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I looked down into her face.
Her eyes flew open, and she screamed…
“Come on in.” I stand in the doorway so she has to brush past my chest.
Just that slight touch sends a jolt through us both.
Remi glances up, her hair tickling my jaw. Our eyes lock and she lifts her chin like she’s threatening me…or daring me to kiss her again.
I stare at her mouth for a long moment.
“Bathroom’s over there.” I point.
When she closes the door, she doesn’t bother to run the water or the fan, so I hear the distinct sound of her hot piss hitting the bowl. My cock hardens.
The creak of her sneakers on the floorboards turns me on. Her jeans rasp against her legs as she pulls them up, an unspeakably intimate sound.
I slip back into the living room while she washes her hands. She reemerges, pressing her thumb and index fingers into the inside corners of her eyes.
“Thanks.” She heads for the exit, not looking at me.
I step in front of her so her face meets my chest, knocking her off balance. I grab the outsides of her arms to steady her.
“You okay to swing a hammer after that drink? I don’t want to have to stitch the other leg.”
That’s a lie—I’ll happily put my hands on any part of her.
Remi shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
Another lie.
“You need coffee.”Shut up, idiot.I’ve been looking forward to watching Remi sweat and bend in my yard for two whole days, and now I’m undermining my own plan.
She opens her mouth to decline, but a wave of exhaustion must have rolled over her. She sighs and sinks down on my couch instead.
“Okay, you convinced me.”
I leave her there while I brew a fresh pot. Less than a minute passes before the sofa creaks as she heaves herself up so she can peek around at my shelves. I give her plenty of time to snoop, silently berating myself in the kitchen.
What the fuck am I doing?
She makes me so impulsive.
Remi is an agent of chaos. All women are—but her more than most.
Everything about her is wrong and not what I like. But that’s exactly what keeps me craving her, like sour and spice.
My cock is halfway hard in my pants. It’s been that way from the moment I heard her Bronco rumbling down the road.
I press down with my palm, squeezing against its low, hot ache.
When I carry out the mugs, Remi’s pulling books off my shelves again. She struggles to look and not touch.
She liftsThe Lotus Sutra.“You meditate?”
“Every day.”
“Really.”
