Page 57 of Remy

I clench my jaw, beating back unwanted sympathy.

Then she gives an abrupt nod and continues outside, leaving me to incline my head in farewell to Carlo and follow her back down to the lower level.

I don’t say a word as she takes her sweet time tidying up her shit. She needs to adjust to her father’s deception. To figure out how she’s going to handle my presence in her home. So I bite my tongue even though I’m starving and equally fucking fatigued.

More than an hour later we walk out of there, the sun already starting its descent, the cold of late winter clouding the air whenever I breathe.

I drive her home in silence.

It isn’t until I turn into her street that she breaks the quiet with a hearty “I’ll never trust you.”

It’s not the usual way to thank someone for not killing them, but I’ll take it as a win that she’s initiated conversation.

“As devastating as that is, I’m going to work hard to get over it.” I park across the road from her quaint cape cod home, not wanting to risk her safety if my Bentley is recognized in her drive. “Your father trusts me. That should be good enough for you for now.”

“My father is obviously suffering mentally as well as physically.” She yanks off her seatbelt. “You’re taking advantage of a sick man.”

She shoves her door open with a huff and climbs out to stalk for her drive.

I sigh.

Where the fuck is she finding the energy for this animosity?

I cut the ignition, and yet again, follow after her, catching up as she strides along her garden path to the three stairs leading to her small porch.

I’m an asshole, so when she stops to unlock her door I stand closer than necessary, breathing in that intoxicating strawberry scent.

As soon as the door is swung wide, she turns on me.

“Wait here.” She glowers, then escapes inside.

My dumb ass complies.

How this woman gained power over me is astounding. But I really need to get a handle on that shit. And still, I stand out in the cold for seconds that tick into minutes.

Finally she returns, her arms filled with electrical devices—two tablets, an Echo speaker, and a laptop.

“There.” She shoves them against my chest. “That’s every form of contact I have with the outside world.” She digs into her pants pocket as I juggle the unwanted gifts, then adds her cell to the top of the precarious pile. “You can check if you like, but you’re not staying inside. If you’re worried I’ll do something stupid, the risk will only increase if I don’t have space to come to terms with what’s happened. I’ve had enough people-ing for one day. I need time to think.”

She’s adamant. Her posture carved from the toughest stone. Yet her hands quaver at her sides. Her eyes plead instead of demand.

She’s beautifully daring in spite of her fear.

What I wouldn’t give to drop the weight in my arms and yank her against me. To eviscerate her hostility by slamming my mouth on hers.

I clear the tightness from my throat. “That’s some set of balls you’ve?—”

“My father trusts me. That should be good enough for you for now.” She throws my words back at me, then slams the door in my face.

Perfect.

Just fucking perfect.

I’m the murderous motherfucker in this equation, and still, despite the odds, she’s the one who’s calling the shots.

A humorless laugh escapes me, the pile of devices growing heavy in my hands.

This goddamn fucking woman.

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