to run, then let her believe the worst.

He couldn’t.

“Our feud is definitely about
Lilah
,” he told her. “But the events didn’t happen the way he recalls them.”

She glanced up at him, her hands pausing on her glass. “Then how did they happen?”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments. How could he tell the story when all the facts were exactly what made it unbelievable? Why was he even considering trying to tell her? He should just tell her he had done all the horrible things Christian said.
And more.
And convince her to run.

But his mouth didn’t listen to the reasoning of his mind.

“We were living in
England
when Christian met
Lilah
.”

Jane stared at Rhys, waiting for him to continue.

“Christian decided to move to
London
. We had a row house there. I preferred our country home, but he hated rural life. He hated the quiet and the slow pace. He craved excitement. I didn’t want him to go; being the oldest, I felt responsible for him.”

Jane knew that about Rhys—that he’d feel as though he had to watch out for his rebellious brother.