Fangs For The Memories. Kathy Love

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      RHYS STOOD THERE, WATCHING HER.

      She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide herself. But she could tell from the smoldering glow of his eyes, he’d seen.

      The burn of embarrassment mingled with the fire those intense eyes created inside her. She so wanted this man.

      His gaze left her covered chest, and he held her eyes with his.

      She shifted slightly under the hunger she saw there.

      “Sorry,” he said, his voice huskier than usual. “I thought I heard you calling me.”

      She stared at him. Well, her body had been calling him, but she didn’t think her voice had. “I…No.”

      He nodded sharply. “Then I will leave you to your bath.”

      They stared at each other for a moment longer; then Rhys bowed slightly and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

      This was impossible. It had taken every bit of her rational mind to not invite him to join her in the tub. What was wrong with her? She’d always been so practical, so reserved. Now she was acting like a wanton.

      Novels by Kathy Love

      Fangs for the Memories

      Fangs But No Fangs

      I Only Have Fangs for You

      My Sister Is a Werewolf

      Getting What You Want

      Wanting What You Get

      Wanting Something More

      FANGS FOR THE MEMORIES

      KATHY LOVE

      

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      For Kristen

      Acknowledgments

      Time for my long list of thank yous…

      I want to first thank my editor, Kate Duffy, who has once again taken a big chance on me. Thank you so much, Kate!

      Thank you to the Tarts. I’ll do better next time. Really.

      Thank you, Mom and Dad. You help me more than you will ever know.

      Thank you, Bill and Mary Ellen.

      Thank you, Teresa, Gary and Megan.

      Special thanks to Lisa, Julie and Treena—for listening, plotting, sympathizing, and telling me to get this darn thing done.

      And another special thanks to Cindy, Toni, Beth, Cat and Julie for lots of encouraging e-mails and chats.

      And all my love to Emily and Todd. Especially to Em, you are a very patient two-year-old. Mommy loves you.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      “Hey, baby, you lookin’ for a little holiday cheer?” Rhys paused on the sidewalk in front of a run-down bar and glanced over at two women leaning against the side of the building. They both smoked cigarettes, the smoke escaping their red lips, mingling with the steam of their breath in the icy night air. Their shabby winter coats were opened wide to reveal their thin bodies clad in skimpy, clinging dresses. One shivered, but still managed to shoot him a desperately inviting look.

      And he thought he was having a shitty Christmas Eve.

      “I’m looking for a drink,” he told them, gesturing to the bar’s door with a slight jerk of his head.

      “Oh, come on, honey,” the one who had voiced the invitation coaxed, “I’ve got some mistletoe right here.” She threw down her cigarette, shoved away from the wall and waved a plastic sprig toward him.

      It was imitation holly, but Rhys didn’t see much point in mentioning that fact. “Sorry, no.”

      “Well, after you’ve had yer drink, gorgeous, I’ll be waitin’ for ya.” She smiled, reaching out to trail the fake greenery down the lapel of his coat.

      Rhys didn’t respond and stepped past her to push open a windowless door sporting a tattered wreath. Before slipping into the smoky darkness of the bar, he stopped and looked back at the two prostitutes.

      Even though they were young, if his senses were correct only in their late teens, they looked old, haggard. The reverse of him—with his youthful body and ancient existence.

      On impulse, he reached into his pocket for his wallet.

      The one closest to him watched his movement, the tip of her tongue running hungrily over the unnatural red of her lips. The one still against the wall stepped closer, her eyes also fastened to his movement, avarice burning in her dark eyes.

      No, not the reverse, he realized. Not at all. They were truly just the same. Hunger

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