Tempted by the Night (6 page)

Marisa shook her head. “All of a sudden, I have a lot more questions now than I did five minutes ago.”

He laughed softly. “I told you it was complicated. Not something that could be explained in thirty seconds while we're trying to hide from the snoot.”

“The snoot?”

“Yeah—you know, Ian and his goons. That's what they call them over in Yellow Mountain and Envy. The snoot.”

“You've been to Envy?” The only thing she knew about Envy was that was where the Waxnicki brothers were from. And it was where the legendary city of Las Vegas used to sit before everything was destroyed. Its official name was New Vegas, but everyone called it N.V., or Envy.

“A few times. I know a couple of guys from there, and…listen, Marisa, I'm really sorry you got involved in this.”

“You showed up here
asking
for my help,” she hissed over her shoulder. “You came to the library, to my house…what did you
think
was going to happen if the MITs were after you?”

“I didn't know they were going to move in with you! I figured they'd look around, not find me, and be on their way. I really am sorry.”

A shadow fell over them and she looked over. Ian was edging around the back of the crowd, moving slowly along the perimeter. He didn't seem to be interested in watching the movie…he was looking at the audience.

Was he looking for her? Or for Luke?

“Easy,” Luke whispered in her ear, gathering her close again.
Really
close, so that she leaned back into his chest and his arms came tightly around her shoulders and crossed in front of her. Oh man, he was so warm and solid, and she swore she could actually feel the outline of his biceps against her.

“Don't do anything to attract his attention,” Luke said quietly. “It's dark. There are a lot of people here. Ian Marck has no reason to suspect I'd be just sitting out in the open like this. He's not even sure I'm here.”

Marisa tried to relax, but it was damned difficult. Whether it was Luke and his proximity—something she'd only imagined and dreamed about for years—or the very real threat from Ian, she wasn't certain…but she greatly feared it was the former.

Plus…he'd hung on to the back of a truck while it was driving along? Bouncing around? Jolting and speeding and rumbling over the uneven ground? Um…wow. Her arms hurt just thinking about it, but at the same time, she felt a little breathless thinking about how strong and coordinated he must be.

“We just have to blend into the crowd,” he murmured, his mouth brushing her cheek. Warm. Soft. Tender. A prickle of desire rushed through her, settling in her belly and flushing heat through her limbs. Then she realized he was sliding the band from her hair. “And let's get rid of this. That ponytail gives you away. I don't think I've ever seen you without it.”

She bit her lip and focused very hard on the movie—although she had no idea what was going on; a really perky blond actress was babbling on about something—as he gently combed his fingers through her loosened hair. It was ridiculously difficult to keep her breathing steady, and she was certain he could feel the hard thud of her heart reverberating through her body. There was no hiding her reaction to him, and that realization made her cheeks heat with embarrassment, along with acute awareness.

He sat there for a moment, his legs still bracketing her on either side, his hands having slid down along her arms after stroking her hair into place. Now his arms curved around her midriff in a loose embrace, his strong wrists crossing over her middle. To anyone else, they most definitely looked like a couple enjoying each other's company while watching a movie about
not
being kissed. How damned ironic.

And then, as if reading her mind, he buried his face in the delicate, sensitive side of her neck and began to move his lips over her skin…licking, nuzzling, nipping in a way that definitely was
not
an accident.

Marisa could hardly breathe, because
Luke Desmond was kissing her neck.

Chapter Five

 

Oh…God.

Maybe this was not such a good idea…

Luke closed his eyes. Marisa Bengotti tasted, smelled,
felt
as amazing as he'd always imagined. No…better.

Her warm skin, soft and sweet, was the slightest bit salty. The unique scent of her hair, bright and citrusy and sexy as all hell, tangled in his nostrils and mingled with the heat and essence of her. She had no idea part of her appeal, part of what had brought him to this, was her complete cluelessness of how sexy and fascinating she was.

Marisa caught her breath and tensed against him, as if ready to pull away…but Luke wasn't about to give up this opportunity.

This single, innocent opportunity. The one time she couldn't push him away, couldn't give him
that look
, couldn't remind him of Lainey.

He wanted to turn her around, to cover her mouth and
really
kiss her, pull her up against him, face to face instead of this backwards, backdoor, opportunistic way he'd slipped into…but he didn't.

Instead, he nibbled. He nuzzled and nipped, slid his lips along the sleek tendon of her neck. Licked her with the tip of his tongue, then gently sucked and teased. She shivered beneath him and he smiled a little, then found an earlobe and sampled her there too.

“Luke,” she whispered. “What…are…you…”

Her voice trailed off into an arousing gasp of surprise as he slid his tongue, as strong and hard as another part of his anatomy, along the soft, tender, sweet spot of her throat, following it with a trail of delicate kisses. Her pulse pounded crazily beneath his mouth, and he hoped, he
hoped
it was because of him, and not because of their dangerous predicament.

“Blending in,” he murmured into the warmth of her ear. “Just like them.” He nudged her to look at the teenagers in front of them, who were showing a tad more skin than either he or Marisa were. The girl's shirt was up past her ribs.

Marisa eased away, and half turned in his lap—big mistake on her part, because now he could see her parted lips and the full effect of her loose, dark hair and wide eyes, and the rise and fall of her t-shirt-covered breasts. Her hands didn't seem to know where to go, and they ended up one on his right thigh, and the other on his left pec. “I…don't think—”

“Exactly. Don't…think,” he muttered against her mouth as he pulled her glasses away and found her lips.

Another of those little puffed gasps of surprise was smothered as he kissed her, slipping a hand around the back of her neck and cupping her head in his palm. She tasted sweet and soft and warm, and her fingers curled into his shirt, holding tight as he deepened the kiss into something hot and slick and thorough.
Oh, man.

He wanted more…he wanted to slide his hands along her hips and torso, to cover her breasts, to pull her onto his lap facing him and feel her pressed against him…to slide his hands under her shirt and smooth them over her skin. But…

Luke pulled away reluctantly, aware that he was out of breath, his head was spinning, and his jeans were
really
uncomfortable.

I've been waiting more than six years to do this
, he wanted to tell her.

But now was not the time to explain why he hadn't been able to marry Lainey.

Because, in the back of his mind, in the distance, he heard the telltale “
Rrrrrruuuuthhhhh…
” of the zombies, and saw the long, dark shadow of Ian Marck, and reality came crashing down like a dousing in the ice-cold creek.

“Marisa,” he whispered, doing his best to keep from touching her—but his fingers insisted on pushing away a thick lock of silky hair from her face, and then trailing over her damp, well-kissed lips. “I have to go.”

“You have to—” Her voice tightened, rose a little, but she caught herself in time. She gave her head a little shake as if to clear it, then looked at him with tighter lips and the reserved expression he was used to seeing. “Right. Now's a good time to escape. You're obviously not in danger of bleeding to death anymore.”

Oh boy. There was definitely a
tone
in her voice, even though it was low and close. And her eyes had gone from bedroomy to frosty.

“I'm not leaving River Vale.” He didn't have time to explain anything fully. “But I have to get something I left outside…outside the walls.”

Now her eyes popped wide. “Outside? At night? Are you
crazy
?” she hissed.

“Maybe a little.” He quirked as much of a smile as he could muster. “But it's important.”

“Important? Nothing's that important.”

He just shook his head, really wishing the only thing he had to do was sit here and make out with her. Work that shirt loose from her jeans, bare her skin to the night air…maybe even pop open the clasp of her bra.

Hell.
If he got her back to the secret room, that was the first thing he was going to do—NAP or no NAP.

“There's a door,” she said after a brief pause. She was still looking like she didn't know what to make of him. “Not the main one, but a hidden side door through the wall. I don't think they know it's there.”

His heart gave a little jump of hope—hope that he could actually complete his mission, hope that she might actually care whether he got his ass fried, hope that he might actually be alive tomorrow to kiss her again—and he nodded. “Will you tell me where?”

“I'll show you.”

She made move to rise, but he tightened his grip on her arm to hold her down and started to give her all the reasons why
that
wasn't going to happen.

But Marisa fixed him with a look and he closed his mouth, surprised by the ferocity there, evident even in the faulty light. And damn, she looked hot with all that dark hair loose around her face, and her eyes unhindered by lenses and frames.

“I'll show you,” she said. “It'll be better cover if I go with you. It'll hide your face and mine if we're—uh—talking to each other. And it's difficult to explain how to access it. And besides—you fainted only a couple hours ago. You might have a concussion or something, and there's that loss of blood—”

“All right then,” he said, seeing the sense in her plan but at the same time feeling a trickle of foreboding and a nudge of guilt. “But pull the blanket up around you to hide your white shirt, and—the rest of you. And you're staying
inside
the walls.”

The fact that she didn't respond should have warned him, but Luke was more concerned about getting out of Marck's sight and away before they were discovered.

So, with a combination of resignation and delight, he gave her back her glasses and slid his arm around her waist. Then, once more kissing the hell out of her, he hauled them both to their feet, wrapping her in the blanket. Half walking, half stumbling, faces close to each other as if whispering sweet nothings, hair mingling, forehead and glasses bumping, they meandered their way out of the circle of light cast by the movie.

All the while he had his face buried in Marisa's cheek, chin on her hair, arm locked around her waist with his hip sliding against hers, Luke was sharply aware of Ian Marck and his two goons. Where they were. Who they watched. How they moved.

To his acute relief—and a little disbelief—Marck hardly spared the two of them a glance as they tottered off into the darkness. It could have been because they looked as if they were ready to tear the other's clothes off—well, at least he did—and seemed unthreatening…but whatever the reason, Luke was thanking the good Lord for it.

He was going to have to set things right, clear things up, as soon as possible…but for now, he'd enjoy.

As if to punctuate their intent, so as to leave no doubt for anyone who might have been watching, he spun Marisa around and backed her up against a tree trunk…and followed, lining his body all along hers as it was sandwiched between him and the tree.

Now he could really get into the moment. Bury himself in her scent, enjoy the taste and feel of her. She tensed for just a second before easing her arms around him and diving right in.
Oh yes.

He had hands full of curves: hips, ass, torso, and the pleasure of more sliding against him. She had her fingers shoved up into his hair, her belly pressed against his fly, one leg angled around his. And her mouth: busy, hot, and sleek, matching his kisses as if she too had waited six years for it.

At last, after far too long for safety, but not nearly enough for satisfaction, Marisa twisted her face away. Their lips separated with a delicious little
pop
. Her glasses were adorably askew and he pushed them back into place.

“Is it safe now?” she whispered, panting a little. “Are they gone?” Her breasts—full, tight, and high—were still pushed against his chest, and he tightened his arms when she started to put space between their bodies. Her hair was a delicious mess of dark tangles and looked like she'd just climbed out of bed. Her lips were full, glistening in the moonlight, parted like she was ready to take him on again. “Luke? Are they still watching?”

Right. He shook his head mentally. The bounty hunters. The NAP. Ian Marck. “I don't see them.”

“Good. Let's go.” She pulled firmly from his grip, slipping away with a little rain of bark that had come loose while she was writhing against the tree.

Oh yes, she'd been writhing. And making soft little sounds, and shivering a little. Luke forced himself not to think about that right now. Instead, he found her hand with his and allowed her to lead him off into the shadows.

Time to get serious.

Chapter Six

 

It was a good thing
there were lots of shadows, Marisa thought as she hurried Luke toward the hidden door. Because otherwise, he'd be able to see how flushed and embarrassed she was.

Good grief, she'd nearly torn off his clothes, practically mauled the guy to death! She bit her lip, shame rushing over her as she remembered grinding her hips into him, clutching those broad, strong shoulders as if he were her savior and she was drowning, and refusing to come up for air during their long, passionate kiss—just taking more and more and
more
.