Immortal Sins

Page 11

Carrying a bulging shopping bag in each hand, Kari left the store. Rourke, attired in his new jeans and T-shirt, walked beside her, shortening his stride to match hers. She had expected him to offer to carry one of the bags, if not both, and then remembered that things had been different in his time. Women had been expected to fetch and carry, leaving the men with their hands free to draw their weapons if need be.
Strolling through the mall, Kari noticed that almost every woman they passed slowed to gawk at Rourke. She couldn't blame them. Not only was he sinfully handsome, but he oozed testosterone from every pore!
Judging from the smug look on his face, he was not only aware of the admiring looks being sent his way, he was used to it.
Just like a man, Kari thought irritably. They all had egos the size of the Grand Canyon, whether they were genuine hunks like Rourke, or clowns built like Homer Simpson.
They were headed for the escalator when Kari saw Tricia walking toward them. Tricia noticed Kari at the same time.
"Hey, girlfriend," Tricia called, hurrying toward her. As always, Tricia was dressed to the nines, her make-up immaculate, every hair in place. There were times when she made Kari feel like an unmade bed.
"Hi." Kari glanced at the Babies "R" Us sack in Tricia's hand. "Been shopping for the baby, I see."
"Yeah, just a few odds and ends I couldn't resist," Tricia replied, her gaze zeroing in on Rourke. "Who's your friend?"
"Oh, Tricia, this is Jason Rourke. Jason, this is my best friend, Patricia McPhee."
Rourke inclined his head. "I am pleased to meet you, Miss McPhee."
"Likewise," she said, "and please, call me Tricia." She looked at Kari, her brows lifting in an expression that clearly said, Wow, what a hunk! "So," Tricia said, glancing from Kari to Rourke, "have you known each other very long?"
Rourke smiled. "Not long."
"Well, I'd really love to stay and chat," Tricia said, "but I'm supposed to meet Brent downstairs. We're going to the movies. Do you two want to come along? I think we're going to see the latest Sandra Bullock flick. It's supposed to be pretty good."
"Thanks," Kari said, "but I don't think so."
"Maybe another time. Call me later, girlfriend," Tricia said, her tone clearly indicating she wanted to know everything there was to know about Rourke.
Kari grinned in reply.
Tricia smiled at Rourke. "It was very nice meeting you."
"It was my pleasure, Miss McPhee."
Tricia stared at him as if she had never seen a man before.
Well, Kari could understand that. Jason Rourke was incredibly good-looking and he radiated sensuality, but enough was enough! "Tricia? Hey, Trish."
"What?" Tricia shook her head as if she was coming out of a trance. "Oh, yes, well, good-bye."
Kari stared after her friend, amused by Tricia's behavior. "Honestly, you'd think she'd never seen a handsome man before," she muttered.
"You think me handsome?" Rourke asked with a roguish grin.
Kari felt her cheeks grow hot as she realized what she'd said. "You know you are. Everywhere we go, women turn to stare at you like they're starving and you're the last chocolate chip cookie on the planet."
He shrugged as if to say it wasn't his fault, and she supposed that was true. He couldn't help it if he'd been blessed with abundant good looks and enough charisma for a dozen men.
"She really doesn't remember meeting you before, does she?" Kari asked a short time later.
"No."
"Amazing. A little creepy, but amazing." She blew out a breath. "So, is there anything else you need?" she asked, leading the way to the escalator that went up to the food court on the third floor. She didn't know about Rourke, but she needed something to eat.
"I think not." He glanced around when they reached the third floor, his nostrils wrinkling with distaste at the stink of so many bodies occupying the same enclosed space, the myriad odors and scents that emanated from the food booths. "What are we doing here?"
"I'm hungry."
"Hungry, yes," he murmured. His gaze rested avidly on the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.
"Don't even think about it!" Kari warned. She thrust the shopping bags at Rourke and went to stand in line. When it was her turn, she ordered a cheeseburger with grilled onions, country fries, and a cherry Coke.
When her order came up, she carried the tray to a small table and sat down. Rourke sat across from her, a curious light in his eyes as he watched her eat.
"Want a bite?" she asked, offering him a taste of her burger.
Grimacing, he shook his head. "No, thank you."
"Can you eat regular food?"
"No."
Kari frowned thoughtfully. "Have you ever tried?"
"Only once."
"What happened?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"From your expression, I'm guessing it made you sick."
He nodded, though sick was a mild term for his body's violent reaction to mortal food.
"Why did it make you sick?" she asked curiously.
"Because I cannot digest it."
"Oh." She took another bite of her cheeseburger. "What about beverages, like coffee or tea?"
"No, although I enjoy a little wine now and then."
"Red, I'll bet," she muttered dryly.
He grinned at her. "The redder the better."
She popped a french fry into her mouth, then wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Have you killed a lot of people?"
He lifted one brow, obviously surprised by her question. "Not lately."
"But you've killed to survive?"
"As have you."
"Me? I've never killed anyone!"
"Perhaps not," he replied with a wry grin, "but that slab of meat you are eating came from a living creature."
"That's hardly the same thing!" Kari exclaimed.
"Isn't it?"
It was by far the strangest conversation she'd ever had with a man, or with anyone else, for that matter. "How old were you when you were turned?"
"One and thirty."
"How long have you been a vampire?"
"Seven hundred and thirty-six years."
She blinked at him, the burger in her hand forgotten. Seven hundred and thirty-six years. Good heavens. She did some quick mental arithmetic. He had been born in 1242, making him 767 years old! What would it be like to live such a long time? She nibbled on her lower lip. He had been trapped inside the Vilnius since 1709. You could hardly call that living.
She stared at him, her brow furrowed in thought. Was he alive? Weren't vampires dead? What was it they called vampires in the movies? Undead? She recalled one movie where the vampire had called his kind Nosferatu and said that it meant not dead. Was there really a difference between undead and not dead? If so, she had no idea what it might be. Undead, not dead--both meant not alive.
The grisly thought sent a shiver down her spine.
"Are you cold?" Rourke asked.
She shook her head. "No."
He regarded her a moment. "Afraid of me, are you?"
"No. Yes. I don't know, but I should be, shouldn't I? I mean, you're..." She made a vague gesture with one hand.
"Pray go on. What am I?"
"I wish I knew," she muttered unhappily.
"I am just a man."
"Yeah, right, a man who just happens to be a vampire."
"But still a man." His gaze moved over her face, slid slowly and seductively down her neck and over her breasts, and returned to her face once more. "I could prove it to you," he said, his voice low and whiskey smooth.
Imagining how he would do that made it suddenly hard to breathe. All she could think about was his mouth on hers, their bodies entwined, bare skin sliding sensuously against bare skin. The look in his vibrant blue eyes told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Tearing her gaze from his, she glanced at what was left of her burger, only to find that, thanks to him, she had lost her appetite for char-broiled beef.
"Let's go." She pushed the tray away and gained her feet. "Do you need anything else?"
His gaze brushed her throat. "No."
Without waiting to see if he followed, she dumped her trash, then headed for the escalator. He was right behind her. She could feel his nearness like a physical caress.
Rourke followed Karinna out of the mall, relieved to be outside, away from the bombardment of so many strident voices, the rapid tattoo of a hundred beating hearts all calling his name.
Kari opened the trunk and he dropped his packages inside. When she moved toward the car door, his hand closed over her forearm.
"Not yet," he said.
"What do you mean?" she glanced around, suddenly aware that they were quite alone. What if he...She clamped down on her all too active imagination. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he'd had plenty of opportunity before now.
"I have been imprisoned for three hundred years. I should like to go for a walk and enjoy my freedom."
With a shrug, she said, "So, go."
"I would like some company," he said, gifting her with a wistful smile. "I have been alone for a very long time."
How could she argue with that? She tossed her handbag into the trunk, closed it, and slipped her keys into her pocket. "So, where do you want to go?"
"No place in particular. I just feel like walking."
She fell into step beside him. "I didn't know vampires liked to walk. I thought they always just turned into bats and flew off to wherever they wanted to go."
He looked at her, one brow raised in amusement. "Is that what you thought?"
"Happens in the movies all the time," she said with a shrug.
"Ah, yes, on the television." He had seen movies from time to time. He grimaced at the memory. He had not yet been able to move through the painting the first time he had seen a motion picture about the Undead. Trapped behind a wall of glass, his only entertainment had been watching the moving pictures, some of them in black and white, some in all the colors of the rainbow. One of his former owners had spent hours in front of the screen. Rourke had watched, too, though he had not always understood what he was seeing, or hearing. Shows like Batman, The Twilight Zone, Star Trek, The Rifleman, Gunsmoke, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, My Favorite Martian, and Laugh-In. His favorites had been Dark Shadows and The Addams Family. Dark Shadows hadn't been intended to be a comedy, but he had found the life and times of Barnabas Collins rather amusing. Rourke couldn't recall now if Collins had ever turned into a bat. It was something Rourke, himself, had never tried. He grinned, wondering what it would be like. In his time, he had transformed into mist and into a wolf, but never a bat. It seemed undignified, somehow.