Page 119 of The Prodigal

Remington has never been good at taking orders. So, I don’t even know why I was surprised to see his stubborn ass sitting in the parking lot at the parole hearing—blatantly disregarding my request for him to stay home and let me go alone.

“How fast did you have to speed to beat me home?” I ask, eyeing him outside the house we rented in rural Atlanta, so his diva ass didn’t have to live in the dorms or a motel room, where anyone could talk to him or look at me when we went back to school.

I know, right? His chivalry knows no bounds.

His brow rises. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. “Did. You. Speed?” I repeat slowly, making sure he knows I am not letting this go any time soon. “Just admit you were there,” I challenge, “and I won’t stab you with the nail file in my purse.”

He chuckles, his eyes darkening in response to my threat. “Don’t get brave, love. I’m not in a generous mood.”

Bullshit.

“Ooh,” I coo. “Does that mean you’re in a punishing mood, then?”

His mouth twitches, and he spreads his legs for me to step closer. “Do you need punishing?”

“Not unless you consider me stealing fries off your plate last night after you fell asleep a punishable offense.”

He narrows his eyes. “I dozed off for a second.”

“More like an hour.”

He shrugs. “Your pussy sucked up all my energy.”

Oh my gosh. This man. “Hmm…that sounds concerning. Maybe you should take it easy—spend some time on your back tonight.”

“Agreed.” He closes his legs around me. “I hear a blow job is more effective than a good night’s rest.”

I smile, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips. Those haunted brown eyes seem lighter these days, playful even, but they haven’t changed. Neither has he. We might sleep in a bed now, but Remington is still just as sarcastic as he’s always been.

Nothing has changed that.

Not even his obsession with me.

And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Remington Potter is still my villain-ish hero, who is more beautiful on the inside than out. He still threatens me before breakfast and protects me after dark.

I could not be more in love with this incredible man.

“So,” I tell him, getting back to my original question that he deliberately avoided. “Do you want to know the outcome of the parole hearing, or do you already know since you were there?”

He flashes me an amused smirk. “I’m good at a lot of things, love, but reading minds isn’t one of them.”

Gah, he’s so aggravating. I don’t know why he can’t just admit he followed me to the hearing and watched over me like the dark hero he is.

But then I remember, Remington will never admit to being my hero, because I love the villain in him more.

“I testified against my mother,” I tell him, as if he doesn’t already know this. “She was denied parole.”

“I’m glad not everyone there was as dumb as they looked,” he muses, completely forgetting to keep up his lie.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I worried for a minute you were going to smart off to one of the guards and get thrown out.”

He flashes me a guilty grin. “You stand out wherever you go, 101. Especially in a federal building full of officers.”

He shrugs, no longer giving a shit to keep up the lie. “I wanted her to know you weren’t alone, that I would always be there to stab her—or anyone else—who thought about threatening you again.”

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