Page 48 of Remy

“Drive me back to work, or as soon as I get home I’ll drive there myself.”

My dick taps in to the conversation, her audacity having the opposite effect of what I assume she intends.

Fear me, pyro. Don’t fuck with me. Otherwise this shit is going to get messy.

“Why work?” I grate.

“I need to keep myself busy. My thoughts will be the death of me if I’m not occupied. I also don’t want you at my house, invading my personal space. It’s bad enough you seem to know where I live.”

“The invasion is inevitable. You might as well get it over with.”

“No. I’m not ready.” She hugs her arms around her middle, her heartache doing strange things to me. “And besides, I need to make sure everything is as it should be with the retort.”

I itch to concede. To give her what she wants merely for the sake of pleasing her. But I dived headfirst toward that piranha tank six months ago and still haven’t been liberated from the aftereffects of my fingers against her damp panties.

I should’ve known I’d sealed her fate when I slid into that booth.

I could’ve played last night differently if she hadn’t recognized me.

I would’ve had my men subdue her, ply her with a roofie or two to make what she witnessed seem like a messed up dream. She’d wake up with a headache and a serious case of confusion that Carlo could’ve blamed on a gas leak. Men in hi-vis gear with clipboards could have corroborated the story.

I should’ve gone down that path regardless, yet the thought of hurting her, drugging her…

I clench the steering wheel.

This woman is fucking everything up.

“Please, Remy. Wasn’t biting my tongue at the hospital a sign of good faith? Can’t you give me one in return?”

Good faith means jack shit when the sound of her begging has me craving to hear those words in a more sordid setting.

What would she look like on her knees? Wrists bound? Lips parted?

“I may be a virgin, but I’m not virginal.”

Fuck.

She’s right. Taking her home is a mistake. I can’t be trusted in close proximity to the temptation of her bed.

“Fine.” I grind my teeth through the carnal thoughts and slap the turn signal to navigate toward the funeral home. “But let me make this clear—the invasion of your personal space is going to happen eventually.”

We just both need to be in a better headspace when it happens.

12

OLIVIA

His agreement brings the slightest relief.

I need to keep busy, otherwise the murmurs of panic in my mind will become deafening shouts.

I can’t fixate on what’s happened. Or what the future will bring. Not until I can speak to Dad and get solid answers—ones I can trust.

Remy makes a small detour through a fast-food drive-thru to order breakfast and coffee, his manners sickeningly impeccable as he speaks to staff. A short time later he parks the Bentley at the funeral home and cuts the engine.

After more than thirty minutes stuck in a car, I would’ve thought the haunting grasp of his hands would’ve left my body. But the feel of him against me continues to linger.

I hate it. Hate him.

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