“Igot everything,” Remi scoffed as Brick methodically checked each kitchen cabinet.
With a smirk, he reached into the cabinet above the refrigerator and produced a two-inch flat brush and an unopened box of Marshmallow Munchies.
“Shit.”
His mouth curved in wry amusement, making her heart trip over itself. Was there anything sexier in this world than a smirking Brick Callan in uniform? She still couldn’t believe that the burly, bearded, bartending cop was all hers.
Since the official exchange of the “I love yous” something had shifted inside her. She was still terrified for Camille, still concerned about what Warren had planned for them both. But she felt…lighter. More hopeful.
They both had been careful not to talk about “the future,” what would happen after “things” were resolved. No long-term plans beyond what they would bring to Darius and Ken’s place for dinner.
There was too much standing between them and a cleared field to consider options that weren’t real yet. Remi didn’t know whether she wanted to stay in Chicago or on Mackinac. She didn’t know if she’d have a career to rebuild.
And she didn’t want to talk about options with a man who’d been abandoned before. A man who’d finally found a home here.
She appreciated the view when Brick bent to look under the sink, his uniform pants doing wonders for that spectacular ass of his.
He straightened and winked when he caught her admiring glance. “Cleaners will be here in a few. We should probably get out of their way.”
She glanced around at the tidy living space, the tall windows looking out over miles of water. It was April, and Agnes’s first reservation was arriving next week, effectively ending Remi’s tenure at the cottage.
“I’m going to miss this place,” she mused.
Brick slid the handle of the paintbrush into the back pocket of her jeans. “You’re not going far,” he reminded her.
There were a handful of semi-permanent lodging options for her to choose from. Topping the list were snagging a room at the Grand Hotel or moving back into her parents’ house. Kimber’s guest room had been considered and discarded after spending an entire pancake breakfast watching Kyle and Kimber take turns pulling each other into the laundry room to continue an argument that sounded older than either of their children.
“Thanks for letting me crash at your place for a few days until I decide,” Remi said, toying with a button on his shirt.
“About that,” he said, crossing his arms. There was a cocky confidence in his stance that she’d noticed more often recently.
“Having second thoughts?” she asked. She was already in the studio all the time, relearning her way around a canvas. Any time not spent painting or with Brick working, they were cooking, lounging, banging, or sleeping. Mostly at his place. Despite that, moving in together—no matter how temporarily—was still a big deal.
“I am,” he said briskly.
Ouch.
“Uh. Oh. I totally get it. I can stay at my parents’ place,” she said. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been looking forward to sharing a roof with the man. Not until it was taken off the table.
He fisted a hand in her hoodie and pulled her to her toes. “I don’t want you crashing with me. I want you living with me.”
Her mouth fell open, and she couldn’t quite remember how jaw muscles worked to close it. “Uhhh.”
He shot her a bemused look. “You okay?”
“Uhhh.”
His grin incinerated her panties. “Baby, I want you with me. Every night, every day. I want to come home and find you covered in paint in the studio or naked in the tub, or crying over John Wayne movies.”
“Live with as in…not get a hotel room?” Clarification felt essential at the moment.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“Is this because of the articles?”
A series of news articles and blog posts had popped up earlier that week with unnamed sources hinting that Alessandra Ballard had attacked the good senator in the hospital after the accident. So far, neither Camille nor Warren had commented on the speculation.
“Vorhees is a factor,” Brick admitted. “But not the only one. Not even the most important one.”
“What’s the most important one?” A lot was riding on his answer.
“I can’t stand to be any farther from you than I have been. So unless you want to rent a room from a next-door neighbor, I want you home with me. Every night.”
She couldn’t process this fast enough. He had shifted gears on her. He’d gone from slow and steady and punched it into overdrive without any warning.
“Your studio is there. I’m there. Magnus loves you. I love you. What the hell are we waiting for?”
Remi rubbed a hand over her chest. “This feels kind of sudden.”
On a chuckle, he dropped his forehead to hers. “Baby, it’s been almost fifteen years.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed. Too often, the man chose “the right thing” over the thing he wanted.
“Say, yes, Remi,” he growled.
She could see it. Planting roots, for the next few weeks at least. They could test the waters. Together.
“Okay. Yes.”
“Good girl.” He looked smug in his victory, and it made her happy to know she’d made him happy. “Now, let’s get the rest of your stuff moved.”
She squealed with delight when he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into the sunshine and across the street.
Fifteen minutes later, Brick’s cell phone rang, provoking a frustrated growl. He pulled back from Remi’s mouth, leaving her breathless, perched on the kitchen counter. His expression hardened when he glanced at the screen.
“It’s my dad. I need to take this.”
“Your dad?” She blinked. As far as she had known, Brick’s relationship with his father was non-existent.
“He’s been keeping an eye on Vorhees for me when he’s in Chicago.”
The man had repaired a relationship with his estranged father to help keep her friend safe. Overwhelmed and stupidly in love, she grabbed Brick by the shirt and kissed him hard. “I love you.”
He groaned and took a step back. “Finish this when I get back from my shift?”
They’d never be finished exploring each other, tasting each other. Devouring each other.
She nodded and blew him another kiss.
He winked, mouthed “behave,” and walked out, leaving her swooning after him.
She was still in mid-swoon when her own phone rang a few minutes later.
“Raj,” she said, answering the video call. “What can I do for my favorite agent?”
“Are you drunk?” He looked both over-the-top and dapper in a crushed velvet sport coat in amethyst.
“Nope. Just happy,” she said, hopping off the counter.
“You know what would make me happy?” He pulled off his glasses and polished them.
“I shudder at the possibilities.” She headed into the studio, knowing exactly why he’d called.
“I’d be happy if my client was painting something I could sell.”
“Excuse me. I hope you’re more understanding about personal crises with your other clients who haven’t yet fired you.”
“And she’s back to mean,” Rajesh said with satisfaction. “Tell me you’ve at least picked up a freaking brush.”
She’d done more than that. Slowly but surely, she’d begun to forge a path back to her art. In Chicago, she’d painted nearly every day. Here, with a large, manly distraction constantly in her periphery, she’d started to settle into a new routine. One that could accommodate her aggressive sex-having schedule.
“I’ve got two pieces for you to look at,” she told her agent.
“About fucking time, dude.”
“Bite me.” The man was a pain in the ass, but he “got” her. And her art. He had an eye for what was great and what was an imitation of great. She turned the camera around so he could see the painting.
“Burn it,” he announced.
She rolled her eyes. “Ass!”
He was right, of course. It was sloppy. The colors were off, and she’d overdone it, not trusting her instincts that told her when the piece was finished.
“Hey, if you want your hand held, go get a different agent. If you want a motherfucking avalanche of dolla bills, stick with me. I’ll tell you when a piece says ‘badass baller.’ Next.”
Early on in their relationship, she’d once broken a canvas over his head. He’d worn the wood frame like a laurel around his neck while he told her the next piece made her a goddamn genius.
“Fine. Here’s the other piece,” she said, moving the camera. This one was a bigger painting. Pastels in yellow and pink mixed with navy blue on a milky background. She’s painted it to violinist Tim Fain’s “Freedom” in a weekend while Brick had back-to-back shifts at the bar and station.
“Now that’s baller, dude. I can sell the shit out of that.”
“Really?” Remi couldn’t quite hide the swift rush of pride.
“Shut up. You know it’s good. Gimmie. Send it A-SAP.”
“You realize that packages are delivered by horses here, right?”
“Dude, I don’t care if you send it to me by orphaned carrier pigeons. Get it here fast before everyone forgets who the hell you are.” He kicked back and draped his arm over the back of a sofa. Her sofa.
“Are you at my place again?”
“Your casa is my casa,” he said affably.
“No. My casa is my casa.”
“Eh. My Wi-Fi went out at home today. I’m borrowing yours on my way to some happy hour thing for the Arts Council. When did you say you were coming back again?”
She hadn’t, and he knew it. “I still have some things to work out first.”
“Be tee dubs. I’m sending you two hundred prints.”
“Why?”
“Because we sold out of signed prints. Warm up that wrist, man.”
“I thought people were forgetting who I am? Don’t these people know I’m toxic?” She’d hidden her reaction as best she could from Brick. But the last round of bad press had stung. Like a thousand pissed-off hornets.
“Britney Spears still sold records after she shaved her head. But she also kept working.”
“I am.”
“Good. Show me what’s on the easel,” he demanded.
“Not happening.” Her gaze flicked to the painting in question. She was dabbling with “No Surprises” again. Revisiting the accident in oils between other projects. She still cried when she listened to the song. But it was a cleaner kind of purging. A purification almost.
The doorbell echoed from the front of the house. “I gotta go, Raj. Someone’s here.”
“Put the painting on the Pony Express. I’ll send you the prints.”
“Deal. Bye.”
She stashed her phone in her pocket and jogged to the front door, where she found Kimber pacing on the porch.
“I told Kyle I want a divorce,” she announced. Her shoulders were ramrod straight, jaw set. One lonely tear slid down her cheek.
Wordlessly, Remi opened her arms, and her big sister walked into them.
“Do you remember way back when you asked me to move in?” Remi said into her phone as she pulled the bedroom door closed behind her, shutting out the happy chatter of Hadley and Ian, whose hearts were about to be crushed.
“It sounds vaguely familiar,” Brick said dryly.
“How would you feel about having a few more house guests?”
She quickly filled him in on the situation.
“Remington, you know they’re welcome to stay as long as they want,” he said.
“You’re being awfully amicable. You didn’t even try to get any sexual favors out of me in return.”
When he didn’t laugh or growl as she’d expected, she knew something was wrong.
“What’s going on, Brick? Was it something with your dad?”
He cleared his throat, making her even more anxious. “Dad saw Camille leave the house today and followed her. He noticed she was limping—”
“That fucking monster,” Remi snarled. If Warren had started up again, there was no telling how far it would go this time.
“He got some pictures of her. It’s hard to tell, but it looked like she had some bruising on her neck.”
“Brick.” Her voice broke. “We need to get her out of there.”
“I know, baby. I know. We’ll figure this out. Dad couldn’t get near her. She had a security goon with her. So he followed them from a distance. She’s at some event for an art organization.”
Her grip tightened on the phone until her knuckles ached. “The Arts Council?”
“Yeah. Are you familiar with it?”
“She’s on the board.” Her mind was already a million miles away.
“Listen, we’re getting ready to take the MMR out to shake the dust off her,” Brick said. The Mackinac Marine Rescue was a thirty-one-foot rescue boat operated by the island and crewed by a team of volunteers. “How about we swing by, and the kids can wave from the boardwalk?”
“That’s sweet of you. They’d love that,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Remi.”
“I’m okay. I’m fine. We’ll talk when you come home…to a full house.”
He sighed, and she knew he hated leaving her upset.
“Brick. I’m okay. I’m just worried.”
“I know.”
“Thanks for letting my sister stay. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, his voice low. “We should be out on the water in about half an hour, okay?”
“We’ll be looking for you.”
She disconnected and thumbed to her call log.
“Raj? I need a favor.”
“Alessandra, how’s the new piece?” he bellowed.
“Stop trying to get attention and start paying attention. I have an emergency, and you’re the only one who can help.”
“Tell me more,” he said around what she assumed was a mouthful of party appetizers.
“Camille Vorhees is there. I need you to get past her security and give her your phone.”
“No way, man. I just got it last week.”
“Not to keep. To talk to me.”
“That’s a stupid idea. I don’t know what went down with you two because you won’t tell me, but there’s no way this is going to do anything good for your rep.”
“I don’t care about my rep or how many cocktail shrimp you can fit in your mouth at once—”
“Actually, it’s sushi.”
“I need you to do this for me.”
“Fine. But if I get punched out by Mount Saint Helens in a suit for my troubles, you’re subletting your place to me.”
“Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Just do it. And be cool. Try not to get punched for once in your life.”
“Whatever.”
Remi gnawed on her thumbnail and waited as she listened to the background noises of a typical fundraising event. Just like one of the dozens she’d attended with Camille.
“Camille!” she heard Raj say. Her heart started to pound. This was the closest she’d been since the hospital. The sound was muffled, and she couldn’t make out anything that was being said.
Nearly a minute went by. Long enough for Remi to feel like she was going to barf.
“Hello?”
Relief crashed over her like a tidal wave. “Camille?”
“Remi? What are you doing? This isn’t safe.”
“I know. I just. Are you okay? Do you need help getting out?”
“I’m flattered,” Camille said brightly. “I’ll be happy to make an introduction between you and the designer.”
“Is your security there?” Remi asked.
“Yes, of course,” Camille said.
“I don’t know how to reach you. I’m on Mackinac. Warren said if I didn’t stay away—”
“My husband certainly appreciates your support.”
“How do I get you out?” Remi hissed.
“I need a moment,” Camille said to someone else, and Remi could imagine her friend pulling the Ice Queen routine with her security. “Remi, you can’t do this. You can’t make any kind of contact. It’s not safe.”
“You need to get out. Come to Mackinac. We can keep you safe. We can figure out a way to nail him for the accident. I know he’s hurting you again.”
“Hurting me doesn’t earn him a lifetime behind bars,” Camille whispered.
“Then what would? There’s got to be something. Give me something to look into and get the hell out of there.”
“Warren and I appreciate your generosity,” she said a little louder. “He’s looking forward to re-election. I’ll give you back to Rajesh now.”
And with that, her friend was gone.
Twenty minutes later, Remi stood behind her niece and nephew on the boardwalk that overlooked the lake as Brick and his crew maneuvered the Marine Rescue closer to shore. The kids, still a little unsteady from Kimber’s announcement that they’d be staying with Uncle Brick and Aunt Remi for a bit while their mom and dad figured some things out, waved.
A glum-looking Mega plopped his butt on the boardwalk and leaned against Remi’s legs.
The feeling that she’d just made a very dangerous mistake clung to her like a fog.
When Brick lumbered through the front door at midnight, she was waiting for him.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, not bothering to shed his coat. “What happened? Are the kids okay?”
Remi swallowed. “I think I fucked up.”
He gripped her shoulders, ice in his eyes. “Talk.”
To his credit, Brick restrained himself—barely—from murdering her while she explained.
He had his back to her, his hands on hips. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with the breaths he took to calm down. And for some reason, it made her feel safer.
“Remington, what you did was…” His voice was deceptively calm.
“Stupid and irresponsible. Believe me, I know. But I talked to her, Brick.”
He turned to face her when her voice broke, his jaw tightening when he saw her face.
When he traced a thumb over her cheek, she nuzzled into the touch. He hissed out a breath. “I hate how you can make me feel like strangling you and holding you at the same time.”
“I’m sorry. I’m scared, Brick. She sounded…I don’t know. Resigned? Like there wasn’t any fight left in her.” She broke away from him, but he caught her wrists and pulled her back into his heat, into his hard body.
“Tell me again what she said. Exactly what she said,” he ordered.
