Outside, the hotel is littered with an immense crowd of people, including photographers. Flashes burst all around me as I exit through the revolving glass doors.
“That’s her. Her fault he was disqualified tonight!”
I see something flying toward me and duck, but it’s too late. There’s a hard impact on my head, followed by another loud crack as something slaps into my stomach. A sulfur-like smell reaches me. Eggs? Great.
Just wonderful.
Ducking when another egg flies in my direction, I cover my head and give the crowd my back as I hurry to the valet. “The strong guy I just came into the hotel with! Where did he go?”
The valet is a youngish boy whose widened eyes seem to eat up his face when he looks past my head at something. “He’s about ten steps away from being right behind you.”
Another egg crashes into my shoulder as I pivot around, and Remy looks like an avenging angel storming toward me. His eyes blaze in anger as I realize that his fans are calling me a bitch and a whore, and he swiftly turns and blocks another egg which I hear crack against his back.
He grabs me and scoops me up like I weigh nothing, then he raises his voice as he swings around, angry and commanding. “It’s because of this woman I’m still fighting!”
A sudden silence falls across the crowd, and Remington’s hard, enraged voice continues telling them, “Next time I'm on the ring, I'm going to f**king win for her, and I want all of you who hurt her tonight to bring her a red rose and tell her it’s from me!”
The silence doesn’t last a second longer.
Screams erupt. Cheers. Claps. And I think what’s doing most of the commotion is my heart: a winged thing fluttering against my ribcage in complete confusion and disbelief of what he just said.
He takes me back into the hotel and carries me across the lobby, his square shoulders and arms hunched into my body, somehow guarding me. Suddenly, I’m so stunned by this evening I start to laugh. It’s a nervous kind of laughter, but it’s laughter all the same, as he presses the elevator button repeatedly.
“And they say Justin Bieber’s fans are crazy,” I say, gasping for air from the shock.
His voice is asperous as he brushes away the egg shells from my top. “I apologize on their behalf. I disappointed them today.”
My laughter fades when I realize that his rapid, angry breath trembles the loose hair at the top of my head. It’s warm and scented of him, and it does me in. Like everything else about him.
Forcing myself not to tremble in his arms, I clutch my hands around his firm, wide neck, grateful when the couple watching us like we’re horny, drunk, young adults decide not to board with us. I just don’t want him to let me go yet. I’m selfish and needy like that. And I think what finally closed the deal was Remy’s murderous expression when he snapped at them, like they were the ones who threw eggs at us, as he held the door open with one arm and cradled me to his chest with the other, “You coming?”
And they both instantly stepped back and said, “No.”
Now we’re riding alone, and I can’t stop myself from pressing my nose to his neck. “Thank you.”
He clutches me tighter and I feel so safe here, I think I want this to be my new home. I think if I’d known this man the day I broke my knee, and he’d held me like this, my knee wouldn’t have even mattered. Only the fact that his arms were around me would.
Pete and Riley are still in his penthouse when he slides the key into the slot and carries me inside. “What the f**k is going on, Rem?” Pete demands.
“Just get the hell out, guys.” Rem holds the door open for them, and me still aloft in the other. “I do what I want, you hear me?” he snaps at them.
Both men stare at me for a moment, and they both look as startled as I feel. “We hear you, Rem,” Riley meekly answers as he shuffles out after Pete.
“Then don’t f**king forget it.”
He slams the door and bolts it after them so that nobody, not even those with a key, can come into the suite, and he carries me into the bath of the master bedroom. I admit I’m not ready to let go, and when I wind my fingers tighter at his nape, he gets the message and keeps an arm around me as he maneuvers to turn the shower knob.
The water starts falling, and he kicks off his shoes, takes off mine, and then steps into the stall with me in his arms.
“Let’s get this shit off you.” He runs his big hands over my wet hair, and I end up sliding down the length of him, to my feet. The water feels incredible on my skin, and when he peels off my dress and lifts it over my head, I feel his soapy hands rubbing everywhere, even over my underwear. I bite my lip and try to block off his touch, but it filters inside me. It’s all I can feel, or know, or think of.
I no longer worry that Pete and Riley hate me, that I’m f**king up Remy’s fight. That his fans hate me. That my sister doesn’t want to see me. That I miss Mel. That I can’t sprint anymore. That I will soon be out of a job.
It’s all about this man, my body standing utterly still as I find myself waiting in breathless anticipation just to see what he will do. Where his hands will slide to next. What part of my body will feel his wet fingers on my hot flesh.
Methodically he touches me, and though I’m breathless over his touch, he’s not in the least bit affected. He spreads my arms up and slides soap into my armpits, between my legs, my neck, then he whips his t-shirt off, and scrapes himself quickly. His powerful shoulders bulge, and the sight of his ni**les excites me.
“I can’t believe your groupies called me a whore,” I say, trying not to think that I’m almost na**d in the shower. And he’s in only the drawstring sweatpants and is now fully shirtless, every muscle of his torso glistening wet.