Kiss Across Worlds (Kiss Across Time Book 7) Page 8

  “That court case you mentioned?”

  “Yes. The case is real enough, only it’s months away yet.” Remi’s eyes narrowed as he considered Neven. “Is he dead?”

  “Probably,” Neven admitted.

  De Sauveterre drew in a breath and let it out. “I feared so.” His voice was low.

  “You aren’t upset.”

  “It’s hard to be upset about something I had suspected all along. Having you standing right there makes it seem even more unreal. I’m having trouble accepting that you are not Kristijan.”

  “Call me Neven, then. Everyone else does.”

  “Your middle name? You hate it.”

  “I’ve got used to it. It saves confusion.”

  “I can imagine the confusion that it might generate,” De Sauveterre said, his tone back to dry again. “Why are you here, Neven? Why are you pretending to be him? For that is what you are doing, yes?”

  “Yes. It is important I be Kristijan for a while.” Neven hesitated. He had jumped two major hurdles without issue because De Sauveterre seemed to be able to think with extraordinary clearness and lack of emotion, when needed. This next hurdle was likely to cause issues, though.

  Yet he was committed to the truth, now. Neven laid it down with bare bones and didn’t soften it. “Arkady Usenko has to be stopped. He can’t have the shipment that is going to Russia in two weeks’ time.”

  De Sauveterre stiffened. “You know about the shipment,” he muttered, frowning.

  “More than that,” Neven told him. “We know that the shipment will start Usenko on a path that will end with the destruction of not just this world, this timeline, but countless others, too. That’s why I’m here. Kristijan is in a position to deflect Usenko and this is the only timeline where I am in it, too. This is the only timeline that will survive…if Usenko is stopped.”

  De Sauveterre gripped his head, squeezing tight, as if he had a massive headache. “You speak of timelines as I would a bunch of grapes. Plucked and destroyed, here and there.”

  “They destroy themselves,” Neven said. “Just, not this timeline. We’re deliberately changing the future, to let this timeline survive.”

  De Sauveterre frowned. “The shipment…it was Kristijan’s great scheme, his crowning ambition. It will give him an unbreakable connection with the biggest power-players in Eastern Europe. If he is dead, then why would I go against that? It would now be his dying ambition. I should see it through.”

  Neven’s heart hurt all over again. “How can you?” he breathed. “You know what the shipment is.”

  Remi looked at him, his chin down, his gaze direct. “It’s what Kristijan wanted. What you want.”

  Neven swallowed. “I don’t want it at all. Even if all our futures were not on the line I still wouldn’t want it.”

  Remi moved quickly. Vampire speed. Neven had seen Brody and the others move at that speed and faster at times. Generally, though, they kept themselves to human slow reactions to blend in. Remi wasn’t bothering to hide his nature right now.

  What he did do, though, was a shock. He pulled Neven against him, his hand on Neven’s ass. Their hips were mashed together, so that Neven could feel everything through the fine silk fabric, including the bulge of Remi’s cock.

  Tension was a band around Neven’s chest, tightening until his breath came hard. “What are you doing?”

  This close, Remi’s eyes, with their mix of green and brown, were clear and distinct. He wasn’t backing off. As they were almost exactly the same height, his stare was direct and unwavering. “You say you are to be Kristijan for now?” His spoke in a low voice and his accent was heavier. “Then behave like him. With every mealy word you utter, you tell me you are not him and never could be, so pretend. You will act like Kristijan, or by the gods that rule us I will tear your throat out for the world to see and expose you as the fake that you are.”

  Neven’s mind went blank. Just for a moment, he could think of nothing. Fear bloomed, pushing every other consideration aside. All the warnings and cautions that Veris and the others had spoken, everything that he had learned about Kristijan and this man who gripped him, flashed through his mind.

  Would Remi really kill him?

  Killing was a casual thing to vampires and even more so to Remi, who lived in Kristijan’s sick world.

  Neven didn’t know where the strength to speak came from. He didn’t think about the words. He didn’t think about the consequences of uttering them. It came from his gut, unprepared and ill-considered. “I am Kristijan, you ignoramus. Take your hands off me, or I’ll make you take them off.”

  Remi’s eyes narrowed. Then he smiled. It was a small expression, a curling of one corner of his mouth. “That’s better.”

  He kissed Neven. It was a hard press of his lips.

  Neven held still, shocked all over again. It was no less surprising and uncomfortable this second time. His heart raced.

  Remi’s tongue pressed inside his mouth.

  Neven told himself it was exactly the same as kissing a woman. Except it wasn’t. Not at all. He was incredibly aware of the man’s hand on his ass, the way the fingers were stroking. The skin there tingled under the touch.

  Remi drew back, considering him. “You’re soft.”

  Neven kept his tone flat. “Let me go.”

  The man let him go, yet he didn’t step away. Barely any space was between them. Remi tugged Neven’s lapels into place. “If you are going to be Kristijan, you’d better get rid of this suit.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Neven asked, surprised.

  “What’s right with it?” Remi replied. “You had better taste than this.” He moved over to one of the interior doors and opened it, then snapped on the light inside. It was a walk-in closet and it was crowded with clothes. Neven could see the shoulders of dark suit jackets, rods of trousers and shirts. A shelf of folded knitted garments and shelves of shoes.

  Remi waved towards the closet. “Your dimensions are the same as his. They’ll fit you as nicely as they fit him.”

  Neven stayed where he was. “I’m not going to stop trying to halt the shipment.”

  Remi leaned against the door. “You haven’t convinced me it should be stopped, yet. In the meantime, there are twenty-three men on the estate and the whole village itself you have to convince you are Kristijan. If you don’t do better than you did with me, then you’ll end up with a bullet in your brain and the shipment will go ahead.”

  Neven drew in a slow breath.

  Remi’s mouth turned down. “Hell, they’ll probably shoot me at the same time,” he added.

  “Kristijan?” The call was light, feminine and from somewhere outside the bedroom suite.

  Remi snapped upright, his lips parting. “Baise moi! London!”

  “Calling?” Neven asked, puzzled.

  “No, no…fuck!” Remi spoke softly and quickly, coming closer. “London, your fucking wife. She’s outside that door!”

  Wife?

  Neven had thought his capacity for being surprised had been maxed out. His mind seemed to totter. He thought of the single blurry black and white photo of the only woman that had been spotted in Kristijan’s life.

  Remi moved quickly again. A small gale seemed to pluck at Neven’s shirt. He heard the rip of threads and felt the cotton give way. Remi’s hand slid inside, against his bare torso. The vampire’s other hand gripped the back of his neck. “Start pretending,” he growled and kissed him again.

  The speed at which everything was happening short-circuited Neven’s thought processes. That was what he told himself, later. The only thought in his mind was the need to convince everyone he was Kristijan. The other Kristijan.

  As the doors to the suite rattled and the handle was turned, Neven brought his hands up and held Remi’s face. A flash of surprise moved through his mind. Men did have larger faces…

  “Kristijan, are you in here?…Oh.” The woman’s voice was smooth and mellow and English, the rich cadence accenting th
e Serbian she was speaking.

  Remi stepped away, clearing his throat. “Hello, London.” His voice was the driest Neven had heard so far. “I see you made it here in one piece.”

  Neven turned to look at her.

  It was only because his heart was already racing that he didn’t react to the sight of her. The woman was Elle, his time-travelling mentor…only the details were wrong.

  Long legs, encased in dark trousers that hugged every inch. The shoes were high, with the pointed toe that elegant women seemed to like.

  Elegance was part of her bone structure yet Neven’s first impression was one of color. Her hair was a rich, deep auburn, shining with health, lying curled on either shoulder, framing her face, while Elle’s had been pure black. Whose was the false color?

  Her skin was white, as if her hair had stolen all the color from it. She had offset the paleness with red lipstick that was almost shocking in contrast. Her lips were full, with a perfect little bow in the top one.

  The color of her eyes didn’t need enhancement. They were a pure, impossible light gray that looked as if it had been digitally enhanced. The brows rose in strong, dark arches above. Both were exactly the same as Elle’s.

  One of the brows lifted even farther when she saw him. The mouth turned down. “I’m interrupting.” She said it as though she didn’t give a damn, or that she might even be pleased about it. Carelessly, she tossed the dark brown leather handbag she was carrying onto the chair in the corner next to her.

  Neven could smell her scent. It was a heady thing, sophisticated and layered, bringing to mind crisp autumn days, mulled wine, chilled air and the warmth of a fire in the hearth playing over the skin.

  Even her jacket whispered of cool days and indoor pleasures. The leaves scattered over the fabric matched her hair. It was a symphony of hues.

  She pushed the open front of the jacket aside and put her fist on her hip. They were generous hips. Neven shifted his gaze upward to her face, aware that he was staring. “Well, I’m here,” she said flatly. “Reporting in, despite your henchman there failing to show up.”

  “I didn’t have to go to England to make sure you got on the damn plane,” Remi said. “I didn’t think you’d have the balls to show up after filing that divorce claim.”

  She was staring at Neven, as if Remi didn’t exist. “I came to talk about it.”

  “You came because if you didn’t show up you wouldn’t get your quarterly support,” Remi replied dryly.

  The woman—had Remi called her London?—shifted her gaze to Remi, looking down her nose as if he was a particularly disgusting slug. “It speaks,” she said dismissively. She looked back at Neven. “Can I talk to you?” Her gaze flickered to Remi and back. “Alone,” she added.

  Neven’s instinct was to say no in some way. Remi’s responses to the woman were supplying him with large chunks of information about her that Kristijan would have already known. Was he doing it deliberately? It was subtle, if he was. Either way, Neven needed him in the room. He couldn’t face the woman alone. There were too many unknowns.

  Remi, though, patted him on the shoulder and straightened up his shirt with a tug and a smile. “Remind London what her place is. All that time in England has made her forget.”

  He stepped around London. “Mrs. Zoric,” he said dryly.

  “At least I have a legal leg to stand on, maggot,” she replied.

  “Not for long, though, hmm?” Remi shut the door behind him, leaving Neven alone with London.

  Chapter Seven

  London didn’t let herself relax once Remi had gone. Remi was openly obnoxious and caustic, while Kristijan hid the dark core of whatever was left of his soul behind soft tones and a reasonable manner. Of the two, she thought Kristijan was just slightly more dangerous, yet she couldn’t discount Remi at all. He was Kristijan’s enforcer for a reason.

  Kristijan was staring at her, which reminded her that she’d just arrived. She pushed self-consciously at her hair. “I’ll go and clean up shortly,” she told him, switching to English. “I just couldn’t let this wait, though. I need to talk to you about why I filed the divorce.”

  Kristijan didn’t move. “Does anyone call you L?” he asked.

  “Not if they expect an answer from me,” she said stiffly. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it. You’re probably angry—”

  “About the divorce?” He paused. “Name a man that wouldn’t be.”

  “The man that does the filing,” she snapped back. “Kristijan, this has to stop.”

  “What does?”

  “This great pretense that everything is normal, that we have a happy marriage, that you even like me! For heaven’s sake! I’ve been living in England for four years now. How many people do you think you’re fooling?”

  He pushed his hands into his pockets, which made the open shirt spread at the front, to reveal silky-smooth, creamy flesh, over the taut stomach. The muscles beneath shifted.

  “Will you at least close the shirt up?” she snapped. It was the wrong thing to say. It would make Kristijan think that he was still attractive to her, which he wasn’t. Even if she couldn’t shift her gaze away from his flesh. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to be drawn to him. She hated that every time he came into a room, her heart gave a little jump as she took in his height, the dark hair and eyes and the smooth skin. His hands and wrists and what they could do to her behind closed doors.

  Six years after meeting him, nothing had changed.

  Kristijan pulled the shirt together with one hand. Then she realized the shirt had no buttons. They had been torn off.

  Remi.

  Her mouth turned down. “Change the shirt,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

  Kristijan turned and moved to the closet. The door was ajar, anyway. He closed it nearly all the way, except for a few inches. She could hear him moving around in there.

  “What are you doing?” she called.

  “Changing the shirt, as requested.”

  She blinked. Just like that, he was doing what she asked? Normally, he would growl at her. Something about giving him orders and how much he didn’t like a forward woman.

  All her carefully rehearsed arguments designed to persuade him to let the divorce go through uncontested evaporated and she scrambled to regather them.

  He opened the door and came out again, fastening the last button on another shirt. The silk trousers were not his usual style, although they did nicely outline his thighs and ass… London blinked and dragged her gaze back to his face.

  He considered her. She could see no anger in him, not even the hidden sort that he liked to let simmer below the surface before lashing out at full strength. “You’ve just come from England. Wouldn’t you like to rest first? We can always talk about it later.”

  London stared at him. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Kristijan?” she demanded. This was so not what she had expected that she was almost breathless in reaction.

  Kristijan seemed to flinch. Or wince. His hand dropped. “I can be a bastard if you find it easier,” he snapped.

  She drew in a breath. He had been biding his time. “Later is fine,” she assured him quickly. “As I’m stuck here for another two weeks.” She couldn’t help the bitter note.

  “You can always go home again,” he said.

  Her mouth opened this time. She could feel her jaw sagging. “Go home?” she repeated, stunned.

  Kristijan grimaced. “You’ll still get your money,” he said. “In fact, it is probably a good idea if you do go back to England. Things will not be pleasant around here for the next week or so.”

  “Are they ever pleasant?” she asked. The question popped out before she could censor it.

  “I suppose not,” he admitted.

  He was handing shocks out like sweets. It was too much. Her heart was laboring under too many changes of direction and surprises. “I do think I need to rest…” she murmured.

  “We can talk at dinner,” Kristijan
added.

  “Not if that monster is at the table,” she shot back.

  His lips parted. “Remi?” he asked, sounding puzzled.

  London tamped down the spurt of pure resentment that shot through her at the way he said the man’s name. “Yes, Remi,” she said flatly.

  “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “When did you start asking self-evident questions?” She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, you’re being reasonable and I can’t adjust that quickly. Forget I said that.”

  “Is it just because he’s…?” The little gesture of his hand towards the bed finished the rest of the sentence for her.

  “It’s not like you to miss a chance to rub it in,” she said tiredly.

  “There’s a big project going on. It’s taking up most of my attention,” he said flatly. “I don’t have the energy to spare for anything else.”

  Reassured by the caustic tone, she nodded. “Right. Now I have been duly reminded of my place in your grand schemes. You can tell Remi you did as he suggested.”

  His jaw flexed, as he considered her. Why had she ever thought his gaze was warm? It was like looking at two black holes with nothing behind them but the end of worlds and despair. “Remi is a vital part of my business. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that,” he said coolly.

  London laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “He’s the reason you have this…business!” She curled her hand up into a fist and made herself stop, even though the words were pushing up behind her teeth, wanting to get out. She wanted to flay him with them, to hurt him as he had hurt her, over and over again.

  Remi was dark and scary, for all that Kristijan was darker in looks. The Frenchman always watched her. He constantly measured and assessed and she knew he was sizing her up, considering how much of a danger she was to Kristijan. It was his job to protect Kristijan. He loved his job.

  A long time ago, London had come to the conclusion that one day, Remi would kill her. Not because he hated her that much, although he did. He would kill her because Kristijan told him to. That would be the day when Kristijan tired of her and no longer wanted her to be in his life in even the minimal symbolic way she was now.