by Amber Malloy
“I doubt they would want me to crash. It’s just for the star players—”
Knox shook his head, cutting him off. “There’s no point fighting this. What Remy wants, Remy gets. I’ll have someone call you with the details.”
Mooch hid his smile and laughed behind his hand. “If you’re sure, man, thanks.” Knox bumped knuckles with the kid. “Do you need a ride home?”
“No, we’re cool,” Knox told him. “I ordered an Uber.” The cold air seemed to chill his bones. He guided Remy toward the waiting car and kissed her on the head. “Stay out of it, baby.”
“What?” she answered, a little too sweetly for his taste.
“Doug’s a douche. Believe me… We all know it, but Lisa’s his fiancée and that’s it. Whatever crazy vibe you picked up on—”
“So you felt it, too, with Mooch?” Her diminutive laugh turned into a hard belly shaker that ended up in hiccups.
“Argh-h-h.” Knox dropped his head back with a groan.
* * * *
Winter had a strong hold on the city.
Puffy clouds separated Knox’s view from downtown, as a couple of stars sparkled through the foggy blanket above his condo. Soft tones of blue mixed with dark wood made up the color scheme of his place. The whole design seamlessly blended the gorgeous view of the city into his home. Nervous energy coursed through his veins, which made it hard for him to sleep, so he’d decided to stop trying. Knox sat at his dining room table to FaceTime his parents. As they’d been night owls since he was young, he had no doubt his parents would still be up.
A distinguished version of himself picked up the phone. “My boy,” William Knox said with a slight French accent.
“Papa.”
“How do you like Doris?” Dad smiled.
“Uh-h.” Knox rubbed his hand through his wet hair. The cool shower had done nothing to fix his relentless hard-on. “She’s different.”
“Highly recommended. Did she give you good advice?”
“Good is going a bit far,” Knox told him.
“Is that Gavin?” His mom asked off screen.
“Yes, he’s complaining about the publicist I sent him.” Dad turned away from the camera.
“I didn’t complain, per se.”
“How is our girl? Is she there?” Claire Knox grabbed the tablet out of her husband’s hands, leaving Knox with a shot of the floor and ceiling before her lovely face appeared.
“Asleep.” He smiled, not in the least happy about the circumstances but thrilled she was near.
“Have you seen her latest?”
If she meant Remy’s bruised and battered body, then yes. “No, I’ve been a little busy.” He decided to avoid bitching about her choice of professions, because he had enough crap on his plate.
“As soon as you get a chance… It’s epic.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Tell her to call me.” Knox found that request odd, but he didn’t comment on it. “Kiss to you, kiss to Remy.”
Once she’d handed the tablet back, his kind father switched to a disciplinary frown. “Now why are you calling me so late, ruining my Netflix and chill time?”
“Too much,” he groaned at the thought of it before he got down to brass tacks with the old man. “We need a charter to Barbados in the morning.”
“Is this the fixer’s idea?” Dad’s asked, pushing his glasses high onto his head.
“No, it’s a team thing that Remy wants to go on.”
“Ah, of course! There’s a festival. It’s a perfect idea for a piece. Anything else?”
Annoyed that his dad had understood his wife’s motives quicker than he ever could, Knox rubbed his face in frustration. “Can you find out who leaked our marriage certificate to that hack Artie?”
“Oh.” Dad adjusted his position, causing him to go out of frame. “We can only guess.” His face froze before he came back into focus and he seemed evasive.
“But her uncle?” Knox cleared his throat that suddenly felt sandpaper dry.
“It’s time.”
Frustrated that no one wanted to give him straight answers, he tapped his fingers against the oak table. “If I recall correctly, even you agreed that the only way to keep her safe was to keep her out of the States.”
“Back then, yes. Now? No. Either you want her to be brilliant for the world or brilliant for you. Besides, I’m looking for you to give me a couple of sweet grandchildren.”
Knox tried to laugh off the needles of tension that rose inside of him. “Greg has given you two, old man. You’re fine,” he stated, bringing up his brother’s super-active kids.
With a twinkle in his eyes, his father glanced around before he put his mouth to the screen. “The operative word is ‘sweet’. Now go to sleep.”
The screen went black. William Knox, the prime minister of Canada, had hung up on him.
Chapter Five
True to his word, Knox had arranged for a private charter to take them to Barbados. Barely a whole day after she’d arrived in Chicago, Remy found herself boarding another flight. A couple of Knox’s team members had joined them on the ride to the island, leaving everyone else to travel with Alli, as had been originally planned.
For the most part, everything had gone off without a hitch, at least until they’d landed. After the seven-hour flight, the small group had fully expected to freshen up and join the rest of the team. However, Alli had other plans. None too pleased with the travel defectors, the football wife had cancelled everyone’s room who hadn’t traveled with the original group.
As sticky heat clung to her skin, Remy tried to ignore the tense energy swirling all around them. Surprised that they were still invited to dinner, the team sat awkwardly at a huge table in the garden of a rum distillery.
“Explain to me again how our reservations got mysteriously canceled,” Lashonda, wife to Andre, the running back, demanded. Remy had liked the sexy Amazon on sight.
“Well, when you missed the plane,” Alli wagged her finger at them, as if they were naughty children, “I assumed you were no longer coming.”
“Forgive me for being obtuse, but where the hell are we?” Lashonda asked. Andre silently reached over and removed the silverware from in front of his wife.
“A rum distillery. If you had flown with us, you would have caught the tour,” Alli sang.
Remy locked eyes with Knox across the table. His blue eyes bored into hers over the rim of his third glass of liquor. He’d been distant on the plane and had seemed even more remote since they’d arrived. He only broke eye contact when the notification on his phone went off.
“So, where the hell are we supposed to sleep? The beach?” one of the other wives jumped in.
Within a short amount of time, Remy had figured out that the men did their best to stay out of the women’s disagreements. Not one player had gotten involved. Apparently, the women were split into two groups—the working moms and the housewives.
“I know I’m not about to pass out sitting here in the middle of a rain forest with a sweater on,” another wife complained. “I promise I’ll get naked first.”
Biting into a breadstick, Remy prayed to be out of the way of whoever threw the first punch.
“Hey!” Knox addressed the whole table. “Everyone who flew with us is now booked into the hotel. You can check in with my name at the front desk.”
A cheer went up at his announcement.
“But the Wave Festival? I thought they… Never mind.” Leaning back in her seat, Alli pouted.
As Knox pushed back from the table, he nodded toward the pathway leading to the gardens. “We’re going to check out, I don’t know… What is that? A waterfall? If the food comes, go ahead and start without us.” Pretty sure they wouldn’t be back in enough time, Remy quickly chugged down the rest of her rum.
“What did you say this place was again?” Lashonda asked.
“We’ve been over this a hundred times. It’s a distillery,” Alli repeated.
“Nobody’s s
tupid, Allison. This place is a fucking plantation,” Remy said. Unable to stifle it any longer, a fit of giggles attacked her sleep-wearied soul. “Sorry,” she apologized to the group. “It’s the heat.” Knox joined her at the end of the table.
“No, it’s not,” Lashonda hissed. “You know this bitch has us sitting at a plantation like the shit is cute.”
“What’s the problem? Irish slaves worked in the fields as well.” Alli waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh God,” one of the men croaked.
Remy held the side of her bruised ribs, nearly toppling over. “Stop,” Knox whispered a chuckle into her ear. “You’ll only make it worse.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her along.
“My ribs or the situation?” She snorted.
“Both,” he told her.
After they’d made it to the path, she finally petered out. “Are they always like this?”
“Not sure. I don’t do the socializing thing too often.”
Remy sobered once she realized that Knox probably avoided group events due to her absence.
Tiki torches lined the path to a cove and colorful lights illuminated the cascading water. Knox grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the thunderous sounds of the running rapids. “I saw this on the map near the entrance.”
He guided her to the out-of-the-way spot, where the falling water sprinkled against her skin. Before they had left the table, Remy had fully understood what he wanted. “What if there are cameras?”
He kissed her, cutting off her words and traced the bottom of her lip with his tongue. Flying on adrenaline for the past two days, Remy craved his touch. “I scoped out the angles when we came in,” he panted. “Two outside, not inside. Come on, baby. I promise the romantic shit later, but I’m about to explode.” Slipping his tongue into her mouth, he fumbled with the hardware on her jeans. “Blue balls and their incessant bitching do not mix,” he muttered between his frantically undressing her.
Light-headed from need, Remy tried to speak, but Knox’s demanding touch overrode her senses.
“Railing,” he rambled. “Hold on to it. I’ll try not to slam into your pussy too hard.” He rubbed her clit from outside her jeans. The warm sensation from his thumb made her buck against his touch.
While he roamed his hands all over her body, he sucked on her neck. She slapped away the part of her senses that cried for a modicum of decency. Horny as hell, she popped the button on her pants and pushed the denim material down past the hump of her ass.
Knox blew out a ragged breath.
Before he placed his hand back between her legs, he yanked her bra down and rolled her nipple between his fingers. How he got his hand under her tank that fast she’d never know.
“Hold onto the rail.” He fumbled with his belt buckle. “So fucking wet.” In a slow and deliberate rhythm, he tapped her clit with his index finger.
Manipulating her pussy, he slipped his finger into her slit. Pulling in and out, he brought her near the brink before he took his cock and slammed it inside her.
“Fuck!” No drug-induced high could ever touch the way his thick rod filled her.
“Whose pussy is this?”
From the minute the publicist had set those magazines in front of them, she’d known where this would go. No matter how hard Knox tried to twist his guilt into jealousy, she wouldn’t allow him to interfere with her orgasm. “Whose pussy is this?” he demanded.
Ignoring the pain in her muscles from her bruised body, she pushed back against him.
As Knox wrapped his forearm around her, he pounded her from behind. Unable to hold herself up, she allowed the clawing waves of pleasure to overwhelm her. Little by little, her world came back into focus.
“Don’t come in me,” she mumbled.
He increased his speed. Groaning heavy against her ear, Knox loaded her pussy with his seed before he stilled inside her body.
Remy attempted to stamp down the anger that had begged to come out since yesterday. Knox knew the rules. Without words, she pulled her jeans back up. When he reached out to help straighten her tank top, she slapped his hand away.
“I’m sure you’re still on birth control.” He chuckled. “If not, then yay for me. Hey!” She ducked past the waterfalls and hit the path that led to the taxi stand. “Come on, Remy. I’m hungry.”
“Then go eat.” A glob of stickiness pooled in the crotch of her jeans. It grossed her out.
Super-fast, the athlete had a hold of her arm. “We came together, so we stay together,” he growled. “I know you’re used to that shit, but humor the stupid jock you married.”
Snatching her arm from his grip, she stomped down the trail. Remy knew Knox was itching for a fight to assuage his guilt, but she refused to hand it to him.
“Not real sure, but I’m pretty positive cum-stained jeans aren’t the proper dinner attire.”
“Why not?”
“What are you doing, marking me like a dog? I’m not wearing any underwear,” Remy grunted.
“Maybe you should stop hanging out in places where you have to leave your panties behind.” As his sweet, baby blue eyes flashed an ominous shade of navy, he shoved his face close to hers.
“Oh, I forgot… That’s what we’re doing, changing the narrative of your fuck up.” She dramatically sighed at the psych one-o-one crap that he was attempting to pull on her. “Okay, Knox, I’m the villain and you’re perfect again…” Remy imitated a magician. “Abra-fucking-cadabra.”
It must have taken a minute for the alcohol to fully kick into the giant’s system. Usually, Knox didn’t show any of the telltale signs right away. Remy turned toward the distillery’s entrance, hoping to catch a cab without him.
* * * *
Carrots… His wife hated those pretty passionately. Knox could count on his fingers the things that Remy hated. Not big on clearing the air, she would gloss over small problems until they became mountains. However, nutting in her body with no way for her to clean up probably rated number one on her ‘reasons for being pissed off’ list. It might have been childish, but he didn’t care.
By the time he’d arrived at the hotel and grabbed the keycard from the front desk, her energy practically slapped at him from across the lobby. He trailed her from a distance into the elevator and up to their room.
She stepped to the side to allow him to open the door. Unwilling to play her passive-aggressive game any longer, he pulled her in front of him and locked her in with his arms. “What’s the rush?” Knox knew every part of her, every inch of her, and he believed without a shadow of a doubt that he needed to let her cool down. Unfortunately, the DNA coding that wrote the script for his stubborn streak wouldn’t allow him to stop.
“Open the door, Knox.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Remy tried to use her forehead to push him back. He snorted at her adorable, kitten-like attempt to move him.
“It’s sticky between my legs. The shit’s disgusting. Open the door!”
Undeterred by her temper tantrum, he fixed his gaze on her heart-shaped face and waited for her to reply.
“How about this… Once you sober up, we’ll have that knock-down, drag-out fight you want so bad.” She snatched the keycard out of his hand and shoved it into the slot. “Until then, screw you, Knox.” Opening the door, she slipped into their suite, slamming it shut behind her.
Wildly underestimating that play, he dropped his head against the wood and groaned. “Remy!” he shouted. They had been able to score only one card because the hotel’s machine had shorted out. She possessed the lone key to their room. “Seriously, open the door!”
“Hey, Knox!” his linebacker shouted down the hall. “We’re getting a poker game together in the bar. You want in?”
Since spending the rest of his night in the hallway wasn’t an option, he figured it couldn’t hurt. “Sure.” Pushing away from the closed door, he headed to the elevator bay. At a record-breaking two hours and thirty minutes, Knox had already tired of the
scenic lull of paradise.
Chapter Six
Remy slipped out of the shower and snagged one of the linen robes off the back of the door. Purposely knocking the spare one onto the tiles, she stepped on it. No matter how hard he banged on the door, she had no intention of letting Knox into the room.
Tropical heat from the balcony blew into the suite. Semi-comfortable with the temperature, Remy didn’t mind the humidity. Knox, on the other hand, would hate it. Turning on the air conditioner to cool down their suite was an option, but at the moment, she simply didn’t care. Maybe he was right about her passive-aggressive tendencies. They were something she promised to explore in depth about herself one day, but not today—and probably no time soon.
“Come on, girl. Open up! We look like hookers out here.”
After pulling the belt tight on the robe, she opened the door to a crowded hallway of football wives. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Remy smirked at the half-dressed squad of women. While three of them had on cute matching pajamas, the rest sported the same complimentary hotel robe that she wore.
“We want somewhere to gossip, and you have a suite.”
“Uh, I thought Knox got suites for everyone who flew with us on the plane?” She leaned against the door frame, already amused by their unexpected appearance. On one hand, she could sit and be pissed at Knox all night or she could be entertained with nonsense. A no brainer, Remy figured.
“Yeah, we want to do it without Allison, and since she clearly despises you, we figured your room was safe.” Lashonda barged her way in. “And Knox is playing poker with the guys, so-o-o-o…”
“We brought wine,” a guard’s wife called from the back of the crowded hallway. For such a tiny thing, Remy wondered how she made the height difference work with her husband.
“Why not?” She let the rest of them pile into the room. “I can use a drink.”
