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tags with French names. Maybe they were all into role-playing, she thought, and the names were those of the characters they played.
    â€œSo, 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.
    â€œIt’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?”
    â€œWhatever 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.
    â€œMegan?”
    She jumped at the sound of his voice.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œI…Yes, of course.”
    â€œYou look a little pale.”
    â€œDo 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.”
    â€œMaybe 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.
    â€œOh, how clumsy of me!” Grabbing her napkin, Megan dabbed at the dark stain spreading over the tablecloth.
    â€œNothing 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.
    â€œMaybe 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.
    â€œAre you going to be all right, here alone?” Rhys