Fangs for the Memories (21 page)

“I want to sleep with you tonight,” she said, and her heart gave a triumphant punch in the air.

Rhys didn’t quite believe he heard her correctly. But then she stepped toward him and touched his face. Her fingers caressed his
jawline
, tracing upward until they sank into his hair, gently brushing the long strands back from his cheek. The touch was both comforting and arousing all at once.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. Her gentle caress was exactly the touch he had been craving for so, so long. The grazing of her fingers over his skin, through his hair, loosened something coiled tight inside him. Something that he didn’t even know was twisted, twisted so tight that it threatened to suffocate him.

“Jane, are you sure?” He didn’t think he could handle it if she changed her mind again. “If you come to bed with me tonight, you are staying there.
Every night.”

Her hand paused, the pads of her fingers soft against his cheekbone. She stared into his eyes, her irises as green as new grass. “Yes. I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

Why did she still doubt him? Doubt his need for her? A need he knew he would have forever.

Forever.

The word echoed in his mind. Could he ask that of her?
If he had it to offer…

Her fingers moved again, drawing his attention back to her eyes, her pale skin,
her
pink lips. She threaded her hand into his hair, cupping the back of his head, and drew him to her, rising up on her toes to meet him. Those beautiful lips brushed over his jaw, inching upward, tasting him,
adoring him—until
they were pressed fully to his.

He was lost.

No, he had been lost, and now he was found. He didn’t understand where he’d been, but it didn’t matter. In Jane’s arms, he had sanctuary. He felt alive and whole, safe from the shadows and darkness…

Her tongue traced the seam of his lips, shy and fleeting, asking to taste him.

He moaned. Damn, her sweetness was enough to kill him.
Death.
Maybe this was what that mysterious entity felt like— like falling straight into heaven.

Yes, Jane was heaven. As close as he’d ever get.

He moved his hands up to cup her face, to hold her there, although she showed no signs of moving away.

Their lips continued to caress, velvet against velvet.
Their breaths mingled, hot and moist.
Their tongues touched, brief licks of fire.

Nothing but their mouths moved. Even their hands, holding each other, remained motionless as if neither one wanted anything to compete with the absoluteness of this kiss.

Rhys knew that the elevator had shuddered to a stop long ago, but still he couldn’t bring himself to release her. Afraid if he did, the moment would end. She would disappear.

But finally, Jane broke the kiss, looking up at him,
her
lids heavy with desire.
“Oh, my.”

He smiled. “I plan to make sure I hear that several more times tonight.”

He brushed a thumb along the fullness of her lower lip and the tiny cut there from earlier, before he dropped his hands from her cheeks and turned to open the elevator.

Then he reached back and took her hand, her small, slender fingers linking between each of his.

They headed through the apartment straight to the hallway and their rooms.

Outside his bedroom, Rhys stopped and turned to face Jane. “Are you absolutely sure.” He had to ask one more time, because if she said yes, he didn’t plan to ever let her go again.

She
nodded,
a firm bob of her head, nothing like the uncertain shakes he’d seen before.

Relief filled his chest, and he opened the door, waiting for her to enter first.

Once she was inside the room, she stood there, her back to him as if she was uncertain what to do next.

He walked up behind her, circling his arm around her waist, although the thickness of her coat made it hard to tell exactly where he held her.

“Let’s get rid of this,” he murmured as he tugged at the zipper. The coat parted, and he slid the puffy armor off her shoulders and tossed it onto a chair in the corner. He took off his own jacket, also throwing it onto the chair.

His arms returned to her waist, only to discover the sweater she had on underneath the coat was equally bulky, still disguising her curves. Slipping his hands under the heavy knit, he felt her heat, although through the thin cotton shirt she wore beneath the sweater.

“I’m glad we aren’t playing strip poker,” he murmured, leaning down to nuzzle her neck.

She tilted her head to give him better access.

“Why?” Her voice was a mixture of confusion and breathiness as he kissed the silky skin just below her
jawline
.

“Because we’d have to play into the wee hours of the night to get you out of all these clothes.”
He tugged at the shirt under the sweater.

“Oh. Yes,” she breathed as he kissed her neck again. “No strip poker.”

He smiled against her skin, breathing in her wonderful scent, flowery and warm.

Beneath the sweater, his hands skimmed up over her stomach, the crisp cotton smooth under his fingers.
But not nearly as smooth as he knew the skin underneath was.
He stopped just under the curve of her breasts.

“Should we take this sweater off?”

“Yes.” Her voice trembled with need.

He slowly ran his hands up her sides, feeling the delicate ridges of her rib cage. She wiggled and laughed slightly when his hands reached her underarms. But she readily raised her arms, so he could peel the sweater off over her head. The article of clothing joined their coats.

He returned his hands to her waist, guiding her around to face him. She gazed up at him, her eyes full of
desirous
expectation.

He kissed her, promising her satisfaction, but then straightened again and began to work on the small buttons of her white cotton shirt, taking his time. Their anticipation mingled in the air around them as the flick of each button revealed more of her milky white skin.

Her shirt finally fell open to reveal lace, pale yellow like wispy sunlight, covering her breasts.

His fingers trembled as he cupped her. She even felt like sunshine, golden warmth heating his hands.

Another breathy gasp escaped her, and she pressed against his hands, willingly giving him what he wanted.

His thumbs rubbed over her nipples. They responded immediately, prodding the pads of his thumbs.

As he teased her breasts, his mouth found the side of her neck, trailing kisses downward over her chest until he reached the peak of one breast, straining against the filmy veil of sunbeams.

He pulled the beaded nipple into his mouth, suckling her, drinking in her warmth and the shudder of her reaction.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring
herself
.

His mouth traveled across the shallow valley to her other breast. He grazed his teeth over the silky flesh, and her hands tangled in his hair, holding him closer.
Begging for more.

He gave it to her, drawing her other nipple between his lips, abrading the hardened nub gently with his teeth.

She gasped. “Rhys,” she
whispered,
his name a plea and a demand.

He lifted his head, staring down into her passion-hazed eyes, knowing his must look the same. He wanted all of her pale skin bared to him.
His to touch.
His to taste.

He nudged her shirt off her shoulders, baring her upper body, except for the bit of sun at her chest.

His hands then went to the button of her pants, his fingers brushing against the heat of her belly before he unfastened them.

He knelt before her, working the waistband down over the rounded curve of her hips until they were gathered at her ankles.

Hands on his shoulders, she balanced herself, toed off her shoes and stepped out of the pants.

Rhys looked up then, his eyes level with a triangle of lace, the same lemony color of the lace over her breasts.
Another ray of sunshine.

He leaned forward and kissed her stomach just beneath her belly button.

Jane’s fingers dug into the hard muscles of
Rhys’s
shoulders, desire making her legs weak.

His lips felt hot, his breath moist, against her stomach. Then his tongue licked the edge of her panties, a slow sweep, rough and wet.

She gasped, gripping him tighter.

He smiled against her skin. “Do you like that?”

“
Mmm
-hmm,” she managed as he tasted her again, this time where her panties touched her thigh.

To her disappointment, he gave her only a quick kiss where he’d just licked her, then stood. “I want to taste every inch of you, but not here in the middle of the floor. I want you stretched out in my bed.
Under me.”

She swallowed.
Under him.
Under that hard, lean body.
That was exactly where she wanted to be, too.

She frowned, for the first time registering that she was almost naked, while he was still fully clad.

“Your skin is so smooth,” he murmured as he pulled her closer, his hands stroking over her back.

“Yours is so covered,” she grumbled.

He pulled back and smiled down at her. “So it is.” He stepped back from her. “Would you like to rectify that?”

She nodded, desperately wanting to touch him, although her fingers trembled as she reached for the hem of his sweater. But she managed to push the soft material upward, exposing inch after inch of flat stomach and muscled chest.

Once she had the sweater up over his flat nipples and lightly haired chest, Rhys took it out of her grasp.

She watched mesmerized as muscles rippled throughout his torso and arms as he pulled the sweater over his head and tossed it onto a chair.

She stared at him, once more amazed that any mere mortal could be this beautiful. And more astounding, all this masculine beauty was hers.

Slowly, she reached for him. She attempted to work the button of his trousers, only to jump nervously when her knuckles brushed the heat of his belly. Trying again, her fingers felt alien and clumsy; her breath came in shallow puffs as she again touched the downy tautness of the stomach.

Finally, he caught her bumbling hands, bringing one up to his mouth, touching his lips to the knuckles that still burned from the fleeting brush against his belly.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asked, his voice low.

She took a deep breath,
then
met his eyes. “Do you have any idea how perfect you are? It’s a little nerve-wracking.”

He cocked an eyebrow,
skepticism
clear in his slight half smile.
“Nerve-wracking?
Me?”

“Yeah,” she said, astounded that he honestly seemed to have no idea how beautiful he was. “Haven’t you looked in the mirror lately?”

He frowned, grooves marking the perfection of his face. “I don’t…” His frown deepened, his eyes growing cool, distant. And Jane suddenly wished she hadn’t posed the question.
Although she didn’t understand why the question would cause him to look so aloof.
Maybe the fact that he
was
a hunk, and he was now questioning his decision to be with a plain Jane—literally.

He blinked, his eyes refocusing on her. “I don’t like mirrors.”

She hadn’t expected
that
response. But it was obvious from his voice, which was lower and huskier than usual, that the mere mention of them had irritated him. What a strange reaction.

But before she could ponder his response further, Jane suddenly found herself pulled tightly against his massive, hard chest, and his mouth seized hers.

Unlike the kiss in the elevator—or even in the park—this one was almost rough, a determined assault, but no less arousing.
And in some ways, more arousing.
This kiss claimed her, possessed her, and she felt it to the tips of her toes.

Jane’s hands slid up his chest, feeling the roughened silk of his skin and hair. His muscles moved under her fingers— powerful, alive.

His teeth grazed her lower lip, and his tongue tasted the inside of her mouth.

She moaned, opening wider for him, her tongue touching his, encouraging him to continue his raid of her mouth.

Without taking his lips from hers, he lifted her into his arms, striding to the bed.

He broke the kiss, placing her in the center of the mattress. He stood over her, his eyes intense like smoldering coals.

“And you call me perfection,” he murmured, reaching down to run the back of one of his fingers up the length of her calf.

“All flawless pale skin and sunshine.
All I want is to bury myself in your light.”

She stared up at him, the need in his eyes and the husky hunger in his voice causing her heart to pound in her chest.