I called after him. “I’m sorry, Ernie!” He flapped a hand back at me that looked suspiciously like he’d flipped me the bird. I sighed. I couldn’t seem to do anything right. It was definitely a Monday.
“He’ll be fine,” Remo said. “He wants to help.”
“I know. But . . . trusting him is hard.”
Our conversation stalled as we reached the restaurant, and it was only then that another reason not to go to dinner hit me. I was still in a long black robe. With absolutely nothing else on underneath it. A cool breeze ghosted up along my legs as if to point out just how naked I was. I clamped my arms over my middle.
“I think I should just go back to the house. Really,” I said.
Remo raised his eyebrows at me, and my heart might have stumbled over itself in an effort to pick up speed. “Why?”
“I’m not dressed. I mean, I am, but hardly.” I gripped my waist harder.
He shrugged, but a smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll see you home, then. It’s the least I can do, since you saved me at the courthouse. Santos almost won the war between us.” He tugged at the edges of my robe and pulled me closer to him. “I can take you back across the Wall. Unless you want to stay in the city. With me.”
His hands skimmed up my sides and around to my back. Breath hitched in my throat, and I knew I had to say something. “Maybe?” Wait, no, that was not the word. No, thank you. Sorry, I’m busy. I can’t, I’m married. Any of those. Not maybe!
Remo grinned, and his fangs flashed at me for a split second. The view did nothing to deter my brain from wanting him to kiss me again. From wanting his hands on my bare skin. Oh dear Lord in heaven, I was in trouble.
“Maybe?” he echoed back to me. This was forbidden, and we both knew it. Tad and Dahlia could get away with the cross-species dating. As Remo had pointed out, they were testing the waters. But Remo was the head boss of the biggest gang of vampires in North America. There was no way it would go unnoticed that he was dating a nonvampire.
My lips parted to answer, and he took it as an invitation, dipping his head to kiss me. His tongue traced my lips, as if tasting my skin, skimming the edges before darting into my mouth. He pressed me into his chest, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. So much for holding back.
In and out his tongue slid, soft and sensuous as it tangled with my own, the sweet flavor of his mouth drawing me in like a drug I craved. A low groan slid out of him as his hands slipped lower to my hips, and then lower to cup my bottom, pulling me tight against him.
A part of my brain flipped on, reminding me that only moments before I’d been thinking about how wrong it was to kiss him because of my situation, and now here I was, locking lips once more. When he loosened his hold on me and moved his mouth to my jaw, nipping the edge, I gulped for air. As if that would somehow power my brain into coming up with an appropriate response. Something along the lines of “You have to stop.”
I stared up at the night sky, trying to come up with something, anything, that would slow this down. “You healed up pretty fast.”
“Yes, it’s a benefit of being a master vampire.” He didn’t slow, only breathed the words into my skin, which became a vibration that tripped over my whole body. Roger had never roused this kind of passion in me. I didn’t think it had anything to do with me being a Super Duper either. However, thoughts of Roger slapped some sense into me more than anything else could have, digging deep into the beliefs I still held on to by a mere thread. No matter how I denied it, the Firstamentalist point of view still clung to me despite my attempted rejection of its beliefs.
I was a married woman, no matter what the judge said. And until I had those dang divorce papers in my hand, I had to behave like a married woman.
“I’m married, even if it’s falling apart. I can’t do . . . this . . . until it’s all done.” My words came out in a heated whisper that was anything but off-putting. Even to me.
“You keep saying that”—he nipped at the edge of my collarbone, drawing a low moan from my lips—“but it’s not stopping you. I don’t think you really believe it. You know it’s over. You know they will never give you a proper divorce. You might as well begin to accept it.” He licked along the base of my neck, sucking my skin in at spots, then scraping his teeth over the sensitized areas, rubbing his face against me like a large cat marking territory. The stubble on his jaw against my sensitive skin sent the sensations into overdrive, and I fought to keep my mind on track.
Breathing hard, struggling to think straight, I tried a different direction. His words were at odds with the sensations. A part of me didn’t like what he implied, but I couldn’t pull away from him; the heat between us was too much, too intense, and too . . . lovely.
“Speaking of healing up . . . when did you become a doctor?” I threw the question out like a life preserver, desperate that it would help me. “Was it to impress a girl?”
He pulled back from me as if I’d shoved him, and his face closed down in a split second. My mouth dropped open. All the heat that seconds before had glued us together evaporated like steam in the cold January air.
“It was, wasn’t it?” I asked.
Remo didn’t answer, just turned and walked away, the impromptu make-out session over as if it had never happened. I was disappointed, and then horrified at being disappointed. What was wrong with me? Were snakes horny beasts? Maybe that was it.
He walked ahead of me until we reached a bus stop. “This one will take you all the way to the Wall.” He handed me my single paper back, and I took it, numb.
His cool demeanor should have made me happy. Seeing as I needed space between us. I did. Really. So why was this hurting me so much?
Remo passed me a handful of change, his hand never touching mine. He turned away, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open. It was the first time I’d seen some emotion from him other than his cocky smile or smoldering anger.
“Thanks for seeing me home.” I couldn’t help the parting shot. Mostly because my feelings were hurt. Maybe Santos was right; maybe I was just a tool to Remo, or worse, a weapon to be pulled out when he needed help and kept happy with a few kisses. And when that tool asked questions he didn’t like, he was able to walk away.
Maybe worse yet . . . was he using his charm on me, making me believe he cared when he didn’t? Could he be using my unruly hormones against me to make me blind to his actual objective of taking down Santos at any cost?
He could do it if he felt nothing for me.
And that stung more than I could have possibly imagined.
CHAPTER 4