Chapter Twenty-One-Andrea
It happens too fast for me to react.
One second, he’s standing there, impossibly tall, perfectly put together in that dark suit that makes him look more mobster than bodyguard.
The next, those big, callused hands close over my shoulders.
Heat sears through my thin blouse. My body locks up, confused, anticipating.
He drags me closer like I weigh nothing, and my pulse thrashes.
His palm slides, cupping my neck, tilting my chin up until I’m looking straight into those wild green eyes.
I should step back. I should shove him away. Make a point. Make a stand.
But I don’t.
I have one split second—one heartbeat—to choose. And instead of rejecting him, I let go.
My lips part. My mouth opens. I give, and Remy takes.
The kiss crashes into me like a wave, saltwater and heat, wild and devastating. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding, claiming, ravaging like he’s been starving for me.
And God help me, I cling to him. Fingers curling into his shirt like it’s the only anchor in the storm he’s dragging me into.
The taste of him is sin.
The feel of him is fire.
And my brain goes blessedly blank.
Because Remy Falco is kissing me, and all I can do is submit.
“Go to work, Baby. I’ll pick you up at four.”
“Four? That’s right, it’s Callie’s recital,” I remember, and a smile spreads across my face.
He nods. And his hands slowly lower from my body.
By the time the doors slide shut, leaving me inside my office alone, I can finally breathe again.
By the time I’m in my office, door locked, laptop on, and my earbuds in, I’m already dialing the only lifelines that matter—my cousins-slash-besties, Clementine, Lucy, Cecilia, Cora, Lee-Lee, and Aella.
Shelly and Micky can’t make it, but that’s okay.
We leave my sisters out.
Not because we don’t love them, but because Julia’s already called twice today to check if I’m following the prenatal diet she typed up in Comic Sans and color-coded for optimal guilt.
Hard pass.
The video connects, and Clementine’s face appears first, luminous and smug as always.
“Hey girls, Cecilia! I am so glad you’re back from Cali,” she says to our cuz Cecilia, Uncle Luc and Aunt Maria’s daughter.
“Thanks. The West Coast sucks balls,” she says, and we all grin.
“Alright, we will catch up later,” Clementine says, like she’s the unmitigated leader of this conference call, and hell, maybe she is.
“Well, Andrea. Look at you, glowing like you just got railed,” she says.
“Oh my God—I did not get railed,” I hiss, plopping my head against my palm.
Cecilia pops in next, sipping iced coffee like she’s watching a scandal unfold.
“Shame. You look like you need it.”
I groan. She’s not wrong.
“What is wrong with me? My hormones are going crazy. If I don’t get some dick soon, I’m gonna bust.”
“Oh, honey, welcome to the perks of pregnancy no one wants to tell you,” Clem says, eyes sparkling, “Besides, I know exactly how to get that bad boy moving.”
Lee-lee perks up. “Do tell.”
“Remember the rosebud toys I gave you all for being my bridesmaids?”
I blink.
“The little pink one that looks like overpriced lip balm but is really an adult toy?” Aella whispers, looking around for I don’t know what—spy cameras inside her home office?
I panic and do a double-take around my own office before rolling my eyes.
Sheesh. I need to get a grip.
Ooh, yes, a good one on something long and hard.
I clench my thighs, willing my inner pervert to shut the fuck up.
Clementine grins like a devil. Aella snorts like she knows what I was thinking. Cora, Cecilia, and Lee-lee? They all laugh.
Heifers.
“That’s the one.”
Clementine nods, still laughing.
“Oh my God, she’s going to tell you to put it in your—” Cecilia says.
“I know where it goes!” I shout, blushing hard enough to roast myself alive. “Jesus.”
“Listen,” Clem says seriously, leaning in. “This is what you do. You get your ass in bed. You get the rosebud. You turn on that bottom switch—the one with the swirl pattern, not the pulse, the swirl. Trust me. Then you think about Mr. Big & Broody and let your hormones do the rest.”
“Or,” Lucy adds, sipping, “you can just climb him like a tree and call it a day.”
“Guys, stop. I’m married now. This is serious.”
Clem arches a perfect brow. “And yet you’re not letting him tap it?”
I groan again and throw my face into my hands. “Oh my God! He married me for the babies. Not because he wants me.”
“Honey, there wouldn’t be babies if the man didn’t want you,” Aella points out.
She has a point.
“Okay, so we did kinda hit it off in bed, but I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“Sounds like you’re doing denial,” Cecilia deadpans.
“Hard denial,” Clem agrees. “Listen, Andy—if you’re into him, let yourself be into him. Pregnant doesn’t mean dead. And sometimes a girl’s gotta give her man motivation to move. Use the rosebud. Preferably when he’s home and within hearing range.”
“But—” I start, and then I stop, because the truth is, I don’t have a but.
I have a raging set of hormones, a ridiculously hot husband, and a little girl who already thinks I hung the moon.
Maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe I’m scared that it’s too good.
Because if I fall for him—like ass over teakettle fall—and he walks?
I’ll break.
But right now?
Right now, I might just break anyway.
Especially if I don’t find that rosebud toy.