Until Megan, he had never given much thought to what he wore. Now, he found himself wondering what she would find most appealing.
Exasperated, he pulled on a pair of black slacks and a dark gray shirt, stepped into a pair of black boots, and made his way to the underground garage and his private parking place. Being the owner of the building definitely had its compensations, he thought, as he slid behind the wheel of the Jag and backed out of the garage.
Moments later, he pulled up in front of Megan’s house.
Lifting his head, he expanded his senses, swore softly when he realized the place was empty. After rolling down the window, he sniffed the air, sorting through the myriad scents that swirled through it for the one he sought.
It didn’t take long. With a wry grin, he put the Jag in gear and followed her scent across town to the multiplex.
He parked next to her car, then hurried inside, only to come to an abrupt halt when he entered the darkened theater. He hadn’t detected the scent of anyone else in her car, but what if she had come here to meet another man? Hands clenched, he searched for her. With his preternatural vision and enhanced sense of smell, it took only moments to locate her.
On silent feet, he slid into the empty seat beside her.
Megan didn’t have to see Costain’s face to know he was there. She didn’t even wonder why he had come, or how he had known where she was. Quite the contrary. It seemed perfectly natural that he should appear, seemingly out of thin air. One minute she had been thinking of him, and the next he was there beside her, as if her thoughts had summoned him.
“Did I miss much?” he whispered, leaning toward her.
“Only the first hour,” she whispered back, and suddenly the depression that had sent her to the movies was gone as if it had never been, and all because of a man she hardly knew. “How’s your arm?”
“What? Oh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“Would you like some popcorn?”
He wrinkled his nose at the smell of butter and salt. “No, thanks.”
She wondered what he would say if she suggested they leave. The only reason she had come to the theater was because she hadn’t wanted to stay home alone. She hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone, either, so coming to the movies had seemed the ideal solution. She could sit in the dark, surrounded by people, without having to say a word. And hopefully forget about last night. But now Rhys was here, and everything had changed.
She was thinking about asking him if he wanted to leave when he beat her to the punch.
Leaning toward her, he whispered, “What do you say we get out of here?”
“Let’s.”
She dumped her popcorn in a trash can on the way out.
“Where would you like to go?” Rhys asked when they were out on the sidewalk.
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s go to my place.”
“I don’t think so.”
He grinned at her. His teeth were very white, even in the darkness. “I didn’t mean my house. I meant my club.”
“Oh. All right.”
He smiled inwardly as they walked to the parking lot. Although she didn’t know it, she wouldn’t be any safer in his club than in his lair.
“Nice car,” Megan murmured as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Yeah, it’s not bad.”
“Not bad?” The Jag was beautiful. Smoke gray in color, it seemed to glow in the moonlight. When she slid into the seat, the soft leather seemed to enfold her. “Oh! What about my car?”
“We can pick it up later.”
Megan was wondering if she had made a mistake as Rhys pulled onto the highway. In minutes, they had left the city behind. Hands clenched in her lap, she looked out the window, her tension growing as the miles slid by. She had expected his club to be located closer to home, not out on some deserted stretch of road. Her uneasiness increased when he pulled up in front of a place called LA MORTE ROUGE.
“The Red Death?” she murmured.
“I told you, it’s a Goth hangout.”
She nodded, not at all reassured by his explanation.
He turned to face her, his dark eyes glittering in the light of the dash. “Have you changed your mind?”
She swallowed hard. “I…”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll take you home if that’s what you want.”
She knew that would be the smart thing to do, but she didn’t seem to have much sense when it came to Rhys. Besides, she was suddenly curious to see the inside of the club. “Let’s have a drink first.”
Smiling, he switched off the engine.
As she watched him walk around the front of the car to open her door, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was Little Red Riding Hood and he was the Big Bad Wolf.
A tall man clad in a black suit, an impeccable white tie, and a long black cloak opened the door. Inclining his head, he murmured, “Good evening, Mr. Costain,” and bowed them through the doorway.
Megan took a deep breath before following Rhys inside. A narrow hallway illuminated by candlelight opened onto the club’s main floor. Megan glanced around, noting a long bar at the far end of the room. High-backed booths lined one wall. A grand piano stood on a raised platform in the far corner.
As was to be expected, the lighting in the club was subdued. Music filtered through the sound system; though it was low, it had a dark, sensual beat. Several couples sat at the small tables located at intervals around the room. Each table was covered with a black damask cloth; each held a blood-red rose in an ebony vase. Dark red paper covered the walls. She noticed several numbered doors, but hesitated to ask what lay behind them.
The women she passed as she followed Rhys were all beautiful, and they all wore provocative clothing, mostly black, which she supposed wasn’t all that unusual considering this was a Goth club. Megan thought it was odd that the women all wore broaches inscribed with their names, and that all the names were French—Monique, Angelique, Capucine. The men, too, wore mostly black. She noted they also sported tags with French names. Maybe they were all into role-playing, she thought, and the names were those of the characters they played.
“So, what do you think?” Rhys asked as he led her to a booth in the back corner that she suspected was reserved for his use only.
“It’s…I don’t know. I’ve never been in a Goth club before.”
She slid into the booth, and Rhys slid in beside her. The high, curved back provided them with a good deal of privacy.
A waitress arrived at their table almost before they were seated. “What can I get for you tonight, Mr. Costain?” she asked in a deep, throaty voice.
Rhys looked at Megan. “What’ll you have?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
Megan didn’t miss the subtle shake of Costain’s head as he ordered a glass of red wine for her and one for himself. She wondered what it meant. Was he telling the waitress to put something in her drink?
Megan tapped her fingernails on the tabletop. If she asked him to take her home, would he still be agreeable? Why had she wanted to come here? Across the way, a couple rose and went into room number six.
“Megan?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice.
“Are you all right?”
“I…Yes, of course.”
“You look a little pale.”
“Do I?” She lifted a hand to her forehead. Of course, she could plead a headache. Wasn’t that the excuse women always fell back on? “Now that you mention it, I am feeling a little under the weather all of a sudden.”
“Maybe the wine will make you feel better,” he suggested. “If it doesn’t, I’ll take you home.”
The waitress arrived with their drinks a short time later. Megan stared at the glass the woman placed before her. Was it drugged?
Rhys didn’t miss the worried look in Megan’s eyes. A quick brush of her mind with his explained everything. She had seen the look he’d given Lena and assumed it was some silent order to drug her drink. As if he would have to resort to drugs if he had anything nefarious in mind. His unspoken communication to Lena had merely been to alert her to the fact that he also wanted wine and not his usual. Now, how to assure Megan she had nothing to worry about without arousing her suspicion?
Before he could decide, Megan reached for her drink. And knocked it over.
“Oh, how clumsy of me!” Grabbing her napkin, Megan dabbed at the dark stain spreading over the tablecloth.
“Nothing to worry about,” Rhys said. “Here, have mine.”
He slid his glass across the table before she could object.
She looked up, her eyes narrowed.
Rhys smiled benignly, curious to see if she would pull the same stunt twice.
Megan hesitated a moment, and then, with a murmured, “Thank you,” she picked up his glass and took a sip. She wasn’t much of a wine connoisseur, but she thought she tasted a hint of cherries and cinnamon.
At his signal, the waitress arrived with a fresh tablecloth and another glass of Pinot Noir.
Rhys leaned back in his chair. She was as nervous as a kitten in a den of coyotes. Bringing her here probably hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had. But it wasn’t just her surroundings. She was still upset over what had happened at the store last night, although she didn’t want to admit it, even to herself.
With his preternatural power, he reached out to her, willing her to relax.
Megan didn’t know if it was the wine or the heat in Costain’s eyes, but after a few sips, she suddenly felt lethargic.
“Maybe I should take you home so you can get some sleep,” Rhys said, and taking the glass from her hand, he led her outside to the car, buckled her seat belt, and drove her home.
A light burned in the window. Inside, Shirl had left a note saying she wouldn’t be home until morning.
“Are you going to be all right, here alone?” Rhys asked.
“Yes, of course,” Megan replied.
“Would you feel better if I stayed a while?”