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.