Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
N uala tugged her robe around herself, shaking too hard to tie it properly. There wasn’t anything bad or wrong with what she and Anthony had been doing, but she knew not everyone would feel that way. Besides, she was pretty sure that unless someone was an exhibitionist, they’d be embarrassed by their neighbor—their handsome, younger neighbor—hearing and then seeing them do something so intimate.
Because that’s what it had been. Even if she didn’t love Anthony, even if she wasn’t attracted to him in a romantic or sexual way, domination and submission was an intimate thing, there was no way around it.
She supposed it was time to go downstairs and face Remy. Well, she’d faced dozens of journalists snapping her photograph and badgering her about her husband hiring a fucking contract killer to murder her now ex sister-in-law, so she could do this. Right?
Except that she wasn’t in political wife mode right now. She didn’t have the armor of her skirt suits and matching heels and perfect hair and makeup, she didn’t have a handler or even her former mother-in-law whispering in her ear how to deal with this. It had been almost impossible to ask Remy to wait downstairs, and that small act had depleted her. She was just Nuala Feury and she was out of her depth and out of sorts.
But since Remy would probably storm upstairs and hunt her down if she didn’t go talk to him soon—and to be honest, there was some comfort in that—she would do the best she could.
Nuala felt foolish walking down the dramatic staircase and wished she could escape out the back to the garage and away from here with Anthony. Unfortunately, she couldn’t avoid Remy forever, because she fucking lived here now.
Her neighbor was pacing the living room and his head snapped up when he heard her coming down the stairs. He took a step toward her but then stopped himself and shoved his hands in his pockets.
She drew the robe around her tighter, hating that she was still shaking like a leaf. Hadn’t she learned better than this after being married to Cabot for all those years, how to tame her feelings and put them in a casket to be buried? Apparently not. Or not for long.
Bare feet finally on the broad wooden planks of the floor, Nuala did her best to draw herself up to her insubstantial height and clear the knot in her throat. She couldn’t look Remy in the eye, so she focused on where his hair shaded into his beard.
“I am so, so sorry to have disturbed you and to have alarmed you. I know your work demands quiet and I assure you that you won’t be disrupted again. I also apologize for the embarrassment and awkwardness this has created, and I hope that despite this unpleasant incident that we can maintain a cordial relationship. I?—”
Despite feeling as though she was going to burst into tears or be choked by the lump in her throat, she thought she’d been doing pretty well, but apparently Remy didn’t agree. He erased the gap between them with a few long strides and his big hands closed around her biceps.
“Nuala Erin Feury, you look me in the eyes right now.”
More of the mortar from the wall she’d tried to build crumbled. Her chin trembled and a few tears slipped down her cheeks. But Remy’s voice brooked no argument and she wouldn’t refuse him, so she lifted her gaze to meet his hazel eyes.
“Was Anthony hitting you consensual?”
She blinked, startled. “Yes.”
“Did he do anything you didn’t agree to?”
“No.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to be the second man connected to you on trial for murder.”
“It was attempted murder,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say.
Remy didn’t think Nuala was making a joke, but he had to swallow a laugh anyway. Maybe it was the frothy, buoyant sense of relief he felt from her confirmation that what he’d heard and seen was kink and not an assault. Which… Shut it down, Watson, there are many miles to go before you even think about that.
Nuala’s dark brows gathered. “Why?—”
“Because if Anthony had been attacking you instead of playing, I would kill him,” he said simply.
“Oh.”
Poor girl looked stunned and not a little bewildered. She was also shaking like there was an earthquake underfoot, and he noticed goosebumps rise on her forearms. She hadn’t even tied the belt on her robe, she was just holding it around herself. Fuck.
He’d interrupted a scene which would throw anyone off, and then he’d chased off the person who would’ve given her aftercare. What a dick.
He dropped his grip on her arms and reached for the trailing ends of the sash, tying it firmly at her waist. Then he picked her up and carried her over to the massive leather sectional and set her on her feet.
There were about a hundred blankets draped over the back of the couch, so he grabbed what looked like the warmest one and wrapped it around Nuala before he picked her up again and settled her into the corner of the deep-seated sofa. She looked so small and confused.
“You stay right there,” he told her, putting some force into his voice because he knew she would obey if he ordered her to. She’d managed to hold herself together for a minute, but it seemed like her self-possession had fled the house almost as fast as Anthony.
He’d thought there was a good chance Nuala was submissive when she’d responded the way she did to his command to ask for help weeks ago, and now he’d all but confirmed it. Not that it mattered beyond being useful to take care of her in this moment, he told himself. Just because she was subby didn’t make her his sub.
Remy jogged back to the kitchen, a bit overwhelmed by all the glass and chrome and lacquered black. Not to mention not being able to find the goddamn refrigerator at first because apparently having a fridge that looked like a fridge was gauche. Eventually he found it and a couple cabinets filled with glasses, and he got some water from the spout in the fridge. Plus some trail mix, crackers, and an apple from the pantry that was probably twice the size of his kitchen.
Thoroughly supplied, he made his way back to the vaulted living room, gratified to see Nuala had followed his instructions and was bundled up in the corner. He set his spoils on the coffee table and scooped the still-burritoed Nuala off the couch and took her into his lap.
If she would’ve told him to put her down or get away from her, he would have, even if he hated it, but she just eyed him curiously. Before he could insist she have some water and something to eat though, he owed her an apology and an explanation.
“I fucked up your scene and I’m sorry. That must’ve been really jarring and totally messed you up, and then I chased Anthony away before he could give you any aftercare, which is so shitty. If you’re okay with it, I’ll take care of you myself.”
Another blink of those big blue eyes that felt like a pinch to his heart. Whenever he’d seen Nuala with Cabot she’d always looked so stiff and pristine. Indifferent and unflappable. This Nuala was a different creature altogether. One he’d caught glimpses of, but now it seemed like she’d lost control of the mask she put on, and she must feel as raw as an exposed nerve. Poor thing.
“Okay.”
She was sitting on Remy’s lap. Not really sitting though, more like she was cuddled into the nest of his body, and he was holding her. Not tightly, but firmly, like he wasn’t going to let her go.
When Remy picked up the glass of water from the table, she tried to reach for it, only to realize her hands and arms were trapped in the blanket he’d wound around her. Embarrassed, she started to struggle but stopped when Remy squeezed her tight.
“I’ll do it, Nono,” he told her, putting the glass to her mouth. “You relax and drink up like a good girl.”
Good girl . Pleasure fell on her like fairy dust at his words, and she parted her lips so he could tip the cup and let her sip the cool water.
She couldn’t quite believe this was happening, but even if she’d actually fallen and hit her head when Remy interrupted her and Anthony, and this was some delusion or dream, she wasn’t going to turn it down.
After she’d drunk to Remy’s satisfaction, he replaced the half empty glass on the table.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, chafing her shoulder through the faux fur blanket. It was her favorite.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Do you want more water?”
“Not right now.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” she told him, because she didn’t even feel like she had a stomach.
His mouth tightened but he didn’t look mad. “Okay. You’re going to eat something before you get up, but you can have a few more minutes.”
When she’d first met Cabot, she’d liked how high-handed he was. But it didn’t take long to realize his assumption of authority had nothing to do with taking care of her, and everything to do with making sure things looked a certain way, and that everything was under his control. It was all about optics and perception and being invulnerable because he wanted more power. Was hungry for it. Starving. And starvation would make people desperate. It certainly had Cabot.
Remy, though, was different. If he was a megalomaniacal power-hungry monster, he was exceptionally good at hiding it, here in his cabin in the woods. Or really bad at it. She preferred the first option, but time would tell.
“Do you need anything else? Bathroom? Ice? Arnica? Painkillers?”
“Why do you know all this stuff?” she blurted.
The corner of Remy’s mouth turned up. “Answer me first, and then I’ll tell you.”
“I’m fine,” she told him, which was true.
Yeah, her butt was sore and stinging but not in a bad way. If she was being completely honest with herself, she liked the way her heated and tender backside felt snuggled into his…his… Well, best not to think about what part of Remy’s anatomy her bottom was nestled against.
“You’ll tell me if that changes.”
“Yes,” she agreed, slipping under his easy, confident control.
“Then I suppose it’s my turn.”
She could feel his lungs expand with his inhale, wondered if the furrow of his brow was annoyance or simply contemplation, and felt the weight of his attention when he locked his gaze on her.
“Do you think I fell off the turnip truck yesterday?”
“You don’t look like a turnip,” she told him.
Something like a glitter bomb went off in her chest when he laughed. Nuala joined him, although her chuckle felt dainty next to his bark of amusement.
“Glad to hear it,” he told her with a grin.
Her cheeks got hot because not only did he not look like a turnip, but Remy was one of the most attractive men she’d ever met, and she was pretty sure he knew she thought so. Oh well. He knew a lot more about her than that now.
“I’m a grown ass man, Nuala, and I’m not a monk. I know what BDSM is.”
“Yeah, okay, but there’s a difference between knowing about the existence of kink and, like, knowing about kink.”
“Very true,” he agreed, and why was his smile just so…
“Well, I do know a lot about it, but I’m not the most experienced person in the world.”
“Samesies,” she confessed, and why did it seem like his eyes twinkled when she said that?
“Noted, and we’ll come back to that. But…”
His brows crunched again as he looked down at her. Definitely not mad, just trying to figure out what to say. He hadn’t run away screaming or looked disgusted but apparently this was awkward for him too. She’d argue not quite as awkward as it was for her since she hadn’t seen him naked. Yet. Oh my goodness, Nuala, no. Just, no.
“You know I’m a voice actor. Commercials, corporate training videos, stuff like that.”
“Yes.”
Nuala had seen his website after she’d maybe googled him. He had a long list of credits for all kinds of things, and she’d been impressed. He wasn’t just her hot, brawny, handy neighbor. Apparently Jeremy Watson was also a sought-after vocal artist.
“I also narrate audiobooks. Mostly romance.”
Nuala’s breath caught in her throat. Oh no .
“And not just romance. Mostly erotic romance, and predominantly kink. If you want to get really specific, I’m pretty popular in?—”
“Daddy kink,” she choked out. “DDlg romance. Age play.”
Her head spun, and if she’d been standing instead of cuddled up against him, she might’ve passed out. She’d thought he sounded familiar, but she never could’ve dreamed…
“I know you. You’re Kingston Rockwood.”