Real (Real #1)

Real (Real #1) Page 45

“I’d do it a thousand times for you.” He scents me. And I scent him. “A thousand. A million. I don’t care if I’m humiliated. I don’t care about anything. All I knew was you were willing to kiss that motherfucker’s ink for your sister, and I had to give her back to you.”

“Oh, Remy, you didn’t have to do anything.”

“I did. And I will. And I’d do it all over again. I’m only sorry only Pete could know. He stayed in a hotel room with her and one of Benny’s goonies, then helped me transfer her when I delivered the championship. I just couldn’t let you stop me, Brooke.”

“But you wouldn’t even look at me…” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “That was as painful as the rest of what happened.”

“If I’d looked at you, I wouldn’t have been able to through with it.” His voice is rough with conviction, and I cover my face and try not to think of the way Scorpion delighted in humiliating my proud fighter. It makes me want to fight and cry at the same time, and I shake my head.

He’s quiet.

Then, he releases me with a pained noise coming from deep within him.

He stands and paces, pushing his fingers like angry claws through his hair. “I knew this would happen.” Dark clouds darken his blue eyes from underneath drawn eyebrows. “That’s why I didn’t want to touch you. I knew I’d go crazy if I touched you, and now, it tears me open to ask you to be with me when I know I’m just going to do something to fucking hurt you again!”

“Yes! Yes you probably are, you idiot! And it’s going to be a damned skydive for me, and I’m going to hang on tight and just jump with you because that’s what you do to me. I’m crazy about you. My life now sucks without you. I’m not here for the job. Although I love it, but it’s you I want. It’s you I came for that first night. It’s always been about you. I want to be with you, but I won’t do it only on my side. I want you to love me back, Remy. You’ve never told me how you feel about me!”

His eyes are brilliant blue, and they ignite with a fire that heats my entire being.

“Brooke, you honestly don’t know?”

I stare, and he kneels on the bed and holds my face.

“Jesus, when I saw you that first night in Seattle, I felt like I’d just gotten plugged into a socket. I got high just with the way you smiled at me, Brooke. The way you looked at me with an expression of pain and awe drove me crazy. You turned away to leave, and you wore these really nice pants. Your butt was just up there as you walked away, all perky and round. And I just wanted to finish the damn fight so I could go after you. The former fight I swear I just fought for you to watch me. So you’d see me. See that I’m strong and could fight for you, protect you. I daydreamed of kissing you, of making love to you. I was planning it in my head even when I jumped out of that ring and went after you. When your friend gave me your number, I got to the hotel to find a roomful of girls, the kind Pete always has for me, and I couldn’t look at any of them. I wanted to look into your eyes and make you smile at me.

“I Googled you, saved your number in my phone, and spent all night wondering about all the ways I would fuck you when I had my hands on you. I sent you those tickets, knowing for sure, I’d have you that night. But then, I saw a video of you when I Googled you again. It was your first Olympic trials, and you were hopping away with your torn ACL and crying so damned hard, and I just wanted … you. I wanted to burn the keyboards of the idiots commenting about your life being over, about the depression that hit you. You were me. Brooke. Me. And I wanted you to go out there and show them they were idiots, and at the same time, I wanted to fucking go out there and carry you across that damned finish line. We were leaving town soon, and I just knew I had to see you more. So I hired you.”

When he confirms seeing my video, I almost break, a weakness seizing me in the knees. Instantly, I remember our first flight and how Remy was so engrossed inspecting my knee. He’d touched it almost lovingly, stroking the scar with his thumb. And how can I forget it when he toweled me off and was extra diligent with my knee, the day his fans threw eggs at me?

“I tried taking it easy with you. I wanted to know you, and for you to know me, and every day I wanted you more, Brooke. So much. I couldn’t touch you and risk messing it up until you knew about me. I wanted you to care for me. I wanted to see if you could understand me … I tortured myself every night, thinking of you in your room, while I was in mine.

“The night we went to the club, and you danced with me, I just couldn’t stop myself. I’d been so wound up. And when you knocked down two guys for me, I went crazy protective. I wanted to tuck you into bed and go back and do some serious damage to all four of them. But you stayed with me, and I forgot about fighting, and all I wanted was to have my mouth all over you. I tried to control myself, but on the plane, you killed me with those songs about making love to me. I just had to have you. The thought of having you had me so damned high, I was already drugged with it, and by the end of that fight, I was manic and high on you before I could even get you into my bed.

“And then you woke with me, and I saw that you’d cuddled with me, Brooke. Soft and sweet. The next time I was lying alone in bed, I wanted to cut open my fucking veins wanting you next to me, so I went back for you. That was all that got me through the day, those days. Thinking of getting you in my bed and kissing you breathless. I kept looking through my tunes just trying to find one that could tell you how you made me feel. Inside. I’m not good at saying this, but I wanted you to know you were special to me, you’re unlike any other woman in my life.

“You wanted me to make love to you and you don’t know how many times I almost broke down. When I showered you, I swear to god, I was breaking inside. But I couldn’t do it, not without telling you there’s something deeply wrong with me, and I’m such a coward, Brooke. I couldn’t even find the courage to say the word ‘bipolar’ to you. So, I prolonged my time with you. Because I’m selfish, and I wanted you to care before you knew. Thinking it would make a difference and you’d stay. Not even my own folks could do me long term. But something about you made me think you’d know me, understand me on a level no one else does.”

“Remy,” I breathe out.

“I was right, Brooke,” he adds in a deep, raspy whisper, holding me entranced with his words, his liquid gaze. “When I told you about me, you still wanted me. And I’ve been in love with you for I don’t know how long. Ever since you tried to knock me down in the ring, and I ended up putting your little feet against my stomach to warm them. Jesus, when I saw that photograph of you and Scorpion I wanted to kill him. I wanted to give you whatever it was that had made you go to that fucking asshole and kiss his fucking face! I wanted to give that to you, so you would kiss mine instead.

“I went to him, and he was waiting. Of course he was. He knew I’d come. He saw me at the club. I’ve never been protective of a woman before. He saw me get out of the ring for you when I was disqualified. He knows you’re my weak spot. We had a go at it, and he was crying like a goddamned weenie. He wanted me to stop. I wasn’t planning to until I’d knocked out his fucking teeth. But he offered your sister if I quelled it and gave away the championship. He was done with her. She was restless since she’d seen you, and he wanted no trouble. She was watching us fight, crying. I asked her if she was your Nora, and she said yes. So I said yes. I got it on paper, called Pete to secure her, and it was done. She would be released once it was over.” He drags in a breath, then scrapes a hand down his face as he sighs. “It’s the first time I did something right when I was … not at optimal.”

Leaning to me, he drags his nose along my temple, and a tremor of heat slips down my spine as he whispers close to my ear.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, but it had to happen like this. When I told you I wouldn’t let you leave me the night I made love to you, I meant it. I want you, Brooke, for me. I can hurt you, I can do stupid shit, but I…” His stare galvanizes me. “I’m so fucking in love with you I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore.”

The knot is at massive proportions in my throat, and I’m nodding as I wipe my tears, unable to tell him how much and how crazily I have fallen in love with him.

He makes me feel so good. He puts on my music. Runs with me. Kisses and touches me. Licks me deliciously. Gets all sexy jealous over me. He’s grumpy one day and cocky the next, and I love all sides of him. He looks at me with his blue eyes or black eyes, and every time he does, I just know I’m right where I want to be.

“You’re going to want to leave me again,” he whispers, tenderly, as he cups my jaw. “You can’t, Brooke, you can’t leave. You’re mine.”

He strokes his other hand down my hair and I turn into his hand like a kitten again, seeking more of his petting.

“You’ve claimed me, little firecracker. You kicked a pair of two hundred pound men’s asses. I will never get over that. You kicked my whores out. Pete told me. You staked your claim on me, even before you realized I’d staked mine already.” He fists my hair and pulls me close to his lips. “I’m yours now, and you can’t ditch me like you just did. Even if I screw this up, I’ll still be your screw-up.”

I need him close, so I press my body to his as I drape my arms around his neck, his sweat slicking deliciously into me. “Not my screw-up. My real.”

He groans a male sound as he turns his head and licks my cheek. The heart-melting realization that my lion is back unravels me, and I feel myself sinking into his arms as he drags his lips down. He slowly, wetly, licks my jaw. My chin. And then … my lips. I think he feels my shudder against him, for he slips his hands around my lower back and draws me protectively against his frame. He licks his way into my warm mouth, with soft, probing licks, until I’m open and gasping, letting him have his delicious way with me.

“Don’t fucking leave me ever again,” he murmurs, his tongue retreating to trace my top lip, my bottom, then pushing deeply inside me as he spreads his hands along my ass and squeezes me possessively.

I’m drunk. The sensations his kiss and licks bring me are deep, and they tremble in my core like consecutive earthquakes, each one bigger than the last.

I rub my nipples on his massive chest, and my sex throbs to feel him inside me. He looks so sexy in his exercise clothes, drives me so wild with the way he smells when he works out, I want to strip him. Take him.

“I’ve got about a thousand songs in a new playlist that says ‘Brooke,’ all about me missing you, loving you, hating, and adoring you,” he rasps as I feel him reach under my dress for my panties.

This is exactly why I wore a dress, and in record time, I’ve pulled it off me until I’m in my bra and Remy has successfully pulled my panties off both legs.

“I’ve got some too, I want to spend all day putting them to you,” I whisper.