Night Resurrected Page 17

  “He’s a jerk,” she replied, still eyeing those broad shoulders in crisp white cotton as they edged their way through the crowd. Then she did a double take. “I thought you were up there onstage.”

  “I just finished the set and was heading over to get some water when I thought I saw you talking to Wyatt,” Jade replied. “I didn’t realize he was back in Envy. So . . . what happened just now?”

  Remy shook her head. “He returned something of mine he had, demanded to know who hit me, and made an obnoxious comment about my dress.” She tightened her fingers around the crystal even more. “Then he stalked off.”

  “Really.” Jade sounded utterly fascinated. “Wyatt didn’t like your dress? Well, Vaughn and every other man in the vicinity seem to think you look wixy hot. You’re attracting a lot of attention.”

  “I am?”

  Jade laughed. “You don’t get out much, do you, Remy? So what exactly did Wyatt say about your dress? Ugly color? Too long? What?”

  “He just made a comment about it being too tight.” Remy’s gaze snapped back to Jade as comprehension dawned. “Oh.” A warm little flutter in her belly surprised her.

  The other woman was nodding and smiling. “Yeah.”

  Remy couldn’t help but turn to look in the direction he’d gone. To her surprise, not only was he within sight, but he was looking in their direction. When their eyes met, he didn’t even try to hide his irritation.

  She looked away, biting her lip, and realized Jade was still there. Watching her with that knowing amusement.

  “Wyatt would be a tough one to crack,” said Jade. “He’s going to fight it every step of the way, no matter how badly he wants it. That man has more anger and guilt weighing him down than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s at war with himself—about everything. But I have a feeling he’d be well worth the trouble. I mean—those shoulders. And all that thick, dark hair. I can only imagine what he looks like under that shirt.”

  Remy shook her head, mortified that this woman she hardly knew was . . . sort of . . . giving her advice about a man she could hardly have a conversation with without getting into an argument. He made her feel prickly and uncomfortable. “I don’t think I’m interested in cracking that nut.”

  “Right.” Still with that grin, Jade turned just as Elliott came up behind her. It was as if she recognized his presence before she even saw him. “Hi, honey. How’s the expectant mom doing?”

  “She’s going to pop that baby out sometime in the next three to four hours. Which means I’m going to miss your next set, and maybe the one after it.”

  “That’s okay,” Jade said, her hand settling easily on his chest. “I’ll give you a private performance later on.”

  Remy’s cheeks flushed warm and her mind was reeling. Such easy affection and joking between the two of them made her feel a combination of envy and discomfort. She turned away, blundering off into the crowd, unsteady on her high heels. Wyatt was right: she didn’t have anywhere to put the crystal and she needed to get it somewhere safe.

  Not three steps later she found herself face to face with Ian Marck.

  “Well, well, well . . .” he said, looking her over. “That is some outfit, Remy.” Appreciation showed in his face, and he reached out to touch her bare arm with a finger, trailing it gently all the way to her wrist. “You look . . . unbelievable. Even more difficult to resist than usual.”

  She eased her other hand—the one holding the crystal—just behind her back. “Almost makes you want to forget about Liana, huh?” she said tartly.

  His eyes narrowed and the warmth drained away. “Sorry, Remy, but there’s not anyone who could do that. Even you.”

  “Then why do you keep trying?” she returned.

  His smile turned hard. “I’m not a monk.”

  “Either you love her or you don’t—”

  “Love?” Ian sneered. “I never said anything about love. And I didn’t tell you about Liana so you could use her as a prod. I told you because you deserved to know at least that much. So consider this fair warning: don’t bring it up again.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t. I don’t have any intention of having the opportunity. Excuse me,” she said.

  But Ian edged into her path and slid an arm loosely around her waist. “Not so fast, Remy. I need the crystal. I saw you with Wyatt. I suspect he has it, or knows where it is. You need to get it from him or I’ll get it myself.” The threat was clear.

  “And why the hell would I do that?” She looked at him in disbelief, pulling out of his embrace. But he’d planned well, for even as she moved away, Remy realized they were near the shadow of a tall building just set away from the crowd. Private and out of eyesight. Still, he didn’t frighten her. He just pissed her off.

  “Why? Because you owe me for keeping your secret from the Elites—and the bounty hunters—for so long. Because you don’t even know what to do with it, or what it’s worth. Because you know I’m not going to let anyone stand in my way. You’re off limits, Remy, but just barely. And that can change—” He stopped abruptly, looking behind her. “Speak of the devil.”

  But Remy had already sensed Wyatt behind her, and she turned toward him. She couldn’t read his expression: it was even more ambiguous than usual.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said. His voice was ultra smooth and casual. He didn’t spare even a glance for Remy; his attention was completely focused on Ian.

  “As a matter of fact, you are.” Ian’s reply was just as pleasant. “We were having a private conversation.”

  “Were you.” Wyatt’s smile showed a gleam of straight, white teeth, but not a hint of humor. His dark hair, in need of a cut, brushed the collar of his pristine shirt and he was clean-shaven.

  “You two boys chat,” Remy said, easing away. “I’ll see you later. Much later,” she added darkly, pushing her way back into the edge of the party. Heart pounding, she clutched the crystal and navigated boldly through the crowd—easier said than done on her spindly heels amid a throng of half-drunk revelers on rough, grassy ground. Her only intent was to get far away from Ian and Wyatt and to find somewhere safe to put the stone.

  But she hadn’t even reached the door to the New York–New York building when Wyatt reappeared, directly in her path. How the hell did he do that?

  “I told you to put that somewhere safe,” he said, swooping down on her. He took her arm firmly and directed her into an alcove near the building. “Or were you going to hand it over to Ian Marck at the earliest opportunity?”

  “Did you see me give it to him?” she retorted, pulling from his grip. “Don’t be an idiot.” Suddenly chilly and off balance, she rubbed her arm briskly.

  He snatched her fisted hand and raised it. “You still have it.”

  “He wants it, though,” Remy told him. “Badly.”

  Wyatt’s fingers tightened around her wrist. “How badly? Did he threaten you?”

  “Not me.”

  “Smart guy. I hope like hell he isn’t responsible for those decorations on your face,” he added, his eyes glittering darkly.

  “No. It was a bounty hunter named Lacey. Ian extricated me from the situation, or I’d look a hell of a lot worse,” she told him.

  As if realizing he had hold of her like a lifeline, Wyatt released her arm. “I wouldn’t recommend putting that stone in your room. There’s no security there. So what are you going to do with it?”

  “Is this your way of trying to steal it back from me?”

  He made a disgusted noise and stepped back. “I just gave it back to you thirty minutes ago, and now I’m going to weasel it away from you again? That makes sense.”

  Remy deflated, surprisingly relieved to release the anger she’d harbored. “I know. I’m just confused that you did. Why bother to take it if you were going to give it back?” She looked up at him, trying to read the answer in his face.

  But he was half shadowed, and his expression blank as usual as he looked at her closely. Even so, when thei
r eyes met, her heart gave a hard little thump. “You really don’t have a clue why, do you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. But thank you. I mean that sincerely. This makes three times you’ve given it back.”

  “Maybe now you’ll begin to trust me—us. We’re no fans of the Strangers. And I think that puts us on the same side.”

  “I think I do . . . trust you.” She was looking at him, but he pivoted away, scanning the crowd behind them. For a moment she was struck by the beauty of his profile, highlighted by a hint of moonlight—the strong nose, the thick, wavy hair, the set jaw. Something inside her hitched, welling up hot and powerful. Those shoulders. All that dark hair.

  That kiss.

  He’d be worth it.

  She swallowed and looked away, then down at the crystal in her palm as she tried to ignore the crazy fluttering in her belly. The gem was still enclosed in part of its setting, left over from when she wore it around her waist. “Where am I going to put this? I don’t even have a necklace . . . wait.” She reached up and around behind her neck, following the slender silver chain that connected her two straps until she reached the dangling part finished by a pendant.

  Wyatt turned from his examination of the crowd, clearly attracted by her awkward movements. “What are you doing?” he asked. But his voice was mild, less abrupt than usual. Almost affectionate.

  “I could replace the pendant with this,” she told him. “No one would notice, especially in the dark. For now, anyway.”

  “Unless it starts to glow again,” he reminded her. Nevertheless, he took her shoulders and positioned her so her back was to him. “Which, unfortunately, it did several times while I had it,” he said, his fingers deftly working on the chain. “But it’s as good a chance to take as any. For now.”

  “I’m so glad you approve,” she said, keeping her voice dry.

  But even so, she closed her eyes. It took effort to keep her breathing steady. His hands brushed her bare back, light and warm, as he removed the pendant Flo had attached. She felt the weight lift away, then the light tickle as the empty chain fell against her skin, swaying like a pendulum. She waited, a very detailed fantasy of Wyatt pressing his lips to the back of her shoulder roaring into her mind. The very thought sent delicious, expectant prickles over her.

  “Remy.”

  “Yes?” She heard the husky timbre of her voice, the breathlessness in the single syllable.

  “Are you going to give me the crystal?”

  Oh. Her eyes bolted open as she handed the crystal to him over her shoulder, relieved he couldn’t see her face.

  Was it her imagination, or did it take a lot longer for him to twist the links to attach the stone than it had to remove the other one? Were his hands slower, taking their time, brushing against her spine and scapula more often than necessary? Did they linger, settling on her shoulder, brushing a stray wisp of hair away? She could almost see the strong, tanned fingers skimming over her paler skin . . .

  “There,” he said after what seemed like forever. Breathless, Remy felt the weight of the stone suddenly fall, bumping her spine at the level of her shoulder blades. It was heavier than the one he’d removed.

  Wyatt’s fingers lifted away and, bracing herself, she turned to face him. “Thank you,” she said.

  His hands, still poised as if caught in mid-touch, fell to his sides. He stepped back, returning his face to the shadows. All she could see was a hint of dark eyes, but she felt them fastened on her. “It’s only a temporary solution,” he said. “If you want—if you trust us—I know a safe place you can put it. Then you won’t have to carry it all the time.”

  With a surprise, she realized it would be almost a relief not to have to wear it, or have it with her, all the time. To not have to worry about it constantly. “I’ll think about . . .” All at once comprehension dawned and she looked up at him, startled. “You took the crystal so the zombies would chase you . . . not me. On the way to Envy.”

  He’d turned slightly, watching the crowd again, but she could tell he was still attentive to her. “Bravo, Remy.”

  “You took on my burden, you risked yourself—”

  “It’s what I do,” he said, his lips in a flat line. “I told you.”

  “Thank you. Again.”

  It must have been the tone in her voice that drew him to look at her fully, surprise and a little bit of caution in his face. And as he did so, as their eyes met, she took matters into her own hands and stepped into him.

  Her heels made her taller. Easier to settle her hands onto the tops of his solid shoulders, to lift her face and find his mouth.

  Wyatt stilled, tall and warm against her. His lips were still firm with irritation, but Remy didn’t let that daunt her as she fitted her mouth to his. It was a brief kiss—a gentle, tentative, almost-nibble, and it sent heat swarming through her as sensitive lips brushed sensitive lips.

  Even through the rush of pleasure, she recognized that he remained frozen. She felt the tension in the warm muscles beneath her hands, felt the way his body remained immobile, and knew she’d made a mistake.

  “Well,” she managed to say, keeping her voice light as she stepped back. “I guess—”

  He followed her, his mouth settling down over hers again. This time hungry and insistent. A large, warm palm planted itself between her shoulder blades, pulling her up to him as the other cupped the back of her head.

  Remy closed her eyes, sinking back into a kiss that was even better than the first. Long rolling waves of heat trundled through her as the passion deepened and she felt the imprint of his body against hers: solid, firm muscle and heat bleeding through her dress, brushing her bare skin. His mouth was no longer firm and annoyed but full and sensual, devouring hers as she melted into him. His fingers curled up into her hair, his other hand slid down over the curve of her bottom then settled at the base of her spine. He smelled fresh and masculine, but there was a tinge of smokiness clinging to his clothes and the subtle flavor of beer on his tongue.

  When he pulled away, it was abrupt and sharp. All at once the heat and sensuality was gone and Remy found herself looking up at him, dragging herself from the lull of passion.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

  Chapter 14

  Wyatt wasn’t certain whether he was asking Remy or himself. What the hell are you doing?

  No, definitely himself. Stupid fucking idiot.

  Remy was looking up at him, her eyes wide with shock and, probably, hurt. Christ.

  “You do this often?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the roughness from his voice. His knees were about ready to give out and it had taken every bit of conscience to pull himself out of that dangerous vortex of desire. He could hardly catch his breath, found it hard to focus his emotions where they should be: on disgust. Instead, his body hummed with desire and more. More, more, more.

  No, he told himself flatly. You can’t.

  “What . . . what are you talking about?” Remy recovered quickly, he noted with relief. That flash of spirit was back in her eyes—at least as far as he could tell in the iffy light.

  What? Why not? He struggled desperately for a reason. Any reason that wasn’t the truth. “I’m not interested in walking in Ian Marck’s footsteps. But you can try for Vaughn Rogan . . . he might be desperate enough not to ca—”

  She shoved him. Hard enough to catch him in the lungs and cut off the rest of his sentence, but not hard enough to make him stumble. “You’re damn lucky I don’t have my gun with me. God, Wyatt, it’s like every time I begin to like you, to think you actually have a human side, you have to act like a real bastard.”

  Like him? Holy shit, he’d fucked things up more than he realized.

  Wyatt shook his head, which was, thankfully, beginning to clear. “Were you or were you not sleeping with Ian Marck for the last two days? And were you or were you not flirting your ass off with Vaughn Rogan ten minutes ago? And now you’re coming on to me because . . . why? Because
I’m standing here? Because I’m convenient?”

  He didn’t know why he was even explaining himself, or giving her the chance to do the same. He didn’t generally bother. If someone screwed with him, that was it. He was done. He didn’t have the time or the stomach for excuses and platitudes.

  “The only sleeping I’ve done with Ian—or with anyone since . . . since . . .” Her voice broke, sending a sharp stab of guilt through him, but she soldiered on before he could say anything. “. . . since I came to Yellow Mountain, is the simple sharing of body heat. Which, I might mention, you couldn’t even bring yourself to do when we were in the truck.”

  Wyatt snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”

  Then all at once understanding lit her face. She straightened and glared up at him. “And how the hell do you know I was with Ian two days ago? Were you spying on me?”

  Fuck. Didn’t think that one through. Just went to show how scrambled his brains were. A mistake like that could have cost him his life over in Iraq. And it was just as dangerous now.

  “Only to make sure you were safe,” he said, dredging up a haughty tone. “So it’s hard for me to believe you’re not jumping from one sack to another. You two seemed very cozy when you were swimming in the creek.” Damn. Too much detail again. He was getting sloppy.

  “Who said anything about jumping in the sack with you, Wyatt? I just kissed you, for pity’s sake.”

  “Right. Thanks for the clarification.” Oh, the sarcasm just rolled right off his tongue.

  “I was just checking on things,” she said. The tone of her voice was different now.

  He knew better, but the words jumped out before he could stop them. “Checking on what things?”

  “I was doing a little comparison. Between kisses.”

  Oh Christ. Hell, she was the last person he would have expected to play games, to taunt and tease and flirt like this.

  Cathy didn’t play games. She was as straightforward as they came, honest to a fault. Sunny-dispositioned most of the time . . . Cathy. That’s right, think of her. You can’t forget her yet. Too soon.