“I… I don’t think dating is for me right now.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss on her soft skin. Then he let her go again because touching her electrified him. “Two more dates, Christina. Real dates where I pick you up and take you to dinner, maybe a movie. We can get to know each other. Make out some.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You’re strange, you know that? Most men would go for the easy sex.”
Yeah, he was strange, at least right now. But she intrigued him—and he hadn’t been intrigued in a long time.
“I like easy sex as much as the next guy. But I’m pretty sure you’d regret it in the morning, and the last thing I want is to be a regret.”
“I don’t know what I’d think in the morning, quite honestly.”
“How about we drink our coffee and talk about the kinds of things people talk about on a date?”
She sat back in her chair and gave him a look that smoldered even though he didn’t think she intended it to. He really wanted to pull the pins from her hair and see it down like the day he’d met her.
He studied her. Her white shirt was buttoned all the way up to her neck, which was kind of ironic considering the conversation they’d been having. Her breasts were small and round. Every once in a while he saw a hint of lace as she leaned forward and her bra was outlined against the thin cotton of her shirt.
Her fingers were long and elegant where they gripped the cup, her nails done in that French thing that women liked. Her lips were full and kissable—which he knew from firsthand experience—and her eyes were sad and soulful.
“So tell me about you, Remy,” she said. “Who is Remy Marchand and what does he like?”
He shrugged, slightly uncomfortable with the thought of talking about himself. Because tragedy was such a part of who he was, and he didn’t want to go there yet.
“I’m a Navy SEAL. I like blowing things up and stopping the bad guys, among other things.”
“Is your family still in Lafayette?”
“Yeah.”
She looked at him expectantly. “That’s it? Just yeah?”
“Nothing to tell, really. There are a lot of Marchands in Lafayette, and I’m probably related to most of them.”
Which was as much as he was saying about his family. Remy thought of his mother, barely living since the hunting accident that had killed his father last year. He sent money home to supplement the social security she got after Dad died. He knew she had what she needed, but his sister Emma said that Mom hadn’t left the house in two months now.
There wasn’t much he could do about it, so he sent money and hoped Emma would figure it all out. If anyone could get his mother out of her blue period, it would be Emma.
He knew it didn’t help that Roxie had been in the ground for the past four years. His family hadn’t been the same since that had happened, and they all knew it.
Remy clenched his fist beneath the table, helpless anger welling inside him all over again at the fate that had befallen his twin.
He should have known what was going on. And he should have fucking stopped it.
Too late.
“That must be nice, having so many relatives,” Christina said softly, staring at her cup again. “There’s just Matt and me and our dad now—and his wife, whom I love like a mother even if she’s not much older than I am. Granny died a few years ago, and our mother died when we were kids.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, it happens, doesn’t it? People die. One day, poof, gone.”
Yeah, people died. One day they were vibrant and alive, and the next some asshole with emotional problems shot them dead. And you thought, Fuck, you should have told me, Roxie.
And then you thought that you should have fucking known the dude you’d grown up with, the guy who’d been your best friend, was an abuser and unstable. But you never knew it, and now it was too fucking late.
“Hey,” Christina said, and Remy focused on her again. She was frowning at him. “Are you okay?”
Remy cleared his throat and picked up the coffee. “Yeah, fine.”
She didn’t look convinced. “You looked so fierce there. I thought maybe I’d said something.”
“No, you didn’t say anything. It’s fine. Really.”
He reached for her hand across the table again, threading his fingers through hers. One simple touch and he already felt calmer. What was it about her?
He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.
“So, we’re doing this again. You, me, dinner. When’s a good day?”
She dropped her gaze to their hands. “I don’t know if there is a good day,” she said softly. “My life… it’s crazy right now.”
He snorted. “Cher, I’m a SEAL. Believe me, I understand crazy.”
She lifted her head. Their eyes met, and something kicked in his gut. Maybe it kicked in hers too, because she gave his hand a light squeeze.
“Okay. Saturday night then.”
4
Why had she agreed to go on a date? Christina stood in her bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror and asking herself for the millionth time if this outfit was the one.
She’d changed four times. The dress she wore now was too flowery, too virginal. It was cream with little pink primroses all over it. She’d paired it with kitten heels and a white cardigan because it was often cold in restaurants.
Then she’d put on her mama’s pearls—and she looked like a damned ’50s housewife. June Cleaver or Mrs. Cunningham, maybe. Starched and perfect when she was anything but. Why couldn’t she loosen up a bit? Her father had married a succession of strippers after her mother died, yet her feminine role model had been her grandmother. Not that she needed to dress like a stripper, but the point was that none of those women had dressed like strippers on a pole while married to her father, either. They’d been young and sexy, which was what she should be.
She had just ducked back into her closet to find yet another outfit when the doorbell rang. Her heart lodged in her throat.
Damn, no time.
Why had she given Remy her address? She should have insisted on meeting him at the restaurant, but she’d had a moment of weakness and thought it would be nice if he picked her up.
She’d learned over the years how to talk to people, how not to be a total introvert, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need a kick out the front door. Left to her own devices, she could think up a dozen reasons to call off an outing.
She took a deep breath as the buzzer sounded again, and strode toward the front door. A quick peek through the peephole verified the man standing on the other side.
And oh dear Lord, her pulse quickened at the sight of all that muscle and leashed strength outside her door. Ben had not been strong, not like that. He was tall and lean, lightly muscled. Nothing like Remy Marchand.
Christina swung the door open and pasted on a smile. “You’re early.”
His gaze slid down her form, and her heart responded by beating even faster. When he looked into her eyes again, a slow grin spread across his face.
“Military habit. Damn, you look good, Christina.”
She had to fight an urge to giggle. What the heck was that about? She was so not a giggler. Nerves.
“Like the Junior League look, do you?”
“Didn’t realize it until tonight, but yeah, I do. At least on you.”
“Do you want to come in?”
His gaze slipped over her once more. “I’d love to, but I don’t think it’s safe. You’d better get your purse and lock up. If I come in, I don’t think we’ll leave anytime soon.”
And there it was again, that glorious tingle between her thighs. It had been too long. Too, too long.
“Remind me again why that’s a bad idea?” she asked.
“Because you need to eat, that’s why. And so do I.”
Christina got her purse and locked the door. Remy escorted her down the steps and out to the pickup truck sitting
by the curb. He opened the door and helped her inside, then went around and got in the driver’s seat.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“A little place I bet you haven’t been to before. There’s a town on the Chesapeake Bay where you can get the best seafood you’ve ever had in your life.”
“Isn’t that sacrilege considering where you’re from?”
He laughed. “Yeah, probably so. Still, when I can’t get back to Louisiana, this place reminds me of home.”
“You know they steam the crabs here, right?” Of course she knew that he knew they didn’t boil crabs in Maryland the way they did in Louisiana, but teasing him was fun. It was easy being with Remy. She liked that.
“Yeah, well, we’ll have to make do, won’t we?”
The ride to the restaurant took about an hour. The little town sat on the bay, its picturesque harbor filled with sailboats that bobbed in the current. It was different from her place in DC—quieter, more peaceful.
She could use some peace in her life right now.
Remy parked the truck near a dilapidated restaurant, then came around to help her out. They walked to the shack hand in hand. It was nice. Kind of weird, but nice. She hadn’t been out with a man other than Ben in about four years now.
Once they were seated, the waitress brought laminated menus. The restaurant was definitely more of a dive bar than a fancy joint, but the smells were heavenly. Remy ordered a seafood platter and a beer. After deliberation, Christina ordered the same. Why get a salad just to impress a man? She was done with impressing anyone but herself.
“Hungry?” Remy asked with a grin.
Christina shrugged. “Maybe so.”
“Going to enjoy watching you pick crabs apart in pearls and a dress.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she said a touch smugly.
Remy laughed. “I suppose that should come as no surprise, you being a Girard and all.”
Christina’s heart thumped the way it always did when someone mentioned her family name in connection with her upbringing. If they only knew the hell that being a Girard had been. But when you had money, nobody cared that you were lonely and ignored or that your father was cold and uninvolved in your life.
And then there were the times when he’d screamed at Matt for no real reason she could tell. He’d screamed at her too, but not often. Matt usually took the brunt of it. Once he’d left for West Point, she’d expected their father to take his anger out on her instead.
He’d only done it once. She remembered him screaming at her, calling her names—and then Granny was there and he went quiet. Christina had fled the room, so she never knew what Granny said. But Granny came and stayed with them after that. She stayed until the school year was over—and Christina’s father had never yelled at her again.
“Hey,” Remy suddenly said, his forehead creasing in a frown. “I didn’t mean that as an insult or anything.”
Christina forced a smile. “No, I know. It’s just…” She sighed. “Sometimes what looks really great on the outside isn’t so great on the inside. Money doesn’t make you happy.”
“I’ve never had any, but yeah, I can see where that would be true. I hope it wasn’t too bad.”
The waitress brought their beers then, and Christina sipped hers straight from the bottle. It was a small rebellion since she’d always been told that ladies asked for glasses and poured their beer if it wasn’t draft. Sorry, Granny.
“No, not bad. Just a bit lonely, I guess. Matt was always doing his own thing. Our father wasn’t home a lot—and when he was, he was drunk. I already told you our mother died when we were young. I spent a lot of time with my grandmother. She lived in Baton Rouge, and her house was like a refuge to me. Except for the part where she insisted on sending me to Junior Cotillion. But heck, Matt had to go too, so there was that.”
Remy took a drink of his own beer. “I never did anything like that.”
“You didn’t miss anything really.”
Her phone rang, startling her. She hadn’t been expecting a call, which meant it was probably work.
“I’m sorry,” she said, fishing in her purse. “I’m working on an important business deal, and I need to check this.” Answering a phone during dinner was something she’d learned not to do in Cotillion, but sometimes she had to for the sake of the company.
Remy shrugged. “It’s okay.”
She took the phone out and glanced at it. She debated answering but decided she could take it later.
“It’s my father,” she explained as she put the phone away again.
“Do you want to take it?”
“No, it can wait until later. It’s probably something business related.” But not related to her deal, because he wasn’t involved in that. He never called her about anything important. It was either mundane business stuff or something to do with Misty Lee and the party. She was betting on Misty Lee.
“You work in the family business?”
“Actually, yes. I trained as a petroleum engineer, though I’m more on the business side of things these days. I’m responsible for seeking new business and making sure Girard Oil presents a good picture to our potential partners. Not very exciting compared to what you do.”
“And what does a petroleum engineer do exactly?”
“Well, we try to find more efficient ways to extract oil and gas. Before I moved to business development, I spent a lot of time in the lab and a lot of time in the field testing processes and equipment.”
His gaze sharpened with interest. “Did you ever go out of the country for the job?”
“Sometimes. Russia and the Middle East mostly, though I’ve been to South America as well. I still go to those places, though I’m typically meeting with potential new clients.”
“Does your company hire security for when you travel to those regions?”
The food arrived then, and they were quiet while the waitress set down the plates and asked if they had everything they needed. After the waitress had walked away again, Christina picked up her mallet. Remy was still watching her.
Waiting for an answer.
“You sound like Matt,” she said. “And the answer is that it depends on where I go. I’ll take a bodyguard when I go to Qu’rim, for instance.”
“Qu’rim?” His voice had grown deeper, his brows arrowing down into a hard frown.
Christina cracked a crab. “We’re working on a deal to import Qu’rimi oil. There’s a sheikh I’ve been working with who is very keen to expand his business interests outside the country.”
“You can’t go to Qu’rim, Christina. It’s dangerous. Volatile.”
Christina glanced up at the tone of his voice. It had hardened quite a lot over the last few words.
He waited until she was looking at him before he continued. “Qu’rim is at war with itself, and no one is certain from one day to the next who’s going to win. There’s no guarantee this sheikh will even have any oil if the rebels win the war. Civilians shouldn’t be traveling there. Hell, the State Department has issued enough warnings to circle the earth three times if they were all laid out together.”
Christina frowned. “It’s not that many warnings, and you know it. Besides, we’re still working the details. I may not go at all if Sheikh Fahd doesn’t agree to our terms.” And while she knew there could be problems if the rebels won, Sheikh Fahd’s wells were in the north, far from the fighting. He also had a port where the crude was loaded onto barges and shipped out. She wanted his crude for Girard Oil’s refineries. It was a gamble to take his business, but it was also a buyer’s market right now, and he was sitting on a lot of oil. If she could get it for the right price, it would be an important acquisition for the long term.
She thumped another crab and it cracked satisfyingly. Then she pulled out the sweet-tasting meat and popped it in her mouth.
“It would be better if you didn’t. Could be years before Qu’rim is safe.”
She laid the mallet down. Remy’s ga
ze was intense, hot, and it made her belly clench. She barely knew this man and he barely knew her. But there was a powerful attraction between them, that much was clear.
Yet there were some compromises she would not make. She’d done her time trying to please a man, trying to be what he wanted her to be, and she was finished. Remy Marchand was a fling, if it happened. A sex partner to make her forget the shitty hand Ben had dealt her.
She was honest enough with herself to admit that. Remy was man candy, not a meal. She didn’t want a meal, anyway.
And she really resented his trying to tell her what to do, even if she knew it came from a place of real concern. Matt had said much the same, in fact.
“Thanks for your advice, Remy, but this really isn’t up to you. I hope that’s not too blunt.”
His eyes sparked. “You’ve certainly been nothing less than blunt since I met you. Don’t stop now, by all means.”
Christina folded her hands on the napkin in her lap. If ever there was a time to draw the line in the sand, this was it. “All right, if you insist. I’m not looking for a relationship here. I’m not even officially divorced yet, quite honestly, though it’s merely a formality now. Not that it matters since Ben is most definitely not interested in reconciliation. But I can’t start dating right now, and I don’t think I really want to. I don’t have anything to give in that department.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment, and she started to squirm.
“So it’s sex or nothing, huh?” he finally said, his eyes hotter than ever.
A sudden urge to run erupted within her. Instead, she faced him squarely. “Pretty much.”
He nodded slowly, deliberately. “All right, cher. We’ll do it your way. But don’t say I didn’t try.”
5
Remy was pissed, but he wasn’t going to let her know it. They’d finished the meal, had a nice walk along the dock, and now they were in his truck again and on the way back to her place.
Sex. All she wanted was sex. Hell, he should be completely down with that—and he was down with that, no doubt—but he was also feeling a bit jacked that she only wanted him to fuck her.
Christina Girard was a lady. A beautiful, elegant lady in a flowery dress and pearls who wanted him to bare her body and make her forget about her dick of an ex.
HOT SEAL Lover (HOT SEAL Team - Book 2) Page 3
