Was it luck, coincidence, or fate that had sent him into the store that night? Most likely it had been fate, now having a good laugh at his expense due to the fact that not more than twenty-four hours ago he had renewed his vow never to get involved with a mortal woman again; like it or not, he had become involved the minute he laid eyes on her.
Whistling softly, he headed for home. Time to clean out his closet, he mused, since he suspected he would be buying a whole new wardrobe in the next few weeks.
Megan was ringing up a sale for the lead guitarist in a popular rock band when she felt an odd sensation skitter down her spine. Looking up, she felt a nervous flurry in the pit of her stomach when she saw the young man who had come into the shop late last night. Rhys Costain.
Her smile was forced as she bid good night to her customer, then quickly turned away, pretending to check something on the computer, all the while hoping Mr. Parker would come forward to assist their customer.
But Mr. Parker remained in his office, with the door closed.
Megan didn’t hear Costain’s footsteps come up behind her, but she knew he was there. She could sense his presence, feel the intensity of his gaze on her back as he waited for her to acknowledge him.
Megan took a deep breath, counted to three, and turned around. “Good evening, Mr. Costain,” she said coolly. “How may I help you?”
“How, indeed?” he murmured.
His voice was smooth and soft, yet she detected a sharp edge underneath, like satin over steel. “Excuse me?”
“I’m looking for a black leather jacket.”
“What length?”
He shrugged, a graceful, unhurried movement. “Mid-thigh?”
“We have a few back here you might like.” Without waiting to see if he followed, she walked toward the back of the store. Pulling their most expensive coat from the rack, she held it up. “How about this one?”
He ran his hand lightly over the supple leather.
Watching him, Megan couldn’t help imagining that pale, graceful hand stroking her bare skin.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Y…yes, very much.”
“Do you mind if I try it on?”
“Of course not.”
His hand brushed hers as he took the coat from the hanger. His skin was cool, yet a rush of heat flowed through her at his touch.
The coat fit as if it had been made for him, emphasizing his fair hair and broad shoulders.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. What was there about this man that made her feel like a tongue-tied teenager?
She felt her cheeks grow hot when he looked at her and smiled, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“So, you like it?”
Striving for calm, she said, “It looks very nice. There’s a mirror over there. See for yourself.”
“No need.” Still smiling, he turned away, heading for the other side of the store.
Megan felt her blush deepen when he picked up several pairs of silk briefs, all black. Why was she acting so foolish? Men came in here and bought underwear all the time.
Frowning, she watched him pick up a dozen wife-beater T-shirts before moving to the checkout counter.
Regaining her senses, Megan stepped up to the register. “Are you going to wear the coat?”
With a nod, he removed the price tag and handed it to her.
She quickly rang up the sale, dropped his briefs and T-shirts in a bag, and offered it to him, careful, once again, to avoid his touch.
Again, his lips curved in that knowing smile.
“Good night, Mr. Costain,” she said, her voice tight.
“Good night, Miss DeLacey.”
The way he said her name made her insides curl with pleasure.
And then she frowned. “How did you know my name?”
He shrugged. “You must have mentioned it.”
She stared after him as he left the store. She was certain she hadn’t told him her name. The fact that he knew it left her feeling violated somehow.
He returned to the store every night just after midnight for the next week, and he always bought something: a dark pinstriped suit; a dozen dress shirts—black, brown, navy, and dark gray—all silk. He bought four pairs of Armani slacks in varying shades of brown, as well as three pairs of black slacks, two belts, three ties, a pair of black slippers, a black silk dressing gown.
Tonight he picked out a Trafalgar American Alligator wallet priced at $550.
He gave her a long, lingering look that made her insides curl with pleasure before he left the store.
“He’s a big spender, that one,” Parker said, coming up behind Megan. “I wonder what he does for a living.”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, I hope he sticks around. We haven’t had a week like this since Bono came in to do his Christmas shopping.”
Megan nodded, though secretly she hoped that Mr. Rhys Costain would go back to wherever he had come from. His mere presence flustered her, and she didn’t like it. She was far past the age to come unglued in the presence of a handsome man, especially when that man was at least ten years younger than she was.
It was close to three A.M. when Megan arrived at the small, two-story house she shared with her best friend, Shirley Mansfield. Shirl was a fashion model, which sounded a lot more glamorous than it was. Being a model involved dedication and self-denial, especially for Shirl, who was older than most of the popular models and had to work harder to keep fit. Of course, as far as anyone in the business knew, she was seven years younger than her actual twenty-eight years. Shirl rose every weekday at six and headed to the gym for a thirty-minute workout. Then she came home, took a shower, and ate a calorie-controlled breakfast. Then she was off to casting appointments and fittings, and, because she was extremely popular, more often than not she had a fashion shoot in the afternoon. She didn’t usually make it home before five. Of course, the pay was excellent.
Megan didn’t see much of Shirl during the week, since Shirl was usually in bed long before Megan got home from work.
After taking a quick shower, Megan slipped into a pair of comfy pj’s and curled up in her favorite chair, determined to read for a few minutes before she went to bed. But she couldn’t seem to concentrate on the words. Instead, Rhys Costain’s image drifted through her mind. She told herself to forget him. For one thing, he was much too young for her; for another, there was an air of danger about him that scared her on some deep inner level she didn’t understand.
With a sigh of resignation, Megan closed the book and set it aside. Tomorrow was Saturday. She didn’t have to work Sunday or Monday. If Shirl didn’t have anything scheduled for Sunday night, maybe they could get together for dinner and a movie.
Later, lying in bed waiting for sleep to find her, Megan was irritated to find her thoughts again turning toward Rhys Costain. How did he spend his weekends? Was he buying all those new clothes to impress a new girlfriend? Or a new wife?
The thought of him with another woman was oddly disconcerting, and she shook it away. She didn’t like him. Didn’t like the way he made her feel, or the dark thoughts that flitted through her mind whenever he was near.
Flopping over onto her stomach, she pounded her fist against the pillow. She had been spending far too much time thinking about the man.
Yet even as she tried to convince herself that she didn’t care if she ever saw him again, a little voice in the back of her mind whispered that she was a liar.
Chapter 3
It was late Saturday night, his favorite night to hunt. Finding prey was never a problem, but it was always easier on the weekend, especially if you were hunting young males. They tended to party too much, drink too much, making them easy targets. But it was the tasty young women with them that Rhys generally preferred. Female blood tended to be warmer, sweeter on the tongue. And even when they were high, they smelled better than their male companions.
/> At midnight, Rhys lingered outside one of the more fashionable nightclubs, waiting. He intended to pay a visit to Shore’s again, and it would be better for him, and for the woman, if he fed before he saw her. He didn’t need to feed as often as he once had, but he was addicted to the hunt. He feared he was also becoming addicted to the woman. Megan. He had plucked her name from her mind on a recent visit. Megan DeLacey. He liked the sound of it, the way it rolled off his tongue, like poetry.
He liked her.
And he intended to have her.
All of her.
But not just yet.
Moments later, a man and a woman in their midtwenties emerged from the bar, their arms wrapped around each other as they staggered down the street.
Pushing away from the side of the building, Rhys followed the couple to the parking lot, his fangs extending as he quickened his pace.
Taking them was all too easy.
Megan was somewhat surprised when Rhys Costain arrived at Shore’s half an hour or so before closing. Since he usually arrived just after midnight, she had assumed he wouldn’t be coming, and had even managed to convince herself she was relieved, though her foolish heart had skipped a beat in nervous anticipation every time the door opened.
Each time a client had walked in, she had swallowed her disappointment and told herself she didn’t care if ever she saw Rhys Costain again or not, even though she knew it was a lie. She had never been one to deceive herself, and it annoyed her to no end that she was doing it now. She didn’t know the man. She wasn’t even sure she liked him, so how to explain her illogical desire to see him again, or the way her heart seemed to skip a beat whenever he stepped through the door?
He was dressed all in black tonight. The color suited him perfectly. She watched him walk toward her, although walk didn’t come close to describing the way he moved. He moved so lightly, so fluidly, she wondered if he studied ballet. Mikhail Baryshnikov meets Bela Lugosi, she thought, with a rueful grin.
“Good evening,” he murmured.
“Your closet must be full to bursting by now,” Megan remarked. “I’ve never known anyone to buy as many clothes as you do.”
He smiled a slow, crooked smile that made her insides turn to jelly. “Surely you realize that I only come here to see you.”
“A date would be less expensive,” she muttered, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Where had that idea come from? And why on earth had she voiced it aloud?
“I should like that very much,” he said. “Shall I pick you up after work?”
“I don’t think so. You’re a little too young for me.”
“I’m older than I look.”
“How old are you?” It was an impertinent thing to ask a customer, but her curiosity refused to be stilled. He looked young, except for his eyes.
“What does it matter? Age is only a number.”
“Well, you look to be about twenty, and since I’m pushing thirty, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”
“Are you sure I can’t change your mind? There’s a little club not far from here where we can share a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and get to know each other better.”
Megan shook her head, though she couldn’t help being flattered. He wasn’t the first young guy who had asked her out, but, until now, she had never been tempted to accept. She found the idea of getting to know Rhys Costain quite intriguing, and scary as hell. “Thank you, but I don’t think so. It’s against company policy to date customers.”
“Indeed?”
Megan nodded, certain he knew she was lying.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to buy something.” He glanced around the store, then moved toward a display of Italian driving gloves.
He picked out a pair of black leather ones by Forzieri that sold for one hundred and twenty dollars, a pair of dark brown Bentleys that cost over three hundred, and a pair of gray wool Cavallis that went for a mere eighty-nine bucks.
“New socks, too, I suppose,” he mused. Making his way to the far side of the store, he plucked a dozen pairs of black socks from the shelf, then added six pairs of dark brown, six pairs of navy, and three pairs of dark gray. “I guess that will do it for tonight,” he remarked, heading toward the checkout counter. “Have to save something for next time.”
Megan shook her head. “I can’t imagine what else you could possibly need. Honestly, if you live to be a hundred, you’ll never wear all the clothes you’ve bought in the last week!” She frowned when he burst out laughing. “Did I say something funny?”
“You have no idea.” He slid his credit card across the counter, signed the receipt, and bid her good night as he scooped up his bag.
He was still chuckling when he left the store.
As had become his habit, Rhys lingered in the shadows, watching her. What was there about Megan DeLacey that intrigued him so? True, she was lovely, but he had known a lot of lovely women in the last five hundred and twelve years. Maybe it was the way her eyes met his, a faint challenge in their depths. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, the smell of her skin, or the way her heart beat a little faster when he entered the store. Maybe it was the way she filled out that green wool dress, or the way her legs looked in those three-inch heels. Hell, maybe it was all of those things—or none of them.
Of one thing he was certain. She was afraid of him.
Smart girl, he mused, as he turned away from the window and strolled down the sidewalk, still thinking of his undeniable attraction to Megan.
He hadn’t gone far when two young men clad in dark jeans and leather jackets, their heads covered with black knit caps pulled down to their eyebrows, hurried past him. They reeked of cheap alcohol and cigarettes. The added scents of potassium nitrate, sulphur, and carbon told him one of them carried a gun.
A quick brush of his mind against theirs and Rhys tossed his packages in a Dumpster and turned to follow them.
Megan was getting ready to tally the night’s receipts when the front door opened, admitting a pair of young men. One look and she knew trouble had just entered the store. The taller of the two remained near the door, one hand tucked inside his faded black leather jacket.
A thin white scar bisected the left cheek of the other young man. He swaggered toward her, a smirk on his swarthy face.
“Let’s make this short and sweet,” he said. “Just give me all the money in the drawer, and we’ll be gone.”
Megan had always thought people who put their lives in danger to protect large sums of cash were idiots, and she had no intention of doing so now. Mr. Parker was well insured, and he could always earn more money. She had only one life.
She had just opened the cash drawer when Mr. Parker emerged from his office.
“What’s this?” he exclaimed. “What’s going on?”
“None of your business, old man,” Scar Face said. “So shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”
“See here, you young punk!” Parker retorted indignantly. “Get the hell out of my shop before I call the police!”
“You ain’t callin’ nobody, old man.”
Parker’s face turned a deep red as he pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket. “We’ll see about that!”
Megan let out a shriek as the thug near the entrance pulled a gun and leveled it at Mr. Parker.
What happened next happened so fast, Megan wasn’t sure how much was real and how much she imagined. The front door opened, and a blur of black leather flew into the store seconds before the man fired the gun. In the space of a heartbeat, Mr. Parker had been pushed out of harm’s way, the two would-be robbers were unconscious on the floor, and Rhys Costain stood in front of her, the robber’s pistol in his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “How…? Where…?” She glanced at the front door, still swinging, at the two young men, both out cold. At Mr. Parker’s ashen face. At the ominous red stain spreading down Rhys’s left arm.
“I think you’d better sit down,” he sa
id, slipping the pistol into his coat pocket. “You look a little pale. You, too, buddy.”
Mr. Parker looked offended at being called “buddy,” but he didn’t argue. Sitting down in one of the store’s padded chairs, he folded his arms over his chest, then, shoulders slumped, he cradled his head in his hands.
Megan looked up at Rhys. “I should call the police.” She started to touch his arm, then drew back. “And an ambulance.”
“I’m fine. Sit down before you faint.”
“I’m not going to faint!” she exclaimed. Her knees were as weak as a newborn kitten’s, and she felt light-headed. “I’m not going to faint,” she repeated, and hoped it was true.
“Uh-huh.” Taking her lightly by the forearm, Rhys guided her to a chair and gently pushed her down. “Just rest a minute. These guys aren’t going anywhere.”
Megan took several deep breaths. Had she been alone, she would have put her head between her knees and sobbed, but she wasn’t alone. She could feel Rhys Costain watching her, knew he was just waiting for her to faint or go into hysterics like some spineless female.
“Hey.” His voice was soft and low as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
His voice, his touch, went through her like an electric shock. Startled, she looked up, her earlier fear momentarily forgotten. Who was this man, that he should affect her so profoundly?
“I’m…I’m fine.” She glanced at the two hoodlums who had come in to rob the store. They were still sprawled on the floor. Were they dead? She was vaguely aware that Mr. Parker was on the phone.
A short time later, two police officers arrived. Polite, but all business, they took her statement, then Mr. Parker’s, then Costain’s. One of the officers offered to drive Rhys to the hospital, but he refused, insisting he wasn’t badly hurt. Megan didn’t believe him. Neither did the police, but when Rhys removed his coat and shirt, there was little more than a shallow gash on his arm.
Everlasting Desire Page 2
