by Amy Pennza
She pressed her palms between her thighs and leaned over her legs, rocking with the weight of her emotions. Just when she found love, her father had arrived and snatched it away from her. It would have been bad enough if he ordered her home. But that hadn’t been enough for him. He wasn’t content with finding another bridegroom for her. Instead, he wanted to see her humbled and humiliated by Asher—punishment for daring to defy her sire. If she disagreed? Well, he’d get his wish and then some. She’d be the first bride in a century to be bedded in public, the whole pack looking on while Asher parted her thighs and shoved inside her.
Her skin crawled. Bile burned her throat.
Leaves crunched. She scrambled to her feet and spun around.
The biggest wolf she’d ever seen stood twenty feet away, its sides heaving as it panted. Its fur was a deep, rich buff color—except for its tail. The end was streaked with black, as if it had wagged and struck drying paint.
“Remy?”
It gave her a doggy grin.
“I can’t—”
It growled, showing its teeth. Then it seemed to sigh, and she could have sworn it rolled its eyes. It dropped to the ground and started the shift from wolf to human.
“Remy!” She rushed forward and knelt by his side. It was too soon to Turn again. He must have shifted at the Lodge so he could chase after her. He was far too slow to catch her in human form. She started to touch him but pulled her hand back. Physical contact was the last thing any wolf wanted during a Turn. The transformation exposed nerve endings, if only for a split second. Still, it was enough to make any kind of touch sheer agony, like grabbing hold of a live wire.
After a minute, he lay naked and panting on the ground, his eyes closed.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“No.” He slit open one green eye. “Please don’t run off. If I have to Turn again today, I’ll toss you over my knee and spank you.”
Desire shot through her. She knew she should be offended, but her body felt otherwise. There was something naughty and forbidden about the thought of baring her backside and lying across his legs, helpless while she waited for his palm to descend. All she could muster was a faint, “You will?”
“No,” he sighed. “Not today, anyway. I’m too exhausted.” He rolled onto his back. “You’ll have to take a rain check.”
“You’re not spanking me.” There. She’d done her part for feminism.
He seemed to consider it. “Fine. You can spank me. Either way, just promise not to run away again.”
“I won’t. My Gift is tapped.”
He closed his eyes. “Thank goodness.”
Wind rustled through the clearing, cooling the sweat on her skin, chasing away the last of her budding desire.
He sat up. “Ah, chère.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb catching the tear making a slow trek down her face. “Go back to what you were thinking before.”
“You said you’re not a mind reader,” she whispered.
“I’m not, sweetheart. But I can smell your desire.” He pressed his thumb to her bottom lip. “I know when you’re wet for me.”
Her heart sped up. “We can’t do this, Remy.”
He tilted his head. “What is it we’re doing?”
“Don’t pretend.” Anger surged, and she pulled her face from his grasp. “If I don’t go back to Asher, my father will rain war down on this territory. He said you’ll be the first to die.”
Blue flashed across green. Remy dropped the teasing tone. “I’m not pretending, Sophie. And your father can go fuck himself.”
That startled a laugh from her. She stood, absurd humor bubbling up. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”
He got to his feet. In the late morning sun, his nude body was all pure lines and smooth muscle. “What else do you want me to say?” he demanded. “Gregory’s threats are just that—threats. Let him try to invade. I can promise you we’re more than prepared for him.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that. I won’t do that. No one should die because of me.”
“So it’s okay for your father to just sell you off?”
“No, but—”
“But what?” His eyes flashed, and two spots of color stained his cheeks. “You’re worth more than some sadistic asshole in Vermont.”
“It’s not about that!” Couldn’t he see? This went beyond Asher. Her father and Hamish hated Max, and now Lizette. They despised everything Max stood for, from equality for latents to the inclusion of those with weaker Gifts, like Remy’s.
“It’s not?” Remy flung his arms out. “Maybe you can explain it to me, then.”
Ooh, she did not need his sarcasm right now. “I don’t expect you to understand. You weren’t raised with certain expectations.”
“Right. I’m just a Telepath.”
“I didn’t mean that.” Her voice rose, and she drifted closer to him. “I’m an Alpha’s daughter.”
He matched his volume to hers. “Then act like one!”
“I am!” Now she was shouting. “You think I want to marry Asher? I’m doing this to protect you!”
He closed the distance between them. “You’re doing it because you’re afraid!”
Her jaw dropped. For a second, she was too furious to speak. “Afraid?” The tendons in her neck strained as she screamed into his face. She planted both palms against his chest and shoved. “Afraid? You bastard! Of course I’m afraid! I’m afraid—” She sobbed.
He grabbed her face and smashed his mouth against hers.
“I’m afraid of losing you!” she cried against his lips. She gripped his hair in both fists, using his curls to drag him closer.
They bit at each other, nipping and fighting for dominance. His fang nicked her, drawing blood, sending a stinging pain shooting across her lip.
He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, nursing at the tiny wound like his life depended on it.
Bite him back. Deep down, her wolf lifted its head. If she bit him right now, it would forge a link in the lux catena. Her gums ached as her fangs threatened to descend.
Remy groaned. He released her face and ran his hands down her arms to her hips, gripping her ass and pulling her into him. He deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue along hers. He kneaded her curves, his palms hot through her yoga pants.
Tears burned her eyes.
He broke away, his eyes bleak. “Jesus. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m just…” I’m in love with you. She sucked in her breath before she could say it.
He wrapped his arm around her head and pulled her against his chest, his fingers twined in her hair. His heart thundered under her ear. She closed her eyes and let his scent wash over her.
He spoke in a low, quiet voice over her head. “I want you to go away with me. No,” he said when she tried to lift away. “Just listen. I want to take you to the city, to Max’s apartment. Your father gave you twenty-four hours. Let’s use it to think.”
She swallowed. “Leave the Lodge?”
“It’s still inside the territory. Your father can’t touch us.”
“I’ve never been to New York City.”
She couldn’t see his face, but she heard the smile in his voice. “Then it’ll be my pleasure to take you, chère.”
18
She was on the balcony again.
Remy leaned away from the stove so he could see her. “Hey, sweetheart,” he called. “You like risotto?”
She turned, showing her profile, and he had to remember to breathe. Night was falling by the time they arrived in the city, and the air had grown chilly. Luckily, Max kept a whole rack of coats in the front closet. Sophie had wrapped herself in a long, white cashmere sweater that hugged her curves. Silhouetted against the backdrop of Central Park and the buildings along Fifth Avenue, with the city’s lights in her golden hair, she was irresistible.
“Yes,” she said, her soft lips curving in a smile. “I think I’ll like anything you make.”
&n
bsp; “Well, I hope you like shrimp.” He turned back to the stove and used a wooden spatula to stir butter into the risotto. They stopped at a small grocery store on the way down. The owner was a burly Italian with a push-broom mustache and an apron permanently stained with marinara sauce. Remy had discovered the store several years ago, on one of his many trips between the Lodge and Lizette’s college. Max had tasked him with keeping an eye on her while she was away at school. It was easy work, but the campus food was terrible. Finding Vic’s place had been like discovering a diamond mine.
The grocer had taken one look at Sophie and promptly lost his mind.
“You like cheese, bella signora?” he’d asked, producing a wooden tray groaning with a selection of expensive cheeses.
Sophie had looked up from the deli counter, where she’d peered at the selection of fish and meats. “Um…yes.” She’d rewarded Vic with a smile as she accepted a sample.
The Italian had stumbled backwards, one hand over his heart. Then he’d shaken a finger at Remy. “You no screw this one up, eh, Arsenault?”
“I hear you loud and clear, Vic.”
The grocer had loaded them up with over a hundred dollars in fresh shrimp, wine, and other delicacies. When Remy tried to pay, he waved off the cash.
“For bella signora. My treat.”
Remy removed the shrimp from the heat. Sophie was indeed a beautiful lady. He could have taken her to dinner. New York City was hardly hurting for decent restaurants. In truth, though, he didn’t want to share her—not even with other diners. Or passersby. Or a freaking doorman.
Besides, he liked cooking for her.
A panel by the front door buzzed.
“What is that?” Sophie turned from the balcony again.
He lowered the heat and went to the door. “It’s okay. I ordered a few things.”
She wandered into the living room, hugging the sweater around her. “But we have food.”
He just smiled and pushed a button on the panel. “Yes?”
“Mr. Arsenault?” a woman said in a bubbly voice. “It’s Gretchen. From City Salon?”
“Come on up.”
When he turned from the door, Sophie was frowning. “Who’s Gretchen?”
“A friend.”
For the briefest second, jealousy burned in her brown eyes.
Yeah, he liked that. Probably a lot more than he should. He enjoyed it for a full thirty seconds before taking pity on her. “She’s a makeup artist,” he said. “Well, a hair and makeup artist. I had her bring a few dresses for you, too.”
The jealousy turned to confusion. “Why would I need dresses? I thought we were eating in.”
“We are.” There was a soft knock on the door, and he opened it, revealing a short woman with cat-eye glasses and a shock of platinum hair. She carried a large train case and a bundle of clothes covered in plastic bags.
“Hey!” she said. She ran a professional eye down Sophie’s body. “Ooh, I’ve got the perfect dress for you. Not too many women these days have a figure as gorgeous as yours.”
Sophie looked at him. “Remy?”
“I thought it would be fun to get made up.” Oh no. Had he overstepped his boundaries on this? Maybe she’d take it as a sign he wanted her to primp for him. Leaving Gretchen in the doorway, he went to her and took her hands in his.
“You don’t have to, sweetheart,” he said in a low voice. “I just thought it might take your mind off things, if only for an hour or two.” He squeezed her hands. “Let someone pamper you.”
She gnawed her bottom lip. “I don’t know… How much is all this going to cost?”
That’s what she was worried about? He kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy.”
“All right.” She sighed. “Whatever you say.”
He grinned. “I think I could get used to you giving me whatever I want.”
She slapped him playfully on the chest. “Don’t count on it.”
He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, lowering his lids so she wouldn’t see any trace of pain in his eyes…and he wouldn’t see any worry in hers.
Because he wasn’t going to have a chance to get used to anything about Sophie. They were running on borrowed time.
* * *
“That man is freaking hot,” Gretchen said. She moved around Sophie’s head, wielding a curling iron so quickly the rod was a blur in her hands. Twist, twist, release. Twist, twist, release. Through some combination of hair spray and witchcraft, she tamed the golden mass into soft, sexy waves. She’d also given Sophie one hell of a makeup application. Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. For one thing, her eyes looked huge, her lashes so long they curled almost to her eyebrows, which Gretchen had arched with a pair of tweezers. There was some kind of shimmery blush on her cheeks and a soft pink lipstick that made her mouth look pouty and sleek.
Gretchen paused in her curling and met Sophie’s eyes in the mirror. “I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
“Not at all,” Sophie said mildly. “He is pretty hot.”
Gretchen fanned herself. “Like Eric Northman level.”
Oh, Gretchen. Wrong monster.
Sophie cleared her throat. “How do you know him?”
For the first time, Gretchen looked a little uncomfortable. “Oh. Well. You know, he’s been in the salon a few times.”
Dammit. Why had she asked? She knew Remy wasn’t offering her anything permanent. Just a fling. Still, a niggling curiosity made her keep pushing. “Was there anyone with him?”
Gretchen’s heart sped up. She almost certainly didn’t know Sophie could hear it. She probably didn’t realize Sophie could smell her sweat, either.
“I…” The other woman unplugged the curling iron and rested it on the glass-topped vanity table. She seemed to arrive at some kind of conclusion, because she faced Sophie in the mirror. “Yes, a few times. He used to be one of our regulars. We haven’t seen him since September, though. Honestly, I was starting to get a little worried.”
Sophie’s heart soared.
“And,” Gretchen added, “he has never asked me to do an in-home session.”
“Never?”
Gretchen stuck up three fingers in a salute. “Never.”
Well, that had to mean something, right?
“Now.” Gretchen clapped her hands together. “Let me show you the dress I have in mind.”
“How do you know it’ll fit?”
Gretchen waved a hand. “Remy told me. Size sixteen, right?”
Yes, actually. Sophie frowned. “How did he know that?” He’d never handled any of her clothing.
“Trust me, that man can measure a woman with his eyes.” She bustled to the closet and started unwrapping a dress.
Sophie let herself be turned and zipped like a mannequin. With Gretchen, it seemed easier to give in rather than attempt to fight her. She was like a small but powerful tornado, chattering nonstop as she helped Sophie smooth the softest stockings imaginable over her legs.
“Girl, you have got a pair of stems, I’ll tell you that.” She stepped back and clasped her hands together. “Oh my. Mama’s baby is all grown up!”
Sophie smiled. She couldn’t help it. What was Gretchen going on about? Then she turned toward the mirror and saw her jaw drop.
A stunning woman with huge brown eyes and a killer dress stared back at her. It was just a basic black cocktail dress, but it hugged her body in all the right places. A scoop neckline showcased her breasts, the push-up bra underneath making her cleavage take center stage. Gretchen had given her a pair of black stilettos, which made her legs seem impossibly long.
She turned sideways. Her hair shone like gold against the black dress, which nipped in her waist before bumping gently over her bottom.
From the doorway came a low, appreciative whistle.
Sophie turned. Remy stood at the door, only he’d shed the jeans and T-shirt he wore on the drive from the Lodge. Now, his big body was encased in dark, slim-f
itting pants and a crisp white button-down. The pants had to be bespoke. They fit him too well to be off the rack. Silver cuff links winked at his wrists, and he’d slicked his curls back from his face.
Yep. He made a pretty convincing Eric Northman.
Without realizing it, she moved toward him. “You look…” She had to swallow. Her throat was that dry. “Good.”
“Not as good as you.” Blue flashed over his gaze. He shot a look at Gretchen, who watched them with a lovestruck expression.
“If you two don’t make babies, it will be a crime against humanity.” Before they could respond, she put up her hands. “I know, I know. Gretchen, that is a wildly inappropriate thing to say. But I can’t help it. When I see two exquisitely good-looking people together, stuff just comes out of my mouth.”
Remy chuckled. “It’s okay, Gretchen.” He withdrew an envelope from his pocket and went to her. He looked back at Sophie. “I’d love to make babies with Sophie.”
Gretchen sighed. Sophie’s stomach flip-flopped.
“Tell the girls at the salon I said hello.” He pressed the envelope into Gretchen’s hand.
She winked at him. “I will. Just don’t be a stranger, m’kay?”
“I won’t.”
Sophie waited while he let Gretchen out. He wasn’t serious about the baby thing…was he? It was just a throwaway line to tease Gretchen. Werewolves didn’t make jokes about that sort of thing. Their population problem was too dire to be lighthearted about procreation. Anyway, Gretchen had brought it up first. Remy had just gone along with it.
Okay, she had to stop analyzing this. She wandered to the window and looked out at the city.
The apartment was really a penthouse, and it must have cost a fortune. There were two bedrooms, both decorated in an understated modern style. The walls were glass, the floors marble with a scattering of soft, white rugs. Balconies ringed the entire place, offering a breathtaking view of the city. Remy might not own it, but he definitely belonged here. Any human seeing him would peg him as a powerful man.
And he was. In their world, he was a Telepath—a wolf with an undesirable Gift. Here, though, he was everything human males aspired to be. Rich. Handsome. Experienced. Judging from the smells coming from the kitchen, he could probably open a five-star restaurant and make a fortune.
