“Yeah,” Wynter said, grinning, “that.”
“Oh, come on…” Remington said smiling, repeating the phrase for her bit by bit until she was able to say it. “Now, say it all,” she said, her smile enchanted.
“Mwen pral ale nenpòt kote avèk ou,” Wynter said in a perfect accent yet again.
Remington closed her eyes, listening to Wynter speak her language. This felt so good… so right. Opening her eyes, she saw that Wynter was looking at her.
“What were you just thinking?” Wynter asked softly, her eyes searching.
Remington hesitated, not sure what she wanted to say. “I was thinking that this feels good…”
Wynter looked back at Remington, her hand sliding up Remington’s arm. “It does, doesn’t it?” she asked. “It just feels… right.”
Remington couldn’t hide the surprise on her face, or the wonder that followed it. “You think it feels right too? I thought it was just me…”
“You didn’t say it though,” Wynter said.
“Because I chickened out,” Remington said.
Wynter’s eyes widened. “Did I just hear you right?”
Remington pursed her lips in humored mortification. “Yeah, you heard me right,” she said.
Wynter licked her lips. “Would you have ever made a move?” she asked. “On me, I mean.”
Remington thought about the question for a long moment. “I’m not sure,” she said, shaking her head, “you intimidate the hell out of me.”
“I intimidate you?” Wynter asked, stunned by that admission. “Why?”
“Because of how strongly I react to you,” Remington said. “You make me feel so… crazy sometimes.”
“Crazy?” Wynter asked, a slight grin on her lips. “Crazy how?”
Remington narrowed her eyes at Wynter. “You know damned good and well how,” she said, her tone low with accusation.
Wynter laughed out loud. It was a bright, warm sound. Then she nodded. “I admit I was desperately trying to seduce you a few times.”
Remington bit her lower lip and curled her nose up at Wynter in a kind of snarl. “You were modi sa ki mal,” Remington told her, putting a finger to Wynter’s lips. “Damned evil.”
Wynter smiled with her tongue sticking out playfully.
Remington leaned in, kissing her, sucking on her tongue sensually. That got Wynter going all over again. It was another hour before they even managed to get out of bed. And still another before they were able to get ready to leave. Even then, they had a hard time taking a shower together. At one point, Remington walked into the bathroom to check on when Wynter would be ready. Wynter was applying eyeliner in the mirror. Remington stood staring at Wynter’s reflection. Wynter was wearing boot cut jeans, high-heeled boots, and a bra, but no shirt at that point. The picture she presented was far too enticing.
Remington moved to stand behind her, watching Wynter in the mirror over her head, her hands sliding over Wynter’s slim hips, bending her head to kiss Wynter’s neck. She felt the vibration of Wynter’s low moan under her lips and that only incited her more. A moment later Wynter was dropping the eyeliner pencil and turning in Remington’s arms, pulling Remington’s head down to hers to kiss her deeply. It was another half hour before Wynter was able to complete her makeup. Fortunately, they managed to get out of the hotel room before there were further incidents. But they were both grinning like teenagers as they walked out of the hotel lobby.
Remington had picked up an envelope at the front desk, as they walked out of the hotel. She opened the envelope, taking out paperwork and a set of keys. She shoved the paperwork in her laptop bag that was slung over her shoulder and glanced around the lot, then headed toward a black Mercedes. She opened the trunk, setting her laptop case inside, then walked over to the passenger door and opened it for Wynter. The bellboy brought out their other bags, and Remington handed him a folded bill, thanking him for his help.
Wynter looked over to Remington as she got in on the driver’s side.
“Do you ever do anything halfway?” she asked.
Remington grinned. “I try not to,” she answered.
Wynter looked around the car. The seats were leather and smelled very new.
“You didn’t buy this did you?” Wynter asked.
Remington chuckled, shaking her head. “No, just a rental this time,” she said, smiling.
Wynter nodded, grinning.
It was snowing as they pulled out of the parking lot. Fortunately, the car already had the cables installed on the tires.
“So how long is it to get home?” Wynter asked.
“About three hours, normally,” Remington said. “Not sure with the snow though.”
Wynter nodded, looking over at Remington. She looked extremely good that day as far as Wynter was concerned. She wore very faded jeans that fit her quite snugly, outlining her leanly muscled legs, leather boots with a slight heel, and a gray and black thermal Affliction shirt with a gothic cross on it. Over it she wore her recently reclaimed Affliction jacket. Wynter now wore her Marine’s bomber jacket.
Wynter wearing her jacket hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Am I ever going to fully possess any of my jackets again?” she asked, not sounding too put out by the idea.
“Not as long as they smell like you, you won’t.” Wynter said.
Remington glanced over at her again, as she entered the freeway. “Is that why you’ve held on to my Affliction one all this time?”
“Yep,” Wynter said unabashedly.
Remington smiled. “For some reason, I really like that…”
Wynter smiled too, enjoying this new closeness with Remington. It really did feel good.
As they drove they talked about whatever came to mind. At one point, the conversation turned to family.
“Okay, remind me again, it’s your mom and dad… what are their names?”
“Delphine and Andre,” Remington said.
“Okay, and your sisters? Two, right?”
“Right,” Remington said, nodding. “Lisette and Justine. Lisette is the baby, she’s only seventeen. Justine is thirty and married.”
“Okay,” Wynter said, nodding, feeling nervous. “And do they only speak Haitian Creole?”
“They primarily speak Creole,” Remington said, “but they also speak English just fine and believe me, they won’t insult you by speaking Creole in front of you unless they slip like I do all the time.”
“Okay, but how do I say, ‘it’s nice to meet you’ in Creole, or will that be insulting if I try to speak your language?”
Remington smiled warmly. “Not the way you speak it, it won’t be,” she said. “The easiest thing to say is ‘anchante.’ ”
“Anchante,” Wynter repeated.
Remington nodding, smiling. “I have to tell you that I love the way your voice sounds when you speak my language.”
Wynter smiled brightly. “Then I should tell you I love the way your voice sounds when you speak your language.”
“You do, huh?” Remington asked.
“Oh yes…” Wynter said, reaching over to touch Remington’s arm, her look sincere. “The way you sound when you speak Creole…” she said, her voice trailing off as she shivered. “It goes right through me.
Remington moved her arm to take Wynter’s hand in hers. She lifted Wynter’s hand to her lips and kissed the back of Wynter’s hand, interlacing her fingers with Wynter’s.
“So, tell me about your family,” Remington said then.
“Not much to tell, it’s just my mom,” she said shrugging.
“Do you see her?” Remington asked, looking over at her.
“Yeah,” Wynter said. “I mean, I do, but not a lot.”
“Where does she live?” Remington asked.
“In Westwood,” Wynter said.
Remington looked over at her, her look perplexed. “Isn’t that in LA?”
“Yeah,” Wynter said, grinning.
“And pretty close to Brentwood where yo
u live…” Remington said. “Do you not get along with her?”
“I do, yes,” Wynter said.
Remington sensed the undercurrent to that answer. “Lauren didn’t get along with her?”
“My mom has never liked Lauren. Not even when we were eighteen.”
“Oh,” Remington said, making a face.
Wynter caught the look and started laughing, shaking her head. “I saw that.”
“I didn’t hide it,” Remington said mildly, her grin wry.
She looked over at Wynter a few moments later. “I’d like to meet her when we get back to California.”
Wynter was surprised by her statement, but realized she shouldn’t be. She’d already found that, to Remington, family was the most important thing.
“Okay,” Wynter said, smiling. “I think my mom would love to meet you.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Remington said.
“I love how you say things like that,” Wynter said.
Remington looked over at her, smiling. “You don’t think it’s too old-fashioned?” she asked, winking at Wynter.
Wynter laughed softly, shaking her head. “Speaking of which…” she said, looking tentative suddenly. “Your parents are old-fashioned, aren’t they?”
Remington looked thoughtful for a moment. “My father is, for sure, my mother isn’t as much.”
“So I need to be careful with my language,” Wynter said, looking worried.
Remington glanced over at her, seeing the nervousness Wynter was starting to feel.
“Siromyèl…” Remington said softly.
Wynter smiled and her eyes twinkled.
Remington canted her head, then closed her eyes momentarily. “Sorry, see? I do it all the time. I think it’s proximity to home. It means ‘honey,’ ” she said.
“So it’s likely I’ll understand you less and less over the next week?” Wynter asked, grinning.
Remington laughed. “Either that, or you’ll learn a lot of Creole,” she said winking. “Anyway, what I started to say is that you need to be yourself. That’s who I’m with, okay?”
Wynter pressed her lips, reveling in the feel of having Remington referring to her that way.
“Thank you,” Wynter said, smiling over at Remington. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
“About six months,” Remington said. “It’s been awhile.”
“That’s a while to you?” Wynter asked looking surprised.
“I usually come home every three months or so,” Remington said. “The only other time I’ve been gone more time than that was when I was in Iraq.”
“Were the four years all in a row?” Wynter asked.
“I had breaks in between tours, but they were about twelve to sixteen months each, depending on the assignment.”
“And what did you do over there?”
“Infantry,” Remington said.
“So, like…” Wynter said, her tone leading.
Remington chuckled. “I guess you don’t know much about the military, huh?”
“Nope,” Wynter said, shaking her head.
“Basically, I carried an M16 and shot where I was told to,” Remington said, grinning.
“Oh,” Wynter said, widening her eyes, “but I’d bet you were damned good at it.”
Remington inclined her head. “I did pretty good.”
“Uh-huh,” Wynter said, not looking convinced by the underplay. “So how did you end up getting into MMA fighting?”
“I found out in the marines that I liked fighting,” Remington said, grinning.
“How did you discover that?” Wynter asked.
“Well, marines are kind of a competitive bunch, and the men do not like us little girlies comin’ in and showing them up… so they talk a lot of crap… I got tired of it and knocked a couple of them down, and figured out that I liked the way it felt.”
Wynter’s eyes widened. “Now that I would never have guessed,” she said shaking her head. “In fact, when I’ve seen your fights, you always get worried when you actually knock girls out.”
“’Cause that’s girls,” Remington said, her look amused.
“Okay, so knocking guys down or out is okay, but hitting another girl is not as fun?”
“Well, technically they sign up to be hit when they step in the ring, but…”
“But you don’t like thinking you hurt someone,” Wynter said.
“Well, permanent damage yeah,” Remington said.
“I saw a fight where you kneeled at the edge of the ring and waited until they told you that the girl you’d just knocked out cold was okay. In fact, you reached over to shake her hand when she came to…” Wynter said, her look admiring.
Remington’s lips twitched as she inclined her head.
Wynter smiled, shaking her head. “Remington LaRoché we have got to do something about your lack of ability to brag about yourself.”
Remington shook her head. “I told you, I don’t talk about stuff, I just do it.”
“Like catching a singer before she hits the ground?” Wynter asked.
“Like that, yeah,” Remington said, smiling.
They were both quiet for a while again. At one point, Remington looked over at Wynter and saw that she’d fallen asleep. She smiled fondly. She had no idea what was going to happen with this woman, but she knew that she wanted to find out.
Chapter 7
Wynter woke up, opening her eyes, and seeing Remington’s profile as she drove. She looked her over, admiring the way she looked, her long legs outlined by the faded denim, her strong jawline, her long braids. She was sitting with her legs wide apart, her long and tapered fingers tapping the steering wheel as she drove. And then there were those lips… Wynter couldn’t stop thinking about those lips and how they’d kissed her and made her breathless and so excited she could barely stand it. Looking at them now, she realized how sexy they were. They were smooth, but they had a strength to them and kind of sexy half pout to their shape.
As if she knew she was being watched, Remington glanced over at Wynter.
“I fell asleep,” Wynter said, grimacing. “I’m a terrible traveling companion.”
Remington quirked a grin. “Yes, you are.”
“It’s not my fault, you wore me out,” Wynter said primly.
“I wore you out…” Remington said wryly.
“Uh-huh,” Wynter said, grinning. Then she looked around and saw nothing but countryside. “Holy cow, where are we?”
“Near home,” Remington said.
“How near?” Wynter asked her look worried.
“’Bout ten minutes.”
Wynter immediately opened the visor using the lighted mirror to check her makeup, then she reached for her bag behind her.
Remington glanced over at her. “What are you doing?” she asked, grinning.
“Checking my makeup,” Wynter said. “I don’t want to meet your parents looking all frazzled.”
“You look beautiful, babe, you don’t need to worry.”
“Uh-huh,” Wynter said, sounding unconvinced. She started looking around again. “They really live out in the middle of nowhere,” she commented.
“You usually don’t raise horses in the city, Wyn,” Remington commented.
“Oh, yeah, true,” Wynter said, nodding.
They drove for a few more minutes.
“Look over there,” Remington said, pointing to the right.
Wynter turned her head, seeing a huge beautiful white house with dark green shutters set back far from the road. The land it sat on was surrounded by a white rail fence. It was what Wynter thought of when she thought of the South.
“Wow, that’s beautiful…” she said, shaking her head. “What is that?”
“Home,” Remington said simply.
Wynter’s head snapped around so fast it was a wonder it didn’t come off.
“You just said what?” she asked stunned.
Remington pressed her lips together in amusement at Wyn
ter’s astonishment. “That’s home.”
“You need to stop this car right now…” Wynter said looking dead serious.
Remington obliged her by pulling over to the side of the road. Wynter climbed out of the car and started pacing on the side of the road, her boots crunching in the snow. Remington retrieved the bomber jacket and handed it to Wynter who took it with a narrowed look She put it on as she continued to pace. Remington leaned against the trunk of the car, her legs crossed at the ankles as she watched Wynter with an amused look on her face. Eventually she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking her time smoking as Wynter started muttering to herself. Remington imagined that if any of her parent’s neighbors happened by, they’d wonder why Remington LaRoché was out with a crazy person.
Wynter stopped pacing and stood looking at Remington.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Tell you what?” Remington asked, her look mild.
“That you lived…” Wynter stammered, then gestured at the house. “There!”
“Would you have known where there was?” Remington asked, grinning wryly.
“Don’t be a smart ass, Remington!” Wynter exclaimed. “You know that I had no idea…”
“Once again, I can’t know what you assumed…” Remington said patiently.
“And god knows you don’t brag…” Wynter said, rolling her eyes. “But a little, gee Wynter, I just so happened to grow up in a frigging mansion, would have been a handy little heads up!”
Remington put her hand up to her mouth, trying to hide the grin that started.
Wynter narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare start grinning…” she said, her tone low and threatening. “Remington, I mean it…” she said, a grin starting on her lips too.
Remington reached out, sliding a hand around her waist, and dragged her over to her and up against her side. She leaned down to kiss her lips. Wynter immediately wrapped her arms around Remington’s neck, kissing her back.
“Now, can we go, before we freeze to death?” Remington asked, grinning.
Wynter sighed, nodding her head.
The minute they were back in the car though, Wynter was nervous again.
“I can’t do this, Remi…” she said. “I can’t…”
Lightning Strykes Page 19
