Remy

31. Remy

REMY

I helpCarlo into the waiting Uber. Then it’s just me and Ollie in the empty parking lot, the streetlight gleaming down on her dark hair.

“Where do you want to go from here?” I ask, pretending I’ll be satisfied with a response that doesn’t involve my hands all over her body.

“I’m not sure.” She shrugs one perfectly bare shoulder. “I haven’t been to Berkeley Springs in years.”

“We drove past a bar on the way in. It’s only around the block.”

“That sounds nice.”

I make my way toward the Escalade.

“Wait,” she blurts. “We’re not walking? I’ve got ten courses I need to help metabolize.”

I pause, the hair on the back of my neck rising. We may be in the middle of nowhere, but it doesn’t mean I’m any less inclined to minimize our exposure to the world. “Are you sure your feet are up for it in those heels?”

“I can handle the shoes you bought me, Remy.” She shoots me a shy grin. “Along with anything else you have to offer.”

My cock stirs. I force myself to ignore it. “It’s safer in the car.”

“Safer from who?” She twists her hips playfully, making the skirt of her dress swish. “Name one person who would target a woman dressed like a fairy tale princess?”

“When that woman is you, my answer is—literally any red-blooded male in a twenty-mile radius.” I jerk my head back toward the car. “Come on. I’ll drive us there. If you’re still eager for exercise after our drink I’ll make you walk home.”

She chuckles, her eyes gleaming with a reserved smile.

I fucking love the curve of her lips.

I don’t see it often enough.

I doubt I ever will.

We climb into the Escalade and as she settles into the seat beside me I’m well aware it doesn’t take a genius to determine I’m messing with trouble.

Things between us feel different after that dance. Kinetic. Or maybe that’s just the thrill of the looming death sentence hovering over our heads. We’re teasing the mouth of the mouse trap. One wrong move and the trigger will snap.

I have to force myself to reverse out of the car space before I’m tempted to touch her again.

“I haven’t had a chance to thank you for my dress.” Her fingers dance over the satin fabric covering her thighs. “Is it another rental?”

“No, it’s yours.”

“Where did you get it?” Her lashes lift, those curious eyes eating up my periphery.

“It was something the family fashion label produced a few months before we sold the company. The new buyer wasn’t interested in releasing the line, so there’s a warehouse full of them back in Denver, none having seen the light of day until now.”

“This is an Alleya exclusive all the way from Denver?” She gapes.

I shoot her a knowing grin, surprised she remembers the name of my family business.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re aware of my google stalking, Remy. I don’t cut corners when it comes to research.”

“Your memory is pristine.”

“Yep. I bet I can recall more names of women you’ve dated than you can.”

“That wouldn’t be hard.” I can’t recall another woman existing before Ollie.

I turn my attention to the empty parking lot and drive out onto the street, preferring not to encourage a deep dive into my past.

“How did the dress get here?” she asks.

“I had it couriered.”

“When? How long have you been planning this trip?”

From the moment she walked away from me Monday night, heartbroken and alone. Mere minutes after I told her we need to keep our distance. “A few days.”

“But you’d been so adamant that we needed?—”

“I know what I said, and nothing has changed except my lack of restraint where you’re concerned.”

She pauses a moment, her attention feeling like a physical caress across the side of my face. “Well, thank you. It’s the nicest gift anyone has ever given me. I’ll never forget it.”

Neither will I.

Not the look. Not the feel. Not even the fantasy of stripping it from her body.

I’m a fucking sucker for this woman.

“I’m glad you like it.” I turn the corner, taking us down a quiet side street. “But next time I’ll think twice about giving you something that means you can no longer wear my ring.”

“I’m still wearing it.”

I pause at the intersection, taking the opportunity to scrutinize her again—her delicate collarbone… the elegant hands… her slender wrists.

There’s no ring. And no pockets on the dress.

She didn’t even bring a purse or phone.

“Where?” I frown.

She grabs the bottom of her thick braid, tapping a finger against the elastic holding it together, and there, glinting in the soft light of the dash, is a tiny slither of white gold. “Most of it is hidden in my hair. But I made sure it was tied to the elastic so I don’t lose it. Apart from when I was in the pool I haven’t taken it off.”

Something potent and possessive pulses inside me.

“Will you tell me why you engraved it with Property of Remy Costa?” She releases the braid, her hands falling to her lap. “Does it have a hidden meaning?”

I shrug, taking the next left to drive onto the main road through town.

“Tell me.” She shifts her body to face me, her cheek nestled against the headrest in that cute way she did on the way here from Baltimore. It makes me feel like I’m the center of her attention. Her entire world, if only for a moment. “Are you concerned about dementia and want all your possessions properly labelled?”

I snort.

“Is it a security measure so nobody steals it?” she asks.

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“Do you give your rings as keepsakes to all the women you’ve shared memorable moments?—”

“No,” I answer too quickly. Too gruffly. “There are no other women.” I temper my tone, and this time my voice comes out quieter. Like I’m a fucking pussy. There’s no goddamn balance when it comes to my response to her. “The ring is engraved because when I was given access to unmanaged funds for the first time in my life, I guess I wanted something to mark the occasion. It felt like the ownership of something was a fuck you to my parents.”

“You hadn’t owned anything before this ring?”

“Nothing that hadn’t required their permission.”

She keeps her fingers pressed against my ring, gently rubbing them back and forth. “And then you gave it to me.”

And then I gave it to her.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got backups.” I wiggle my fingers against the steering wheel, the streetlights glinting off the five rings still adorning my hands.

She keeps her eyes on me, increasing that kinetic energy as the car falls quiet. I’d give anything to careen into the closest parking space and slam my mouth against hers.

It would be the biggest mistake of all. Pulling her close. Breathing her in.

The memory of sliding my hand between her thighs is unignorable. But kissing her, tasting her… that shit would haunt me like the plague.

There’d be no going back from that.

“Quit staring at me, Pyro. You’ll only stir up trouble.”

She sighs, shifting her body back to face the street.

We approach the bright green building we passed on the way to dinner, the bar teeming with cars parked out the front.

I pull into a space at the far end of the row, cut the ignition, and sit staring at the outline of a martini glass illuminated in fluorescent light in the front window.

I should’ve taken her home with Carlo.

It’s too tempting being here alone with her.

“What happens once my father passes?” she murmurs. “With the agreement, I mean. Does it really just end or…”

“It ends.”

“You won’t want to use the retort anymore?”

“I’ll figure out an alternative. But Baltimore was never meant to be a home base. We’re only here to reassert authority. I’ll be gone soon enough.”

“Gone?” She sits straighter. “You’re leaving?”

“Eventually.” I drag my gaze to hers, wanting to know what my departure means to her. If she’s relieved. Excited.

It’s worse. Disappointment stares back at me.

Fuck, Ollie. Don’t do this to me.

“It’s a good thing, Pyro. I’ll be out of your hair, and you won’t have to be an accomplice anymore.”

“But you enjoy being in my hair.”

I fucking love her gall. She doesn’t shy away from me. My compliments, maybe. But not this shit between us.

“Your hair is an enjoyable place to be. But we both know I was never meant to be there.” I unclasp my belt and climb from the car, absolutely fucking hating myself when I decide it’s a great idea to round the hood to open her door.

I’m no gentleman.

This isn’t a fucking fairy tale.

Yet she climbs from the Escalade like an ethereal goddess. The right dose of poise. The perfect hint of insecurity.

She’s fiction. Far too perfect to be real.

“One drink,” I mutter. “Then we’re going home.”

I close her door and make for the sidewalk.

“Wait.” Her heels tap as she hustles to maneuver around me, blocking my path. “Let’s play a game.”

Warning bells blare in my fucking ears.

“A game?” I glower.

“Mm-hmm.” She nods. “We’ve been doing it all day—actually, we’ve been doing it for months—so it’s only an extension of our current reality.”

“That doesn’t sound like my type of?—”

“Come on.” Her eyes beg. “It’s simple. Haven’t you noticed how often we play pretend? We do it with my father’s health, faking our way through conversations as if he’s not dying. Then we pretend you’re not a wanted criminal in front of Lucy. I even pretended not to notice when you got jealous in front of the chef.”

My nostrils flare at the reminder of that asshole.

“Just for one night, why not play the game a little harder and pretend there’s no external influences keeping us apart?” She blinks at me through dark lashes. “No defiant uncles or homicidal enemies. It’s just us. Two random people who get along seriously well despite the crazy world around them.”

Wouldn’t that be fucking nice.

No chains holding me back.

No fear of her winding up in a pool of blood at my feet, bullet ridden and begging for help.

“That’s not a good idea.” I walk around her, pausing when both her hands wrap around my wrist.

“Why?”

Why?

I scoff. Fucking why?

Does she not understand how much self-restraint it takes to keep things platonic? Doesn’t she have the faintest fucking clue what the temptation of her does to me?

I turn back to her with a cruel smirk, stepping close, leaning in.

She stiffens as I bring my mouth within an inch of her ear and inhale the unrecognizable floral fragrance that catches me by surprise. It’s not as sweet as her strawberry scent, but it still hits me right in the dick.

“Because if I had a night to play pretend, Pyro, I’d have you on your back in a heartbeat with your legs spread and my mouth between your thighs. And I’m pretty sure people around these parts wouldn’t appreciate me doing that in public.”

Her breath catches.

I swear to God, I feel the hitch of it in my own throat.

“Now do you have any more fun suggestions or are you ready for that drin?—”

A passing car beeps its horn, cutting me short.

It’s an anomaly in the abnormally quiet town, the noise pollution stealing my attention.

I track the black sedan as it passes, the tinted windows obscuring some of the male passengers’ features but not enough to hide the driver staring directly at me.

The hair on the back of my neck rises again.

Twice in one night.

Not a good omen.

Ollie’s hands slide from my wrist as she follows my gaze. “Do you know them?”

“I doubt it.” I step into her, guiding an arm around her back. “But a lot of people know me.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Always.” I won’t sugarcoat it. That dress may turn her into a princess but I’m far from a white knight. “Being around me means constantly looking over your shoulder, especially in public.”

“I realize that. But if you’re using this as another excuse to push me away then the joke’s on you because I’d happily never step out in public again.”

I scoff a laugh, unable to help frothing at her enthusiasm to get entangled with a death wish. “You’re something else, Ollie.”

She grins. “Yeah, I am. And you’re currently missing out.” She walks around me, leading the way into the bar.

Like always, I follow. I’m a dog on a leash for this woman.

I pause inside the door to scan the street one last time, watching as the black sedan turns the corner and disappears from view.

One drink, then we’re gone.

Nothing good can come from giving her more alcohol.

She isn’t drunk, but a tipsy Ollie with lowered inhibitions isn’t helping with my restraint.

She’s already at the bar by the time I catch up, ordering an apple martini, while I opt for necessary sobriety and ask for a soda. I lead her to the booth in the far corner, acting unfazed by the extra attention the patrons give us. But it’s our clothes that draw their focus. Not my reputation.

I sit with my back against the wall, my eyes on the room, and Ollie painfully right in front of me.

“You’re on edge.” She sips her martini, looking fucking edible as she meets my gaze over the glass rim. “Is it about those men in the car?”

That, and the fact I want to plow her into next week. “I don’t enjoy being exposed.”

“That’s understandable.” She nods thoughtfully, taking another sip of her martini. “Just out of curiosity though…” She cocks her head, studying me. “What would it take for you to kiss me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I snap my attention to the other side of the room.

Soda isn’t going to cut it.

Scotch wouldn’t even do the trick.

She needs to stop drinking, and I need to find a hole to crawl into.

She chuckles. “I think I like riling you.”

“Yeah?” I snarl. “I think I liked it more when you were scared of me.”

“I was never scared of you.”

“No?” I spear my eyes back to hers, regretting the moment those humor-filled depths drag me under. “I recall history differently.”

“Well, obviously I was scared the first night at the funeral home. But it was nothing in comparison to coming face-to-face with Lorenzo and Salvatore. It’s always been different with you.”

Because she knows I could never hurt her.

At least not physically.

My fingers tighten around my glass. “So you have fully functioning self-preservation when it comes to them, but not with me?”

“It’s been fully functioning across the board for the most part.” Her lips twitch. “But then you said you wanted to spread my legs and place your mouth between my thighs, and now all bets are off.”