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I don’t need his touch, his attention. I’m an independent woman, forged in the darkness. Agonizing over the weight of him, his smell, his cocky grin—none of this is me. And yet, here I am, letting him occupy my mind. He’s already crawled under my skin, and I don’t know how to feel about the fact that I kind of like him there.
After floating a while, I still have too much energy to burn, still feel a longing inside me that I can’t ignore, so I swim laps. The pool is huge, but I swim back and forth until I’m breathless and tired enough that my mind is no longer obsessing over the dip of his hips. I paddle over to the waterfall, pulling my hair loose from its tie and let the water flood over me, washing away the anxiety and uncertainty and anything else that dares cling to me at this point.
I fought the better part of an hour to get everything off of my mind, to still the chaos inside of me, and now I’m so at ease that I feel like I could drift off to sleep just like this. I don’t think about anything, don’t know if I’m awake or in the early stages of sleep. Like this, I just exist without anything else. No pain, no fear, no chaos, or desire, or hunger.
The sound of a car door closing steals my peace in the space of a second, and I go rigid as I stop to consider the sound. It’s too close to be from the driveway at the front of the house, and behind it—behind the pool where I’ve just had my bliss ripped from me— there’s only an expanse of sand and sea.
Chills erupt over my arms as I recall the weird events from earlier in the evening. Suddenly, the sound of an approaching car feels more sinister in tandem with the lights turning off on me in the bathroom, my stolen work uniform, and the random assault at the night club.
Maybe it’s just my paranoia—a lifetime of looking over my shoulder and trusting no one. Maybe it’s the movie Rhea picked last night. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline still fluttering around in me, renewed by my shattered peace.
Whatever it is, it’s time to go inside and lock the doors.
As I’m wrapping the towel around myself, I hear it: A crack that sounds like thunder in the air.
Glass rains down around me, chunks of it skittering into the pool. I turn, trying to figure out what just happened, and am thrown to the ground in the next moment.
A substantial weight pins me to the concrete and forces the breath from my chest. I cringe into the pavers, everything spinning a little from the fall, and then look into the angry eyes of Remington Boudreaux.
He puts a finger to his lips, warning me to remain quiet, and then stays there a second, looking down at me as my chest heaves up and down. I don’t know if he’s checking to see if I’m alright or trying to make sure his point sinks in. It doesn’t matter because I’m not moving either way. I couldn’t if I tried.
He rolls his weight onto his arm as suddenly as he tackled me and stands in a single fluid motion.
I don’t even see the gun in his hand until he pulls the trigger.
Chapter ten
Claire
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I realize I’m cold. For the last couple of hours, I’ve been fighting a fire in the wake of this man’s touch, trying unsuccessfully to quell the inferno he’s awakened in me. And now it’s gone without a trace, and I’m colder than I’ve been in a long time.
Is it the feeling of his weight on me that made my blood run cold, even though I’ve been thinking about him all night? Is it the way he told me to stay quiet, miming a finger over his lips so that I get the point without him having to break the silence? My heart seizes in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because of him or the gun in his hand.
There’s an anguished cry, immediately followed by the sound of a car engine roaring to life. And then the sound recedes as it tears off down the beach. Remy watches it for a minute, his sharp eyes taking in whatever he can, and then he extends a hand like he means to pull me to my feet.
When I don’t move, he looks at me quizzically, like he’s trying to hear the things I’m not saying.
Not used to being shot at Claire? I can imagine him saying. Rookie.
He doesn’t withdraw his hand, so despite my gut twisting, I reach out and let him pull me to standing. Once I’m situated, his eyes flit over me, assessing the situation. "Are you okay?"
I raise a hand to my aching head and nod, focusing all of my energy on that throbbing pain until everything else recedes. I look at the shattered glass panel; all that remains of it is a twisted metal frame with blades of cracked glass sticking awkwardly out of it. "What happened?"
"Somebody just tried to kill you," Remy says soberly. "Lucky for you, they're a bad shot. Can't say the same for myself. I know I got him."
His words sound like they’re coming from the other end of a long tunnel. By the time they make it to me, his mouth has stopped moving. I blink, disoriented.
Someone shot at me?
My chest suddenly doesn't seem to expand enough to let me breathe anymore. "I think… I need to sit." I manage, just before my legs start to go weak.
Remy must recognize my faintness because he manages to scoop me up as soon as my legs start to give. I’m in his arms before I can hit the ground again. "Let's get inside first."
As he carries me to the house, I see where the bullet has lodged itself in the thick metal of the outdoor refrigerator. If I'd been standing a little more to the right, that bullet probably would have made itself at home in my skull. It’s a chilling thought— as if I wasn’t already cold enough.
Remy locks the door behind him easily and then props me up on the kitchen counter so that his face is level with mine. "You sure you're all right?" He asks, stepping back to take me in. His lips are pulled into a frown. "You look pretty pale."
"I..." I look around the kitchen like anything in there will help me make sense of the last five minutes. Or, for that matter, the last twelve hours. Has this really all been one day? "I don't understand what just happened."
