Page 134 of Remy

“With people actively attempting to kill you, I’d do my best not to give them exactly what they want.” I busy myself tidying up the surgical equipment, returning the staple gun to the drawer, balling up the empty bandage packaging, and throwing it to the waste bin beside the vanity. “You should also shower. You’re covered in blood. The dressings are waterproof so don’t worry about those.”

“Do you help with patient bathing requirements?”

All my air congeals in my throat. I don’t know why he’s acting like this. Is it grief? Self-preservation after a life-threatening situation?

Whatever the cause, it can’t be personal.

He’s suffering and, proximity-wise, I’m currently his only outlet.

“Sorry, Grim. These hands are still virginal.” I paste on a half-smile. “So I’m under qualified as far as your preferences are concerned.”

25

REMY

The reminder is a slap across the face. A necessary one, because while her hands have been on me, pinching my gaping flesh, stapling my wound, my dick has ignored the pain and the fucking sorrow to jut eagerly against the crotch of my tattered pants like an unleashable hound.

How the hell could I forget? Hmm, I wonder.

Maybe it’s the softness of those careful fingers. The tempting sweetness of her strawberry scent. Or the unholy pajamas that would be entirely cookie-cutter on someone else, but on her? They’re a wet dream waiting to fucking happen.

I avert my gaze and scoot from the vanity to shove a punishing hand through my hair.

“You did forget.” Her tone holds surprise. “So that was legitimate flirting? And now this—” She waves a lazy hand in my direction. “—is genuine disgust at the reminder of my virginal status?”

“It’s not disgust.” It’s self-loathing.

“Don’t worry, Remy.” She gives a sad smile. “I’ll lose the V-card soon enough.”

Anger floods my veins, my temples, my goddamn chest. “That’s great, Ollie. Just make sure the guy knows that fucking you will be the last thing he does.”

Shock slackens her features. “You’re kidding, right?” She keeps her emotions in check, but I see the frustration bubbling to the surface. “You won’t have sex with me but nobody else can either?”

Yep. That seems to be the way this unhinged situation is developing.

She snatches her cell from the counter and turns on her heel as she makes for the door. “You can be a real piece of work sometimes. But I’ll let it slide because of what you’ve been through.”

Each foot of space she places between us is like the shortening of a live fuse.

She’s not the only one annoyed at my behavior. I’m fucking fuming—at the lust coursing through my veins, at how my feelings toward her are so mindless at a time when she shouldn’t be smothering my thoughts.

“You’re welcome for the staples though.” She snatches the door handle. “I guess I’m not entirely useless.”

“You’re not fucking useless,” I snarl.

“Actions speak louder…” She yanks the door open. “I’ll find my own way home.”

Like hell.

I lunge, the taut skin on my thigh pulling as I close in behind her, plastering my palm against the door to slam it shut.

I trap her in the cage of my arms, my chest pressing into her back, everywhere we touch awakening a monster inside me. “Rejecting you isn’t effortless.”

She stiffens.

“Watching you from inside the funeral home while you wait in your car is far from a cakewalk,” I snarl into her hair. “Telling you how I feel through texts that you think are taunts isn’t my idea of fun.” I drag the delicious strawberry scent of her shampoo into my lungs. “And then having you in my home, with your hands all over me, while I force mine to remain at my side…Fuck, Ollie. You have no idea what you do to me.”

She raises her chin. “You sure make it look easy.”

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