It had been a long, shitty day.
She spent the morning in her parents’ basement when Darlene and Gilbert forced their daughters to prime and seal the cinderblock walls. Apparently adult children could indeed be punished by their parents.
Kimber had barely spoken a word to her for four straight hours.
After that, Remi had gone straight to the island’s medical center, where Dr. Sarah Ferrin had asked about how many vegetables she’d eaten that week and then cut off her cast. It should have been a celebration, the end of healing, the return to normal. But normal still eluded her.
She’d gone straight to Brick’s house, and the brush she’d held in her good hand had pulled a Brick Callan and done not a damn thing.
It was depressing. Her past had caught up to her. Her present was a dismal tightrope routine with nowhere to go but down. And at this point, her future was non-existent.
It was as if she’d just walked into a giant pit of quicksand and then let it swallow her whole. She was creatively, physically, mentally stuck. And she hated it.
Sweaty and dejected, she turned off Radiohead’s “No Surprises” and switched over to a relaxing instrumental playlist. She forced herself to put brush to paper, finally managing to swirl a few oils around in what looked more like brush technique exercises than any real exercise of creativity.
“This is bullshit,” she bitched at the canvas.
“Know what else is bullshit?”
“Mary J. Blige! Spence, what the fuck are you doing here besides giving me a heart attack?” Spencer Callan was sitting on one of her work tables, eating ice cream out of the carton.
“It’s March 1.”
“You’re kidding. Right?”
He shook his head and shoveled in another mouthful of ice cream. “It’s March 1, and we’re both here.”
“No. I’m not good company right now,” she warned him.
“Good company or not. You’re coming with me.”
“I’m not speaking to your brother.”
“He’s gonna be so busy he won’t even notice you’re there,” Spencer said, sliding off the table. He peeked at her canvas and frowned. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s garbage just like the rest of my life,” she grumbled, swiping the painting off the easel like a bad-tempered cat.
“Self-pity is a new look on you,” he observed. “Want to see something that will cheer you up?”
He pulled out his phone.
“Unless it’s that pit bull in the bathtub wearing a shower cap, no.”
“Here’s Brick when I hand-delivered his new machine today.” Spence swiped through his photos. “That’s his surprised face. I only point that out because it looks a lot like his pissed-off face.”
Remi’s lips quirked. It was very, very difficult to stay self-pitying and mad around Spencer.
He swiped again. “This is when he realized the giant bow on it meant it was for him. And then here’s his face when I told him you bought it for him.”
Remi snorted. In the picture, Brick looked as if he was about to punch a hole through Spencer’s phone.
“You chipped in,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but it was funnier to tell him this way.”
She had to agree. “What was his reaction?”
“Claimed he wasn’t going to accept it. I called bullshit and moved it into the yard, and I caught him doing this right before he left for his shift.” He showed her the last picture of Brick sitting astride the shiny red and white snowmobile, hands gripping the handlebars, a fierce frown on his handsome face.
“I think we can consider our debt paid,” she said.
“Which is why you’re coming out with me,” Spencer insisted.
“Ugh. Fine. But if your brother picks a fight with me, I’m not backing down.”
“I’d be disappointed if you did. You might want to shower first.”
While not a national holiday, March 1 had special significance on Mackinac. It meant only another month of long, dreary winter before the seasonal workers and tourists began to return to the island in April. The Tiki Tavern made a tradition of celebrating the first with a boozy country Caribbean mash-up party that ran from opening until close.
By the time Remi arrived on Spencer’s arm, the place was packed with people. It was wall-to-wall Hawaiian shirts and flannels. Despite the chaos, Brick still looked up from the bar when she walked in, his gaze locking on hers like a heat-seeking missile. Like he’d been waiting for her to walk in.
It hit her like a shockwave. The realization that no matter what they decided, or how they acted toward each other, there was something branded in their DNA that would always recognize the other. She would always feel that shiver of awareness when he was in the room.
“Well, if it isn’t Little Remi Ford,” someone beckoned her from across the room.
“I’ll go get us drinks,” Spencer said in her ear and made his way toward the bar.
Remi pretended to throw herself into socializing, catching up with two classmates, her old history teacher, and Kimber’s next-door neighbor, who apologized for calling the cops on their argument. She wondered how long she could stay before disappointing Spencer and heading home to mope.
Spencer returned with two bright yellow drinks and a beer, and they made themselves at home in the corner using the windowsill as a table. “Brick said not to let you drink too much,” Spencer reported.
That fucking guy.
“Did he tell you about Mom?” Spencer asked.
Remi shook her head. Brick rarely mentioned either parent. “What about her?”
“Says she wants to come for a visit this summer. Stay at the hotel, get the whole island experience.”
“She’s never been here before, has she?” Remi asked.
Spencer shook his head and waved across the bar at someone. “Never. I catch up with her once a year or so. We meet up in a city for a long weekend or whatever. But Brick hasn’t seen her in years. I don’t think he ever forgave her for leaving. Or maybe he never forgave himself for being so hurt when she left.”
Remi winced, not wanting to think about Brick or Brick being a human under his disciplined, grumpy, hard-bodied exterior.
“How old were you guys when she left?” she asked as Spencer tugged at the label on his bottle.
“I was ten. Brick was almost eighteen. He was gonna do the military thing after high school but changed his mind when she left. He didn’t trust Dad to take care of me.”
Remi reached out and gripped his shoulder. “It’s a good thing he stuck with you. Otherwise you two might not have ended up here, and we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to sink your brother’s snowmobile.”
He smirked. “It’s funny how things work out.”
“How’s your dad these days?” she asked.
“Good. Real good. Started his own business. Seems to be keeping out of trouble with the law. We talk a lot. I think he’s trying to make up for all the Before years.”
Remi’s gaze slid to the bar where Brick and Darius were working the taps in tandem. “Does Brick talk to him?”
“Nah. He wrote Dad off before the prison door slammed shut on him. In Brick’s mind, both our parents up and left us. I was always glad he had your family. Your mom was the one who talked him into applying for the force.”
Remi nodded. “I remember. Good crowd tonight,” she said, changing the subject.
“I thought maybe Audrey would come back for the first,” Spencer said, his eyes flicking to the door.
“Hey, how come you two never got together?”
“Me and Audrey?” His shock was 100 percent fake.
“You had a crush on her in high school,” she pointed out.
“That was just kid stuff,” he insisted, taking a giant swallow of his drink. “Is that Travis Mailer over there? I’ll be right back.”
Remi watched him run away from her question. She was just reaching for her drink when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
It was a text from Brick. She thought about ignoring it, then decided she was wasting too much energy and opened it.
It was a link to a news article, and she nearly spit her drink out when she read the headline.
Senator’s wife holds ‘no ill-will’ toward artist that caused accident.
With shaking hands, she opened the article and skimmed it.
“Camille Vorhees…recently released from the hospital…”
“I hold no ill-will toward Alessandra Ballard for causing the accident. The tragic events have made me even more grateful for my husband and the life we’re blessed to lead. We are both happy she is getting the help she needs and hope everyone will respect her privacy at this time.”
There was a photo of Camille in front of the fireplace in the library of her Chicago home, looking hauntingly fragile in an ivory sheath. Somehow she made being on crutches look elegant.
Dizzy and sick. Oddly relieved. Her body started to shake, her teeth chattered.
The press of the crowd was too much. The music too loud. She needed a moment to breathe. Weaving her way through tables and warm bodies, she veered off down the hallway toward the restrooms.
She’d sneak up to the second floor and have her meltdown in private. The office door opened just as she was walking past it. Brick filled the doorway, and her feet rooted to the floor. He looked furious. But she didn’t want to deal with this. With him.
She shook her head and forced her feet into motion. But she didn’t make it a second step past him. His hand closed around her wrist with a stinging grip, and she found herself being yanked back into the office. He used her own body to force the door shut before pinning her to the wood with his hips.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demanded.
“Now is not a good time,” she hissed.
“You’re shaking like a fucking leaf. Why is your friend saying that bullshit about you?” He crowded her against the door, using his body to absorb her tremors. “Talk to me.”
He believed her. He believed her over Camille, over what everyone else would be saying, the rumors that would be flying. He believed her. For some reason, that faith made her want to cry.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both. She has her reasons. You need to leave me alone, Brick. We’ve done this dance before.” She hated that the weight of his body against hers instantly made her feel calmer, safer.
“Why? So you can date my brother?” Now he didn’t look furious. He looked miserable as pain bloomed in those sharp blue eyes.
“For Pete’s sake, Brick. Spence is like a brother to me. And not in the way you keep pretending to think of me as a sister. But you don’t get to tell me you don’t want to be with me and then throw a fit when I end up with someone else.”
He bared his teeth at her, and she half expected him to take a bite out of her. Instead he shifted gears. “Are you just going to let everyone believe you were the one driving that night?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
He shook his head slowly. “The Remi I know would have that woman by the lady balls and crying for a teddy bear for lying. So I repeat. What the fuck is going on? Why aren’t you burning down her world right now?”
The laugh she tried to force came out as a half sob. “This doesn’t concern you. Leave it the fuck alone.”
He muttered something under his breath about murder, and Remi looked at him. Really looked at him.
“You really do believe me, don’t you?”
He looked annoyed. “I know when you’re lying.”
“Yeah. When I was eighteen. But I could have gotten better at it. I could be a different person. One you don’t know,” she pushed.
“I know that if you fucked up like that, you’d move heaven and earth to make it right. You’d have confessed on the scene, demanded a breathalyzer, and put yourself in the back of a squad car if you thought you put your friend in the hospital.”
She slumped against him, anger mixing with something more primal. “I did put her in the hospital,” she hissed. “Just because I wasn’t behind the wheel doesn’t mean I wasn’t responsible.”
“Your so-called friend is trying to ruin you, and you’re still worried about protecting her. What would happen if I talked to her?”
Remi felt the color drain from her face. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and held on. He went hard against her, his erection swelling behind his jeans. “Don’t you dare try to get involved in any way. Do you hear me?”
“You expect me to just stand by and ignore the fact that you’re in some kind of fucking trouble?”
“Yes! That is exactly what I expect you to do! Because you can’t have it both ways. You can’t be my keeper and keep me at arm’s length. You can’t protect me from the big, bad world while protecting yourself from me!”
She’d never known want like this. Never been able to put a label on the desire she’d always had where Brick was concerned. But being pinned to the door by the pissed off, barely restrained giant, she finally had the word for it. She wanted to be dominated, wanted him to trust her enough to take everything he needed to give. She wanted to push him past those stalwart limits so he would finally take what he wanted.
She needed those vibrations shuddering through his body to ruin his walls, release that white-knuckled control, and set him free. His erection swelled, rigid and straining behind the fly of his jeans. She ached for him. And hoped like hell he was in the same pain.
“Now unless you plan to use that dick for what it was intended, back the fuck off,” she said, her voice low and shaking.
“I’m not good for you, baby,” he said. “I wouldn’t be gentle or sweet. I’d be mean, rough. And you deserve—”
“If you say that I deserve better than to be fucked exactly the way I want to be fucked, then clearly you’re not the man for the job.”
His eyes narrowed to slits, and Remi wondered if this was the time that he’d make good on all those threats to murder her. His entire body was bunched and trembling as if ready to spring.
One thing was clear. Brick wasn’t keeping his distance now.
As if reading her mind, he thrust his hips against her, pressing that hard, denim-covered cock against her, making her whimper. The tendons in his neck stood out beneath his beard as he gritted his teeth and growled.
It wasn’t enough for either of them. When he dipped his knees to press against her center, when he rammed himself between her legs, her head fell back against the door. Again. Again. Again. Desire choked her as her inner walls fluttered, desperate to be part of the brutality of his thrusts.
He stopped just as abruptly as he’d begun, but this time with his hips wedged between her thighs. His cock pulsing between them, his breath ragged.
Her pulse was racing, and she was hot, light-headed.
How had he never kissed her? How had they touched so intimately, shared so much vulnerability, yet his mouth had never taken hers? What would it be like to breathe his air? To feel the stroke of his tongue? To taste his words?
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. Their eyes locked, but neither of them moved. They were trapped just a few steps outside the real world. Here in this cramped, dark office, they didn’t have the rules that existed on the other side of the door.
“What would I find if I slid my fingers into your panties right now?”
Her mouth went dry, and the insistent throb between her legs became a frantic drumbeat.
“Why don’t you find out?”
He fisted a hand in her hair, dragging her head back. He leaned in closer until their lips were a breath apart. “That fucking mouth, Remi.”
She let out a tiny, ridiculous whimper.
Oh, God. This wasn’t happening. This was one of those fantasies. One of those dreams she’d wake up from and realize Brick Callan was never going to touch her the way she wanted him to.
“Would you be wet?” His whisper was harsh, making her nipples tighten. “And if you were, would it be for me? Or someone else?”
Her eyelids were too heavy to stay open. She felt drugged and dreamlike, being held like this by him.
“These are the questions I ask myself every fucking day. I can’t concentrate when you’re around. When I know you’re just across the street. Just across the dinner table. Just across the bar.”
Her entire body was trembling against his. She needed him. Needed more than what he was willing to give her.
“Every day, you lure me a little closer. And one day, I’m not going to be strong enough to step back.”
“Then stop stepping back.”
One of his fingers toyed with the zipper of her jeans. Brushing lightly over it.
“There are rules, Remi.”
“I’m not a teenager. I’m not dating your little brother. You’re not married.”
“Your mother is my boss.”
“You want my mom’s okay before you’ll stick your dick in me? We’re both adults, Brick. We don’t need a permission slip!”
His hand abandoned her zipper and coasted up her sweater to rest just under her breast. Her nipple strained against the confines of her bra, needing his touch. She was shaking again. But this time, it wasn’t from fear.
“I don’t want to know what you feel like from the inside if you’re just going to pack up and leave. I don’t want to watch you walk away knowing what you taste like between those fucking thighs. I don’t want to say good-bye to you knowing what my come looks like spread over your perfect goddamn tits.”
Her knees gave out on her right then and there. But she didn’t fall. Because once again, Brick Callan caught her.
“How the hell should I know if or when I’m leaving? And why does that give you the right to torture me?”
“You aren’t hearing me, Remi. If I got anywhere near that sweet pussy of yours, I would punish you for making me wait so damn long. I’d discipline you for wanting to leave me. You’re safer if I never touch you. And so am I.”
As he said the words, his cock flexed between them.
She was shaking now. He’d put voice to it. Her deepest, darkest desire. He wanted to dominate her. The thought of it, the thought of that big, hard man bending her over and…
“Show me.”
He flinched, and she saw his jaw tighten as his throat worked. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Test me. Show me how you’d punish me. How you’d make me apologize for all those lonely hard-ons I’ve left you with. All those times you had to get yourself off because you just couldn’t help it. Show me.”
She wanted, craved, needed to know what it felt like to have him powering into her, making her come.
“Never.” His whisper was jagged, broken. And it sliced her into ribbons.
“Then I guess you’re never gonna know what you’d find if you forgot about your dumbass rules long enough to slide that hand between my legs.”
His growl was a warning that she was pushing him too far. There was nothing she wanted more than to push him even harder.
“If you wanted me like that, nothing would stand in your way. Nothing would stop you from taking me and giving me what I want. So don’t stand there and act so conflicted when you’re more concerned with what other people would think if you got off your high horse and fucked me.”
She shoved at his big, broad chest. Soft flannel over hard muscle. He didn’t move an inch. Dear God, that turned her on. She was well on the road to humiliating herself and needed to take a hard detour before she threw herself at his feet and begged him to take her hard and mean. Just this once.
“Back the fuck up, Brick. You’ve said your piece. I’ve said mine. I’ll just go back to pretending you don’t exist. And you can go back to wondering just how wet I get. Just how hard you’d have to work to get all the way inside me. How tight I’d squeeze you when I come.”
He pulled her hair hard and snarled something unintelligible, but she wasn’t about to be intimidated.
“For the rest of your life, you can comfort yourself that you’ll never know. Congratulations on your sky-high morals, Brick Callan.”
“Fuck.”
In one swift move, he swung her around and bent her over the desk. One hand gripped the back of her neck. The other rested on the curve of her ass, fingers flexing into her flesh.
Her thighs quaked with anticipation.
She wanted this. Wanted what he was fighting his instincts to do. She wanted to be the one to push him too far and to take everything he had to give.
The hand on her bottom vanished, and in her mind’s eye, she could see him hauling back, ready to strike. But the slap didn’t come. Tears, hot and suffocating, blurred her vision. If Brick couldn’t give this to her, she’d never have it.
What was so wrong with her that he couldn’t give her what they both wanted?
He was breathing like a stallion behind her. She wished for his chest at her back, belt buckle digging into her skin above the waistband of her jeans. But he made no move to touch her. To take her.
“Sorry, Brick. The only man who gets to slap this ass is the one who’s going to fuck me.”
Both hands tightened on her for a second. Just long enough to give her hope that he was finally going to let her win. That he was going to shove down her jeans and ride her right here until they both came.
She was so wet she was sure he could see it through her jeans. The denim was going to freeze to her crotch on the long, lonely walk home.
Carefully, as if she were made of glass, he removed his hands. He stepped around her, putting the desk between them. His thick, swollen cock strained behind his fly, hands clenched at his side.
At least this time, it was his breath that was ragged. It was a small, pointless victory.
Remi straightened away from the desk. She didn’t look at him as she tugged the hem of her sweater down. “That was your last chance, Brick. I hope you don’t regret it.”
He didn’t say a fucking word as she marched out of the office without a backward glance.
