Page 180 of Remy

“That’s understandable.” She nods thoughtfully, taking another sip of her martini. “Just out of curiosity though…” She cocks her head, studying me. “What would it take for you to kiss me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I snap my attention to the other side of the room.

Soda isn’t going to cut it.

Scotch wouldn’t even do the trick.

She needs to stop drinking, and I need to find a hole to crawl into.

She chuckles. “I think I like riling you.”

“Yeah?” I snarl. “I think I liked it more when you were scared of me.”

“I was never scared of you.”

“No?” I spear my eyes back to hers, regretting the moment those humor-filled depths drag me under. “I recall history differently.”

“Well, obviously I was scared the first night at the funeral home. But it was nothing in comparison to coming face-to-face with Lorenzo and Salvatore. It’s always been different with you.”

Because she knows I could never hurt her.

At least not physically.

My fingers tighten around my glass. “So you have fully functioning self-preservation when it comes to them, but not with me?”

“It’s been fully functioning across the board for the most part.” Her lips twitch. “But then you said you wanted to spread my legs and place your mouth between my thighs, and now all bets are off.”

32

REMY

I stare at her, the restraint I’ve been battling for months being chipped away with each bat of her lashes.

I’m about to throw caution to the fucking wind and drag her out of here when the front door of the bar opens and two men walk in.

Maybe I wouldn’t have recognized them from the shadowed car if they’d headed straight for the bar and casually ordered a drink, but they hover in the doorway, scoping the room, both of them pausing their visual sweep once they reach me.

Fuck.

It’s nothing more than a brief moment of hesitation. Yet it’s enough.

They know me, and they’re not showing interest because they want to buy me a beer.

“Ollie, I need you to come sit next to me.” I keep my gaze on them as they exchange words then walk to the bar pretending they’re not shady as fuck.

She straightens but doesn’t ask questions. She’s smart enough not to even look over her shoulder as she climbs from her side of the booth to slide into mine.

“Is that them?” she whispers.

I give a subtle nod while the shorter of the two men hands money to the bartender, cocking his elbow casually against the counter.

They’re not familiar. Both have fair skin, blue eyes, and light red hair, making them seem like descendants from the land of the Leprechauns.

Not the usual characteristics of my enemies, but that doesn’t mean shit.

I reach under the table and untuck my shirt from my pants to retrieve my gun from the waistband holster.

“Is that necessary?” Ollie chokes.

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