Page 12 of Remy

My throat restricts. Every part of me is alive for this man—nerves jangling, heart thrumming, soul dancing.

I nod.

He leans back in, his stubble grazing my cheek as his mouth moves near my ear. “Such a good girl.”

I shudder and clench my legs to stem the needy ache in my core, trapping his hand between my thighs.

A deep grumble emanates from his chest in delicious approval. “I bet you taste so sweet.” His voice is low, dripping with lust. “My perfect, pure princess.” His fingers shift, the slightest brush of contact over my panty-covered clit nudging me close to the precipice.

I dig my nails into his wrist. Gasp for air. “I’m…” I swallow. Gasp.

I’m lost for words. Drowning in greed.

I’ve never craved anything like this before. Never yearned with a ferocity so fierce it made me mindless.

I want to touch him. To be so daring as to slide my hand over his crotch. To feel his length. I’m summoning up the courage to reach for him when a masculine throat clears close by.

I startle. Panic.

I grasp the handsome stranger’s shoulder and push back an inch, mortified to find another suit-clad man standing at our booth, his expression emotionless as he looks down his nose at us.

“Boss,” the intruder drawls.

My deity doesn’t move. Doesn’t seem to care as he remains focused on me, his fingers continuing to gently slide back and forth along my underwear-covered slit. “Russo,” he growls.

“We’re ready to leave. I’ve already fixed up your bill.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

I keep clinging to his shoulder, praying the dim lighting and the tilt of his body hides where his hand is hidden.

“I’ll meet you at the car.” The interloper walks away, unfazed.

I slump into the booth, my breathing ragged while the touch withdraws from beneath my skirt, the fingers in my hair retreating.

“It was a pleasure, Ollie.” The slightest shadow of guilt creeps across his face as the mysterious stranger slides along the bench seat.

“Wait. I don’t even know your name.” I reach for him, but he’s already moving to his feet. “Will I see you again?”

His lips kick at one side, the most solemn grin hitting me in the chest as he smoothes his ring-covered hand down the front of his suit. “Not if you’re lucky.”

3

OLIVIA

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Liv… sweetie… my darling, precious baby girl… I know you don’t like to be rushed but we’re getting a little stretched for time before the viewing, and Alexandra’s mother isn’t someone we should keep waiting.” Ivy gives me an apologetic smile from the mortuary doorway.

I sigh, still fiddling with the bobby pins failing to hold the decedent’s hair. “I know. I just can’t get her part to sit right, and before that I wasn’t happy with the reconstruction of the stab wound to her cheek.”

Some clients are more difficult than others.

I’m not sure if today’s issues are due to it being the end of another long week, or if it’s because Alexandra’s mother is a high-profile news anchor—one with an extremely unfavorable demeanor.

If anything goes wrong during the services leading up to her daughter’s funeral, the world will hear about it.

“Give me a few more minutes.” I run my glove-covered hands gently over the back of Alexandra’s head, paranoid the screws holding her skull together weren’t placed as perfectly as they could’ve been. “If you can get Hugo to wheel in the casket, I’ll start placing her right away.”

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