being nosy. He bounced his palm on the
tightly made bed and glanced at Wyatt.
“Haven’t lost your touch,” said the
massive man with a feckless grin. “You
could flip a quarter on this mo-fo.”
Suddenly nervous, Remy hesitated as
she stepped over the threshold . . . then
pushed on. This could be her last night
sleeping easy—at least as easy as she
could, knowing what was on the horizon
for tomorrow—for a while. She
wouldn’t feel safer with anyone other
than Wyatt. There wasn’t anywhere else
she wanted to be other than here.
She was safe here.
“Holy shit, dude. Where the hell’d
you get this? A whole motherfucking box
of
Trojans
?” Fence had a huge smile on
his face as he swept down to pick it up
from the pile on the floor. “Dang!
Un
opened? What the hell—”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Wyatt
said, shoving the man toward the door.
“Take the damn things with you.”
“Hell, bro, I think you’re fixin’ to
need ’em more than me,” laughed Fence,
throwing the box back at Wyatt as he
spun out into the hall. “Do you some—”
“Christ, Fence, shut the hell up—”
“Might want to actually
open
the—”
The door slammed shut, obliterating
whatever Fence was saying. But Remy
heard his giddy, high-pitched laugh even
through the door, fading as he walked
off.
At least someone was having a good
time.
Wyatt turned from the door. If she
didn’t know better, she’d think he looked
almost flustered. He snatched up the
purple box from the floor and slammed it
into one of the dresser drawers.
“Don’t
ask.”
Okay, then.
“I’m going to sleep on the floor in
front of the door,” he said, grabbing a
pillow off the bed. “In case anyone tries
to come in.”
“We could get Dantès. He’d be a
good guard,” she suggested.
“He’s down in the computer lab,
safe. And guarding the crystal. I think I
can handle this,” he said, his voice wry.
“Right.”
Remy
looked
around,
suddenly, acutely, uncomfortable. She
hadn’t thought about putting him out of
his bed. She hadn’t really thought about
this at all. “Vaughn’s got an extra
bedroom—”
“You want to sleep with Vaughn
tonight?” he snapped back. “Is that it?”
“Uh—”
“I can arrange it if that’s what you
want.”
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good
idea,” she ventured.
“Maybe you’d feel safer in the
mayor’s private suite,” he shot back.
They stared at each other from across
the room. Remy was aware that her heart
was racing, that her insides were all out
of sorts. Shaking her head, she turned
away. Listlessly, she picked up the
remaining pillow and hugged it to her
chest.
“No,” she managed to say, closing
her eyes as she buried her face in the
cotton. Of course it smelled like him.
“Strangely enough, I feel safest with
you.”
Wyatt gave a muffled curse and she
heard a dull, hard thump. “You don’t
have to do this,” he said. His voice was
still hard. Cold as ice. “We can find
another way.”
“There is no other way,” she replied
wearily. “I’ve thought about it and
thought about it. I suppose I always
knew this day would come—the day I’d
have to make a decision about the
crystal, the day of truth, I guess. The day
it all came clear. Maybe I’ve been
preparing for it for the last twenty years.
But at least it’ll be over.”
She looked up, still hugging the
pillow, just able to see above its snowy
white case. He was across the room,
remote and distant, figuratively as well
as literally.
This was a mistake.
She didn’t know what she’d been
thinking. That maybe her last safe night
might be . . . pleasant? Comforting?
“Don’t look at me . . . like that,” he
said. She could see his jaw moving, the
shadows
beneath
his
cheekbones
shifting, but his eyes were hidden.
Remy turned away, lifting her head
proudly. Definitely a mistake. But what
had she expected? She was aware of the
stiffness of her movements as she
returned the pillow to its place on the
bed, walked to the bathroom, closed the
door, splashed cold—very cold—water
on her face, wiped away what could
have been a few tears if she actually let
them come.
Remington
Truth.
I’m Remington
Truth. I can get through this.
If I can get through what Seattle did
to me, I can get through this.
When she opened the door, he was
standing there. Tall, dark, tense. Present.
“Remy.”
She looked up at him, everything
inside her cascading into a messy heap,
and she walked into his arms. They came
around her, slowly and with control. Her
face pressed against his throat. He was
warm and damp, his skin smelling of
comfort and familiarity. His heart
thumped beneath her, matching her own
racing one.
He moved his cheek and jaw,
caressing the top of her head. She was
aware of the subtlest of tremors in the
arms that held her. Her eyelashes caught
against his skin as she closed her eyes,
and drawing in a deep breath, she
pressed a kiss on the madly pumping
vein at the side of his throat. Her tongue
slipped out just for a moment, tasting salt
and heat and man, and he shuddered a
little. His arms tightened, then eased.
Remy was prepared for him to push
her away, but instead one hand moved,
sliding up beneath her braid, as the other
pulled off its tie. His fingers, warm at
the nape of her neck, combed into her
hair, loosening the plait, spreading its
three parts into one wavy fall. He
rubbed it between the pads of his
fingers, pulling gently as if to test its
texture, then tenderly massaged her skull
as she sagged into him.
She kissed him again, with more
boldness this time . . . burrowing into the
warmth at the juncture of neck and
shoulder, sliding her lips and tongue
over smooth, sensitive skin. His
breathing changed, his muscles went
rigid, and she kept at it, moving to his
earlobe, flickering her tongue in the hot,
secret place behind it.
The fact that he wanted her was
starkly evident; their bodies were
pressed together, separated only by
clothing and whatever other baggage
they each carried. Acutely aware of this,
she nuzzled him on the jaw, glad he’d
shaved earlier, enjoying the taste of his
skin. At last, Wyatt dipped his head to
meet her lips, loosening his arms just
enough to angle in. During that brief
moment, before she sagged into the kiss,
she saw his eyes closed, his brows
drawn tightly together.
Hot, slick, and deep, the kiss went on
like a long, slow ride. Tangled and
sensual, easy . . . as if they could go
forever. There was care and tenderness
in his touch, and Remy felt a well of
emotion starting to rise inside.
Oh, yes.
This.
This.
His hands moved up along her hips,
sliding under her tank top. Warm fingers
brushed her bare skin and she shivered,
pleasure rushing along beneath his touch.
Her bra tightened and released, then his
palms covered her bare back, pulling her
tight against him, traveling along the
curve of her spine and back up to settle
below her shoulder blades.
It was then she realized he’d eased
himself against the wall, gathering her up
to his broad, solid torso. One of her feet
slid between his, and she felt the
pressure of his thigh between her legs as
she melted against him. He buried his
face in her neck, that sensitive place
beyond her throat, his lips and tongue
sleek and warm. She vibrated gently as
the bolt of pleasure caught her by
surprise, rushing south to her belly and
beyond.
After a moment he eased back and
looked down. His dark eyes delved into
hers. “Remy . . . I’m not sure this is a
good idea.” His voice was gritty and
low, but he didn’t release her.
She laid her hand flat on his chest.
His heart thudded like crazy, matching
her own, and when he remained silent,
she said, “Tell me why.”
Wyatt shook his head, tipping it back
to lean against the wall, and held her,
still gathered up against him, one of her
legs embraced by his, the other
straddling his thigh. His hands still
covered her back, warm beneath her tank
top. She admired his throat, long and
tanned and strong; saw the pulse beating
where she’d kissed him. A smattering of
hair poked from the collar of his T-shirt,
more thick dark hair brushed his neck.
His throat moved as he swallowed,
his jaw shifted as he seemed to grope for
words. “Tomorrow . . . we don’t know
what’s going to happen. We should be
thinking about other things. Finding
another way, another option. Planning,
preparing, doing
something.
This isn’t
what you should be doing . . . tonight.
Tomorrow could be—”
“This is exactly what I want to be
doing tonight, Wyatt. Do you really think
I want to go to . . . whatever will be
tomorrow—captivity, death—”
“Christ, Remy—” He lifted his head,
his arms tightening, feet shifting, moving
her.
“—I want to have something good to
take with me.”
“—there’s got to be another way. I
—”
“But it’s really not about me,” she
went on doggedly, and he fell silent.
“It’s you. It’s the guilt. The pain. Wyatt, I
understand that, oh God, I
really
do—
and I don’t take it personally. I don’t
think I’d be ready either, if I went
through what you have. I didn’t think
I’d
be ready so soon.” Memories of Seattle
flickered at the corner of her mind, and
she closed them off sharply.
No.
Easing
out of his embrace, Remy let her hand
fall from his chest. “It’s all right, Wyatt.
I’m truly not upset.”
She wasn’t. She wanted comfort, she
wanted affection, she wanted
him
. But
not if he wasn’t ready. Not if he couldn’t
move on, just a little. Pain and anguish
took time to work through. She
understood that better than most.
And she was used to being solo. And
tomorrow she would be, once again,
having to live by her own bravery and
wits.
“That’s the problem,” he said, his
voice gritty. “It’s too easy. After
everything . . . it’s too easy. How can it
be so easy, to be—to
want
you?” The
last part came out in a low, pained
accusation. “And at the same time . . .
it’s so fucking
hard
.”
He drew in a deep breath and
reached out, touching the ends of her
hair. The backs of his fingers brushed
against her collarbone as he filtered
through the heavy waves. It was all she
could do to keep from leaning back into
him. “Most of all, Remy . . . I don’t want
to hurt you,” he murmured.
“You won’t. You couldn’t.”
Not
after what I’ve been through.
Those
horrific memories hovered, always
ready to surge into her consciousness at
any opportunity. She battled them back
the way Selena had taught her and
steadied herself firmly into
here
. With
him. “Now, will you please take off your
shirt?”
Her
command
drew
a
short,
surprised huff of laughter from him. But
it was gone almost immediately and his
eyes remained uncertain. “You’re sure?”
Concern
eclipsed