by Julie Kenner
“Is that why you and Tristan live out here alone? Why did you come back to Grand Marais?”
His mouth set in a hard line. “I told you I’d answer your questions about loups-garou. My personal life is off-limits.”
“What about Sally Daigle?”
She knew at once he wasn’t going to answer, but she couldn’t let it go. Not now. “You told me that you and Tristan were prime suspects in Sally’s disappearance. You tried to warn me off several times, but now you’re confiding what must be your deepest secret.” She breathed in slowly. “I need to know, Remy. Did you have anything to do with it?”
The silence dragged out over several excruciating minutes.
“No.”
Dana closed her eyes. I knew it. “I just had to be sure. Do you know who—”
“I don’t know anything. Drop it, Dana.”
He was lying, but there wasn’t much chance that she would get him to open up with direct tactics. Something was still very much out of whack here. Remy knew much more than he was telling.
“Well,” she said, “now that you’ve explained what you’re willing to explain, can I go?”
“Just like that?”
“I give you my word that I’ll keep your secret. No one will ever hear about loups-garou from me.”
“I believe you.” He sauntered back to the table and pulled his chair closer to hers, the seductive charm returning to his eyes and his smile. “You all done with questions?”
“For the time being.”
He reached across the table and stroked the tips of her fingers with his. “You really want to go?”
“I told you that people will be looking for me.”
Remy played with her fingers, rubbing them with deliberate, sensuous strokes. “What if I don’t want you to?”
The most sensible thing to do would be to withdraw her hand from his, get up and retrace her path to the Lexus. There was still a chance that Remy wouldn’t let her go, but that wasn’t likely. He’d gone far in trusting her, and she was flattered when she ought to be wary.
Werewolves, for God’s sake. Was that why she was so drawn to a man she’d met only two days ago? Was he truly the embodiment of “animal magnetism”? Or was it the very possibility of danger that made her feel as if she were willingly drowning in his turquoise eyes?
“That’s right,” Remy whispered, turning her hand palm up and tracing its surface with lazy circles. “Just relax, chère. No reason to hurry, is there?”
“You don’t want…people coming out here again—”
“They won’t.” He began rubbing her arm just below the sleeve of the plain cotton shirt she’d bought at the store in town. “You figured out a cure, Doc?”
Dana was beginning to feel as if she’d downed several cocktails in a row, and she never drank. “Cure?”
“For my ‘condition.’”
He wasn’t talking about the werewolf condition. Oh, no. No man had looked more ready than he had when he’d confronted her after his change. Her mouth went dry. If she were to touch him beneath the table, she had a good idea what she’d find.
The idea excited her. What’s gotten into you? she asked herself with a last grasp at sanity. Yet the way she felt now was hardly more bizarre than what had led her to cancel all her appointments, pack up and leave San Francisco with no idea of where she was going or what she wanted.
For the first time since her teens she was adrift, uncertain. She was prepared to throw herself headfirst into an abyss that might be filled with flames or icy water or have no bottom at all.
But what she wanted…suddenly that seemed very clear.
“Why are you so sure I have the cure?” she asked.
He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “Instinct. That’s one thing I never question.”
Dana shivered. “If I followed my instincts…”
“You don’t want to do that, chère. Mine’ll have to work for both of us.” He opened his mouth and drew his tongue along the underside of her arm. “You taste good. Too good to waste.”
She tried, and failed, to shake him off. “I’m…I’m not a virgin, you know. I haven’t exactly gone to waste.”
“But it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” He moved his chair until it bumped against hers. “Too long. And you’ve never known anyone like me.”
“No. I’ve never—” She felt his lips on her neck and sucked in her breath. “I haven’t met too many werewolves.”
“Then you’ve got a real treat in store for you, chère.”
“I’m…afraid to ask why.”
“Don’t worry.” His breath feathered the corner of her mouth. “We make love like you do. We’re just better at it.”
“You are conceited, you know that?”
“I thought we’d established that already.” He pulled back a little and grinned, giving true meaning to the word wolfish.
“My,” she whispered. “What big teeth you have.”
“All the better to eat you with, my dear.” And he kissed her, cupping the back of her neck in his hand in a firm but gentle hold. Heat surged through her, barely contained, a savage wanting as heedless as that of any creature of the night. She opened her mouth to him, and he laced his fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss as if he intended to devour her.
Dana lost all sense of time. Awareness returned in the form of a noise she couldn’t ignore, a sorrowful wailing that made Remy jerk away and leap to his feet in alarm.
Howling. There was no mistaking that cry, which seemed born out of the fragments of a broken heart.
“Damn,” Remy swore. “Damn, damn, damn!”
Dana shook away the muffling haze of desire. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“It’s Tris.” He pounded his fist on the table. “He must have seen us.”
To her dismay, she realized she’d forgotten all about Remy’s younger brother. “But why should that—”
He swung about, brows drawn in a scowl that she sensed was aimed more at himself than at her. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? He was in love with Sally Daigle. He’s never gotten over her.”
Of course. That’s what Aunt Gussie told me—one of the Arceneaux boys was in love with her.
And I look like Sally. Tristan called me by her name.
“There’s no telling what he might do,” Remy said. “I’ve got to go find him.”
“Maybe I’d better come with you.”
“Forget it. After…what we’ve been doing, it’s going to be difficult enough for me to get him to come back.” Remy headed for the door and stopped, his knuckles white as he gripped the doorjamb. “Can you find your way back?”
“I paid attention when Tristan brought me here,” she said. “I still think—”
“Be careful. There’s plenty of daylight, but don’t stop until you get to your car.” He hesitated. “And thanks for bringing Tris back. He shouldn’t be going to town. He could have been hurt.”
And you think he may be in trouble now. A disturbing thought struck at her heart. A danger to himself—or to others?
“You be careful,” Dana said.
“I will.” He flashed her that ironic grin. “Don’t think we’re finished, chère.”
And with that, he was gone. She imagined him stripping off his clothing, becoming a wolf, racing off in pursuit of his wayward brother.
She, however, was bound to ordinary human shape. Still off balance from the day’s events, Dana returned the way she and Tristan had come, ears straining for howls or other indications of Remy’s passage. Only the occasional bird’s song accompanied her across the field, through the cypress trees and all the way back to the Lexus.
Once behind the wheel, she had time to think. She had to admit that she was a little relieved that her liaison with Remy had ended when it did, even if she regretted the circumstances. She’d come very close to committing herself to a path she wasn’t sure she wanted to take.
And what about tomorrow? Would they take up where they’d left off, as
Remy had promised?
She found no answers. Aunt Gussie met her at the door with a message that Chad Lacoste had called, several times.
“He seems mighty anxious to meet with you,” she said. “Kept asking where you were and when you’d be back.” She shook her head. “He was always very nice to Sally. A true gentleman. But I can’t help but wonder…”
She didn’t complete the thought, but Dana did it for her. I wonder if it’s because I look like his lost love? Maybe that’s why he was so ready to help me. But I’m not Sally. And if he’s still obsessed with her the way Tristan is, I’ll have to make that very clear.
But not tonight. She’d had enough drama to last her a year, and she had a feeling it wasn’t over.
She went to bed early, but it was no use. She worried about Tristan; she worried about Remy, who certainly didn’t need her concern. The tossing and turning continued until after midnight. She was listening to Gussie’s grandfather clock strike one when someone tapped on the bedroom window.
Chapter 9
Dana’s heart jumped into her throat. A pair of strong, brown hands lifted the unlocked window sash. Dana scrambled upright on the bed.
Remy stuck his head through the window, heaved himself up and tumbled into the room, landing easily on his feet like a cat.
“Remy!” Dana exclaimed, collapsing onto the bed. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He didn’t offer up one of his half apologetic, half challenging grins. “I haven’t found Tristan.”
With a strange conviction, Dana knew why he had come to her now. He was worried sick about his brother, and he trusted her enough to seek…comfort, was that the word? A man like Remy needing comfort from an ordinary woman?
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” he said, plopping down into the corner rocking chair. “Tris isn’t that subtle, and I’m a good tracker. The best. He can’t just have disappeared.”
Dana climbed off the bed, grateful that she was wearing pajamas that gave excellent coverage at such a vulnerable moment. She went to Remy’s side, hesitated and finally sat on the floor next to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Surely he’ll come back?”
He looked down at her, his expression softening. “I thought he might have come here,” he said. “But you haven’t seen him?”
“No.” She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she folded her fingers in her lap instead. “What are you afraid of, Remy?”
Instead of taking offense, he sighed and leaned against the back of the rocking chair. “My brother…you asked why I came back from the city. It was because of Tris. He needed someone to look after him.”
“And there wasn’t anyone else?”
“No. Even my family…they were never at ease with him.”
So things weren’t so different among these loups-garou than they were with humans. “You gave up something to come back. Something that mattered to you.”
“I had a career—stockbroker with a major firm. It was never as important as my brother.”
How many layers in this man had she yet to uncover? A stockbroker, no less. She had a feeling he’d been good at it, too. And now he was living out in the swamp for his brother’s sake.
“When I was young, I used to pretend I had a brother or sister. My relationship with my parents…wasn’t the greatest.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It gave me the motivation to succeed.”
“My only motivation was to get out of this parish. But since I’ve come back…” He squeezed her hand, but she sensed that his thoughts were far away. “I’ve learned to appreciate things I missed before. The way butterweed covers the fields with gold in spring. The cypress groves where snowy egrets nest in summer. The thunderstorms crashing around you as if the world is ending. The frogs and the warblers singing, and all the other sounds you can’t hear in the city. Even the hurricanes.”
“You make it sound very beautiful.”
“Not something you’d noticed, I guess. Sometimes it takes a while for outsiders to see it.”
“I guess I am an outsider,” she said, hiding a twinge of hurt. “I think I always have been, even in San Francisco.”
He took her other hand and pulled her to her knees. “Could be this is the place where you’ll finally belong.”
For a minute Dana was unable to speak. She was dangerously close to tears. This was a new Remy, a man with great empathy and understanding. And she realized she did more than lust after Remy Arceneaux; she liked him. She liked him very much.
“Tris may still come here,” she said. “Or he’ll just go home when he’s tired of running. Give him a little time, Remy. Sometimes you just have to let go.”
“I hope you’re right.” He bent forward, resting his forehead against hers as if they were old and dear friends. The contact was both restful and stimulating, and she felt sensation streak down her spine to end in overwhelming need. The same need she’d felt hours ago in Remy’s kitchen.
Remy felt it, too. He was acutely aware of Dana’s state of near-undress, the fact that she was naked underneath the thin silk of her pajamas. The cloth, the bed, the very air was infused with the scent of this woman, and her unique fragrance had begun to take on a taste he couldn’t have ignored if he tried.
Arousal. Oh, he’d sensed it on her before—a scattering of molecules suspended about her like an invisible net, released by her body entirely without her knowledge. But she couldn’t be ignorant of what was happening to her now. She was too observant to miss what was happening to him.
Damn it, he should leave. Now.
He pulled back. “You’d better send me away.”
She tilted her face, and loose blond hair fell over her forehead. His fingers itched to bury themselves in that cascade of sunlight. He clenched his fists and surged up from the chair.
“I’m going. Lock the window behind me.”
Dana caught his hand. “Do you still want me to be afraid of you, Remy? You’re not doing a very good job.”
“You’re playing with fire, chère.”
“Maybe I haven’t done enough of that in my life,” she said, twining her fingers through his. “I think I might even learn to like this Cajun heat.”
He threw her a look of amazement. Was she trying to seduce him? It didn’t fit with what he knew of her. The funny thing was, he scarcely knew anything about her, yet he felt as if he’d known her all his life.
She was human, and that meant the feeling he had for her wasn’t the folie d’amour that sometimes overcame loups-garou. A werewolf who found the âme soeur, soulmate, in another of his kind was bound to her for life.
His parents had been determined to mate him, according to tradition, with one of his Arceneaux cousins. He’d refused such a fate by running away. Now, it seemed, destiny had played a joke on both him and his family.
Dana gave an uneasy chuckle and released his hand. “Did I shock you? I’m not exactly an expert at…I’ve been out of the loop so long I don’t even know what they call it these days.”
Remy hardened his heart. “They still call it sex.”
“I…suppose they do.”
“Is that what you want from me?” He crouched before her, staring into her eyes. “A little roll in the hay?” He bared his teeth in a grin. “Are you still curious about how werewolves do it, chère?”
It wasn’t every human who could meet a werewolf’s gaze without flinching. “Is there something I ought to know?” she asked. “Is it catching?”
Hé bien, but she was a cool one. He couldn’t say the same for himself. “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.” He stroked her lower lip with the ball of his thumb. She closed her eyes. “We’re not animals. I am a man, and if you don’t want me to stay, you’d better say so now.”
Her breath hissed out between parted lips. “Stay.”
He’d never had a plainer invitation in his life. Hell, he’d had his share of lovers in the city, and a few here at home. Non
e of them had any complaints that he knew of. But every one of those women had known there weren’t any strings attached.
Did Dana?
“Has there been anyone for you?” she asked. “Anyone important?”
He drew his fingers down her chin and let them fall to her breast. “You want promises, chère,” he said, stroking her nipple through the silk, “you better find yourself another man.”
Her clear eyes met his. “I don’t want another man. I want you.”
He groaned deep in his chest. One last chance. “Devastatingly attractive as I am, I don’t carry protection in my pocket. Unless you—”
“I thought of that. I’m prepared.” Color washed over her cheekbones. “Unless, of course…you don’t want me.”
Gone was the confident, self-contained professional who had propositioned him so calmly. Her lip betrayed the slightest hint of a tremble. This beautiful, intelligent woman was afraid of rejection, braced to accept the humiliation of falling flat on her face.
He answered her in the best way he knew how. As they knelt there on the floor, thigh to thigh, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Dana claimed to have been “out of the loop,” but her response was neither hesitant nor in the least virginal. She kissed him as if she’d been storing up about a hundred years’ worth of sexual appetite and was ready to use it all on him. He had a feeling this was the Dana St. Cyr very few people ever knew.
Take it easy, Remy. He should be able to keep his head. He could try, anyway.
“Slow down, chère,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck. “I’m not goin’ anyplace.” Carefully, he undid the top button of her pajama top, and then the next, and the next. Her breasts were firm and round in his hands. She arched against him, pliant as a dancer, and he felt her reach for the snap of his jeans.
He scooped her up into his arms, kissing her nipples one at a time, and carried her to the bed. She slid from beneath him before he could lay her down, and he thought she’d had second thoughts at about the worst possible moment.
But she hadn’t. She fumbled for the knob of the drawer in her bedside table and pulled out a package. She looked at it and then at Remy, one brow arched, and suddenly burst into helpless giggles. Remy realized it was the first time he’d heard her outright laugh.