Page 148 of The Legend (Rivers Wilde 2)

They’re all of me and Bianca.

All but one. It’s a selfie he took while we were at Gigi’s house. I’m laughing, but Remi’s looking at me with an awed expression that stole my breath the first time I saw it.

It’s my favorite picture of us. It’s everything we are.

Or could be.

If we take the time to do it right, this time.

“You want to get dressed?”

“No. Do I need to?”

“Yeah. You do. We need to talk and if you’re naked, I’ll want to be naked too and then we won’t talk at all.”

He drops his towel, and my mouth waters at the sight of his magnificent body and the glorious cock hanging between his legs.

“Get naked,” he growls and palms himself.

“I mean it. Get dressed.” I pick up his T-shirt, it’s still warm from my dryer and hand it to him with a stern shake.

He curls his lip and takes the shirt from me, slips it and the briefs I also dried on, while I sit on the bed and wait.

“You’re killing my buzz,” he grumbles as he slips on his jeans.

“Mine died when I thought you plunged to your death thirty minutes ago, so at least now we’re on the same page.”

“We were on the same page when we were outside and you were straddling me.”

He flops on the bed next to me and turns on his side.

I mimic his position so we’re lying to face-to-face.

I drink him in. There’s still so much of the boy I met in the library there. The kind, sure, funny boy who made me reach for more.

He runs a finger down the slope of my nose and over my lips, his eyes following the path and landing on my lips.

“Bianca has that freckle, too,” he observes.

“Yeah. She does. I joke that it’s the only thing she got from me.” I start to laugh but it dies when I see how serious his expression is.

“What?”

“I want you to write the article.” His declaration catches me completely off guard.

“Really?” I lean away from him in surprise.

“Yeah.” He nods.

“That’s not what you said two days ago.”

“Two days ago, I was raw and angry, Kal. The timing of all of that wasn’t ideal. And you didn’t exactly give me a heads-up.” His tone isn’t reproachful, but I still hate that he found out before I could tell him myself.

“I’m sorry about that.”

He takes my hands in his, strokes my palms with his thumbs and looks deeply into my eyes.

“I know I am the last person on earth who should be allowed to say this to you. But I’m going to say it anyway.” His expression is so grave, that in the space between his words, my imagination goes wild with worry.

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