by Nina Bruhns
He glanced at her and smiled. "Likewise. Should we stop for ice cream?"
"That would be great."
Instead of bars, they opted to share a pint using spoons. Remi found a place to pull the car in behind a solid hedge and they climbed the levee to sit under an old live oak at a high spot overlooking a bend in the lazy river. There was a slight breeze so the heat wasn't too oppressive.
"This is nice," Muse said, dipping her spoon into the rapidly melting ice cream.
She would have said perfect, except for the confession she was about to make. She hadn't planned on telling the FBI about the videotape in her possession until the very last minute. But now Grace had arrived in the Quarter and could be in added danger because of the video.
"Remi, there's something I have to tell you."
He looked up, sucking on his spoon. "Yeah?" When he saw her serious face, a guarded expression came over his. "What is it?"
She jetted out a sigh, taking another spoonful. "Remember when we went to my apartment to pick up my things that first day?" He nodded. "And how I insisted we take the curtains to the dry cleaners?"
He snorted. "Oh, yeah. I remember."
"Yes, well, did you ever wonder why I did that?"
"No. You're a woman."
She scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means… Never mind, get to the punch line. I have a feeling this isn't about dry cleaning, is it?"
"Not exactly."
He swore softly. "Dis moi."
"I have a videotape in my safety-deposit box at the bank which I stole from Gary Fox. Gary stole it from James Davies."
Remi straightened, instantly getting that what she was saying was important. "What kind of videotape?"
"It's a video of Davies torturing and killing a man."
Remi froze and stared at her for several seconds. "You're kidding me."
"I wish I were. It's really, really awful."
For a moment she couldn't go on; the hideously graphic images forever burned in her mind swirled through it in Technicolor black and blue and deep bloodred. And she had only watched for a few minutes before shutting it off and running to the bathroom to throw up.
There was no doubt it would be her in that dark warehouse on Louisa Street, duct-taped to a wooden chair being beaten and sliced to ribbons, if Davies caught her with the tape.
Or that her sister could wind up in the same position simply by coming to her rescue and having things go badly.
"Is that why the blond man has been following you for the past two weeks? Was he sent by Davies to get it back?"
She lifted her shoulders. "I don't know. It's possible. At first I thought it was Gary following me. He didn't take our breakup well at all. He kept calling and— Anyway, I suppose he could just have been after the tape. After a while, though, I wasn't sure it was him."
"Did anyone search your apartment?"
"Not that I know of. But it wouldn't have been hard to break in. The lock—"
"Is a joke," he murmured, remembering. "And if they were careful you would never have noticed. Could Fox have told Davies it was you who stole the tape?"
She thought about it for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I was never allowed access to the room where it was kept, so Davies would know Gary must have taken it himself."
"And you're absolutely sure Fox is still alive?"
She blanched. "No," she reluctantly said. "I'm not."
She'd broken up with him, but she harbored no ill feelings. Gary was definitely misguided, but he didn't deserve a gruesome death. He'd never been involved in the really bad stuff.
"He disappeared shortly after we broke up," she said. "I assumed he went underground with Davies. Besides, hopefully Davies doesn't even know someone has the tape. Gary made a duplicate and left it in place of the original."
"Clever," Remi said. "And now you have the original." She nodded. "In your bank safety-deposit box." She nodded again. "And the FBI knows about this tape, yes? It's part of your testimony. Right?" he prompted when she hesitated.
"Um…"
He groaned around his spoon. "No?"
"Not exactly."
"You didn' tell Morris? Why the hell not?"
"Because…" She finished up the last lick of ice cream and gazed out at the mud-green river slowly meandering past them. "He would have taken the tape from me. I wanted to keep it as insurance in case Davies found out I was a witness and came after me. I could pretend that without the tape my testimony was useless. Plus, as long as Morris thought he needed me alive for the trial, he'd do everything in his power to protect me."
"I see," Remi said, digesting what she'd told him. "I guess I can understand all that. But there's one thing I still don' get."
"Which is…?"
"What does all this have to do with dry cleaning?"
She smiled bleakly. Nothing like saving the worst for last. "Sure you want to know?"
"I think I'd better."
"You have to understand, if I'd told you about the video, you'd have informed Morris. We'd just met, and … well, I wasn't sure I could trust you to keep me safe, especially if the FBI took the tape."
"Muse, what did you do with it?"
"I knew Grace would come to look for me if I disappeared. That she would stay at my apartment."
His eyes widened. "Please don't tell me you left the tape for her there."
"No. But remember that key I asked you to get from the drawer?"
"Yes." Were his teeth clenching?
"That was to my safety-deposit box. I attached it to the curtains we took to the cleaners."
He regarded her warily. "I still don't get it."
An involuntary smile came over her lips. "You would if you knew Grace. She'd never stay in a bedroom with no curtains. She'd find that dry cleaning ticket in my briefcase and go fetch them within hours of arrival. She's very modest."
His brows lifted incredulously. "This is your sister?"
She thumped his knee. "Smart aleck. I told you she's the good twin."
His eyes sparkled. "Now, that's a matter of opinion."
"So you're not mad?"
"I didn' say that."
"You don't look mad."
"I'm too busy being glad I got the bad twin."
She made a face. "What are we going to do?"
He grinned. "I can think of any number of things."
She poked his knee again. "About the tape I mean, and Grace."
He gathered her to him and kissed her forehead. "Not a blessed thing."
"But—"
"You've already taken good precautions. The tape is safe where it is, and since Grace will soon be on a plane back to Charleston we don't have to worry about her finding the key. Or anyone else for that matter. Nobody in their right mind would think to look in the dry cleaning for a safety-deposit key."
She was trying to make up her mind whether to bop him a third time when he kissed her again and said, "Not bad for an amateur."
Perhaps not. "You think?"
"Mais, yeah. And thank you for telling me. For now we'll keep this just between us."
She was glad she'd trusted him. The tape had been weighing on her mind because of not being able to contact Grace. Now she could stop worrying.
About Grace and the tape, at least.
Remi, on the other hand, was a whole other story.
* * *
Remi was worried.
He hid it from Muse, though. He didn't want her distracted by things that might never happen.
He'd much rather have her distracted by him.
He couldn't wait until bedtime. It had been touch-and-go for a while there as to whether or not they'd be speaking tonight, let alone sharing a bed. But luckily things seem to have smoothed out between them.
They stopped in the village to pick up a few items before going to the cottage, and to give the shopkeeper a chance to mention if he'd seen any strangers in town. Dev was right, the villagers were incredibly loyal to "Mr. Devl
in," as he was known in the area. Nobody pried into their business, but everyone they met treated them like old friends needing protection.
"Haven't seen a car all day that didn't belong," the man behind the register remarked. "But I'll be sure to let Mr. Devlin know if anyone starts asking questions."
Dev had also let Remi borrow his cell phone so they could get in touch with each other easily if necessary. Though Remi didn't like the fact that it wasn't a hundred percent secure, it was nice to have the option.
He pulled into the cottage driveway and sat for a minute quietly observing their hideaway for signs of trouble.
"So, how long before Davies finds us?" Muse said into the silence, eerily echoing his own thoughts.
"Why do you ask?"
"If there is a mole at the FBI office he'll be able to connect the dots and trace the call we just made to Morris."
"It'll take an expert to wade through Dev's creative routing," Remi offered hopefully.
"Davies has experts. Trust me."
So much for not worrying her. He should have known she'd be smart enough to figure it out for herself.
He didn't answer, but reached for her hand, leaned back in the crackling leather bucket seat, and instead thought about trusting Muse Summerville.
Did he trust her?
What the hell was trust?
And why did it matter, anyway?
For some reason it did.
He trusted her with his body. Oh, yeah, no problem there.
Oddly enough, he trusted her with his life. Put a gun in this woman's hands and he was sure she'd blast anyone trying to hurt him.
Now, that put a smile on his face. Up until a few days ago it had always been him blasting the bad guys to save his own worthless behind. It was a novelty knowing there was someone else on the planet who cared enough to cover his back.
"Remi?"
Muse cared. Of that he had no doubt. If she didn't, she wouldn't trust him to the extent she did, with her body and her life.
But what about her heart?
"Is everything all right?"
No, she hadn't trusted him with her heart, and probably never would.
And that's why he couldn't trust her with his.
"I take it this means you want to leave."
Remi drifted out of his ponderings. He'd be fine with bodies and lives. Hearts didn't fit into his plans, anyway, regardless of how his ached at the thought of their parting.
"Why would I want to leave you?"
"I actually meant both of us." She gazed at him for a long moment. "Are you thinking of leaving me?"
"Non, of course not."
"What were you thinking about, then?"
"Hmm?"
She was still staring, so he pulled himself together. And allowed more immediate and agreeable subjects to drift back into his consciousness. One in particular which had been heating his imagination all day. Anticipation was the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world.
"I was thinking how we probably have a good day or two before we have to worry about Davies finding us here, and I was wondering what we could possibly do to pass all that time together." He smiled meaningfully.
A blush crept up her neck, painting banners of pink across her cheeks. He wondered if she'd been anticipating her decision about tonight as much he had, if she'd spent the day imagining what his tongue would feel like toying with her sensitive flesh, fantasizing about the erotic suction of his mouth on the soft undersides and tight peaks of her breasts. And elsewhere.
She didn't run, didn't turn, didn't even look down.
His body quickened, knowing instinctively what that meant for the coming night.
She was going to say yes.
Tonight she would be his. Completely.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
"Shall we?"
Muse's pulse went into hyperspace.
Four hours later and she was still so nervous it was a miracle she could stand, for the shaking in her legs.
"You mean bed? Already?"
Only 9:30.
After Remi's suggestive remark in the car this afternoon, he hadn't once brought up the subject again of making love. He hadn't had to. It was all she could think of even without a reminder.
It was all she could think of while preparing and eating supper. And it was all she could think of talking and relaxing with a cool drink on the verandah.
Now, as he led her back into the house and gathered her into his arms for their first kiss of the evening, it was definitely all she could think of.
"Will you be joining me?" he asked, moving his lips softly over hers. "In my bed?"
She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet. He wasn't holding her tight, wasn't kissing her hard. He was making it easy for her to say no, if that's what she wanted. She knew that's what he was doing, giving her an escape.
She didn't want an escape.
She wanted him.
"Yes," she whispered, understanding all she was consenting to. Trusting him to keep her safe as he made her his. "I want to be with you."
She felt a tremor pass through his body. Could he be as nervous as she?
No, not a man like Remi, so worldly and experienced. What would he have to be nervous about?
He left the bathroom door open as he took a shower—an invitation? She didn't have the courage to go in. She left it open, too, when she took hers, jumpy as a kink-tailed cat in a roomful of mousetraps, the hot shower spray useless against her unrelenting shivers. But he didn't come in, either.
When she'd finished and dried off, she thought about going to him as she was, sliding into bed without a stitch on. But she didn't have the courage for that, either. She donned his shirt, took a deep breath and walked into the bedroom.
* * *
Remi was reclining in the bed, looking handsome as the devil and sexy as sin. He'd draped a pink scarf over the nightstand lamp, which cast a rosy glow on the walls and the bed's lace coverlet, softening the monitor's blue. The radio played in the background, but she couldn't concentrate enough to hear what kind of music. The scent of flowers filled the room, and her eyes settled on a vase overflowing with fresh-cut roses from the garden.
"Oh, Remi," she whispered, not knowing what to do with herself.
"Vien ici, mon douce ange," he said, "my sweet, sweet angel."
She took a step toward him, then another. Watching his blue eyes turn to indigo and the scar on his lip curve slowly up. No man had ever looked at her as he was looking at her now, his gaze filled with hunger and desire … and something else.
Reverence?
She reached up and with trembling fingers began to unbutton her sleep shirt.
"Non." Remi held out his hand to her. "Wait."
She hesitated, slid her knees onto the mattress and he flipped back the covers, revealing his tall, powerful body to her. As was his habit, he was already nude. And massively aroused.
Her breath backed up in her lungs.
"Do you remember what you did to me last night?" he asked, voice low and gravelly. "How easy it was to control my body, with just your kiss?"
Her eyes locked with his, soaking up the courage he was deliberately gifting her with. Slowly her breath eased out.
"I want to feel that again," he whispered, "and more. I'll do anything you want, everything you ask, to feel that again."
She licked her lips, swept her gaze over his broad shoulders, his lean hips, his muscular thighs. And stopped at the long, thick male evidence of his desire for her.
It frightened her. Terrified her.
Not because she thought it would hurt her. But because she knew it wouldn't. And that would force her to admit it wasn't sex she had been avoiding all these years but feelings.
"Straddle me," he ordered in low tones vibrating with barely restrained want.
She swallowed deeply and did as he asked. The thin silk of her panties might as well not be there. She co
uld feel every tense muscle, every throbbing vein, every molecule of heat generated at the top of his thighs where she gingerly perched. Her own thighs, resting astride his hips, turned to thick, molten lead.
"You're in control now," he said. "Do what you will with me."
For a moment she was astounded that a strong, powerful man like Remi would give up his dominance to her so utterly and completely.
But then, wasn't that what he'd been doing all along?
Grateful and falling more in love every minute, she looked down at his big body beneath her, and saw not an instrument of terror but one of adoration.
"I've never been on top before," she admitted.
"I figured you hadn't. Why don't you take off that shirt now? Nice and slow," he softly suggested. "Before you ravish me."
She met his gaze, the ghosts of all past uncertainties fleeing in the light of his seductive smile.
"Who says I'm going to ravish you, sugarcane?"
His smile broadened. "I do."
"You said I was in control."
"You are." He winked. "That's how I know."
She tipped her head, put her hands to his ribs, watched him suck in his breath as she slowly ran them up his chest. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"Mais, yeah. My grandmère, she got da voodoo. Put a spell on me to make me irresistible to women."
Muse could believe that well enough. She smiled. "Is that so."
She leaned down and kissed him. He tasted so good her throat ached.
"Yeah. Now, about that shirt…"
She was ready. More than ready. One by one she slipped the shirt buttons from their moorings, reveling in the voracious way Remi's eyes followed her every movement. Men had looked at her before, but until now not one of them had really seen her. Strangers had seen an object, friends had seen an image. She knew Remi was seeing Muse.
It was the scariest thing she'd ever experienced.
"Si belle," he murmured, and slid the shirt from her shoulders and down her arms. "So beautiful." He tossed it aside.
She had seldom been this exposed in front of a man, but instead of being frightened, she felt a heavy burden lift from her heart.
This was a man who would never hurt her or be anything but sensitive and considerate. And she was in control.
It was an amazing feeling.