Embrace The Night (28 page)

He stepped back from her, and saw her two male counterparts leaving the front of the room to move swiftly in their direction. Adrenaline spiked through him, and that familiar cold confidence.
Just fucking try it.
Making a swift decision, he grabbed Florita’s arm and pulled her through a door next to him.

They were in a back hallway that led to the kitchen, but it was deserted. Everyone, it seemed, had come to see the Strangers.

“Ah, Simon,” she said, leaning into him, hands plastered against his chest, trying to push him against the wall. “I knew you—”

“Don’t try it, Rita,” he said, setting her back from him. “You have no idea what I’m capable of…especially now. I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your admirers.”

She edged back a bit, eyes shifting up and over him as if scanning to look for a crystal or some other verification of his threat, some sign of his power. But he merely looked back at her, knowing that simply his appearance, his unaged body sans the life-force crystal was enough proof that she no longer knew him.

“Come on, Simon,” she said, reaching for him again. She was damned strong, surprising him as she curled her long-nailed fingers into his shoulders. Apparently the crystals gave strength too. “There’s no reason to be coy anymore. Leonide is long gone. And I could use a man like you. In more ways than one.” She brushed herself, her torso and hips, against him. “I could keep you very, very busy.”

Simon, filled with revulsion, was at first unable to move. The last thing he wanted was to get into a tangle with her, struggling and groping against him. He’d been there and knew how the claws would come out, the clothes would come off…she leaned into him, her breasts flattening against his chest.

“Do you know how many men I’ve been with? How many who were lusted after, and wanted by women all over the world? There was George, and Brad and Hugh and countless others—”

“Is this supposed to surprise me, Rita?” he said, keeping his voice steady with effort. Was it more effective to shove her away or to appear completely unmoved? “That you slept your way through Hollywood like you did East Los?”

“Do you know why?” she said, skimming her nails over his chin, leaving behind the slightest bit of a prick as she jabbed his jaw with one slender tip. “Because there was one man I couldn’t have. Because he was too goddamned honorable. Simon.” She lifted her face and managed to capture his mouth for a moment, brushing her full, hot lips against his, bringing another whiff of that unusual scent. He turned his face aside.

“It wasn’t Mancusi that kept me away,” he said, resisting the urge to wipe his mouth.

“I don’t believe you, Simon,” she purred. “I had the proof in the palm of my hand.” As if to punctuate her words, as if he could misunderstand what she meant, she slid her hand over the front of his jeans, cupping over his damned cock like she owned it.

Now he shoved her away, not hard enough for her to stumble, but hard enough. “I warned you, Rita. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“And neither do you, Simon,” she said. “Things have changed more than you can imagine, and so have I. You saw where I was and what I became. How I made myself.”

He laughed humorlessly and made no attempt to hide the disdain in his voice. “I certainly have. And I’ve no interest in it. In anything you have to offer.” Now he turned to walk away, but she grabbed at him one more time with those strong fingers.

Her eyes had turned hot and determined and she stroked along his bare arm a second time. This time, the caress, the promise, was unmistakable. She leaned closer, bringing a rush of some odd scent with her, and added, “You escaped me once, but not this time. Things are much different now.”

Simon extricated his arm, the sensation of an army of tiny creatures crawling over his skin filling him with disgust. “You don’t have a chance, Rita. You didn’t then, you don’t now. Good night, and good-bye.”

He felt the drill of her eyes into the back of his skull as he walked away and back through the door leading into the dining area, threading his path among the tables, the back of his neck prickling as his movements remained easy and arrogant. The rumble of buzzing conversation dipped to a hush when he made his way through the room and felt, more than heard, Florita come through the door after him.

How many times had he turned his back on an adversary, calling their bluff? Colleagues and foes alike had talked about his cold, emotionless reaction.

The one time he’d guessed wrong, Simon’s prickling spine caused him to spin in just enough time to aim his own weapon and pop the guy in the head. Rita, as a matter of fact, had been there to see it.

Because the guy had been her other lover, the one she’d been two-timing Mancusi with. The one she’d set up to kill Simon in retaliation for his rebuff of her.

Now, as he walked away, shoulders broad and back unprotected, Simon felt that same surge of power, strength…and a niggling bit of the black fear that had driven him before. The fear that had allowed him to be so cold, so purposeful and so damned efficient. The fear that Mancusi had nourished in his manipulative way, then leeched from Simon for his own use.

The return of these emotions, this state of mind, scared the fuck out of him. But he kept walking, focused on the dining room exit. Ignoring the return of the pinching nausea.

He had to get Sage out of there next. And then they were getting the hell out of this place.

Simon knew Tatiana?

And from the crackling, snapping of tension between them, he’d known her quite well. Sage hadn’t missed the possessive, hungry look in the woman’s eyes, and the crafty way she leaned in toward him.

But Simon had been emotionless, showing no surprise. Had he somehow known she was the Stranger? Or was he just that good at hiding his feelings?

Sage didn’t speak. When Simon got up abruptly, walking away without a backward glance or even the brush of a comforting hand against her, she did nothing but watch him go. Had he ignored her purposely, or was he so agitated that he’d forgotten her presence?

“Oh my God,” Sharon was saying, reaching across the table and grabbing Sage’s arm. “What’s going on?”

Sage didn’t even look at her, or Dawn, or any of the other people around her who gawked between her and the scene going on across the room. Instead, she stared as Tatiana went after Simon and watched with even more fascination as their conversation continued at the edge of the room. From the body language, Sage recognized Simon’s complete aversion to the woman, and the actress’s just as strong attraction to him.

“She knows your husband?” whispered next to her. “How?”

Sage ignored the voice behind her, still watching Simon. Suddenly, he opened a door next to him, and he and Tatiana disappeared, leaving a billow of whispers that surged almost immediately into a full-blown buzz. Moments later, Simon reappeared and stalked from the room without a backward glance. Tatiana emerged from behind the door as well, and Sage could feel her anger rolling in waves from across the room.

As Tatiana scanned the room with her furious gaze, Sage turned back around in her seat, heart pounding, kind of looking down—just, she realized, as Simon had been doing when the Strangers were up on the stage. He must have recognized Tatiana long before she saw him.

“Sage,” Sharon said, bumping into her with her elbow. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Sage was forced to reply.

“Where did he go?” asked someone else.

Then the barrage of questions came—who is he? How does he know her? Why is she angry?

Sage could do nothing but shrug, even as the same questions blasted through her mind. Something told her to be unobtrusive and quiet—to keep out of the way of the Strangers and to stay beneath their awareness. Especially Tatiana’s. So she settled back onto her chair and tried to join the low buzz of conversation around her without drawing attention. Camouflaging herself by joining the fray.

Tatiana had returned to the front of the dining area, talking quietly with her two cohorts. Her black hair shifted and shone with every jerky movement, and although the woman was shorter and smaller than either of the two male Strangers, it was obvious that she was in charge. And even more obvious that she was barely controlling her fury.

Simon, Simon…what is going on here?

Then, suddenly, Sage felt a little shove. She started, turning to look behind her, but no one was there but the back of the woman sitting at the next table. But then she felt it again, even more insistent, and then she realized with a flush of annoyance at her stupidity that it was Simon. Invisible Simon. He nudged her again, as if trying to get her to move.

She nodded, muttering “Okay” from between her lips.

But now what? Did he want her to get up and leave? Everyone had fallen into their own conversations, and no one seemed to notice her. But, with a glance at the front, where Tatiana was now speaking intensely with the community leaders, Sage feared that she would be noticed if she stood and left.

The nudge came again, even more urgent and Sage half rose to her feet. Feeling very self-conscious, she whispered to Sharon, “Do you think anyone will care if I leave to pee?” At least she could set up her “cover” for leaving.

Sharon shook her head. “I don’t know if anyone would care if you danced on the table, after that last bit of entertainment. Are you going to go look for him?” Her eyes were wide and sparkling with fascination. Obviously, such gossip-worthy events were few and far between in Falling Creek.

Sage shrugged in answer, and crouched low as she slipped out along the long table, sensing that if she stood upright, she’d attract much more notice.

She didn’t know where Simon was, and once she stood, he’d ceased nudging her. So she followed the path he had earlier when he left, which was also the way out of the dining room and in the direction of their bedroom.

Once out of sight, Sage hurried along the hallway and then suddenly he was there.

“Sorry,” he said briefly, and she wasn’t certain whether he was apologizing for shoving her, for the scene with Tatiana, or for rushing her out of the room, but she didn’t care. By now she knew Simon well enough to be aware that he wasn’t mean or rude unless the situation required it. “We have to get the hell out of here.”

“All right.” She started toward their room.

He caught up with her, and gave her a quick look. “You don’t have any questions?”

Sage shrugged. “Now’s not the time for that. You can fill me in later.”

He shook his head, then as they reached the door to their room, he paused, grabbing her arm. “As soon as you get in there, get the computer and email Theo to come, stat, to where he dropped us off.” She nodded and grabbed the door handle, but he stopped her again. “I’m going to apologize in advance for what’s going to happen in there.” He nodded toward the room.

“Simon. I trust you.” Sage reached up and gave him a kiss on the mouth. His tense lips softened beneath hers, and for a moment, she felt that wave of pleasure and heat filter through her…felt the momentary sag of his body flush against her. But then it was over too quickly and they pulled away. She knew they couldn’t stand there and kiss like a couple on the run in a thriller.

There simply wasn’t time for that sort of thing in real life, adrenaline rush or no.

So when Simon opened the door, Sage allowed him to go in first, and she ducked beneath the camera’s all-seeing eye to scuttle along the floor to the dresser where she’d put her pack and the computers. Sitting out of reach of the camera, she logged on quickly, praying that the network was still functional, and sent an urgent message to Theo and Lou, telling them that they were in trouble (but not why) and that they should meet them at the drop-off point as soon as they could get there.

When she finished, Simon glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye, and, with his back to the camera, gestured covertly to the door. She understood, of course, that now she had to pretend to come in…so she did.

The expression he wore when she first saw him after her “entrance” nearly stopped her cold. She’d never seen him look like that—at her, anyway. But he had worn that same flat anger and barely contained violence the night he nearly strangled the man who’d attacked her.

Cold, lethal, and absolutely terrifying, he looked at her as they stood directly in front of the camera. “What the hell took you so long?”

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to reply, but when he covered her arm with his fingers and gave her a little jerk, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you were—”

“Get in bed,” he ordered. “Now. Don’t make me wait any fucking longer.” And then he rattled off a bunch of words in a different language. They didn’t sound very nice.

Sage’s heart thumped madly, and she stumbled over her own feet as she hurried to do his bidding. She knew he was performing for the camera, but did he have to be so convincing?

Seated on the bed, she looked at him, knowing her eyes were wide, and making them wider with what she hoped was fear. Then he turned off the light, and she felt him come toward the bed, felt the shift as he climbed under the covers. Then, in the darkness, he moved roughly toward her, and she knew that the camera would see little but shifting shadows and no detail to speak of.

And so he moved toward her as he had before—
don’t think about this afternoon
—and shook and rocked the bed, harder and more sharply than before. The mimicry was over in moments, and he lay next to her. His breath came evenly and smoothly, as if he were more in control than he had been in the past.

Sage waited, stiff and unwilling to move, until he reached for her hand stealthily beneath the sheets. He squeezed her in what she knew was another apology, his hand so warm and solid, then withdrew back to his side. She waited in silence, unmoving, ridiculously aware of the man next to her—despite the fact that he was still certainly more fully clothed than he had been on any other occasion under the sheets. But
…
holy crap, as Jade would say…what had happened this afternoon, here beneath these sheets…
Whew
.