Page 16 of One Night Bride
His pecs flexed, and I snatched my hands back. I really needed to think about putting them in time-out.
“All I’m asking is for you to sleep on it. One night. Let’s talk it through tomorrow after the idea has had time to simmer.” He stepped closer to me and all the oxygen got sucked out of the room.
“It’s not a pot of chili, Remy,” I muttered, unable to lift my gaze from the upper body that had pressed me up against the tile wall in Tahoe. A part of me was desperate to feel that again.
He leaned his head down to whisper in my ear. “I think you like my drawl, Ms. Waldo.”
A shiver ran up my back, and as much as I tried to hide it, he could see it. I could practically hear his smirk forming. A single finger ran up my arm and over my shoulder, tracing its way to my neck. He didn’t stop until he reached my chin, forcing my face up so I’d meet his hungry stare.
“I think you like me,” he said quietly.
His head bent further and suddenly his lips were on mine, soft and insistent. For a brief second, I melted, my body bowing into his, my hands grabbing him by the T-shirt.
My cell phone dinged, and I froze.
What the hell was I doing?
I wanted an annulment, not a re-do of my weekend in Tahoe.
I gasped and shoved away from Remington until I stood at least five feet away from him, the coffee table a welcome obstacle between us.
He held his hand out to me. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel that.”
I shook my head so hard my head hurt. He made me so angry. “It’s only because you’re stupid attractive!”
With that second-grade comeback, I ran out of the room, up the stairs, and into my bedroom, slamming the door and locking it for good measure. I kicked off my heels and flopped back on the bed, so done with the day. He could figure out something to do on his own until it was time for bed.
Even in my anger, I was aware I’d flounced again, just like he’d accused me of earlier.
“Ugh!” I said to my ceiling.
8
Remington
I needed to regroup.
Yesterday did not go as I’d planned. Esme wasn’t the carefree woman I met in Tahoe. She was so much more. And that woman wasn’t too excited about being married to me. Had to admit, the horror I saw in her expression when she found out we were legally married hurt my male pride a bit. When the day came that I hitched myself to a wife, I envisioned she’d at least look at me with vague fondness, not repulsion.
My stomach growled again, and I figured I’d either have to venture out of the guest room or eat my arm. Esme disappeared last night, leaving me to fend for myself, which was fine. I was a grown man and capable of figuring things out in a new town by myself, but I didn’t feel comfortable snooping through her house, nor did I have a car at my disposal. I ended up stuck in my room working until almost midnight with no food since Esme’s mom gave me a sandwich when I was still looking for the right address.
I popped open the guest room door and stuck my head out, assessing. I heard Esme’s voice—not yelling, which was a good sign—down the hallway. Stepping as lightly as I could, I headed in that direction, coming to a door slightly ajar. Esme sat in a white leather chair, her back to me, a large monitor in front of her on the rustic desk I could have sworn I saw once in a design magazine. Two huge lights in black boxes and a camera were set up to the side of her desk. The windows beyond her desk showed a panoramic view of the ocean below.
If the term Lady Boss had a mascot, it was her.
She was the queen of her office.
She was fucking hot.
She was also in the middle of a call with a client, a detail I finally noticed when she stuck her hand out to the side, out of the camera range, and motioned for me to go away.
I backed my head out of the doorway and ventured downstairs. Maybe she had some eggs and toast, or some cereal I could eat. I wasn’t picky, I just needed some damn food. As I walked through her house, I finally looked around and observed it all in detail. The view was amazing, the house was gorgeous, and the designer furnishings were impressive. My wife had money.
“Casing the joint?” a sweet voice asked from behind me.
I swung around and found Izzy, Esme’s sister and roommate, sitting at the bar in the kitchen. She was smiling, so I thought that meant she was teasing me. At least I hoped so.
“I’m just impressed. Twenty-four and she has all this. Didn’t seem like the money came from your parents, so it must be all her, right?” Her parents’ house, while nice, wasn’t anything that should be in a magazine.
