Page 55 of Scrooged for the Holidays
My eyelids hood as I continue to look at him, studying his beautiful features. They’re ethereal, nearly too stunning to look at. Like the men he was with last night, his cheekbones are high and his jaw sharp. But unlike Kai’s full beard and Sam’s clean-shaven jaw, Remi has facial hair that isn’t quite a beard but not light enough to be a five o’clock shadow. My fingers itch to reach up and run my fingers over it, to feel the prickle of it on my skin.
The ravenous sensation I haven’t been able to rid myself of since I arrived grows louder in my low belly. I’m hungry, yet I don’t want food. The rational side of my brain says I should go to my room. A nap would be good for me. Or I could touch myself again like I did last night, hoping that would help ease my body in some way.
Wait, why am I thinking about getting off? Oh, right—he asked me what I was in the mood for with that sexy accent of his, and now my brain has taken a sharp turn into the gutter.
Remi shifts on the couch so his torso is turned toward me and his knee presses into my outer thigh. “Greer,” he says, my name so low in his register, it vibrates my clit.
“Yes?” My response is so quiet and husky, even I hardly hear it.
“Do you feel it?”
I’m nodding before I even think about what “it” he’s talking about. He takes a lock of my hair in his fingers and twirlsit. Then his features soften, and his eyes glow as if there’s a reverence in the way he looks at me.
My heart pounds faster, and my brain goes blank. This is the second time I’ve felt drawn to kiss him today, and I know he feels it, too.
“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he says smoothly.
“I think I can say the same about you.”
His eyebrow lifts as he tucks the hair he was holding behind my ear. “Oh?”
“Most people dislike me, think I’m cold. Yet after our discussion earlier, even after I told you I don’t like how you decorate or operate your inn, you ask me to spend time skating with you. Now you’re here, and…”
“And…?” he prods, his face closer to mine, close enough that I can see flecks of lighter green and sparkling gold in his evergreen eyes and smell his scent—like pine trees and a hint of sandalwood.
“It seems like you care.”
He hums. “I do care.”
My breathing becomes short. “Is it because you want to get in my pants?”
There’s a pause where I think I’ve made him mad, but then he laughs. The sound sends a delightful shiver up my spine, the kind that makes my nipples tighten.
“No, but if you want me to say yes, I will.”
“I do.” I bite my lower lip, not sure why exactly I admitted that. “But I also want to know the truth.” I don’t know why I said that, either. I shouldn’t care because I don’t care if others care about me. Why is he different?
Remi’s eyes turn darker, and the air between us pulls tight. “The truth is, I do care. You and I may not see eye to eye on my business or the definition of wealth, but I don’t find you cold.” His fingers find my hair again, and he tugs one of the strands between two fingers. Fingers that belong to a pair of sexy, strong hands I’m already imagining all over my body.
“You know that from our short time together?”
“I get feelings about people,” he says. “‘Vibes,’ as the young kids say these days.”
I laugh, warmth blooming in my chest like it has whenever I’m with Remi, as if my frozen heart is starting to thaw. I shouldn’t like that. I like being what everyone expects me to be: an Ice Queen. It keeps me safe and protected from the disappointment of people deciding they don’t like me or can’t understand why I am the way I am. It also makes my job easier.
While it’s sweet he says he cares, and I can’t help but believe him, I don’t want to think any more or speculate why I feel warmer and happier than I have since I was young. Instead, I focus back on the voracious feeling in my stomach. It has grown, tugging me toward the only thing I think will fill me up—in more ways than one.
I wet my lips. “Now, back to the part about getting in my pants.”Remi doesn’t laugh as I expect him to. The air that was already tight between us grows more tense, like a string pulled too tight. Every nerve in my body is on the brink of exploding. His eyes are a dark green now, the kind of green that looks almost black.
I open my mouth to speak again before the silence between us gets awkward, but I stop when his fingers release my hair and gently grip my chin. His touch is strong, his presence larger than it was before.
Images of his demanding nature when he was with the other two men last night flashes in my brain. Normally, I’m the one in charge during sex, but I want what I saw. I want him. I don’t care that we just met or about anything else. I want to feel him, and I really want it now.
“Greer.” His fingers gently pulse against my chin.
“Remi,” I reply, mimicking his intonation.
“Is that what you really want?”
