by Mia Carson
Remy gulped. “I just… I might have a certain attraction for, uh, for my new boss,” she said quietly, cringing. “Like a bad attraction and I…uh, I think he might have one back.”
Callie laughed, dancing around in a circle as if it was the best thing ever, but Abbey appeared torn between wanting to be happy and worry for her daughter’s choice of man to fall for. “Remy, are you sure it’s not just a physical attraction?”
“No… maybe, I don’t know, Mom,” she grumbled and set the plants down with a huff. “I don’t know. He drives me crazy half the time with his broodiness, but the days he laughs and smiles, he’s this completely different man and I…I really like him. Then yesterday, he kissed me and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing!”
Abbey sighed as she pulled her daughter into a hug. “That’s usually how it goes. That’s how it was with your dad and me,” she said, rubbing her back. “Whatever you do, please be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“That’s all? You’re not going to tell me to quit my job and stay the hell away from him?”
“For the past few weeks, all you’ve talked about is how great it is being in that house and helping their small family come together,” Abbey told her. “Why would I try to pull you away from that? They need you, so yes, all I’m going to say is be careful and take care of yourself, too.” She kissed her forehead with a grin.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, hon. Now, how about we get all these plants rung up? Your dad packed your studio and has been blowing up my phone for the past twenty minutes, wanting to know if it was safe to deliver your art stuff.”
Remy chuckled. “You should text him and say I changed my mind.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Abbey agreed, and giggling, she texted George, saying just that. The immediate response was a phone call from the man himself, asking what was going on. Remy laughed as her mom kept the prank going for a solid ten minutes before she told George they were kidding and relayed the address to him.
Remy rode with her mom and Callie back to Stan’s home, but thankfully, the two had called for a cab and were out for the day, exploring the local shops in search of new ship models. Callie pouted, saying she wanted to meet this mysterious man, but Remy told her she could not stick around by hiding in her closet until the boys returned home. The plants unloaded and laid out with Abbey’s expertise, Remy ducked inside to the room she’d picked as her studio. It was on the ground floor at the very back of the house. It looked like it used to be a storeroom of some kind, so there were plenty of shelves and old tables for her to use. George had set up most of her supplies by the time she reached it.
“Well, kid,” he said, draping his arm over her shoulders and planting a loud kiss on top of her head, “I think I’m actually going to miss seeing this stuff every day.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised.
“No, not really,” he teased, and she elbowed him in the side.
“But your mom said something about you and this fella possibly having a fling. Do I need to have a stern talk with him?”
Horrified that he was being serious, Remy begged him not to, babbling for several minutes about how traumatizing that would be when George burst out laughing.
“Gotcha.”
“Not funny, Dad, not even close,” she argued and elbowed him again.
“Hey, watch it. Old man walking here.”
“Whatever. You’re not old.”
“But seriously,” he said when he reached the front door. Abbey waited with Callie in the greenhouse truck. “If you and this Stanford guy get involved, you tell him if he hurts my little girl, I don’t care if he’s in a wheelchair. I’ll whoop his ass into next year.”
Remy rolled her eyes and shoved him out the door. “I’ll be sure not to tell him that. Bye, guys! Thanks!”
Her parents and Callie waved until they were down the drive, and Remy shut the front door. She had quite a chunk of work ahead of her so she found her work gloves, a bottle of water, and stepped out onto the back patio.
“All right, plants, let’s do this,” she said with a grin and set to work.
She dug into the work headfirst, ready for the distraction to draw her thoughts away from Stan and the kiss they’d shared, but it did the exact opposite. Every time she dug her trowel into the dirt, she sensed the ghost of his touch at the back of her neck, felt his solid thighs beneath her ass, and heard his groan when she opened her mouth for him and let his tongue explore alongside hers. By the time she was finished with one flower bed, she was beyond hot and bothered, and moved right on to wanting to jump his bones the second she saw him again.
“He has enough on his plate without you causing him more problems,” she scolded herself, digging a hole big enough for the next azalea. “Don’t make it worse.”
“You know, if you keep stabbing the ground like that, you might break your trowel.”
She shrieked and leapt up from the ground. Louis burst out laughing as Stan grinned at her, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “Oh, you boys think you’re so funny, huh?”
“We have our moments. Want some help with the rest?” Stan asked.
“I’ll get the shovels!” Louis called out and raced across the grass towards the shed.
“Did you two have a good afternoon?” she asked, pulling her hair back up in a tighter bun and avoiding his gaze.
“Yeah, not too shabby. We found a few good models to build. You?”
“Great. A great day,” she said, overly cheerful, and his brows rose up into his hairline. “The studio’s all set up, and I think I managed to get enough plants for you. Mom gave you a discount, by the way, so be sure to thank her later.”
“Later? Am I going to meet Mrs. and Mr. Reagan soon?”
Remy’s mouth fell open as she realized how that sounded and worried that he would freak out at the mention of meeting her parents. Instead, he grinned wider and seemed to find the idea pleasing.
“No, not any time soon,” she corrected quickly. “Well, we have a lot of plants to still get through, so we should, you know, get back to it.” She sensed his gaze on her as she bent and worked on the azalea, but she refused to turn around and meet those charming blue eyes. Thankfully, Louis was quick to return with the shovels, and there was no chance for Stan to drag her up into his lap again.
At least not yet. She had no idea what might happen later after Louis went to bed. She secretly hoped Stan wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with her.
Stan waited until Louis was tucked in bed and he reached the lower floor again before he sought Remy. She sat in one of the back patio chairs, nursing a large glass of red wine and smiling at the newly finished flower beds.
“I think that kids going to sleep for a week,” he commented, parking his chair beside hers. “He’s definitely a hard worker.”
“Yeah. He takes after his dad in that regard,” she mused.
“Do you mind if I tour your new art studio?” he asked.
“I’m not sure you want to see my art,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s not that great.”
“That’s not what I read. I read you’ve sold a number of pieces over the last few years,” he said, holding up his cell with the article he found displayed on the screen. “Apparently, everyone wonders why you turned to a life of hospitality instead of going for an art degree.”
“You researched me?” she accused, her eyes narrowed as her lips curled into a grin.
He tucked his phone away. “I had an hour to kill while Louis tried to decide which damn model he wanted, so yes, I did. You can’t tell me you haven’t done some research on me.”
She bit her tongue and glanced away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s what I thought. Now come on, I want to see your art. There are no pictures online.”
“I did that for a reason.” She drained the rest of her glass and gave him a firm nod. “Fine, but I warned you.”
She led the way
down the hall and past his bedroom—which gave Stan several ideas of what he would love to do, but he resisted. They stopped outside the closed door to a room that had been filled with crap before Louis moved in. Stephanie had made him clear it out. Remy’s hand rested on the knob, and she whispered something under her breath. Stan couldn’t hear what she said. She opened the door and stepped inside.
“Here we go, the studio of Remy Reagan.”
Stan rolled his chair inside and the smile fell from his face as he stared at the art work filling the room. The paintings hanging on the wall or leaning against the tables were all in dark tones of browns and reds or black and grey. There was hardly any color in the dreary landscapes of rolling hills or crumbling houses. A few showcased a degraded greenhouse with dead flowers littering the ground beneath an unseen person’s feet as they trudged through the dirt and mud. Stan pushed his chair further into the room, taking time to admire every piece before moving on to the next. He spotted what he assumed was meant to be a self-portrait and pushed his chair as close as he could. The delicate lines shaping Remy’s face were expertly painted, but the sadness in those brown eyes, the depth of dark emotion coursing through the lines on that face, was unfamiliar to him. The eyes pulled him in deeper and deeper. Each time he blinked, he saw a new layer to the face, the sadness turned to bitterness, and eventually, guilt.
“I told you, nothing spectacular to look at,” she said quietly behind him.
“You’re kidding, right? These are amazing,” he argued, forcing his gaze away from the painting of Remy to the woman standing behind him. In the dim lighting, he spotted a hint of the guilt and sadness before it was replaced immediately with the happy, bubbly Remy he knew. “Where do they come from?”
She shoved her hands in her pockets and wandered around the room, running her fingers down the canvases. “I dunno, not really. I just pick up a brush and this is what comes out.”
Stan moved around the room, wondering if she would consider selling some of these pieces to him when he saw the clay sculpture under a piece of plastic. “What’s this one?”
“A new project. I’m branching out a bit.”
“Can I see it?”
Her brows drew together and she screwed her mouth up to the side but walked across the room and removed the plastic carefully, revealing the piece beneath. “I’m still figuring out my technique, and it’s not even close to being finished. I thought of scrapping it a while ago—”
“Don’t,” he insisted, cutting her off. “It’s perfect.”
She laughed in disbelief. “We’re staring at the same piece, right?”
“Yes, we are. You don’t give yourself enough credit. All of your work is amazing, truly.”
He wanted to tell her how deeply these pieces resonated with him, except the words were lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth. A darkness had awakened in him when he’d learned one of the brothers died as a result of the accident. He was involved in the loss of life, and though everyone explained it wasn’t his fault, he was still part of the reason that man died and why the other brother was still in a coma. It ate away at him, a man who’d spent his days pleasuring himself with women and doing what he wanted when he wanted without a care for anyone else. The darkness was always there, stuck inside him with no way to get out until now. The images surrounding him were exactly what he felt day in and day out, and there they were on display from a woman he never would have expected to have as such buried within her.
“These don’t freak you out? You don’t want me to quit?” she asked tentatively.
“Why would I want you to quit?”
She hopped up on one of the worktables, rubbing her hands down her thighs. “Most people run in the other direction when they see my work, especially…well…never mind.”
“You know, you told me when we first met if I ever needed to talk, you were here for me?” he reminded her. “That goes both ways, just so you know. You can talk to me, Remy. I’m not going to run.” He glanced at his legs and smirked. “It’s not like I could, even if I wanted to.”
“Did you just crack a joke about your legs?” she asked, and he heard the laughter in her words.
“I think I did,” he answered and let out a chuckle. “Now, come on, who especially runs away?”
She hung her head, the locks of chestnut hair hiding her face as she mumbled something, but Stan didn’t catch it.
“Remy,” he pushed, and she lifted her head, throwing her hair over her shoulders.
“Guys, okay? Guys see this shit and they think I’m some crazy emo chick,” she snapped. “My dating life sucks because of my art, but I can’t seem to paint anything happy. It doesn’t work, so I don’t have a lot friends and my longest boyfriend lasted two weeks.”
“What happened with him?” Stan asked as another realization crossed his mind as she spoke.
“I finally let him see my art. He broke up with me that night. I’m un-dateable, apparently. I’m twenty-five and I’ve never had a real relationship, never even had—” She shoved a hand over her mouth, her face bright red as her eyes widened.
Stan already suspected that was the case, but hearing her say it did little to scare him away. If anything, he wanted her now more than before. She was untouched by a man, and the primal urge to possess this woman gave him the drive to make it to his feet and take the four steps needed to close the distance between them.
“Stan, what are you doing?” she asked. “Your legs.”
He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, placing his palms on the table on either side of her legs. “They’ll survive for a few minutes,” he grunted. “I, however, will not if I don’t kiss you again.”
She started to protest, but his lips found hers. She melted against him, gripping his shoulders hard as she moved her mouth over his. He wanted to know everything about this woman, needed the time to do it. He should’ve pulled back before he scared her into running away, but she spread her thighs and his body slipped into the open space between. The pain in his legs faded as he reached up and caught the nape of her neck, and her legs wrapped around his waist. His cock throbbed in his jeans, constricted by the fabric and wanting desperately to seek out her depths, have her ride him and scream with pleasure for the very first time. He pictured it happening, and as though she read his mind, her tongue darted into his mouth as her legs tightened their hold on his body.
“Stan,” she whispered breathless against his lips. “What are… what are we doing?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t seem to stop,” he replied, his lips moving to her jawline and licking a trail down her neck. She shivered, and he leaned into her more, hoping she felt him pressed between her legs. From the sudden twitch of her hips, she did, and he wished he could carry her down the hall and deposit her in his bed.
His legs trembled, and suddenly, he was unable to keep standing. Remy hopped off the table quickly and grabbed him around the middle. “Damn it, Stan,” she muttered and got him back into his chair. His legs shaking, he grunted in pain. “That’s it. I’m taking you to bed.”
He grinned at her words, and his hand snaked around to grab her ass. Her eyes darkened and she leaned down to kiss him before pushing his hand aside.
“Not like that.”
“You mean not yet,” he added.
He didn’t see her face as she moved behind his chair to push him out of the studio, but he sensed the mixed range of wanting to take him up on his offer and worry. She entered his bedroom and parked his chair by the bed. Without a word, she turned for the door, but he reached out and caught her hand.
“Wait, Remy,” he whispered. “Hold on a second.”
She stopped and turned reluctantly to face him. “What?’
“I don’t want you to think that whatever might happen between us will in any way affect your job here,” he told her firmly. “This, whatever this is… you’re not the only one it’s new for.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been through this b
efore.”
He let go of her hand, unsure what she meant. “I have?”
“Yeah. You’ve been in relationships and you loved someone before, and I don’t want to stomp all over that or make your life difficult with Louis and trying to figure everything out,” she mumbled. “That’s not what I came here to do.”
Stan sagged in his chair as everything clicked about why she tried to distance herself. “You heard me tell Louis I loved Lara.”
Remy bobbed her head once. “I don’t know how to navigate this, whatever this is.”
“I don’t either,” he said, but she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to leave again. “No, now wait a damned second. Lara was a completely different woman than you. She wasn’t interested in a solid relationship, or in settling down. She was too much of a traveler, loved bouncing around the globe and doing what she wanted when she wanted. I don’t even think she loved me the way I loved her.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I have no idea, honestly,” he admitted with a shaky laugh, “but I know that I want to see where this could go. You are the first woman in a long time to affect me this way. You’re the first to make me smile, or get me to laugh.”
Remy smiled softly. “You’re just saying that.”
“No. No, I’m not. I don’t want you here because you’re great with Louis. I need you, Remy. I do, and I want you here,” he said, reaching out for her hand again. “Can we agree that whatever this might be, it’s mutual and we’ll see where it goes?”
“And if it ends in a massive blowup?”
He prayed it wouldn’t, but there was always a chance he would fuck things up. “Then we agree right now to go our separate ways, no hard feelings.”
“And Louis can’t see anything,” she added. “I don’t want him dealing with anything else.”
“Deal,” he agreed, and she shook his outstretched hand. “Does that mean you’ll stay tonight? With me?”
Her hand gripped his tighter, and she glanced over his shoulder at the king-sized bed. “I’m still not sure what I want to do.”