Remi nods. “We did sensory integration therapy, and my mom got damn near militant about what kinds of clothes and bedding she purchased. I could only tolerate very soft fabrics.” A fondness melts his eyes into milk chocolate. “And she was going through all this while she was about to pop with the twins.”
“I love that she didn’t give up.”
“She’s pretty amazing. I guess she could have just let me run around naked for the rest of my life, but that would have severely limited my career options.”
A laugh bursts from me, and he joins in. “You could be known as Remington Hale, The Naked CEO.”
“Probably would have just become a stripper,” he chuckles,waggling his eyebrows. “I probably could have become a billionaire a lot faster.”
“And god help the women of Houston,” I quip.
Remi’s face turns serious. “I know people probably think I’m weird or maybe just snotty for insisting on certain fabrics.”
“You’re not weird,” I insist, pinching my eyebrows together. “Even people without SPD prefer certain textures or fabrics. I actually picked out these gloves because the leather felt like butter.” I stroke my fingers over one of his hands.
He lifts his other hand and drags his fingers over his cheek. “It really does.” Then he reaches for me and smooths the backs of his gloved knuckles down my cheek. “Does that feel good, Mindy?” His voice is a seductive rasp that has my thighs clenching together.
Meeting his molten gaze, I nod. “It feels incredible.”
I’m locked in with him, eye to eye, and our mouths are only a couple inches apart. The temperature in the room seems to skyrocket to volcanic levels as he mesmerizes me with his fingers and his thickly lashed brown eyes.
And then there’s a knock at the door.
We jerk apart like someone threw a porcupine at our heads, and Remi leaps off the couch, straightening his jacket.
“That’s, um…” He clears his throat. “That’s probably Antonio with your other present.”
I blink myself out of the daze I’d been in, the words taking a moment to sink it. “Other present?”
He doesn’t answer, instead striding toward the door and swinging it open. “Hey, thanks for bringing this.”
“Of course,” comes the lovely Irish accent a second before the man wheels in a dolly holding three wrapped boxes. “Ahhh, good morning, Mindy.”
“Hi, Antonio. What is all this?” My eyes dart to the stunning purse already on the table.
“Just a little something from the two of us,” Remi answers, a smug look on his face.
I can feel two lines form between my eyebrows. “For me?”
“Of course for you, lass,” Antonio confirms, rolling the gifts toward the lounge.
I stand. “Wait, I have something for you too.” Skirting around the large boxes as they begin to unload them, I call over my shoulder, “Don’t anyone split their pants while I’m gone.”
The big driver and security guard snorts. “Not me you need to be worried about.”
Returning a few seconds later, I see Antonio holding one of Remi’s hands, feeling the glove he’s still wearing. “They are really soft. Just beautiful workmanship,” Antonio is saying.
“Uhhh, do you two need a moment alone?” I ask. “I could come back later.”
I’m met with a glare from Remi, but it holds no anger. I’m getting better at deciphering his looks.
I hand over a box neatly wrapped in green paper to Antonio. “It’s just a little something I thought you might like.”
The man blushes—literally blushes—and it’s the cutest thing ever. “Well, uh, thank you, Mindy. Can I open it?”
“No, she wants you to carry around a wrapped box for the rest of your life,” Remi snarks.
“Of course you can open it,” I say, shooting my boss a look.
