Page 204 of Remy

She gives a wickedly shy grin. “Really? That’s my favorite pastime.”

I lower my gaze and readjust the growing tent in my pants. As much as I’d like to flirt with her all day, there are repercussions from last night to deal with. “We need to start making tracks.”

She sits up, positioning herself against the headboard. “Did something else happen?”

“No.” I grab my shirt and jacket off the floor. “But I don’t want to risk being caught unaware. Russo and Valenti stayed up all night disposing of issues and watching the house. I want them back in Baltimore so they can get some sleep.”

“Okay.” She climbs out of bed, dragging the sheet with her. “I’ll shower and be ready as soon as I can.”

I pull on my shirt while she heads toward the bathroom, the white sheet trailing behind her like a sordid wedding gown. “Remy…” She pauses at the open door and glances over her shoulder to look at me. “What is this?”

I frown. “What is what?”

“This.” She turns back, waving a hand toward me. “Us.”

I tense.

“Actually—” She holds the sheet to her chest as she continues inside the bathroom. “—don’t answer that. Your face already holds a familiar expression, and I didn’t appreciate where the conversation led last time.”

I clench my jaw. “I can’t give you a label right now, Ollie.”

“Fair enough.”

No, it’s not fair enough.

She gave me an all-access pass to her body and I can’t even give her reassurance. All I need is fucking time.

“I won’t take long in the shower. I’ll see you in the kitchen for breakfast.” She closes herself into the bathroom, the click of the lock a deafening shun.

I curse myself as I leave her room and return to mine, then shower, change, and pack my shit.

Ollie is already seated at the breakfast counter, talking to the chef when I enter the open living area with my duffle bag, their far-too-friendly conversation raising the hair on the back of my neck.

She looks fucking gorgeous in short shorts and a flowing long-sleeve white linen top, her twin braids begging to be tugged.

“Are you seeing someone?” the chef asks while cracking an egg.

I clench a fist around my bag handle, biting my tongue while I wait for her response.

She shakes her head. “I thought I was, but there’s no label, so I assume it was a fling.”

I drop my duffle to the tile, the heavy weight falling with a booming thud.

They both glance toward me, the chef with wide-eyed surprise, and Ollie with taunting sass. She knew I was standing there when she answered him.

“She’s seeing someone,” I snarl.

The chef glances between us, an oh, shit look crossing his face.

“Am I?” Ollie swivels her stool to face me, casually forking a bite of bacon into her mouth. “That’s confusing.”

The chef turns away, busying himself with something in the fridge.

“Can I have a moment in private, Olivia?” I ask through clenched teeth.

Her lips quirk.

She’s loving this, and yeah, I don’t fucking blame her, but she needs to be careful. I have a short fuse when it comes to the thought of losing her.

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