Chapter 52 Mallory Plantation—Remy
Mallory Plantation—Remy
After three nights of soul-stirring performances that left the crowds clamoring for more, the band gathered their instruments and boarded Elliott’s jet for the flight to Richmond.
At Charlotte’s suggestion, Skye swallowed a short-term, fast-acting medication.
Before the plane departed, she drifted into a deep sleep that lasted until they landed.
By the time Remy and Skye returned to the plantation and reached the privacy of his bedroom, the air between them crackled with intensity. It felt fated, as if meant to be since the beginning of time.
They stumbled into the room, a tangle of limbs and greedy mouths, a blinding urgency propelling them toward the waiting bed.
Remy’s kiss deepened, anchoring them in the same breathless urgency as they shed the last of their clothes, laughter and gasps tangling together as the world narrowed to this moment alone.
Two hours later, Remy and Skye lay entwined, limbs tangled in the satiny sheets of his king-sized bed. A tenor saxophone wailed a smoky tune through the wireless speakers, the smooth notes wrapping around them like an invisible blanket.
Then their phones pinged—an unwanted intrusion.
“It’s got to be Elliott,” Remy murmured, his voice a low rumble against her hair.
Skye reached for her phone, the screen casting a soft glow over the hard line of Remy’s shoulder.
“He’s summoning us—along with David and Kenzie, Clay and Marcelle, Bastien and Kaitlyn, and Rick—to the clean room for a four o’clock meeting.
” She turned slightly, searching his face. “What’s this about?”
“We need to wrap up Chicago and New York,” he said. “And decide who’s going back for your parents—and when.”
“What about my father’s crash?”
“That too. Once Elliott gets us all in one room, he won’t let us out until everything’s nailed down.
” He rolled out of bed, muscles loose and unguarded after the intimacy they’d shared.
Stretching, he glanced over his shoulder with a lazy smile.
“You can steal a few more minutes under the covers—or we can take a shower together.”
She slid free of the sheets. “There’s nothing I enjoy more than a long, hot shower with you.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “Nothing?”
“Almost nothing.”
She sprinted for the bathroom, laughter trailing behind her. Remy caught her easily, swept her off her feet, and slung her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
“Put me down, you barbarian.”
“That’s not what you called me earlier,” he said, amusement rumbling in his chest.
“That just slipped out,” she laughed.
Steam bloomed the instant he turned on the water. He carried her into the shower and settled her onto the built-in bench, the heat surrounding them like a living thing.
The moment stretched—breath, skin, anticipation.
He lowered himself before her, and the heat between them surged. Her breath caught as pleasure built quickly, leaving her trembling against the slick tile, the sound of her gasp swallowed by the rush of water.
When he finally drew her close again, the world seemed to steady around them.
Later, wrapped together beneath the spray, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Has it always been like this for you?”
He angled the showerhead to a gentler mist and sat beside her. “I thought I knew what I was doing,” he said quietly. “But this… this is different. With you, I don’t have to perform. I can just be.”
“It hasn’t been like this for me either,” she said softly. “With you, everything is honest.”
He pulled her into a loose, affectionate hold. “If that ever changes, you have permission to call me out.”
She smiled. “I’ll start with you.”
They laughed together, the tension dissolving into warmth.
Her hand drifted toward the bar of soap. “Whose turn is it to wash the other person first?”
He leaned back against the tiled wall, eyes gleaming. “Yours. But enjoy it—after tonight, I’ll need to abstain for forty-eight hours.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Then you’d better make the most of this.”