“What kind of question is—” I stopped when he raised his brows and gave me a too-knowing look. I thought I wanted a choice, but did I? Was I so eager to go back to my sad apartment where any day I was sure the water stains on the ceiling would grow large enough that water would begin to run down onto my bed? Did I want to go back to the streets tonight and see if I could drum up some more business? No. I needed the money he’d promised me. With it, I could make a start at turning my life around.
I could stand there stubbornly confronting him naked, just like I’d feared, or I could climb back into that warm bed and enjoy the way his body felt next to mine. I chose the bed and Remy.
“That’s better.” He pulled me against him. I felt his hard cock against my thigh. He was so warm, so big, so manly. “Did you want…”
“Yes, but we’re not going to now. I’m going to feed you, then we need to talk.”
My fear returned. “Talk about what?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
While that didn’t settle my nerves, at least it appeared that I’d checked out okay when he stalked me. Other than my debt, which I would’ve owned up to if he’d asked, and my current profession, I hadn’t done anything worth noticing.
“Will you give me my phone back after you proposition me?”
He smiled. “I will. I needed to make sure our meeting last night was truly a coincidence. I found no evidence to make me think otherwise.”
“Why would it be anything else?”
“In my line of work, it pays to be cautious.”
Did he think I was some kind of spy or something? “What exactly is your line of work?”
He raised his brows. “I think you know better than to ask that.”
I did. I really did.
He slapped my ass lightly. “Let’s go have some breakfast or lunch or whatever you want to call it. We can talk more once we’ve eaten.”
“I thought you wanted me back in bed.”
“I wanted to know you would obey me.”
“That’s…” I wanted to yell at him, to tell him he couldn’t make assumptions like that. I wasn’t his to command just because he’d hired me to stay the night, but there was a part of me that really liked his possessive nature and his need to have control. Those were qualities that had always filled my fantasies, but I hadn’t thought I’d ever meet a man like Remy.
We both rolled out of bed, and I grimaced when I thought about putting on my clothes again.
Remington grabbed them from my hand. “I’ll have those cleaned. I’m sure I can find something for you to wear.”
I looked up and down his tall, muscular frame. “Nothing of yours is going to fit me.”
He chuckled as he pulled out a t-shirt and tossed it to me. “This will do.”
“No pants?”
“Do you need any?”
“Is anyone else here?” I’d thought I’d heard voices when I’d woken in the night.
“No. I’m the only one who lives here, and I don’t have any visitors.”
“Or any wives hidden in the attic?”
He rolled his eyes. “No wives. Why are you shy all of a sudden?”
“Just because I sell myself doesn’t mean I let anyone—”
He held up a hand. “I was teasing, and even if you didn’t care, I don’t share.”
“Good, because I don’t… I choose my clients.”
He turned to face me and took my hands in his. “Let me make this clear right now. I don’t have any less respect for you than I would if you were a waiter or an accountant or a doctor.”
“Thank you, and you… you really don’t share?”
“Never. I’m possessive of everything I want. And I want you.”
“You’re… really something else.”
“I am.”
I pulled on the t-shirt, which came halfway down my thighs, and we went downstairs.
“How about an omelet?” he asked as he opened the fridge and studied the contents. “I’ve got pancetta, spinach, bell pepper, and I’m sure I have an onion or two around here. Maybe a shallot.”
“You cook?”
He looked back at me, startled. “Of course I cook, though an omelet will hardly show off my skills.”
“I just wouldn’t have thought…”
“You don’t grow up in my family without learning your way around the kitchen. Cooking was always part of life.”
“I thought maybe you hired someone to cook or something like that. You seem…”
“Wealthy? Oh, I am, and we did have a cook growing up, but that didn’t mean my mom and dad didn’t also spend time in the kitchen. I have two brothers, and they were both taught to cook as well, although the youngest one… Let’s just say if he’s cooking, you probably want to order out.”
“Hopefully he has some other talents.”
He huffed. “I’m hoping so too.”
I couldn’t hold back a smile. I’d created a picture in my mind of an arrogant man who got everything he wanted and ran some sort of criminal empire, but now I had a new image of domesticity: Remy arguing with his brothers and cooking with his family. How did I reconcile the two?
“So, an omelet?”
“Yes, that sounds fantastic.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had food that wasn’t ramen, pasta, or something frozen.
He poured a mug of coffee, which seemed to have magically appeared in the carafe, and asked me if I’d like some.
“Yes, thank you. Did you get up and make it before I woke up.”
He shook his head. “The machine is programmed to make coffee every morning. If I don’t have a cup first thing, the day goes downhill from there.”
I used the cream and sugar he offered, and when I took a sip, I was sure it was the best coffee I’d ever had.
Remington smiled, true warmth on his face. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Amazing.”
“I get the beans straight from a fair-trade farm in Peru.”
“Wow. That’s… I’m going to need more than one cup.”
“Yes, you will. I’m going to expect you to be very energetic later.”
Later? Surely
