“Do you want to go?” I ask. “Or would you like to go out for lunch somewhere?”
She looks across toward Noah’s house for a moment. She’s been quiet this morning, and a little emotional; I’m not sure why. I have no idea if it’s anything to do with me, and I don’t really want to ask. I’ll have to wait and see if she tells me what’s bothering her, but she’s not going to do it if we’re having lunch with everyone else.
“Let’s go out,” she says.
We wave farewell to everyone, and then get in my car and head out of the Ark toward Paihia. “What about Snappers?” I ask, naming the seafood restaurant that’s right on the beach, with a beautiful view of the bay. She nods and smiles, so I head through the town, park outside, and we go in.
It’s Sunday lunchtime, but it’s relatively quiet, maybe because everyone’s recovering from yesterday’s storm. The waiter explains that they had a fence blow down and lost power for a while, but other than that they’ve had no damage, and most things on the menu are available. We choose a seafood platter to share, I have a beer and Remy has a glass of wine, and we sit at a table in the window.
The ocean is still choppy, but nowhere near as bad as it was last night. There’s a lot of debris on the sand, and I’m glad my house is higher up.
Remy sips her wine. She seems sad, which is unusual for her. I hold out my hand, and she slips hers into it.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. “You’ve been quiet, and you seem sad. I’m not sure whether to ask; I don’t want to pry. If you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine.”
She squeezes my fingers. “I am a little sad. Part of it is the storm and seeing the damage to the Ark, and partly about Summer not being well. But… something happened this morning, and it made me feel…” She gives a little gesture of her hand, spiraling her fingers to indicate being mixed up.
“What happened?”
She chews her lip. “It was just something Nix said. It was a joke, in poor taste, I have to say, but she certainly did not mean to upset me.”
I wait, a little puzzled. I can’t imagine Nix saying anything even remotely insulting to one of her friends.
Remy turns her wine glass in her fingers. “She said you must be in seventh heaven, because being with a girl who has a use-by date is perfect for Mr. No Commitment.”
“Ouch.” I frown. “That’s not why I’m with you. I’m not against commitment. I want you to stay.”
“I know, Albie. That’s not why I’m upset. I snapped at her, and I wish I hadn’t now.”
My frown vanishes, and a smile touches my lips. “You defended me?”
“Of course I defended you. It makes me angry that your friends do not understand how you feel. But Nix is really upset, and I feel bad.”
I’m so touched I can barely speak. I’ve never had somebody of my own in my corner before.
“Nix’ll be okay,” I say softly. “Leon will talk to her about it and make her see it’s nothing to worry about.”
“He told me that your dad once said to him and Hal that they should not make allowances for you, and should not always stand in front of you and defend you, because you needed to develop ways to deal with people.”
“That makes sense. They occasionally stepped in at school if anything got out of hand but yeah, it wasn’t as if they were my bodyguards or anything.”
“You were bullied at school?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Teased, sometimes, I guess. This was before I developed a sense of humor. Humor can get you out of most situations, and I learned to use it as a weapon and a shield. If you can make people laugh, and, more importantly, make fun of yourself, it takes away other people’s power over you.”
She leans on the table, studying my face. “I do not like people making fun of you.”
“I know.”
“I am not just going to stand back and let that happen,” she says, her eyes flashing.
She’s wearing her hair down today, the brown locks falling around her shoulders, slightly windblown. I reach out and take a strand, then wind it slowly around my fingers, so she has to move closer to me to avoid it becoming too tight.
“Ouch,” she says.
I lean forward on the table until my lips are close to hers. “I’m crazy about you,” I murmur.
She sighs, her breath whispering across my lips, and lets me kiss her, and at that moment I think how happy I am, sitting with the June sun warming us, the white horses galloping up the beach in the background, and Remy’s soft mouth opening beneath mine. I should have taken her back to the house; I could have stripped her and spent hours covering her whole body with kisses. But there’s plenty of time for that, and besides, I’m hungry, and a man needs to keep his calorie count up when he’s getting regular sex.
We move apart as the waiter approaches, and he smiles as he places our platter between us. “Enjoy your meal,” he says, leaving us to it.
It’s a wood-fired shellfish platter. There are huge green-lipped mussels, clams, prawns, and scallops, cooked with fresh herbs, lemon, and garlic, served up in a large dish with crusty bread.
While we eat, I ask Remy about French food, and she tells me about the traditional cuisine she grew up with—soups and breads and cheeses, coq au vin and boeuf Bourguignon, Beaujolais wine and Champagne, and of course cakes and crêpes and Tarte Tartins.
“I keep meaning to ask you,” she says, “have you been to France? You have that painting of the Eiffel Tower on your wall.”
“Sadly, no, although I’d love to go. I haven’t been to Europe at all. I’ve been to Australia a few times, and to the Pacific Islands—Fiji and Rarotonga and Vanuatu, but that’s all. What about you, have you traveled much?”
She tells me she’s been to England and Germany with Pierre on business, but never on holiday. “I would like to see Rome and Florence,” she says dreamily. “And Prague, and Krakow. And Moscow. Everywhere, really.”
“Do you think you’ll do that when you get back to France?”
“I do not know. It is not much fun traveling on your own.”
“You’ll meet someone else,” I tell her, because that’s what you say in situations like this. I’m startled by the twist inside me, though, the sharp pain I feel at the thought of her being with another man.
“You won’t,” she says. “You are going into a monastery, remember?”
I laugh, recognizing that she doesn’t want to talk about leaving. “Absolutely.”
“Good. No more sex, ever, for you,” she states.
“Are monks allowed to have one off the wrist? I might be able to manage then.”
Her eyes widen. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“What do you think it means?”
“A wank?”
I cough into my beer. “Jesus.”
“That is not the right word?”
“It’s a very frank English word, but yes, you’ve got the gist.” Oh, I adore this woman.
“Mon Dieu.” Her lips curve up, and her eyes turn sultry. “What a thought.”
She likes the idea of me touching myself. That heats me right through. “I’ll be dreaming of you when I lie in my hard bed with my thin blanket at night after Vespers,” I tell her. “I’m going to need some way to cope with my lust.”
“Monks should not have lustful thoughts,” she scolds.
“Remy! Come on, this is the real world. How am I ever going to be able to forget your beautiful body and the way you sang when you came?”
She glances around to check nobody’s listening, and her gaze is remonstrative when it comes back to me, but she softens it with a smile. “You are a very naughty boy.”
“It’s your fault. You lead me astray.”
She finishes her wine, studying me over the rim of the glass. I chuckle, offer her the last prawn, and when she declines, I take off the shell and eat it, trying not to laugh at the look of half-exasperation, half-passion in her eyes.
The waiter comes over and asks, “W
ould you like a dessert?”
“No, thank you,” she says, and I agree.
She offers to pay half, but I tell her it’s my treat and pay. It’s the least I can do for the absolute delight she’s providing me just by being here. “Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask her. “It’s a bit blowy out there but the sun’s warm.”
“No, let us go home,” she says.
I drive us the short distance to the house. She’s quiet, and I leave her to her thoughts, beginning to recognize the moments when she wants to think, and knowing she’ll tell me when she wants to talk. I park in the garage and we go inside, and I’m thinking about suggesting we watch a movie when Remy suddenly catches my hand, backs up against the wall, and rises onto her tiptoes to kiss me.
“Mmm.” I don’t complain, although I’m taken aback by the passion that sears through us as she plunges her tongue into my mouth, while her hands roam over my body beneath my jacket. She tugs up my T-shirt and slides her hands onto my warm skin, and my erection springs to life as she skates her fingers over my ribs and up my back.
She breaks the kiss and looks into my eyes for a moment, and then, before I can say anything, she slides down the wall onto her knees.
“Remy, what—” I stop as she begins undoing my jeans. “Whoa.”
“I cannot stop thinking about it,” she whispers, sliding the zipper carefully over my erection. “About you touching yourself, and how it would feel… I want to touch you, Albie. I want to taste you.”
“Holy shit. What… why… how…”
She pulls down the elastic of my boxers and then, as I watch, she licks from the palm of her hand up to her fingertips. “Mmm. I have been thinking about this ever since I met you.” She closes her hand around me, gives me several strokes, and then closes her mouth over the tip.
I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to. She’s been thinking about doing this since she met me? Holy shit!
Her tongue washes over the head, and I close my eyes and groan at the exquisite sensation. Oh man, that feels good, and knowing that Remy wants to do this for me sends heat spreading all the way through me.
She’s gentle but firm, and I remember my father telling me there’s no point in arguing with a woman when she’s made up her mind, and let her do what she wants. She licks and sucks while she continues to stroke, and I rest both hands on the wall, occasionally opening my eyes to watch her, entranced by the sight of myself disappearing into her mouth.
“Fuck,” I say, unable to stop myself, “that feels… aaahhh… amazing…”
She moves back a moment. “Give me your hand.”
Puzzled, I lower a hand to her. She places it on the back of her head. Her pupils have dilated, and her eyes look almost black. Without saying anything more, she closes her mouth over the tip again, moving her lips down the shaft until I’m so deep inside I can feel myself touch the back of her throat. Holy shit…
She’s showing me how deep I can go, and she wants me to direct the action. I’m so hard now I’m worried there’s no blood left in the rest of my body. Still leaning one hand on the wall, I hold her head and thrust gently, and she responds with an approving moan. Jesus, this is so fucking hot. I do it again, and again, and soon I’m plunging deep into her mouth, driven insane by the feel of her tongue and her gentle sucking. Oh fuck, I’m not going to last long like this, and so I warn her, “I’m going to come, baby,” but she doesn’t move back, she just sucks harder, and that’s it, I’m done. Heat rushes through me and I feel jet after jet fill her mouth. I force my eyes open and watch, stunned, as she drinks it all down.
No other woman has ever done this for me. I’d never have admitted it to anyone, but it’s the truth. None of the girls I’ve been with has ever offered, and I wasn’t sure if it was the done thing to ask.
Remy moves back and licks her lips, and all I can do is look into her eyes with helpless adoration.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Remy
We spend the afternoon watching a rom-com, a movie Pierre would have hated, but Albie seems to enjoy as much as I do. I curl up on the sofa next to him, and he turns a little so he’s half-lying back, and before I know it, we’re stretched out, me with my back to his chest, his arm around me, snug and warm on the wintry afternoon.
I even doze a little, tired from our lovemaking this morning, and the emotion of being at the Ark. I could live like this forever, I think, as Albie kisses my hair and strokes my belly beneath my sweater.
It’s odd to think how different he is from Pierre. My ex was a busy man, always in the process of going to or coming back from somewhere. It made life exciting, but it was also rare for us to do anything like this—lazing about, just spending time together. When he wasn’t asleep, Pierre was moving—walking, talking on the phone, working on his laptop. I got used to it after a while and assumed that every relationship was like that, and the leisurely lovemaking and warm affection I saw in the movies was a construct that didn’t really exist.
But it does exist. And it’s not as if Albie is a lay-about—he works just as hard as Pierre. But he knows how to relax, and he seems to enjoy spending time with me. That, if nothing else, makes him special in my eyes.
We’re about two-thirds into the movie and my eyes have slipped shut again when I feel Albie’s hand pop the button through at the top of my jeans. My eyes open, and my lips curve up as he slides his hand beneath the denim and around the elastic of the bodysuit I’m wearing.
“Albie…” I scold.
“What?” He moves his fingers over my mound, and then slips them down into my folds. “Mmm.”
I sigh and open my legs to give him better access, and he begins to stroke me, those lovely light brushes he does over my clit, sending shivers all the way through me. I turn my head so he can kiss me, and I’m just starting to get interested when the doorbell rings.
Albie lifts his head and looks at me. “Let’s leave it. They’ll go away.”
I tut, take his hand out, and get to my feet. “It might be important. Go on.”
He sighs and rises, and I smile as I hear him walk through to the front door. He’s such a naughty boy. I do up my jeans again, take our mugs out to the kitchen, and rinse them through, thinking about what will happen when he takes me to bed. Or maybe he’ll make love to me in the living room, on the carpet. Ooh, yes. I’d like that.
I wonder who’s at the front door while I dry the mugs. It could be someone from the Ark, although I’d probably have heard voices as he invited them in if that was the case. Could be someone selling something. Or…
“Remy?”
I turn to see him standing in the doorway. His eyes are bright, and something rolls off him—excitement? Anxiousness? I can’t tell.
“What?” I ask, putting down the tea towel.
In answer, he holds out a hand. I take it, puzzled, and let him lead me through into the living room.
A man stands in the middle of the room. He’s older than me, maybe mid to late forties. He looks like a typical Kiwi guy—his graying hair a little ruffled, his skin tanned and lined, as if he spends a lot of time outdoors, farming or fishing. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders hunched. He’s wearing socks but no shoes—it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s left his Wellingtons—or gumboots, as they call them here—outside.
He meets my eyes as I enter, and his widen. He also seems nervous, hesitant. He looks vaguely familiar.
“Remy,” Albie says, “this is Richard.” He smiles. “Richard James Anderson. Known as Jamie.”
Someone sucks all the air out of the room, and for a moment I can’t breathe.
Jamie doesn’t move. He just keeps looking at me, waiting for a reaction.
I don’t have one. I can’t think what to do or say. My brain has gone completely blank and I feel panicky. He’s not smiling. Is he here to deny it? To say he couldn’t possibly be my father? Will he yell at me, tell me never to contact him again, walk away?
Albie’s fingers tighten on min
e. He’s still holding my hand. “Honey,” he says. “It’s your father. Erin found him. He’s come to talk to you.”
Jamie glances at Albie, then returns his gaze to me. He takes a couple of steps forward and stops again. Then he takes his right hand out of his pocket and extends it toward me. “Hello, Remy.” His voice is a little husky, gentle. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
My bottom lip trembles, and that’s it—I press my fingers to my mouth and burst into tears.
“I am sorry,” I say as I sob, unable to contain my relief that he’s not angry with me.
“Aw,” Jamie says. “It’s okay. I apologize for surprising you like this. I should have rung first, but I wanted to see you. I’ve been sitting outside for fifteen minutes, trying to pluck up the courage to knock on the door.”
Albie puts his arms around me, and I bury my face in his chest and fight for control. “She’ll be okay in a minute,” he says. “Why don’t you take a seat? Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?”
“Coffee would be nice, thank you.”
“Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk, thanks.”
“Okay.” Albie doesn’t move away yet, though. He rubs my back, continuing to talk to Jamie over my shoulder. “Have you come far?”
“From the Hokianga. I live just outside Ahipara.”
“That’s a lovely little town.”
“Yeah, I grew up near Kaitaia, not far from Ninety-Mile Beach. Nice part of the world.”
“Certainly is. I’m Albie, by the way.”
“Remy’s boyfriend?”
He hesitates. I know he’s wondering whether saying yes will be the wrong thing, as we’re not officially dating. I give a little nod, though, and he says, “Yes, that’s right.”
I move back and wipe my eyes. I’m still trembling, but I guess it would be weird if I wasn’t shaken by this experience.
“Okay?” Albie murmurs. When I nod again, he says, “I’ll go and make some coffee,” and he leaves the room.
I turn to Jamie, wiping my eyes with the cuff of my sweater. “I am so sorry,” I whisper. “It just swept over me.”
My Roommate, the Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 3) Page 16
