by Erika Wilde
He chuckled. “Because you didn’t ask, princess,” he said, deliberately teasing her. “I can’t wait to see you try and tackle that burger.”
Her gaze narrowed at his challenge. “Game on.” She shook out her paper napkin, and uncaring who might see, she tucked it into the collar of her pristine white blouse to protect it from spills.
Smart girl, he thought, knowing how messy this particular sandwich could be. He watched in pure amusement as she did her best to pick up the heavy, towering burger, then brought it to her mouth and managed to take a big bite. Grease from the meat patty, along with the sauce, dripped down her fingers and a few drops landed on her makeshift bib, but that didn’t stop her from digging in again.
He laughed and silently applauded her efforts before starting in on his meal. They were each about halfway into their burgers when she put hers down on her plate and wiped her sticky fingers on one of the extra napkins the waitress had brought to the table, exhaling a heavy sigh.
He smirked. “Tapping out already?”
“Not at all. But I do need a moment to breathe,” she said, leaning back in her seat for a moment. “And maybe burp to make more room.”
He chuckled. God, she killed him, that she could be so proper-looking on the outside yet act like any one of the guys in the joint. However, when she did manage to burp, the sound was way more polite than a long, loud belch. But it seemed to free up the room she needed in her stomach, and she went back to work on her burger, taking much smaller bites this time.
“So, let’s talk about that three-year dry spell of yours,” she said, meeting his gaze across the table, her own eyes bright with curiosity.
He groaned. “Let’s not.”
“Seriously, Remy,” she said over her nearly finished burger. “That’s a long time for a guy to go without actual sex . . . and a whole lot of self-love.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised or shocked that she’d brought up the stupid comment he’d made back at the office. Tempest wasn’t one to let an intriguing revelation like that slide by, while he preferred to keep the reasons for his celibacy to himself.
“Self-love?” he repeated with a frown as he chewed off another big bite of his burger. What the hell did that mean?
“Hand jobs,” she clarified in a low voice. “Why resort to that when you’re clearly a man with a strong sexual appetite and needs? Finding willing women can’t be the issue.”
No, he’d had plenty of offers over the years. “Quite frankly, my ex-wife killed my sex drive,” he replied, shocking himself with his honesty. “After the divorce, I had no desire to be with any woman, for any reason, and I focused all my time and effort on rebuilding Lowell Construction.”
Tempest’s eyes grew round at his candor. “Can I ask what happened between the two of you?”
“In a nutshell, I wasn’t good enough for her,” he said, and stuffed a French fry into his big, fat mouth.
“What?” Tempest’s voice was incredulous as she set the last section of her burger down on her plate. “How can you say that?”
“I can say it because it’s true,” he said evenly. “Rachel looked me right in the eyes and said it to my face.”
He’d never discussed his divorce with anyone, or the fact that he hadn’t been able to give Rachel, his ex-wife, everything she needed, so she’d looked elsewhere—then had taken him to the cleaners financially, which had only added insult to injury. And while he should have been annoyed with himself for blurting out the truth to Tempest, a part of him felt oddly relieved to get it out in the open because she was so easy to talk to. Almost too easy when he needed to be careful with his emotions around her.
Tempest pursed her lips, clearly angry on his behalf. “She’s wrong, Remy,” she said adamantly as she stabbed a French fry in his direction to emphasize her point. “You are good enough, and way too good for her.”
Unfortunately, his track record with the two closest women who’d once been in his life—his mother and ex-wife—had proven differently, but Remy wasn’t ready or willing to discuss the first woman who’d completely shattered his heart. He’d thought Rachel was different, that she’d accepted all of him—the good, the bad, and the ugly. He’d believed he could give her everything she wanted . . . but clearly she’d found him lacking, as well.
“How long were you married?” Tempest asked, pulling him out of his dark thoughts.
“Seven years. I met her our third year in college. We came from similar backgrounds,” he said, not stating that Rachel had also been through foster care and had been searching for acceptance and love. And for a while, they’d had that bond, had shared similar goals about having a family and future together or else Remy never would have married her.
“When we graduated, we got married, and she worked as a secretary at a law firm while I started my own construction business, which I built from the ground up,” he went on while Tempest ate her fries and listened avidly. “We struggled for a few years, as most newlywed couples do, but eventually the company took off and we were doing really well financially. Except the more money I made, the more money Rachel spent . . . and it never seemed like enough to keep her happy.”
Finished with his burger, he wiped his fingers on his napkin, tossed it onto his plate, and pushed the dish aside before leaning back in the booth and finishing his story. “Seven years into the marriage, at the point where I thought we’d be starting a family, I instead found out that she was having an affair with an attorney in her office, while I was out working my ass off to build this business and give her everything I thought she deserved.”
Tempest gave him a sympathetic look, which he hated. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him.
“So, after claiming fucking neglect, Rachel filed for divorce,” he said, unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice as he recalled that shocking and false accusation. “And with the help of the law firm she worked for, she managed to take most of our savings, and I was forced to liquidate all the equipment I’d bought for the construction company to satisfy her settlement, which left me in a position of starting over.”
“What a bitch,” Tempest muttered. “I hope I don’t ever meet her in person because I’d scratch her eyes out.”
Remy chuckled and shook his head. “Though I appreciate you coming to my defense, she’s not worth the time or effort,” he said, and meant it.
The waitress came up to their table at that moment, and Remy was grateful for the interruption. While he took care of the bill, Tempest excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. As Remy watched her go, he had the fleeting thought that he wished he’d met her instead of Rachel all those years ago. Maybe then his future would have turned out differently. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so jaded and damaged as a result of a gold-digging mother and a selfish, narcissistic ex-wife who’d destroyed any hope he might have had of being unconditionally loved by someone.
Chapter 9
As Tempest left the restaurant with Remy and they strolled back toward his place in companionable silence, she was very much aware of the subtle but promising changes between them. They’d walked into the pub a few hours ago as two guarded people with walls around their emotions and a pact to have a no-strings-attached affair and ended up trusting each other with some of their most painful, intimate secrets and memories.
Two people didn’t just share deeply personal things like that and not come out the other side unaffected.
Now, they were leaving the eatery with a different view and understanding of one another. Tempest had never told anyone about her greatest insecurities or her need to be self-sufficient so she’d never let her brothers down. So they’d know she was capable and they could now, especially, devote their time and attention to the women in their lives who needed them the most. But what Tempest had kept close to her vest tonight was that wishful, romantic part of her that wanted to be loved just as unconditionally as her brothers adored Arabella and Elle. To be the center of someone’s world and for hi
m to be the same for her.
Remy had made it clear more than once that he wasn’t that guy for her, and while she respected his honesty and understood his reasons after hearing about his unpleasant divorce—and she’d told him she was too busy for a relationship—she’d always known that if the right man came along who saw beyond her façade and treasured her heart, she’d make room for him in her life.
She’d always wanted a happily ever after, and someday, when the time was right, she believed she’d find it.
But for now, she was content with Remy and their arrangement . . . and their new status quo. Everything about their conversations tonight had been unexpected but incredibly enlightening. And most notably, that push-pull tension that had been a source of frustration between them for the past three years was gone. In its place was just an easy, comfortable acceptance and friendship. The attraction was still there, the sexual chemistry always buzzing beneath the surface, but now there seemed to be a mutual appreciation that went beyond the physical desire that had originally brought them together.
Tempest was startled out of her thoughts when she felt Remy’s big, warm hand slide against her palm, and his fingers interlocked with hers. Her heart leapt in her chest at the intimate gesture, something she never would have expected from an unsentimental man like Remy who professed he was all wrong for her.
She turned her head and glanced up at his face, but he kept his gaze trained straight ahead, as though everything was completely normal. “You don’t have to hold my hand, Remy,” she said, teasing him. “This wasn’t a date.”
“I know it wasn’t,” he replied, and looked down at her with a warm smile. “Just keeping you safe by my side.”
Though the sun had set and the evening was cool, there were light posts along the sidewalk that illuminated their way back to Remy’s. There wasn’t anyone or anything around to threaten her. And even though her brothers had always protected her, this was different. Remy’s attention felt different. Dare she say . . . romantic?
Remy would undoubtedly scoff at that notion.
“Okay, whatever you say, Tramp,” she said softly, affectionately, this moment akin to how the scruffy male dog in the animated Disney movie had been protective of Lady when they’d been out on the streets together.
He rolled his eyes at her in a playful way as they neared the parking lot in front of his office, where she’d left her car. “What is with your fascination with fairy tales?”
She shrugged as she led him toward the Lexus coupe Maddux had bought her for her birthday a few years ago. “Growing up the way I did, I needed to believe in something good, and it’s a known fact that almost all fairy tales have a happy ending.”
“And you want that,” he said as they stopped at the driver’s side door to her vehicle, which automatically unlocked from the keyless remote in her purse.
His words weren’t a question so much as a statement. She already knew Remy’s stance on long term, that this time with him was a luxury. A temporary illicit affair that came with no guarantees or promises—hell, she’d agreed to their mutual terms.
But she wasn’t going to lie.
“Yes, I want that,” she said. “Someday.”
He brought his hands up and framed her face in his warm palms, shocking her with the gentleness of his touch. “After everything you’ve gone through, you deserve a happily ever after, Tempest.”
He lowered his head and put his lips on hers, the kiss so achingly soft and sweet compared to every other one he’d given her before this moment it was almost shocking to her system. The tenderness and affection caused her heart to flutter in her chest and her knees to go weak. She’d experienced heat and lust in his previous kisses, but this one made her feel . . . cherished and completely infatuated.
Being privy to this man’s gentler side was exhilarating and scary as hell. Her emotions suddenly seemed to be all over the place when Tempest had always been so good about compartmentalizing them. She wasn’t sure what to make of Remy’s subtle but exquisite kiss but ordered herself not to get used to it.
When he finally lifted his head, she did her best to make light of the situation, starting with a flirtatious smile. “Be careful, Remy, or I might think you like me.”
“I do like you, princess,” he said, his voice low and husky as he stared into her eyes, his brows furrowed. “More than I really care to admit. But this thing between us . . .” He exhaled a deep, troubling breath. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” she said, but as she got into her car and looked out the window at Remy and saw this man’s innate strength and goodness, she was forced to acknowledge that if she wasn’t careful, getting her heart broken was a distinct possibility.
“Here’s to Wilder Things,” Elle Darian said, lifting her glass of iced tea and clinking it against Tempest’s and Arabella’s raised drinks. “Congratulations on finally getting the building you’ve been looking for.”
“Thank you.” Tempest grinned at the two women sitting with her at an outdoor café, where they were enjoying a celebratory lunch after she’d signed the escrow papers. “I’m so happy to share this with the both of you.”
And she meant it. In a very short time, Arabella and Elle had become not only good friends but as close to having sisters as Tempest would ever get. And with both of them engaged to her brothers, they were also all soon to become family.
Arabella set her iced tea down and started in on the pasta dish she’d ordered. “So, tell us all about your plans for the place now that you’ve got the keys.”
As they ate lunch, Tempest shared her ideas for Wilder Things, both the bar and hotel rooms, which turned into a brainstorming session as the other two women offered up various ideas and suggestions that Tempest appreciated. She definitely had a vision for what she wanted this place to be, but she welcomed the creative feedback.
“I’m meeting with Remy Lowell, the contractor, later this evening to walk him through the building,” she said, keeping the more intimate side of their relationship to herself. “Fingers crossed the construction and renovation will start soon.”
She and Remy hadn’t set an exact time to meet yet because of his busy schedule and the projects he was currently juggling and trying to finish up, but he’d promised he’d get back to her sometime this afternoon when he knew for certain he’d be able to leave the jobsite he was currently working on.
She was excited to see him and giddy with anticipation. While they’d agreed to an affair, they’d had no physical contact since last week, when he’d taken her to dinner at O’Brien’s. Just a whole lot of texts and phone calls since they’d both had work-related responsibilities taking up their days and early evenings.
For Remy, he was wrapping up loose ends on the projects he still had under contract so he could devote his time and attention to Wilder Things. He’d encountered delays and a few issues that had put him a couple of days behind schedule, and by the time he’d gotten home at night, she could hear the exhaustion in his voice when they talked.
Tempest completely understood work interference and those unexpected things that happened that were beyond a person’s control. The past week for her had been equally insane. It was the time of the month when her Wilder Passion subscription boxes started getting packed up to be mailed, and she’d had to deal with a huge dispute with the apparel manufacturer she’d contracted to make the lingerie. They’d substituted a cheap brand of lace for the “sweet” bra and panty collection because they’d underestimated what they needed for the increase in orders, and Tempest had halted production as soon as she’d discovered what they’d done.
She refused to compromise quality for quantity, and it had taken hours of phone conversations with the CEO of the company, along with her flying to the facility in Pennsylvania this past Monday, to make the higher-ups understand that if something like that ever happened again, she’d be taking her business elsewhere.
She was also juggling daily emails and discussions with
the New York based interior design and branding agency she’d hired for Wilder Things, who had direct connections for all the décor, signage, furnishings, and fixtures she wanted and needed. They were in the planning and idea stage of the process, but she was learning that all those decisions were time-consuming.
Her cell phone buzzed on the table beside her plate, indicating an incoming text, and Tempest never knew if she was going to meet with excitement or dread, depending on what name greeted her—Remy or Kyle, who was currently trying to talk her into going with him to the Wine & Food Festival in New York City the following weekend, as friends, he’d claimed. She’d lied and told him she already had plans, but he was valiantly trying to persuade her to change them despite her repeated attempts to convince him she wasn’t interested.
As soon as she saw Remy’s name on the text, elation won over. She read his note. Sorry I didn’t text sooner. Today has been crazy. I’ll meet you at the building at 5:30 this evening.
Sounds good, she replied, and after hesitating only a few seconds, she followed that up with, Can’t wait to see you. And she meant it. She was dying to see him, touch him, kiss him, and yeah, get him naked if the opportunity presented itself.
They might have spent over a week apart, but they’d had many conversations at night that had started out casual and flirty and ended up taking a steamy, provocative turn. She’d learned that Remy was really, really good at dirty talk and even better at filthier phone sex. Remembering all the sinful ways he’d told her to touch her body while imagining it was him had her squirming in her seat and her cheeks flushing warm.
“Whoa,” Elle said, the intrigued tone of her voice cutting into Tempest’s intimate thoughts. “Who is putting that naughty smile on your face?”
That got Arabella’s attention, as well, who looked up from her pasta to inspect Tempest’s features, too, before her eyes widened in glee. “Oh, my God. Elle’s right. You’re totally blushing! Who is it?”