"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?"
He Men, 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. None 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.
"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 pajam
as 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 brothers. 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."
When Darkness Falls Page 7
