I wanted three Alphas. Three stubborn, complicated, beautiful men who looked at me like I was worth every bit of trouble I caused.
I was finally ready to let myself have them.
Chapter Nineteen
Artemis
The Cajun Moon was packed.
Bodies everywhere—pressed against the bar, crowded around tiny tables, spilling onto the dance floor where a zydeco band was tearing through a two-step that had the whole building shaking. The air was thick with the smell of beer and crawfish and sweat, the walls vibrating with accordion and washboard and the stomp of a hundred boots on worn wooden floors.
I loved it.
"You sure about this?" Remy leaned close to ask, his lips brushing my ear to be heard over the music, his hand warm on the small of my back, his cologne mixing with the honeysuckle sweetness of his natural scent. "It's not exactly romantic." He added, pulling back just enough for me to see the uncertainty flickering behind his easy grin.
"It's perfect." I told him, rising on my toes to press the words against his cheek, feeling the slight stubble scratch my lips. "I love zydeco. Haven't been dancing in months." I admitted,already swaying to the rhythm, my hips moving without conscious thought.
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe, or relief. Like he'd been bracing for disappointment and found something else instead.
"Well then." He caught my hand, his calloused fingers threading through mine, his golden eyes lighting up with something that looked like joy. "Let's dance, chere." He said, already pulling me toward the floor, his stride confident despite the crush of bodies.
The band launched into a faster number as we found a spot near the center, and Remy pulled me close without hesitation, one hand on my hip, the other holding mine up in proper two-step form. His body was warm against mine, solid and sure, and when he started to move, I realized with a jolt of surprise that he actually knew what he was doing.
"You can dance." I said, not quite a question, letting him lead me through the steps, my feet finding the rhythm like they'd never forgotten it.
"Mémère taught me." He grinned down at me, spinning me out and back with practiced ease, his hand catching my waist to pull me close again. "Said no Thibodaux worth his salt couldn't two-step. Made me practice with her every Sunday after church until I got it right." His voice was warm with the memory, his eyes soft in a way I rarely got to see.
"She sounds wonderful." I said softly, letting him guide me through a turn, my skirt swirling around my legs, feeling the music pulse through my blood like something alive.
"She was." He nodded, something bittersweet crossing his features before the grin came back, bright and deflecting. "Prettiest girl in the parish, back in her day. Had men lined up around the block trying to court her." He spun me again, faster this time, making me laugh as my skirt flared out around mythighs. "She picked Papaw because he was the worst dancer but the best listener. Said that's how she knew he was serious—he kept coming back even though he had two left feet." He finished, his golden eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Smart woman." I was breathless now, my chest heaving slightly beneath my dress, from the dancing or the way he was looking at me or maybe both, my skin flushed and warm everywhere his hands had touched.
"The smartest." He agreed, pulling me closer as the song shifted into something slower, something with more accordion and less washboard. "She'd have liked you, I think. You've got that same look she used to get—like you're seeing right through all the bullshit to whatever's underneath." His voice dropped lower, more serious, his hand spreading wider on my back.
"Is that what I do?" I asked, tilting my head back to look up at him, finding his face closer than I'd expected, his golden eyes dark in the dim light of the dance hall.
"That's exactly what you do." He said quietly, and there was no performance in it, no charm turned up to eleven. Just Remy, honest and a little scared, looking at me like I was something he wanted but wasn't sure he deserved. "Scares the hell out of me, honestly." He admitted, his thumb tracing circles on my hip through the thin fabric of my dress.
"Why?" I asked softly, my fingers tracing the edge of his collar, feeling the rapid pulse beating in his throat, even though I already knew the answer. Even though I could see it written all over his face in the tension of his jaw and the shadows behind his eyes.
"Because I've spent my whole life making sure no one sees underneath." He laughed, but it wasn't his usual laugh—this one had edges, sharp and self-deprecating. "Easier that way. Give them the smile, the charm, the pretty face. Don't let them getclose enough to find out there's nothing else there." His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
"There's plenty else there." I reached up and cupped his face, feeling the warmth of his skin against my palm, watching his eyes flutter half-closed at the touch. "I've seen it. The song you wrote for your grandmother. The way you talk about your family. The way you look when you think no one's watching." I stroked my thumb along his cheekbone, feeling him lean into the contact like he was starving for it. "You're not just a pretty face, Remy Thibodaux. Anyone who made you feel that way was a fool." I told him firmly, meaning every word.
"Artemis." Her name came out rough, broken, his hands tightening on my waist like he needed to hold onto something solid.
"I mean it." I rose on my toes, bringing my face closer to his, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to see the gold flecks in his eyes. "I see you. The real you. And I like what I see." I whispered.
He kissed me. Not the careful, teasing kisses he'd given me before—this was something else entirely. This was hunger and need and years of wanting to be seen finally meeting someone who actually looked. He kissed me like he was drowning and I was air, his hands sliding up my back to pull me closer, his mouth hot and desperate against mine.
I kissed him back just as fiercely, my fingers tangling in his hair, my body arching into his like it had a mind of its own. He tasted like the beer he'd been drinking and something sweeter underneath, something that was just Remy, and I couldn't get enough of it.
A purr started in my chest—low and involuntary, the omega response I usually kept locked down tight. But I didn't want to lock it down. Not with him. Not tonight. He groaned against mymouth when he felt it, the vibration making him shudder, his hands tightening on my hips hard enough to bruise.
"God, chere." He gasped, breaking the kiss just enough to speak, his forehead pressed against mine, his breath coming fast and ragged. "You can't—when you do that—" He trailed off, his golden eyes nearly black with want, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Can't what?" I asked innocently, letting the purr deepen, watching his eyes roll back in his head.
