by Julie Kenner
“You think it’s funny?” Remy demanded. “See if you’re still laughing when I’m through with you.” He snatched the package from her hand, set it on the table and began to undo his shirt, lingering provocatively at each button. Dana stifled her snickers behind her hand, but her eyes followed his motions with flattering attention.
Damn, but he was just as nervous as she was. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and peeled out of it with exaggerated rolls of his shoulders, wondering if his skin looked as hot as it felt.
“You like what you see, sugar?” he asked with a suggestive leer. “You want me to come on over there and show you how it’s done?”
Her laughter had stopped, but her eyes shone very bright. She flipped back the bedcovers and held out her hand.
All the silly posturing fled his thoughts. This was no joke. He went to stand before her, gazing down at that solemn, lovely face. She undid his zipper with unsteady hands. She caught him as soon as he was free, and her fingers stroked up and down his length while she slid the condom into place.
After that he stopped thinking. He knew from her scent that she was more than ready for him, that she would gladly have taken him inside without any foreplay at all. But he didn’t want it that way. Not with her. He tugged off his jeans and stretched out beside her, sliding his hand under the waistband of her pajamas.
She was naked underneath. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to his caresses.
Her skin was wet silk where he touched her, warm and welcoming. He stroked her with his fingertip, so delicately, seeking the rhythm that would give her the most pleasure. Her hips lifted eagerly. He kept the rhythm going as he kissed her stomach just below the arch of her ribs.
“Remy,” she murmured.
“Let me taste you,” he said.
She shivered. He pulled the pajamas down over her hips and thighs. They tangled about her ankles, and she kicked them away.
“Jolie blonde,” he said with heartfelt admiration. He left a trail of kisses along the slope of her belly and stopped at her honeysuckle curls. Her scent was maddening. Her taste was beyond anything he could have imagined.
Dana remembered what it felt like to have sex, but she knew now that she’d never truly made love. The way Remy touched her with his finger and his mouth was not mere expertise. It was profound tenderness that took as much delight in giving as in receiving.
She could have let herself go and come to completion alone, but that was not the way she wanted it between them. With gentle tugs she pulled him up, glorying in the feel of his body rubbing hers.
Thigh to thigh, hands clasping, they kissed. Dana wrapped her legs around Remy’s hips. He didn’t need further encouragement. He entered her with controlled abandon, stroking deep and then withdrawing in a way designed to give pleasure with every movement.
She lost track of anything but the incredible feel of him inside her, his muscles flexing and releasing, his breath hot on her shoulder. They climbed to the stars in perfect tandem. She clutched his shoulders and arched up, up, urging him over the top with cries and whispers of joy.
Still he held back until he felt her shudder, and then he let himself fall. She took him in with all her heart. Remy whispered endearments, and kissed her neck and face until she remembered to breathe.
If ever a human being felt like howling, she did. Remy nuzzled her neck.
“Again?” he asked.
She chuckled, bursting with bubbles of laughter like warm champagne.
“What is it?” Remy murmured into her hair. “What’s so funny?”
She shook her head and kissed the dimple in his chin. It wasn’t funny at all. She had just discovered that werewolves really did make love just like humans. But she knew there would never be another man, human or otherwise, for her but Remy Arceneaux.
Chapter 10
The alarm clock showed a little past three in the morning when Remy finally remembered to look. He found it difficult to move, let alone think, with Dana’s hair spread across his chest and his lungs filled with the heady scents of their lovemaking.
Her breath grazed his damp skin, and her hand swept up and down his arm in a soothing, hypnotic rhythm. He swallowed hard. He’d forgotten to warn her that loups-garou really did have one major advantage over human males: they could keep it up all night long.
But not tonight. Not with Tristan still on the loose and Dana’s great-aunt snoring in the next bedroom. And those were the least of his problems.
“Are you okay?” she murmured, kissing his shoulder. “You weren’t too disappointed, I hope?”
He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over her, tracing his finger along the curve of her jawline. “Allons, allons. What kind of talk is that for a smart, sophisticated lady like you?
She gave him a sly, delicious smile. “Let’s just say I’m a very quick study. Of course, I’m sure I haven’t had as many lovers as you have. It may take me a while to catch up.”
“Don’t even think about it.” He heard the growl in his own voice and stopped. One hour with her and he was already talking like a jealous boyfriend. Talking like one, and feeling the knot tighten in his stomach when he thought of Dana with anyone else. Ever.
“I mean,” he said more gently, “that you should never follow my example in anything, chère. And you shouldn’t take chances.”
“Like the one I took with you?”
“Exactly.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his jeans. “You listen to me. Stay away from Chad Lacoste. Whatever you do, don’t trust him.”
She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest under the sheets. “He said almost the same thing about you.”
“Yeah. I’ll just bet he did.” He dressed hastily, hoping he wouldn’t turn to see the hurt in her eyes.
“Why mention Chad now?” she asked. “Are you afraid I’ll seduce him next?”
He deserved her scorn. He could have controlled himself, and he hadn’t. He needed to put space between them again, but not at the cost of losing her trust.
“I mentioned Chad,” he said, shrugging into his shirt, “because he’s here.”
“What?”
“He’s right outside your front door.”
“How can you know that?”
“I smell him.”
“Why would he come at this hour?”
Remy was relieved at the suspicion in her voice. If she was on her guard, that was all he could ask. “Did you know Sally and Chad were an item some years ago?”
“Gussie told me.” She pushed aside the sheets, slid off the bed and strode to the dresser against the wall. If she was self-conscious about her nudity, she didn’t show it. “She said Chad almost married Sally.”
“Did she also tell you how furious Chad was when she refused to get back together with him five years ago? He still thought she belonged to him, but she had other ideas. She had her own life. Chad wouldn’t let it go.”
Dana turned from the open drawer, a pair of sensible high-cut cotton briefs in one hand. “What are you suggesting?”
He backed toward the window. “I’ll be right outside.”
“Wait! Remy, you can’t—”
But she could hear, as he did, the firm knock on the front door. Clothing rustled as she finished dressing, and then her footsteps hurried from her bedroom and into the hall.
There was an extended pause before the front door swung open, admitting Chad into the house. From his position outside the open window, Remy heard the entire conversation. It was easy enough to imagine what wasn’t spoken aloud.
“Chad,” Dana said, feigning surprise. “What could be so important at this hour?”
“You didn’t call,” he said, couching the accusation in good-natured tolerance. “I’ve been thinking about you, Dana. Every day.”
“I’ve only been here a few days.”
“And you’ve been busy, haven’t you?” Chad moved across the creaking floorboards of the living room. “Asking about the Arceneaux brot
hers. More than asking. You were seen with Tristan in town.”
“He didn’t do me any harm. I don’t believe he’s dangerous.”
“Dana, Dana. I’ve tried so hard to make you understand.” A faint scrape of wood on wood. “Poor Sally. So beautiful. I’m surprised that your aunt still keeps pictures of her around. I wouldn’t think she wanted the painful memories.”
“And what about your memories, Chad? You were in love with her.”
“It was common knowledge.” He put down the picture frame. “Yes, I loved her. I would have done anything for her.”
The silence after that lasted so long that Remy almost climbed back through the window. He smelled anxiety, fight-or-flight hormones underlying Dana’s scent. But there was no threat from Chad Lacoste. Yet.
“I think you’d better go,” Dana said at last.
“I’m afraid you misunderstand me, Dana,” Chad said. “I don’t want to leave it like this. You and I—”
“At a more appropriate time, perhaps. Good night.”
Chad’s footsteps clumped toward the door. “Good night, Dana,” he said softly. “Sleep well.”
The door opened and closed with a solid click. Remy jumped through the window and was waiting when Dana entered the bedroom. She was fully dressed in a blouse and jeans, her face revealing no obvious distress at her encounter with Lacoste. Remy wasn’t fooled. He moved close to her, sickened by Lacoste’s smell lingering on her skin where he had touched her hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine.” She said. “Though I don’t understand why he dropped by so late. He didn’t seem quite…rational. Though he didn’t cause any trouble—unless you count the way he looked at me.”
The hair rose on the back of Remy’s neck. “And how was that?”
“I’d rather not speculate.” Her smile faded. “I took your warning to heart. You were about to say something else about Chad before he arrived.”
“It’ll have to wait. Tristan’s still out there.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Remy?”
He hated leaving her like this. She had a right to know what he suspected, what he most feared. But the time wasn’t right. He still wasn’t sure. He might never be.
“Stay here,” he said. “Stay in the house until I come for you.”
“I’m on your side. And Tristan’s. Why can’t you believe that?”
The smooth words he might have answered got tangled up in his throat. “I’m sorry, Dana.” He slipped out into the night. She didn’t call after him.
It had been too much to hope that he would find a solution to the turmoil of his emotions in Dana’s bed. But when he caught Chad’s scent on the thick night air, he knew there was a different kind of satisfaction to be had. Satisfaction, and another chance at the truth.
Chad had scarcely gone any distance at all. Remy found him and his BMW less than a quarter mile away, parked at the curb of a street lit only by the setting moon and the red embers of his cigarette.
He reeked of more than cigarette smoke. His hand clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel as if he were working up to some difficult and unpleasant decision.
Remy stepped in front of the convertible and leaned against the warm hood. “Hey,” he said. “Aren’t you on the wrong side of town, Lacoste?”
Chad dropped his cigarette with a curse, waving his burned fingers. He snatched up the smoldering butt before it could burn his expensive upholstery and tossed it over the side of the convertible. For just a moment his eyes reflected the fear Remy had sensed. Then his mouth curved into a contemptuous sneer.
“I might ask the same of you,” he said, slumping back in his seat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Looking out for a certain lady you don’t have the sense to leave alone.”
“And just what do you want with her, Arceneaux? She’s way out of your league.”
“Could be.” Remy leaned closer, smiling at Lacoste through the windshield. “But she’s exactly what you want, isn’t she? A perfect replica of Sally Daigle. Only, she’s on to you, Lacoste, the same way Sally was at the end. She knows better than to trust you.”
“Because you warned her?” Lacoste laughed. “You think she trusts you? Oh, I know she’s met with you a few times on her quest for the truth about Sally. I’m sure she’s heard all the stories by now.” He tapped out another cigarette and regarded it thoughtfully. “I hardly think she’s the type to let her imagination run wild when the evidence so clearly points in one direction.”
“Vraiment? Then why did she kick you out of her house, chèr?”
Chad flushed to the roots of his sandy hair. “I know who to blame for that, Arceneaux. And once I’ve had a few chats with the right people, Dana won’t need to be concerned with your lies any longer.”
“Ah, oui. You’ll have a word with your father’s cronies and have me and Tris run out of town.” Remy licked his thumb and rubbed at a smudge on the buffed silver surface of the BMW. “But you can’t really be rid of me, can you? I know what I saw that day. I know who hated Sally enough to kill her.”
“You know what you saw? Your own brother, with blood on his hands, raving about Sally—your poor, crazy, dangerous brother, rejected by his secret sweetheart.” Lacoste lit his cigarette. “You can’t be rid of me, either, can you? It eats at you all the time, doesn’t it—the possibility that Tristan killed Sally, and that I have enough evidence to put him away if you ever make one accusation against me.”
Remy kept his expression lazily indifferent, though his guts churned with sickness. The bastard was right. The fear was always there—fear for his brother, and fear of what Tristan had never been able to remember.
“Maybe if Dr. St. Cyr hadn’t come to town,” Remy said, “this might have gone on for years. Stalemate.” He turned his thumb so that his nail scraped the paint he had been polishing. “But you made a mistake chasing after her, Lacoste.”
“I don’t have to chase anyone. They come to me, sooner or later.” He studied the tiny new scratch on the hood. “I feel real sympathy for you, mon ami. For the first time in your life, you’ve been driven to grand acts of chivalry on a lady’s behalf. Too bad the effort will be wasted.”
“It won’t be wasted if I call your bluff.”
“And watch your brother go through a trial? See him lose what’s left of his sanity in prison?” He blew a stream of smoke over the windshield. “You know I can make it happen. The people around here are halfway to convicting him already.”
“You can’t accuse anyone if you’re gone.”
“Dead, you mean?” Chad laughed. “You think you can kill me and just walk away?”
Remy growled in his throat. Chad had always counted on his father’s influence, confident that Remy would never dare touch him. All his life, Remy had preferred to avoid entanglements, combative as well as romantic. He hadn’t competed for anything until he went to the city. He hadn’t cared enough.
Even what happened to Sally hadn’t driven him to violence. He had too many doubts. They had held him back every time he’d seen Lacoste’s smirking face.
But Lacoste had gone one step too far. He had threatened not only Tris, and he’d made it very clear that he wasn’t going to leave Dana alone. The sleeping wolf had awakened…the beast that would stop at nothing to protect its chosen mate.
Remy’s mind went blank. Chosen mate. The idea had slipped into place so quietly that he hadn’t noticed it. Even as he tried to scoff it away, it remained lodged as firmly as a snapping turtle in its shell.
Loups-garou usually mated for life. Among the Arceneaux, only a few had married humans. But mating was a serious matter for his people, one of the primal, instinctive drives that could thrust the wolf nature into dominance.
Remy felt it rising in him. For all the legends, loups-garou were not natural killers, no more than humans. But their greater strength, speed and senses made them far more efficient at killing if the need arose.
He could finish Lacoste, here and now. When he was done, no one would suspect murder. The sheriff’s department would wonder what kind of animal could tear a man apart like tissue.
“You’re not the only one who can hide a body,” he whispered.
Chad lost his nonchalance. He sat up in his seat and swallowed a lungful of smoke.
“You’re insane,” he choked.
“It isn’t insane to make sure that Dana is safe from you the way Sally wasn’t.”
“And what about making her safe from your brother?”
Remy snapped his arm around the windshield and caught Lacoste by his collar. “Maudit chien.”
“You’d better find him,” Lacoste wheezed. “Unless you—” He gave a rasping chuckle. “Looks like the law is heading right this way. Why don’t you tell him about it?”
Cursing his lack of resolve, Remy turned. An unmarked vehicle he recognized as Detective Landry’s had just arrived at the cross-street stop sign and was turning toward them, headlights stretching like grasping fingers.
Remy released Lacoste and backed to the rear of the convertible, putting it between him and the approaching vehicle. A part of him felt relief at the escape from bloodshed, but the other part wailed in despair and rage.
You can’t let him escape. He must be the killer. Not Tris. Never Tris. Prove it, once and for all.
Tires squealed on pavement. Remy felt a shattering impact against his hip, and then he was falling, tumbling head over heels. The convertible roared away as he slammed up against the curb.
I told you, the wolf howled. And then it was silent.
Chapter 11
Remy woke with his aching head pillowed on something soft, the deliriously sweet smell of woman all around him.
“Remy! Remy, can you hear me?”