Remy (23 page)

From the door of the church behind me, I hear “Gah!” and I twist around and see him. Racer.

He obviously saw me, and his two chubby arms are flailing in the air and his dimple is aimed my way. Josephine shows him a toy, and he is immediately attracted to its bright red color. He grabs it and sticks it in his mouth. And my heart starts whacking when I see the closed doors behind them.

After all we’ve been through, my wife is finally here to marry me.

“Dude, I’m going to get sentimental.”

“Shut it,” I whisper.

Murmurs surround us as the choir sets up. We discussed this for weeks. We didn’t want a wedding march.

But, at the end of the day, Brooke actually did. She’d frowned as we stepped out of the shower and used her towel to dry her hair first, “Now that I think about it, it’s the only time in our lives we’ll hear that song. I’m only ever marrying
you
.”

I dragged my towel over my chest, then I hooked it around her waist, using it to pull her against me. “What do you want? Tell me what you want so I can give it to you?”

She flattened her breasts to my diaphragm as I spread the towel to engulf us both. “I want a tiny little church where it’s almost just us,” she whispered, kissing my Adam’s apple and then reaching up to caress my dimples. “And I want the march, the white dress, white roses, and you. Every second after our vows, I want to be with you.”

I seized her chin and tipped her head back farther, my lips curling. “Then your wish,” I whispered, kissing her lips, “is mine to grant.”

We’re hopping from location to location for the new season, and while Pete and I check us into our Phoenix hotel, something makes my hackles rise. I turn around to spot Brooke across the lobby, heatedly arguing with Riley, who’s heatedly arguing back.

“Hey.” I reach them in five steps and immediately grab Riley by the collar. “What the fuck are you doing?” I demand.

Scowling, he pulls free and signals at Brooke, who’s scowling back at him. “I was trying to explain to Brooke, here, that things weren’t as happy when she was away.”

I don’t know what Riley’s arguing about, but I do know this: I don’t like the look on Brooke’s face. I don’t like the way her lips look downturned at the corners, and I let the asshole know it. “It’s done with. You got that?” I angrily push my finger into his sternum until he stumbles back. “You
got
that?” I demand.

“Yeah, I got that,” he grumbles.

Good. I curl my fingers around the back of Brooke’s neck and I guide her into the elevator and then into our suite.

We head inside and she goes straight to the window, and I survey her round little ass. That ass is mine. “You like the room, little firecracker?” I wrap her in my arms I press into her body. “Want to hit the running trail when it gets dark?”

I play with her neck with my lips, when she turns around.

“Did you fuck other women?”

She looks at me with a new somber gleam in her eyes, and I stare back like a fucking idiot, not understanding what the fuck is going on.

“I realize I have no right to ask you.” She surveys me, and I survey her. “We broke up, right? It was the end of it. But . . .
did you
?”

It dawns on me that she’s jealous.

My little firecracker. Jealous.

Of me.

“It matters to you?” I ask her, smirking as my chest crams with all the shit only she makes me feel. “If I slept with anyone?”

She grabs a couch pillow and hurtles it into my chest, eyes flashing. “What do you think, you fucking jerk?”

Grabbing the pillow, I toss it aside, smiling in amusement. “Tell me how much it matters,” I croon, dodging another pillow and loving her cheeks this pink and pretty.

“Tell me!”
she screams.

“Why?” I demand. She’s backing away, but I’m coming right after her. “You left me, little firecracker. You left me with a sweet letter telling me, very nicely, to go fuck myself and to have a nice life.”

“No! I left you with a letter that told you
I loved you
! Something you hadn’t told me until I came back to you and
begged you
to tell me.”

“You’re so fucking cute like this. Come here.” I pull her into my arms but she struggles to pull free.

“Remington. You’re laughing at me!” she cries wretchedly.

“I said come here,” I say, gathering her closer, and I’m fucking dying to kiss her senseless.

“Remy, tell me! Please tell me, what did you do?” she jealously begs, squirming to get free as she looks up at me. I swear I could look into her eyes all day, look into her face all day.

Using my body to flatten her against the wall, I place my forehead against hers and look into her eyes. “I like that you’re jealous. Is it because you love me? Do you feel proprietary of me?”

“Let go,” she angrily breathes, squirming between me and the wall.

God, she’s so lovely. I cup her cheek and softly tell her, “I do. I feel completely proprietary of you. You’re mine. I’m not letting you go.”

“You said
no
to me,” she angrily grits out, her eyes burning with fury. “For months and months. I was dying for you. I was going crazy. I . . . came . . . like a fucking idiot! On your fucking leg! You withheld yourself from me until I was . . . dying a little inside with wanting you. You’ve got more willpower than Zeus! But the first women they bring to your door . . . the moment I’m gone, the first whores they happened to bring you . . .”

“What would you have done if you were here? Stopped it?” My dare comes out as a whisper, and I’m struggling not to remember how I felt when I realized she fucking LEFT ME!

“Yes!” she cries.

“But where were you?” I demand, my blood starting to simmer.

“Where were you, Brooke?” I demand. I curl my hand around her throat and caress the pulse point with my thumb, searching her eyes.

“I was broken,” she whispers. “You broke me.”

“No. You. Your letter. Broke me.” Watching her, I trail my thumb along her throat and jaw, and then I watch as I trace her pink mouth, the only mouth I want. “What does it matter if I had to kiss a thousand lips to forget these?”

We hear a knock. I don’t move.

My body is tight and ready to claim hers. She’s my mate, and I want her to fucking tell me she’s jealous because I’m hers, and she’s mine, and that’s the end of it.

Then I want her to take me inside, I want to pound her hard and fill her with me.

But she doesn’t speak. My stubborn little minx doesn’t speak.

Letting her cool down, I open the door, tip the bellman, and pull in the suitcases on my own as fast as I can, one of my arms shooting out to stop her when she walks past me. “Come here, settle down now,” I command.

But she pushes my hand away, then steps out and says to the bellman, “Thank you. Would you send this duffel with that other suitcase to the other room?” she says, pointing at her suitcase.

Nodding, the guy pushes the cart back toward the elevators.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

She turns around and looks at me, breathing slowly, looking at me with wide, pained eyes. “I want to sleep with Diane tonight. I don’t feel so well and I’d rather we talk about it when I . . . when I . . . am
settled down
.”

I burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious.”

My laughter dies when she boards the elevator.

I stand there. My heart pounding for me to chase. But I’m too disbelieving to move.

The elevator closes.

And yes.

My woman. Just fucking boarded. That shit elevator. And left me here!

I grab my suitcase and toss it across the room with a yell, then I slam the door behind me and go kick the shit out of it.

“FUUCK!” Then I kick the pillow that is still on the floor, clamp my jaw and call Pete so he can give me Diane’s fucking room number.

When he answers, and I speak, I sound murderous. “Diane’s fucking room number.”

“Wh-whaaat? Shit, Rem, Riley told me about the argument . . . please just count to fucking a hundred before you do anything,” Pete says.

“The room. Now.”

“Two–four–three–eight.”

I slam the phone down and silently does as he says and count to a hundred.

I’ve got the phone in my hand by number 98, and by 99, I got my fucking finger on the numbers. I finally pound the keys, and when Diane’s voice answers I very softly, and very angrily growl, “I’m going down there for Brooke, so you can either open the door for me, or I can break it down. Your choice.”

I slam the phone and stop at the door, telling myself to breathe.

But I can barely pull the air into my lungs I’m so agitated at the thought of not sleeping with her. I’m agitated remembering she
left me
. She could leave me. Any. Fucking. Day. Again.
Until
I win this championship and make her
marry me.

I’m so ready to make her my wife, my body preps me as if for a physical fight, and I’m ready to hunt and capture her. I squeeze my knuckles and focus on my breath as I head two floors down, and the instant I reach the door, Diane opens it.

Shit, but I think
I wanted to break that fucking door!

“Diane,” I greet her, then I head straight for Brooke. She’s curled in a fucking ball, crying on that bed, and all my anger and frustration arrows to stiffen my cock up instantly.

Because more than jealous, more than possessive, she’s hurt.

And my body seems to think the way to make it better is to turn those sobs into moans.

God, I need to fuck her and get fucking close to her. I need to kiss her and pet her.

I need her. In. My. Room. My Bed. And my body in
her.

“You,” I quietly tell her, opening my hand. “Come with me.”

“I don’t want to.” She wipes a tear.

Breathing through my nose, I try to stay calm, telling her, “You’re mine and you need me, and I want you to please come the fuck upstairs with me.”

She sniffles.

“All right, come here.” Grabbing her by the hips, I swing her up in my arms. “Good night, Diane.”

She kicks and struggles, but I clench my hold on her to still her, bending to whisper to her, “Kick and claw all you like. Scream. Hit me. Curse the fuck out of me. You won’t sleep anywhere but with me tonight.”

She’s silently angry as I head to our room, but I’m fucking angrier that she had the fucking balls to try and leave me if only for half a moment. I don’t even know why we’re fighting about this. I was amused by her jealousy, but I’m not amused anymore. I need to be inside her, and I need it now. One touch and she’ll fucking
know
she’s every woman to me.

Inside our room, I toss her on the bed and jerk off my T-shirt, then I reach out to get rid of her clothes. She flails and kicks at me, her face still streaked with tears as she edges back. “You asshole, don’t touch me!”

“Hey, hey, listen to me.” I trap her in my arms and hold her gaze with mine, my heart pounding as my hunter instincts kick in full gear in preparation to make her mine again. “I am insane about you. I’ve been in hell without you. In hell. Stop being ridiculous,” I tell her, meaningfully squeezing her face. “I love you. I love
you.
Come here.”

I haul her onto my lap, and she quietly starts crying. Every soft sob rips me in two. I remember it all. I may not remember what I did when she was gone, but I remember the emptiness of her like a curse on me. Maybe I fucked up, but all I probably did was try to fill the void she left in me which nobody can ever fucking fill but her.

“How well did you think I’d cope when you left?” I ask her, hurting like a son of a bitch at the reminder. “Did you think it would be easy on me? That I wouldn’t feel alone? Betrayed? Fucking lied to? Used? Discarded? Worthless? Dead? Did you think there wouldn’t be days where I loathed you more than I loved you for tearing me apart? Did you?”

“I’ve left everything for you.” She looks straight at me, hurt as if I did her bodily harm. “Since I met you,
all I wanted
was to be yours. You said you were mine. That you were my . . . my . . .
Real
.”

A pained groan leaves me as I squish her to me, quietly rasping, “I’m the realest fucking thing you’re ever going to have.”

She still looks up, and those hurt, tear-filled eyes of hers claw me like talons. “It should’ve been me all those times,” she says tearfully. “It should’ve been just me, only me.”

“Then don’t fucking tell me you love me and leave me. Don’t fucking beg me to make you mine and then run the first chance I’m not fucking looking. I couldn’t even come catch you. Is that fair to me? Is it? I couldn’t even get up on my own fucking legs and come stop you.”

She sobs harder, and my chest fucking hurts for the both of us.

“I woke up to read your letter instead of getting to see you. You were all I wanted to see. All. I wanted. To see,” I quietly tell her.

Fuck. Maybe I wish I hadn’t said that, but she hurts me and she doesn’t know it. I’m strong physically but she guts me. What she does guts me, and her pain—caused by me—guts me most of all.

As she cries herself to sleep, her sobs softening gradually until all that’s left is a hiccup in her soft breaths, I breathe her hair and hold her tighter than ever. I never ever want her to leave. Not even for a night to sleep in Diane’s suite. I don’t remember what I did when she left me, I was so out of it. But it doesn’t matter, nothing mattered but that
she
wasn’t with
me.

When she’s sound asleep, I start stripping her clothes, leaving her panties for last, pulling them down her leg and tossing everything aside. I stand up to strip myself too, then I get back in bed, naked.

I’m so fucking hard my balls hurt, but Brooke shivers in her sleep and searches for my body heat, innocently rolling in her sleep to press closer to me. “That’s right, I’m right here,” I say and wrap my arms around her. I drag my nose along her nape, petting her during the night, scenting and licking her. “I only love you. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nobody will ever have me but you.”