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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?”
    â€œLet’s.”
    She dumped her popcorn in a trash can on the way out.
    â€œWhere would you like to go?” Rhys asked when they were out on the sidewalk.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œLet’s go to my place.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œOh. 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.
    â€œNice car,” Megan murmured as he opened the passenger door for her.
    â€œYeah, it’s not bad.”
    â€œNot 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?”
    â€œWe 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 L A M ORTE R OUGE .
    â€œThe Red Death?” she murmured.
    â€œI 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…”
    â€œHey, 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