Chapter 19 #2
Remy moves with that predatory grace I’ve come to know, his footsteps nearly silent on the plush carpet. The clink of crystal against wood makes me flinch—he’s setting a glass of water on the nightstand. I can feel him hovering and sense the tension in his body as he fights some internal battle.
From between my fingers, I watch his hands twitch at his sides. Those capable hands that have touched me with both violence and tenderness are now suspended in indecision. He wants to reach for me—I can read it in every rigid line of his body—but he maintains his distance.
The silence stretches between us like a living thing, heavy with everything we’ve left unsaid. The weight of betrayal, desire, and something far more dangerous presses against my chest until I can barely breathe.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but the words come out broken, unconvincing even to my own ears. They taste like ash in my mouth, bitter with the lie.
Remy takes measured steps toward the door, each footfall deliberate. His shoulders bunch beneath his perfectly tailored jacket, the only visible sign that my words have reached him.
He pauses at the threshold, one hand resting on the doorframe. “I know,” he says, his voice so quiet I almost miss it. Then, softer still: “I love you, Eve.”
“Love?” I laugh, the sound sharp and brittle in the oppressive silence of the room. Rising from the bed, I stalk toward him, ignoring how my body protests the sudden movement. “You call this love? Shooting me? Locking me up?”
Remy’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. His shoulders are rigid, tension radiating from every line of his powerful frame. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks… uncertain.
“I don’t say those words.” His voice comes out rough, almost strangled. “Not to anyone.”
“And I’m supposed to feel special?” I spit back, but something in his expression makes me pause.
“My parents—” He breaks off, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. The gesture is so uncharacteristically vulnerable that my breath catches. “They saw me as an inconvenience. A problem to be managed. Private schools and trust funds to keep me out of sight.”
The bitterness in his tone strikes something deep inside me. I’ve heard that tone in my own voice too many times.
“The women?” His laugh is harsh, empty. “They wanted the wealthy businessman. The powerful fixer. My body, my money, my influence.” His eyes lock onto mine, dark with an intensity that makes me shiver. “No one has ever wanted just… me.”
“And shooting me was your way of showing genuine affection?” I challenge, but the acid in my voice has dulled.
“I told you—” He steps closer, and I hate how my body responds to his proximity. “If I hadn’t pulled that trigger, you’d be dead. My bullet was a blank with a dose of medication to make you fall asleep. The next one wouldn’t have been.”
“So this is love?” I gesture at the room, at the sophisticated security system, at the space between us charged with violence and desire. “Control? Manipulation? Possession?”
“This is protection,” he growls. “The only way I know how to—” He cuts himself off, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I’ve never done this before. Never felt—” He trails off, looking almost lost.
The vulnerability in his admission hits me harder than any physical blow. Remy Harding, the man who orchestrates chaos with surgical precision, who never shows weakness, stands before me, stripped of his usual masks. It shakes something loose inside me and softens the edges of my rage.
But I can’t let go entirely. Not yet. “And that makes all of this okay?”
His words hang between us, sharp and honest in a way that makes my chest ache. I take a step back, needing distance from the raw intensity radiating from him.
“Love isn’t a shield, Remy.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “It’s not about control or protection or—”
“Then tell me what it is.” He cuts me off, closing the space between us. “Because this?” His hand gestures between us. “This consumes me. Makes me question everything I’ve built my life on.”
I bark out a laugh. “Right. The great Remy Harding, brought low by feelings?”
“Mock me all you want.” His eyes darken. “But you feel it too. That’s why you’re so angry—because you can’t control it any more than I can.”
“Fuck you.” I shove against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”
“No?” His fingers wrap around my wrist, thumb pressing against my racing pulse. “Your body betrays you, Eve. Every touch, every look—”
“That’s not love.” I wrench my hand away. “That’s obsession. Possession. Lust. The same thing that drives every power-hungry bastard I’ve exposed.”
“Is that what you think?” His laugh is cold and bitter. “That I’m just another story for you to break open?”
“Aren’t I just another problem for you to fix?”
His hand shoots out, gripping my jaw. Not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to force me to meet his gaze. “You’re the only problem I’ve never wanted to fix.”
The intensity in his eyes makes me want to look away, but I refuse to show weakness. “Let go.”
“No.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Not until you stop lying to yourself.”
“The only liar here is you.” I bare my teeth. “Playing protector while keeping me prisoner.”
“Would you rather be dead?” His grip tightens fractionally. “Or worse, in your father’s hands?”
The mention of Ano sends ice through my veins, but I push back. “At least with him, I’d know where I stand.”
Something dangerous flashes in Remy’s eyes. “You want honesty?” He backs me against the wall. “Fine. I’m possessive. Controlling. Obsessed. But everything I’ve done has been to keep you alive.”
“How noble.” I sneer, even as his proximity makes my heart race. “Your very own pet journalist to save.”
His other hand slams against the wall beside my head. “You think I wanted this? To feel this… this weakness for you?”
The word “weakness” hits me like a physical blow.
My breath catches as memories flood back—late nights researching corruption, following dangerous leads, building walls around my heart.
I’ve spent years making sure no one saw me as weak.
And here’s Remy, throwing that word between us like an accusation.
“I’m not your weakness,” I spit back, hating how my voice trembles. “I’m not your anything.”
His dark laugh sends shivers down my spine. “Aren’t you?” His thumb traces my jaw, and the gentle touch is a stark contrast to the tension radiating from his body. “You’ve consumed my thoughts since the moment you walked back into my life.”
“Poor you.” I try to inject venom into my words, but they come out breathless. “Having your perfectly controlled world disrupted.”
“You have no idea.” His eyes lock onto mine, intense enough to make my pulse race. “Eight years, Eve. Eight years rebuilding everything you destroyed. And now?”
I lift my chin, defiant despite the way my body betrays me by leaning into his touch. “Now what?”
“Now I find myself making choices that go against everything I’ve built.” His grip tightens fractionally. “Risking connections, burning bridges, all to keep you safe.”
“I never asked for your protection.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.
“No.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip, and I hate how my body responds. “You never ask for anything. You just throw yourself into danger and expect to survive on sheer stubbornness.”
The accuracy of his assessment stings. “Better than surviving on manipulation and control.”
His other hand slides into my hair, and I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me. “Is that what you think this is? Just manipulation?”
The heat of his body, the familiar scent of his cologne, the dangerous glint in his eyes—it’s all too much. I press my palms against his chest, needing distance but finding myself clutching his shirt instead.
“What else could it be?” My voice comes out raw, honest in a way I didn’t intend.
Remy’s voice comes out as raw and honest. “You already know the answer, Eve. And you’re as scared as I am to say those words.”
“Don’t.” I press harder against his chest, but my hands betray me, curling into his shirt. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
“No?” His fingers tighten in my hair. “Then tell me why you’re trembling.”
“Because you shot me.” I bare my teeth. “Because you’re holding me captive. Because—”
“Because you feel it too,” he cuts me off, his breath hot against my ear. “This thing between us that burns everything it touches.”
The intensity in his words hits me like a physical blow. “I never asked for that.”
“No.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “You never ask for anything you actually want.”
“What I want,” I spit the words, “is for you to let me go.”
“Liar.” His grip tightens. “Say it again without your pulse racing. Without leaning into my touch. Without—”
I slam my palm against his chest. “Shut up.”
“Make me.” His eyes flash with challenge. “Tell me you don’t feel this. Tell me I’m imagining the way your body responds to mine and mine to yours. Tell me—”
His words hit too close, stripping away my defenses.
Something inside me snaps. Before I can think better of it, I yank him forward by his shirt, crushing my mouth to his.
The kiss is violent, desperate—all teeth and anger and need.
He responds instantly, his body pressing me harder against the wall as his hands leave my hair to grip my hips.
I bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, wanting to hurt him, to mark him, to make him feel a fraction of the chaos churning inside me. He growls into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest as his fingers dig into my skin.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I gasp between brutal kisses, even as my body arches into his touch.
His laugh is dark against my throat. “Keep lying to yourself, Eve.”
I rake my nails down his back through his shirt, relishing his sharp intake of breath. “Fuck you.”
“That’s the plan.” His teeth graze my pulse point, and I can’t stop the moan that escapes me. “Unless you want to keep pretending this isn’t exactly what you need?”
The taunt in his voice makes me want to scream. Instead, I grab his tie, using it to pull him back to my mouth. Our kisses turn savage, a battle for dominance neither of us is willing to lose. His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, and I wrap my legs around his waist when he lifts me.
“I still hate you,” I pant against his mouth, even as my fingers fumble with his shirt buttons.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rough and challenging. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
Instead of answering, I kiss him harder, pouring all my rage, frustration, and desperate need into the contact. His grip tightens, and I know there will be bruises tomorrow—physical proof of this moment when control finally shattered.