Page 63 of Remy

“I’m sure I will be.” Her tone is flat. Unconvincing.

“Don’t worry, officers.” I glide my weapon into the front of my waistband and discreetly reposition my suit jacket. “I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

She straightens her shoulders, the light from the laundry casting her rebellious shadow across the fence in simplistic beauty.

She despises me. Loathes me.

Why is that such a fucking turn-on?

“Come on, Ollie.” I direct her toward the glass door. “It’s time for me to take care of you.”

She pivots, her panicked eyes meet mine, and it’s clear this mesmerizing pain-in-my-ass understands the double entendre.

14

REMY

“You were going to rat on me.” I storm down the darkened hall after her, the sweet scent of strawberries claiming my lungs. “What don’t you understand about this situation?”

She ignores me, entering a pitch-black doorway and slapping her hand against a light switch.

Bright light illuminates an open living area where a mass of plants adorn every horizontal space, their vines and leaves creating a forest of green across a television stand and free-floating shelves along the walls. There’s painted art in simplistic frames. Tidy furniture. A modest TV.

I grab her wrist to stop her from walking farther into the room. “I said—what part of this situation don’t you understand?”

She turns on me, yanking her arm from my grip before shoving at my chest with a burst of aggression I don’t see coming. I stumble back a step, my blood rushing south.

“The things I do understand is a much shorter list,” she snaps. “But contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t about to tell anyone anything.”

God, how her anger does things to me. Scorching, reprehensible things.

“Bullshit.” I snarl. “If it hadn’t been for that officer making it clear he knew me, you would’ve eagerly spilled your guts.”

She squares her shoulders and steps up to me.

Steps. Up. To. Me.

“It’s called acting.” She glares. “You know, like the thing you did the night we met?”

I clench my teeth, fucking pissed that she’d dare to turn this around on me.

“I can’t believe how you played me in that dive bar,” she scoffs. “Why go to all that effort to charm me?”

“What effort? You were all over me like a rash.”

Her jaw unhinges, that delectable mouth gaping.

“Is that what you’ve been fixated on while I was locked outside?” I huff a laugh. “Now you’re pissed over me buying you a few drinks?”

“It was more than just drinks.” Her hazel eyes turn pleading. “You didn’t have to use me like that.”

Use. What a remarkably shitty word to describe me succumbing to infatuation.

I’d been the fucking victim.

The one trapped under her spell.

“I needed to keep you occupied.” I shrug. “Salvatore and your father were finalizing negotiations, and they didn’t need interference.”

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