When he’s sober, he surveys my face, feature by feature, and as the air shifts between us, our smiles fade. His body is crushing mine. His pecs smashing my br**sts. His weight trapping me. I love it so much, even when it hurts to take a full breath.
His eyes turn liquid with love as he leans over and presses his lips over mine for three delicious heartbeats. We use no tongues, only the pressure of soft, dry lips, so full of love I could almost levitate.
My hands roam up the muscular planes of his back. “When do you leave?” I breathe.
“As late as possible and still be on time for the next match.”
My hurt and disappointment seem to show on my face, for he tightens his hold on me as he eases to his side and brings me with him.
“Are you happy here? Are you treated well?” He nuzzles my temple.
“Nobody treats me or understands me like you. Except Mel.”
“And your parents?”
“They love me” is all I say. I’m about to say they may not be too thrilled about our circumstances right now, but then I look into this man’s eyes and realize he doesn’t have parents who support and care about him, and I realize how very lucky I am. “Did you feel unloved when your parents didn’t come back?” I ask him.
“Not unloved. Misunderstood.”
He speaks casually, like it’s truly nothing to him but a bland fact. A fact that breaks my heart every time I think about it.
“Oh, Remy. I’m so sorry. I hate them for doing this to you.”
He gets up and grabs his lounge pants and I know he’s going to want to go eat—of course. “Why? I didn’t hurt. Why are you sorry? I’m still going to be a good father.” He winks at me. “It’s because they were so shitty that I will be a good father.”
His eyes are brilliant, and I want to cry as we both stare down at my abdomen. We are really happy about this baby even though we didn’t plan it. Maybe we are young and stupid, young and in love, but we are just so hopeful about having a family together. About just being together.
A banging on the suite door makes me frown. He scowls too, then points a finger at me. “Stay.” He goes to open the door and I bury my face in his pillow, loathing that today he leaves me again. I talked to my doctor and she insists that I not travel until the first trimester ends, so there are at least two and a half weeks to go.
When I hear voices, I grab his robe, wrap the sash around my waist, and walk outside. Remington spots me in his boxing robe, and he reacts like he always does: I almost feel him tackling me in his head and f**king me like we haven’t been able to f**k since I got pregnant.
Pete looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
Remington is still eye-fucking me, his lips curled in the pure male satisfaction he gets when I’m wearing his things.
He crooks a finger and slowly beckons me forward. My heart melts and I come over, aware of him watching me as he extends his hand.
I stretch out mine, and he seizes my fingers and brings me to his side, where I impulsively start to rub his bare muscles while he talks to Pete.
But I’m so engrossed, pushing into the hard muscle, that it takes me a couple of seconds to notice the silence. A silence so absolute, you could hear a pin drop in the room.
“What’s going on?” I stop what I’m doing while my gaze ping-pongs between them.
Pete restlessly loosens the knot on his tie. “I’ve got some bad news.”
A kernel of fear settles deep in my gut. “What bad news?”
He looks at the floor and drags his hand through his hair, and I become aware of Remy staring at my profile, his blue eyes watching me with such intensity, the little kernel of fear in my stomach turns to a full-fledged knot.
“It’s Scorpion,” Pete says.
One word and my heart is a jackhammer.
“What about Scorpion?” The creepy crawly sensation on my skin surfaces with a vengeance. I hate thinking about him. Talking about him. I hate his name.
But Remington is here. Safe. He’s safe. Isn’t he? His eyes are boring into me. They look . . . worried.
Shit.
I’m cold. Paralyzed. Frozen.
“Nora spent the night with him,” Pete adds, his voice surreally cold, almost like a robot’s.
His words bother me in such a deep, frightening way, it’s a miracle that I seem to still have enough brain cells to register what he’s telling me.
My sister.
“They spent all this time at a nearby hotel. She came out with him, another woman, and his three goons. On their way to the airport; apparently there’s a ticket in her name.”
“She’s leaving with him?” I stumble backward, that’s how hard the blow is. “She can’t leave with him, that . . . that . . . that ungrateful little shit!”
“Firecracker . . .” Remington says, but I’m too wired up to listen.
“Ohmigod. She’s a pea-headed, unthinking, inconsiderate little fool ! I can’t believe . . .”
I’m freaking out, while Remington is calm and thoughtful. Arms crossed until those tattoos on his arms seem stretched by his muscles to the limit, feet braced apart in battle-stance, eyes glimmering in concentration. How can he, the fighter, be thinking, when I want to hit something? He did everything for Nora, on behalf of me. Everything.
And Pete! Pete is in love with her.
My eyes burn with hot tears of frustration and my mind spins around, replaying every moment of these past weeks in my head, replaying my conversation when she opened up about Scorpion and I was too concerned about Remington and my baby to pay attention. I’ve been so wrapped up in my head. I missed the signs. But what signs? This can’t be real!
I go grab my cell phone and power it on, searching all my applications for a message. I have only messages from Mel, Kyle, and Pandora, but none from Nora. I dial her cell phone while Pete paces around, and Remington quietly watches me, his arms crossed, his eyebrows pulled low over his eyes as though he’s trying to figure it all out.
“I don’t like this, Rem,” Pete says as he restlessly circles around, shaking his head. He looks as disheveled as if he’d just had a tussle with a crocodile. “If Nora tells him anything about Brooke being pregnant, and here, on bed rest, she’ll be as vulnerable here as she will be on tour—except you won’t be here to protect her. He could hurt you man.”
“I go to voice mail,” I interrupt, almost to myself. Then I hang up, and dial again.
Nothing.
God, what is wrong with her? He’s the sort of man who sent me a box full of scorpions! He has no scruples; wants nothing but to f**k Remington again. And he’s going to use my sister again—does she not even realize this?
When I shove my phone into the pocket of my robe, I find Remy watching me with a fierce frown. I know he likes this even less than I do, and I know he’s figuring the connection too.
Nora returning to Scorpion at this opportune moment can be no coincidence. Scorpion lured her somehow. He wants to use her again. And I’m not letting my guy get hurt for anything in the world. Anything.
“I want to go on tour with you,” I blurt out. Suddenly I don’t feel so safe. I’m pregnant, we’re apart . . . Remington has that fierce protective gleam in his eyes. I don’t know what he’ll do, but my protective instincts for both him, our baby, and myself, rage full force in me. “I want to go on tour with you,” I repeat.
“Come here,” he says softly, stretching out his hand.