Page 198 of Remy

“No. I’m okay.”

“Good.” His voice loses all strength as he unclasps his belt and opens his door. “I’m going to want to leave as soon as your dad wakes in the morning. So we should get some rest while we can.”

I follow him from the car, but like a gentleman, he rounds the hood, helping me gain my footing in the unfamiliar heels.

He remains at my side as we walk to the house. I keep close, not sure how I’m going to handle space between us while he places the PIN code into the security lock, then holds open the front door.

“Go ahead.” He jerks his chin toward the bedrooms. “I’ll stay here and turn off the entry light once you reach your room so we don’t have to illuminate the hall and risk waking your dad.”

I can’t bring myself to walk away from him. I already know tomorrow will come with him having erected walls to keep me out. I need the few more moments we have left.

“I can handle the dark.” I wait, expecting him to protest.

Instead, he stares at me, seeming to war with the simple decision to accompany me toward my room, the seconds passing, the tension building.

He flicks off the light, bathing us in shadow. He’s nothing more than a silhouette as he continues toward me, murmuring a quiet, “Come on,” as he passes.

My heels click against the tile while I follow, the tap, tap, tap increasing my anxiety over the thought of saying goodnight.

He slows as we approach my door. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he continues, taking a step away.

My heart screams, the tortured organ curling in on itself.

I can’t help it. I reach through the darkness to claim his hand. To hold tight.

He stops.

Everything does.

All thought. All sound. All movement.

There’s nothing but silence between us. Palpable and foreboding.

“Bed, Ollie.” It’s a growl. A low, delicious grumble.

I swallow over my tightening throat, unable to obey.

The heat I’d felt while pressed into him against the Escalade returns with vengeance.

“Bed,” he repeats.

Bed is exactly what I want as long as he’s in it.

His fingers twitch, and through the darkness he stands taller, growing more commanding. More fierce.

God, it’s a turn-on.

Then he swings around to face me, abruptly stalking the foot of distance between us, his chest grazing mine, intimidating me back against the doorjamb, his body a dark intimidating force.

“Breaking your promises already?” he snarls in my face, and holy fuck, it’s exquisite.

His praise is heaven. But his waning tortured restraint could be bottled and sold for the addictive thrill of it.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m not going to tempt you to sleep with me.”

“Then what is this?” He closes in, his nose an inch from mine.

“I don’t like being indebted.”

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