Page 163 of Remy

It’s massive, nestled beneath the shade of the treetops and surrounded by a bright floral garden.

A dark-haired, middle-aged man sits on a cement bench near the few stairs leading to the porch, eying us with interest.

Remy eyes him right back, making goose bumps of trepidation skitter down my back.

“Do you know him?” I ask.

“I assume he’s the owner, but wait here while I check.” He climbs out, all protective and dreamy.

The stranger pushes to his feet and strolls forward to exchange a handshake. Muffled words are spoken. Calm composure is maintained.

Everything looks aboveboard.

No threats sensed.

“I’m going to make a start on our luggage.” I climb out of the car.

Remy’s cold stare pins me.

Shit. Was I meant to wait for a signal?

I force a smile and walk toward them, preferring to be closer to Remy if a threat does exist.

“Good afternoon.” I round the hood of the Escalade and step onto the grass. “You have a magnificent home.”

The stranger nods in appreciation. “It’s a blessing to have you here to share it.”

Introductions are made and pleasantries are exchanged. But Remy remains tightly wound as he and Curt grab the luggage from the car while Lucy leads Dad inside.

I follow Curt to the door, Remy close behind me, and stop to take off my shoes when a strong arm weaves around my waist.

I gasp.

“Defy me again,” Remy growls in my ear, “and I’ll turn that ass red.”

My lungs burn, every nerve in my body tingling.

“Being around me is dangerous enough without your inability to perceive possible threats.” He holds me tighter, his body flush at my back. “Understood?”

I swallow. Nod.

“Perfect.” He releases me and continues into the house. “I’d hate to have to make good on my promise.”

29

REMY

It’s no surprise I fuck up and lay hands on her before we even step foot inside the house.

I’m paranoid about her safety, and when she didn’t stay in the car—like I fucking asked—I could barely resist the urge to drag her over my lap to make her see sense.

Now the feel of her is all caught up in my head, and I can’t get it out.

It’s not even like we’re at high risk out here in the middle of absolute fucking nowhere.

I’ve taken a shit-load of unnecessary precautions.

But my continued stupidity has me spending hours holed up in one of the bedrooms, pretending I need to make important business calls. I only leave the isolation temporarily to allow entry to the chef I contracted days ago.

---