Night Resurrected (46 page)

being nosy. He bounced his palm on the

tightly made bed and glanced at Wyatt.

“Haven’t lost your touch,” said the

massive man with a feckless grin. “You

could flip a quarter on this mo-fo.”

Suddenly nervous, Remy hesitated as

she stepped over the threshold . . . then

pushed on. This could be her last night

sleeping easy—at least as easy as she

could, knowing what was on the horizon

for tomorrow—for a while. She

wouldn’t feel safer with anyone other

than Wyatt. There wasn’t anywhere else

she wanted to be other than here.

She was safe here.

“Holy shit, dude. Where the hell’d

you get this? A whole motherfucking box

of
Trojans
?” Fence had a huge smile on

his face as he swept down to pick it up

from the pile on the floor. “Dang!

Un
opened? What the hell—”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Wyatt

said, shoving the man toward the door.

“Take the damn things with you.”

“Hell, bro, I think you’re fixin’ to

need ’em more than me,” laughed Fence,

throwing the box back at Wyatt as he

spun out into the hall. “Do you some—”

“Christ, Fence, shut the hell up—”

“Might want to actually
open
the—”

The door slammed shut, obliterating

whatever Fence was saying. But Remy

heard his giddy, high-pitched laugh even

through the door, fading as he walked

off.

At least someone was having a good

time.

Wyatt turned from the door. If she

didn’t know better, she’d think he looked

almost flustered. He snatched up the

purple box from the floor and slammed it

into one of the dresser drawers.
“Don’t

ask.”

Okay, then.

“I’m going to sleep on the floor in

front of the door,” he said, grabbing a

pillow off the bed. “In case anyone tries

to come in.”

“We could get Dantès. He’d be a

good guard,” she suggested.

“He’s down in the computer lab,

safe. And guarding the crystal. I think I

can handle this,” he said, his voice wry.

“Right.”

Remy

looked

around,

suddenly, acutely, uncomfortable. She

hadn’t thought about putting him out of

his bed. She hadn’t really thought about

this at all. “Vaughn’s got an extra

bedroom—”

“You want to sleep with Vaughn

tonight?” he snapped back. “Is that it?”

“Uh—”

“I can arrange it if that’s what you

want.”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good

idea,” she ventured.

“Maybe you’d feel safer in the

mayor’s private suite,” he shot back.

They stared at each other from across

the room. Remy was aware that her heart

was racing, that her insides were all out

of sorts. Shaking her head, she turned

away. Listlessly, she picked up the

remaining pillow and hugged it to her

chest.

“No,” she managed to say, closing

her eyes as she buried her face in the

cotton. Of course it smelled like him.

“Strangely enough, I feel safest with

you.”

Wyatt gave a muffled curse and she

heard a dull, hard thump. “You don’t

have to do this,” he said. His voice was

still hard. Cold as ice. “We can find

another way.”

“There is no other way,” she replied

wearily. “I’ve thought about it and

thought about it. I suppose I always

knew this day would come—the day I’d

have to make a decision about the

crystal, the day of truth, I guess. The day

it all came clear. Maybe I’ve been

preparing for it for the last twenty years.

But at least it’ll be over.”

She looked up, still hugging the

pillow, just able to see above its snowy

white case. He was across the room,

remote and distant, figuratively as well

as literally.
This was a mistake.

She didn’t know what she’d been

thinking. That maybe her last safe night

might be . . . pleasant? Comforting?

“Don’t look at me . . . like that,” he

said. She could see his jaw moving, the

shadows

beneath

his

cheekbones

shifting, but his eyes were hidden.

Remy turned away, lifting her head

proudly. Definitely a mistake. But what

had she expected? She was aware of the

stiffness of her movements as she

returned the pillow to its place on the

bed, walked to the bathroom, closed the

door, splashed cold—very cold—water

on her face, wiped away what could

have been a few tears if she actually let

them come.

Remington

Truth.
I’m Remington

Truth. I can get through this.

If I can get through what Seattle did

to me, I can get through this.

When she opened the door, he was

standing there. Tall, dark, tense. Present.

“Remy.”

She looked up at him, everything

inside her cascading into a messy heap,

and she walked into his arms. They came

around her, slowly and with control. Her

face pressed against his throat. He was

warm and damp, his skin smelling of

comfort and familiarity. His heart

thumped beneath her, matching her own

racing one.

He moved his cheek and jaw,

caressing the top of her head. She was

aware of the subtlest of tremors in the

arms that held her. Her eyelashes caught

against his skin as she closed her eyes,

and drawing in a deep breath, she

pressed a kiss on the madly pumping

vein at the side of his throat. Her tongue

slipped out just for a moment, tasting salt

and heat and man, and he shuddered a

little. His arms tightened, then eased.

Remy was prepared for him to push

her away, but instead one hand moved,

sliding up beneath her braid, as the other

pulled off its tie. His fingers, warm at

the nape of her neck, combed into her

hair, loosening the plait, spreading its

three parts into one wavy fall. He

rubbed it between the pads of his

fingers, pulling gently as if to test its

texture, then tenderly massaged her skull

as she sagged into him.

She kissed him again, with more

boldness this time . . . burrowing into the

warmth at the juncture of neck and

shoulder, sliding her lips and tongue

over smooth, sensitive skin. His

breathing changed, his muscles went

rigid, and she kept at it, moving to his

earlobe, flickering her tongue in the hot,

secret place behind it.

The fact that he wanted her was

starkly evident; their bodies were

pressed together, separated only by

clothing and whatever other baggage

they each carried. Acutely aware of this,

she nuzzled him on the jaw, glad he’d

shaved earlier, enjoying the taste of his

skin. At last, Wyatt dipped his head to

meet her lips, loosening his arms just

enough to angle in. During that brief

moment, before she sagged into the kiss,

she saw his eyes closed, his brows

drawn tightly together.

Hot, slick, and deep, the kiss went on

like a long, slow ride. Tangled and

sensual, easy . . . as if they could go

forever. There was care and tenderness

in his touch, and Remy felt a well of

emotion starting to rise inside.
Oh, yes.

This.
This.

His hands moved up along her hips,

sliding under her tank top. Warm fingers

brushed her bare skin and she shivered,

pleasure rushing along beneath his touch.

Her bra tightened and released, then his

palms covered her bare back, pulling her

tight against him, traveling along the

curve of her spine and back up to settle

below her shoulder blades.

It was then she realized he’d eased

himself against the wall, gathering her up

to his broad, solid torso. One of her feet

slid between his, and she felt the

pressure of his thigh between her legs as

she melted against him. He buried his

face in her neck, that sensitive place

beyond her throat, his lips and tongue

sleek and warm. She vibrated gently as

the bolt of pleasure caught her by

surprise, rushing south to her belly and

beyond.

After a moment he eased back and

looked down. His dark eyes delved into

hers. “Remy . . . I’m not sure this is a

good idea.” His voice was gritty and

low, but he didn’t release her.

She laid her hand flat on his chest.

His heart thudded like crazy, matching

her own, and when he remained silent,

she said, “Tell me why.”

Wyatt shook his head, tipping it back

to lean against the wall, and held her,

still gathered up against him, one of her

legs embraced by his, the other

straddling his thigh. His hands still

covered her back, warm beneath her tank

top. She admired his throat, long and

tanned and strong; saw the pulse beating

where she’d kissed him. A smattering of

hair poked from the collar of his T-shirt,

more thick dark hair brushed his neck.

His throat moved as he swallowed,

his jaw shifted as he seemed to grope for

words. “Tomorrow . . . we don’t know

what’s going to happen. We should be

thinking about other things. Finding

another way, another option. Planning,

preparing, doing
something.
This isn’t

what you should be doing . . . tonight.

Tomorrow could be—”

“This is exactly what I want to be

doing tonight, Wyatt. Do you really think

I want to go to . . . whatever will be

tomorrow—captivity, death—”

“Christ, Remy—” He lifted his head,

his arms tightening, feet shifting, moving

her.

“—I want to have something good to

take with me.”

“—there’s got to be another way. I

—”

“But it’s really not about me,” she

went on doggedly, and he fell silent.

“It’s you. It’s the guilt. The pain. Wyatt, I

understand that, oh God, I
really
do—

and I don’t take it personally. I don’t

think I’d be ready either, if I went

through what you have. I didn’t think
I’d

be ready so soon.” Memories of Seattle

flickered at the corner of her mind, and

she closed them off sharply.
No.
Easing

out of his embrace, Remy let her hand

fall from his chest. “It’s all right, Wyatt.

I’m truly not upset.”

She wasn’t. She wanted comfort, she

wanted affection, she wanted
him
. But

not if he wasn’t ready. Not if he couldn’t

move on, just a little. Pain and anguish

took time to work through. She

understood that better than most.

And she was used to being solo. And

tomorrow she would be, once again,

having to live by her own bravery and

wits.

“That’s the problem,” he said, his

voice gritty. “It’s too easy. After

everything . . . it’s too easy. How can it

be so easy, to be—to
want
you?” The

last part came out in a low, pained

accusation. “And at the same time . . .

it’s so fucking
hard
.”

He drew in a deep breath and

reached out, touching the ends of her

hair. The backs of his fingers brushed

against her collarbone as he filtered

through the heavy waves. It was all she

could do to keep from leaning back into

him. “Most of all, Remy . . . I don’t want

to hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t. You couldn’t.”
Not

after what I’ve been through.
Those

horrific memories hovered, always

ready to surge into her consciousness at

any opportunity. She battled them back

the way Selena had taught her and

steadied herself firmly into
here
. With

him. “Now, will you please take off your

shirt?”

Her

command

drew

a

short,

surprised huff of laughter from him. But

it was gone almost immediately and his

eyes remained uncertain. “You’re sure?”

Concern

eclipsed