Lightning Strykes

by Sherryl Hancock

Quinn didn’t look surprised by that comment. “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Scares the shit out of me,” Remington said, chuckling.

  “Why?” Quinn asked.

  “She wants me to react,” Remington said, “and she’s doing shit like what she just did in the room…” She shook her head. “She may get more of a reaction than she means to at some point.”

  “I doubt that,” Quinn said skeptically.

  Remington narrowed. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  “I’m not sayin’ nothin’,” Quinn said, holding her hands up in surrender.

  Remington didn’t reply, simply looking back at the Irishwoman with a searching look.

  “So you gonna go home when we get that break for Thanksgiving?” Quinn asked to fill the silence that stretched uncomfortably.

  “Home to Kentucky, yeah,” Remington said. “We’ll only be three hours from there when we break.”

  “How long’s it been since you were home? It’s your parents there, right?” Quinn asked.

  “Yeah.” Remington nodded. “And my little sisters too. It’s been about six months,” she said.

  Quinn nodded.

  “Your family’s in Northern Ireland, right?” Remington asked.

  “Yeah,” Quinn nodded.

  “Makes it a helluva lot harder to get home, huh?” Remington said, looking sorry for Quinn.

  “Oh yeah,” Quinn said, nodding, “but we’ll probably try to head there after this tour.”

  Remington nodded. “Your family like Xandy?”

  “They love Xandy,” Quinn said, grinning.

  “’Cause she settled you down?” Remington asked, knowing that’s what her parents wanted for her constantly.

  “That’s part of it for sure,” Quinn said, nodding, “but they really adore her too.”

  “That’s good,” Remington said, nodding.

  “Yeah, it is,” Quinn agreed.

  Quinn and Remington had the same opinion about family; it was the most important thing in the world, no matter what.

  “Well, I’m headed back up,” Remington said, stubbing out her cigarette and picking up the other butts to deposit them in the trash. “See you two at six,” she said.

  “Later!” Quinn called, watching Remington walk away, shaking her head ruefully.

  Remington opened the door to the room carefully, looking around and not seeing Wynter and thinking she couldn’t possibly still be in the tub.

  “Wynter?” she queried as she shut the door.

  “Yeah?” came the immediate reply from the bathroom.

  Remington rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “I’m back,” she said simply.

  “Okay,” Wynter answered.

  Remington busied herself with taking things out of her suitcase, dreading the idea of trying to get clean in a bathtub. Finally, she gave up and sat on the floor with her back against the bed, reading a book. She heard water splash like Wynter was getting out of the tub. She kept her head pointedly turned away from the bathroom door.

  Wynter walked out of the bathroom wearing a tank top and bikini underwear. She immediately saw Remington sitting on the floor, and laughed to herself at her bodyguard’s sly tactics. She’d known that she wasn’t likely to get Remington to stay in the room, let alone actually see anything she’d wanted her to see. She had to hand it to Remington, though, the woman remained impossibly obstinate.

  Remington got to her feet as she noticed Wynter walk back into the room, and she sighed at her skimpy outfit. She didn’t bother to say anything though because she knew the answer she was going to get. She caught Wynter’s quick grin at her sigh. Wynter climbed onto the bed, lying down across it as Remington sat back down on the floor.

  “Why are you sitting down there?” Wynter asked, propped up on her elbows, her head above Remington’s.

  “It’s comfortable,” Remington said.

  “Uh-huh, sure,” Wynter said, her tone disbelieving. “Well, it’s your turn to choose music,” Wynter said, holding her phone out to Remington, her arm right next to Remington’s face.

  All Remington could think was how goddamned good Wynter’s skin smelled. It was a combination of jasmine and gardenias and it was heady. The woman had to be doing it on purpose, didn’t she?

  “I’m fine,” Remington finally managed to say.

  “Oh, come on!” Wynter said. “I know you hate my stuff.”

  “I don’t hate all of it,” Remington said, grinning.

  “Just most of it, right?” Wynter asked, laughing softly.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Remington said, glancing up at Wynter.

  Wynter was leaning down to hand Remington to her phone, just far enough that when Remington looked up, she could see down her shirt. She immediately averted her eyes, but not before she caught an extremely enticing glimpse of cleavage and the curve of what were likely to be perfect breasts.

  “Bondye…” she muttered before she could stop herself.

  “What does that mean?” Wynter asked. “I’ve heard you say that before, a lot in fact… so what does it mean?”

  Remington looked back at her, pointedly keeping her eyes high so as not to see more than she could handle, literally. She contemplated lying and just not answering at all.

  Wynter narrowed her eyes at Remington. “You don’t want to tell me,” she said, “which means it’s something you don’t want me to know…”

  She brought her phone back up, starting to tap away on it. Remington knew she was screwed even before Wynter’s eyes widened.

  “It means ‘God’?” Wynter asked sharply.

  “Yes, it means God,” Remington said, moving to stand.

  “And why did you say that just now?” Wynter asked, sitting up as Remington stood up, keeping her eyes on her.

  Remington didn’t answer for a long moment, making a sucking sound through her teeth as she tried to decide exactly what to say.

  “It’s an expression of frustration,” Remington said finally as she moved to lean against the dresser, her arms crossed over her chest, her legs crossed at the ankles.

  “And you’re frustrated why?” Wynter asked, her look expectant.

  A wry grin curled Remington’s lips and her hazel eyes narrowed slightly. Wynter could see a number of thoughts play across Remington’s face, none of which she understood. Remington’s eyes went from the floor to Wynter, then back to the floor, and back up again.

  “Remi?” Wynter queried pointedly.

  “I’m going to go check if Quinn and Xandy have a shower in their room,” Remington said, moving off the dresser and turning around to pick up the things she’d set aside earlier. “Don’t leave the room,” she said over her shoulder as she walked out.

  Wynter stared at the closed door, her mouth open in shock. She closed her mouth after a full minute and shook her head. Remington LaRoché could confound the most patient of saints and smartest of women, that was for sure.

  Chapter 5

  In the end, Remington came back just in time to take her to the venue. She had Xandy and Quinn with her. Wynter had a feeling that it had been on purpose. Remington had showered and changed; now she wore all black, a black oxford-style shirt, black slacks, and black leather dress boots. And sitting in the Escalade with her, Wynter found out how damned good she smelled too. With Xandy and Quinn in the back it was a bit crowded, so she had to sit close to Remington. Though it wasn’t too much of a hardship.

  Remington escorted Wynter to her dressing room and told her to text her when she was ready to head to the stage. With that, Quinn and she started to work ensuring everything was secure for the show. Twenty minutes before show time, Remington got a text from Wynter. She arrived at the dressing room expecting Wynter to be ready. Instead, Wynter answered the door wearing a very short silk robe.

  “Uh,” Remington stammered. “I think you’ve forgotten something.” She averted her eyes from the low neckline of the robe.

  “Funny,” Wynter said, rolling her ey
es, “I need your help. I can’t get the zipper up on this dress… hold on…” she said as went to untie the robe.

  Remington had a flashback of Sage that night in her apartment in New York.

  “Kenbe!” Remington said, fortunately holding her hand up at the same time, which told Wynter what she was saying. “Shit, I mean hold up,” Remington said, grimacing at the cuss word she’d just used. “I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “Go over there”—she pointed to the screens set to the side of the room— “and put the dress on, then come out here, fully covered , and I’ll help you zip it,” she said, making sure Wynter understood what she meant.

  Wynter looked back at her for a long moment, pursing her lips and looking like she wanted to rebel against Remington’s instructions.

  “Either that or I’ll go get a prop guy…” Remington added with a chilly smile.

  “Not funny, Remi…” Wynter said, narrowing her eyes.

  “Then go over there… and do what I said,” Remington said, her tone matching her narrowed eyes.

  Wynter blew her breath out and did as she was told. She walked out wearing a black dress that hugged every curve of her body. It was short in the front and long in the back. The neckline was low, but not extremely so. Though it did reveal the scalloped lace of a very sexy-looking lace bra. The front of the skirt was cut at an angle, the highest point, being about seven inches above her knees the lowest being six inches above her knees. It revealed a nice expanse of perfectly tanned, toned and smooth leg, and was paired with high-heeled ankle boots.

  Remington’s mouth went dry when Wynter walked over to her and stood just inches from her, her ice blue eyes staring up at her from behind long thick black lashes. Her makeup was dark, but done in such a way that Remington couldn’t even fathom what she wore. Her blue eyes appeared to glow and sparkled with glitter, and her lips, parted at the moment, were a rich tawny color. Her cheekbones were accented giving her already incredible face an unreal quality.

  Wynter’s black hair fell in long curly waves almost to her waist and shined with health. It was a dangerous combination and it was only made worse when Wynter turned around. The first thing to hit Remington was the scent she wore; it was much sexier and rich than she normally did. Added to that was the fact that Remington was now staring at her back, bare except for the slim strap of her bra, all the way down to just above her butt.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Remington. “Can you get it?” Wynter asked softly.

  It took every ounce of self-control Remington possessed to reach out and rather than slide her hand up that incredible expanse of skin, to take the zipper and slowly pull it upward. She was certain Wynter had to be able to hear her heart pounding in her chest.

  Wynter turned around, smiling up at Remington, and was almost sure she saw the fleeting look of desire in those gold-green eyes of hers, but it was gone a moment later.

  “All set?” Remington asked. She kept her voice completely normal, even as she clenched her fist behind her back to keep control of herself.

  “Yes,” Wynter said, nodding.

  Remington stepped over to the door, opened it, and gestured for Wynter to precede her. Wynter did and Remington followed moments later. They stood on the side of the stage, watching Jordan do her set. Remington had on a wireless headset and would occasionally say something to one of the security team. At one point, Wynter moved to lean against the wall, thinking she should have waited longer before she came out. In truth, part of her had hoped to manage to seduce Remington before the show, but as usual, Remington was a solid wall of rock.

  When Jordan finally finished her set, Wynter went on. Remington watched Wynter as she moved and sang. It was obvious that Wynter was in her element when she was on stage. She moved so smoothly and with so much sex appeal that it was no wonder men and women alike wanted her. Remington did her best to concentrate on more than just Wynter, but she reminded herself that in truth, Wynter was the one she was supposed to be protecting, so she had every right to watch every tiny little thing the woman did.

  Finally, Remington gave up trying to pay attention to anything else. She stood just off stage with her arms in front of her, her hands clasped in one another. Standing ‘at ease’ was the term Wynter thought of when she glanced over to where Remington stood. She couldn’t help but wink at her bodyguard. Naturally that was caught on camera, as was the picture of Remington standing off stage watching Wynter perform. The entire show was being recorded.

  Wynter was near the end of her set and the crowd was screaming. The stage in its altered state seemed to be working out quite well for the artists; it gave them more space to move around. Wynter had just gotten to the highest point of the stage when Remington noticed something sticking up from the stage floor to Wynter’s far left. It was an odd angle, so she wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of light or not. Nothing had been noticed earlier so it was probably nothing. She moved to get to a better angle as the section was near the back part of the stage. She’d just reached the very edge of the off stage area when she saw Wynter headed for that same part of the stage.

  Suddenly, Wynter stumbled and started to fall. There was a screech of feedback from her microphone as she dropped it. Remington lunged, quickly covering the thankfully short distance between them to catch Wynter, banging her wrist on the scaffolding that supported the stage as she did. The crowd suddenly realized what had happened, and there were screams and people moving toward Remington as she quickly turned and strode off stage with Wynter in her arms.

  Off stage, she took a knee holding Wynter and trying to look her over at the same time. She sat on the floor bracing Wynter against her left knee and her chest. She saw blood streaming from a cut on Wynter’s forehead near the hairline. She yanked off her shirt, balled it up, and pressed it to Wynter’s forehead.

  “Remi?” Wynter said, sounding dazed and terrified at the same time.

  “It’s okay, babe, I got you, it’s okay… you’re okay,” Remington said soothingly, even though her insides were shaking violently.

  Quinn came on the run, having been on the other side of the stage. She slid to a stop, dropping to her knees as she looked both Wynter and Remington over quickly.

  “Get an ambulance,” Remington snapped.

  “Already on their way in,” Quinn told her. “Did she hit the floor?”

  “No,” Remington said, shaking her head, “but I’m thinking she hit her head on the edge of the stage.”

  “You caught her?” Quinn asked, looking stunned.

  Remington nodded, not paying any attention to Quinn’s look; her eyes were focused on Wynter.

  “Remi?” Wynter queried again, hearing them talking and realizing what had happened. “I fell, Remi… What…” Her voice trailed off as she looked panicked.

  “Wynter, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Remington told her. “Just relax babe… Stay with me though, okay? Just keep talking to me.”

  Wynter’s eyes grew wide as she heard people yelling and the ambulance backing into the dock not too far backstage.

  “Remi!” Wynter exclaimed, terrified suddenly.

  “Hey!” Remington said, putting her forehead against Wynter’s. “Look at me, babe, okay? Just look at me… don’t worry about all that… look at me, Wyn… it’s okay…”

  Remington felt Wynter grasping at her shoulder, her nails digging into her skin.

  Quinn turned to yell to the paramedics. As they ran up, Wynter grew frantic. Remington’s strength came in handy at that moment because she was easily able to control Wynter’s movements with little effort. Her voice did more.

  “Wynter, babe, it’s okay… Look at me… right here, babe… it’s okay…” she said, staring into Wynter’s eyes and keeping her looking back at her.

  Whenever Wynter’s eyes strayed toward the paramedics who were pulling out their gear, Remington touched her chin, getting her attention back easily, especially when she unconsciously slipped into Creole. “ Rete avek mwen
bebe… rete dwa isit la siwo myèl … dwa isit la avè m '…” Remington said, continuing to talk to her.

  Wynter didn’t look away from her once while she spoke, mesmerized by her accent and the look in her eyes as she spoke the words that sounded so poetic.

  The paramedics tried to take Wynter out of Remington’s arms. Remington shook her head, her eyes still on Wynter’s, still talking to her. She gestured with her hand to Quinn to have them check the cut on her head.

  The cameras were still rolling during everything. The press fell in love with Remington LaRoché in the moment she started speaking Haitian Creole to Wynter Kincade. No one could deny that Remington held Wynter entranced with her words. They’d only fall deeper in love with Remington, as would every one of Wynter’s fans, when they played back the tape of Wynter’s fall and realized the fact that Remington had indeed caught her, keeping her from hitting the ground. The pictures of Remington sitting with Wynter braced against her bent knee and chest would hit every paper by the morning.

  The video of Wynter’s fall, and later of Remington ripping off her shirt to press it to Wynter’s head, and then closer video of Remington’s head bent to Wynter’s, the Creole words rolling off her tongue like a song, were played on every station around the country. The videos were quickly picked up around the world, with helpful translation provided in subtitles. The world heard that Remington was entreating Wynter to stay with her, to stay right ‘here’ with her calling her baby and honey.

  Wynter was pronounced extremely lucky by the paramedics. The cut on her head, although it had bled profusely at first, was not serious. Remington thought she’d pass out with relief. Quinn stood up, bending to take Wynter out of Remington’s arms so she could stand up. Remington stunned her by shaking her head. Remington tightened her left arm around Wynter’s shoulders and slid her right arm under Wynter’s knees. She then used her enviable core strength to stand. It was yet another thing the press would later comment on; how Remington LaRoché wouldn’t relinquish her charge for a moment.

  “I’m going to get her back to the hotel,” Remington told Quinn.