by Erika Wilde
While Remy remained rooted to the spot in the living room as he tried to deal with this unexpected and unwelcome encounter and process all the shitty emotions it had dredged up, Tempest walked briskly toward Kyle, her posture indignant.
“What are you doing here, and how did you get up to my apartment?” she demanded to know.
“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” Kyle said, his tone petulant. He turned his head and frowned when he caught sight of Remy, but there was no recognition in his eyes or expression before he returned his gaze to Tempest. “So, since you’ve made it difficult for us to spend a bit of time together, I thought I ought to take matters into my own hands.”
Tempest’s spine remained rigid, and with the two of them facing one another, Remy could see her profile—the furrow of a brow and the pursing of her lips indicating her annoyance. Clearly, she wasn’t happy to see Kyle.
“I’ve been busy and you know tonight’s ball wasn’t a date,” she snapped, her chin lifting angrily. “There was no obligation to spend any time with you. Answer my questions, Kyle. What are you doing here and how did you get up to my apartment?”
The other man’s gaze flicked to Remy in what looked to be a displeased glare before he shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets and addressed one of Tempest’s questions. “I came up here because someone told me you got into the elevator with some man, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She shook her head incredulously. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself just fine, Kyle.”
Jesus, this woman . . . she was strong and fearless and clearly didn’t take any crap from anyone—and despite the bizarre situation with his half brother, Remy found her fiery, gutsy attitude hot as fuck.
Kyle jerked his head toward Remy, giving him an impolite once-over. “Who is this guy?”
Tempest finally looked his way, her contrite gaze apologizing for Kyle’s rude behavior. “This is Remy Lowell, and we were discussing business.”
Kyle’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of business?”
“I’m going to contract him to design and build Wilder Things once I have the place, not that I need to explain any of that to you.” She snatched the key card from his fingers and held it up to Kyle’s face. “And where did you get this?”
The other man shrugged unrepentantly. “The last time I was here, it was on your kitchen counter and I thought it might be good to have just in case of an emergency or if I wanted to surprise you.”
Tempest’s jaw dropped in shock, then quickly closed. “The last time you were here in my apartment was over a month ago.” She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe Kyle’s audacity. “Jesus, you took my spare key without asking?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal considering we were seeing one another,” he said defensively.
Tempest made an exasperated, frustrated sound. “I already told you. We’re done. We’re not dating.”
Kyle’s gaze once again shifted to Remy, making it clear that he was annoyed with his presence, when all Remy wanted to do was take Kyle by the collar and toss him out on his ass. He was suddenly feeling very territorial when it came to Tempest, and it was all he could do to tamp down the possessive feeling tightening in his chest.
“I want to talk to you about that,” Kyle said in a low voice as he leaned closer to Tempest to keep the conversation more private. “You can’t be serious about not seeing me any longer. Why don’t you send this contractor on his way, and you and I can settle this misunderstanding between us alone, without an audience?”
Kyle reached out and ran his fingers down her bare arm in a too-intimate caress, as if that contact alone could persuade Tempest to give him what he wanted. Watching Kyle touch her and seeing Tempest flinch caused all the rioting emotions inside of Remy to come to a head, sending a shaft of irrational jealousy and anger flaring through him, like a hot poker stabbing at old, unhealed wounds.
Remy didn’t hate Kyle. He didn’t even know him. But the thought of Kyle, the half brother who had had all the things in life that Remy had gone without, attempting to seduce the one woman Remy had been trying so hard to resist evoked a visceral, possessive urge to claim Tempest as his own. He knew his thoughts weren’t logical, but at the moment, he didn’t give a rat’s ass.
He walked toward Kyle and, without hesitation, grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the elevator. “Tempest has made it clear that there is nothing left for the two of you to talk about, so I think it’s best that you leave.”
Kyle yanked his sleeve from Remy’s grip, his expression incensed. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Remy wanted to blurt out the truth, spew all the hurt and pain his own mother had caused by completely rejecting him, then loving a new son with her rich husband. But he kept all the rage and bitterness shoved way down deep, hating that it had even cropped back up when he’d believed he’d had all those insecurities and self-doubts under control.
Remy hit the call button for the elevator and kept his voice as even as possible when he next spoke. “I’m the guy who’s telling you to leave before I call security to toss you out on your ass.”
Kyle huffed indignantly and glanced beyond Remy to Tempest, as if he expected her to defend him, but she didn’t say a word. The elevator doors slid open, and for a moment it looked as though Kyle was going to put up a fight. But Remy was bigger, taller, and stronger, and Kyle was nothing more than a spoiled rich boy who was used to getting his way. Not tonight.
Realizing he didn’t have much of a choice, he stepped into the elevator and looked toward Tempest, tugging on his tuxedo jacket to smooth out any wrinkles. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, just as the doors closed.
Still facing the elevator, Remy dropped his head, closed his eyes, and exhaled a deep breath, still battling those dangerous, edgy emotions trying to claw their way out. Jesus Christ, he had to get his shit together.
“Remy?” Tempest’s voice was soft and gentle behind him, along with the hand she placed on his back, as if she sensed his inner turmoil. “Are you okay?”
He swallowed hard. No, he wasn’t fucking okay, he realized. Tempest had no idea Kyle was his half brother, that Remy’s childhood had been less than picturesque, and when his father had died seven years after his mother’s abandonment, his own mother had ignored Remy’s plight and pleas to come and get him. She’d flat-out refused to take custody of him when he’d had no one to turn to. When he was fourteen, the state had been forced to put him into fucking foster care, where he’d spent the next four years trying to protect himself like a wary, abused dog. That’s where he’d learned to become scrappy, like the tramp Tempest had called him.
“Remy?” she said again, clearly concerned.
Unable to shake his dark mood, he turned around to face Tempest, who was looking at him with clear, guileless eyes. He was feeling raw and reckless enough to show her a glimpse of that fractured man and, in the process, invoke enough fear to make her understand he was not the man for her. He had nothing left to fucking lose.
He placed his hand at the base of her throat, feeling her delicate collarbone beneath his thumb and fingers, along with the sudden rapid beat of her pulse gaining momentum against his palm as he slowly, gradually pushed her back up against the nearest wall. But her elevated heart rate wasn’t a result of panic or unease because of his more dominant position. No, there wasn’t an ounce of uncertainty in her gaze as it held his. Her lips were parted in anticipation and her beautiful amber eyes were filled with pure, undiluted desire.
“Remy,” she breathed, and this time his name was wrapped in the same wild hunger flowing through him.
The undeniable need to mark her, claim her, take her was stronger than anything he’d ever felt for a woman before. She made his blood run hot through his veins and his dick harder than steel. She made his cock ache to feel her warm, wet pussy squeezing the length of his shaft as he fucked her the way he’d imagined for too long.
Her parted lips beckoned for him to kiss, but before he showed her the ruthless man beneath the polished tuxedo, he desperately needed to know one thing. “Did you sleep with him?” he asked, his voice sounding rough and raw to his own ears because the possibility cut sharp as a knife through him.
Her eyes widened. He’d clearly startled and confused her by the abrupt, out-of-the-blue question. “What . . . I . . . We only dated a short while. Kyle might be arrogant, but he’s harmless.”
The fact that she didn’t give him an answer only made him more tense. He braced his forearm on the wall by her head and leaned in closer, his gaze direct as it held hers. “Did. You. Sleep. With him?” he asked more succinctly.
“No,” she said softly. “I never slept with Kyle.”
Even as profound relief shuddered through him, he was kissing her, forcing her head back against the wall as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, hot and deep and invasive. His entire body crashed into hers, his hard chest crushing her soft breasts, his hips grinding against hers, and his erection digging right between where her thighs met her mound. Everything about this moment was wild and reckless and tinged with a desperation to erase all the painful memories Kyle’s arrival had dredged up with something far more pleasurable.
And that sensual, inviting distraction was Tempest Wilder, the one woman who drove him crazy with lust and made him ache to end his three years of celibacy in her sweet, warm body.
His mouth continued to ravage hers like a man starved for the taste of her, and the thickening of his cock made no mystery of how much he wanted her. Her own needy, welcoming moan vibrated against his lips, and she eagerly pushed her hands into the front of his jacket and skimmed her fingers down to the waistband of his pants. She fumbled with the buckle of his belt, and while the thought of having her fingers wrapped tight around his dick as she stroked his shaft made him throb even harder, he didn’t trust himself not to come all over her fist like a fucking teenager being given a hand job for the first time.
That’s how out of control this woman made him feel, and as much as Tempest seemed to enjoy having the upper hand, he wasn’t about to let her take the lead. Before she managed to undo his belt, he tore his mouth from hers so he could grab both of her hands and pinned them above her head. They were both breathing hard from his bruising kiss and all the adrenaline pulsing between them, but she didn’t struggle against his hold. If anything, her body was lax against his, trusting him despite how rough he’d already been with her and that he currently held all the power in the situation.
He looked down at her flushed face, at the smoldering need shimmering in her smokey amber eyes and the parted lips wet and swollen from his assault on the soft, delectable mouth he envisioned sliding down the length of his cock and sucking him off. His balls drew tight in his briefs, and he groaned at the illicit thought.
Her hips shamelessly rolled against his aching dick, her lashes falling half-mast as she teased him the only way she could since he’d taken her hands out of the equation. “Remy . . . touch me. Please.”
She begged so sweetly, and while he knew he was heading into dangerous territory, his lust-fueled brain reasoned that he’d already crossed one line with her tonight, so stepping over another wouldn’t make much difference at this point.
His fingers were long and strong, so keeping her wrists anchored above her head with one hand didn’t take much effort. As his gaze held hers, he moved back just enough to put a few inches of space between their bodies so he could give hers the pleasure it craved. The high slit in her dress provided him easy access, and the second his fingers brushed along the smooth, silken skin of her inner thigh, she started to pant in anticipation.
He gave her a dark, sinful smile as he reached the apex of her thighs and rubbed his fingers against the thin cotton panel of her panties, already soaked through with her juices. She whimpered in frustration and bucked her hips against his hand, trying her best to grind her sex harder against his fingers.
He skimmed his lips along her jaw and up to the shell of her ear, the scent of her perfume, along with her arousal, intoxicating him. “Tell me what you want, princess,” he ordered gruffly, deliberately keeping his touch light and her on edge.
“More,” she pleaded desperately as she caressed her cheek against his and spoke into his ear. “More pressure. More friction. Oh, God, Remy . . . I want . . . I need your fingers directly on my clit so I can come.”
Jesus. The fact that she wasn’t shy about what she needed to get off, not to mention blatantly, shamelessly asking him for it, was a refreshing change from having to read a woman’s mind. Granting her request, he worked his way beneath the small scrap of lace fabric she wore for panties and groaned as the tips of his fingers glided along the soft, slick flesh of her bare pussy. She cried out in shock when two of those fingers drove deep inside her tight body, then moaned when he massaged her taut clit with his thumb, giving her pressure and friction in abundance.
He didn’t take things slow and gentle, because he already knew that wasn’t what this beautiful, uninhibited woman wanted. He lifted his head, taking in her expression as he fucked her with his fingers harder and faster, as he pressed and swirled his callused thumb over her clit until it was sensitive enough for her to come. Eyes closed, she writhed against the wall with her hands still restrained, her hips undulating, her breathing quickening as he drove her higher but didn’t quite push her over the precipice.
She was gorgeous and stunning like this, and he imprinted everything about her and this moment in his memory. “Look at me when you come,” he demanded, and grunted his approval when she obeyed and her lashes fluttered open, her eyes hazy with desire. With need.
“Now give me your orgasm, princess,” he ordered, finally letting her fall so he could watch the untamed beauty of her unraveling just for him.
Her entire body tensed on his command, and then she was pulsating around his fingers, her inner muscles throbbing as a long, sexy moan escaped her throat. He brought her down from the high, and even as he removed his hand from beneath her dress and released her arms, she still trembled with aftershocks.
She gave him a dreamy, satisfied smile that should have made him feel like a fucking king but instead gave him a hard, cold jolt of reality that cleared the sex and lust from his brain and forced him to think more clearly before he crossed the finish line and there was no turning back. Before he did something he’d regret later.
Because as much as he’d enjoyed being the man kissing Tempest tonight and giving her an orgasm, and as desperately as he ached to take her to the big, king-sized bed down the hall and fuck her a dozen different ways, he knew it was a bad idea. And all wrong. He was man enough to admit that what had just transpired between him and Tempest right now never would have happened if Kyle hadn’t shown up and stirred up angst and anger and spurred Remy into proving . . . what? That he could get the girl?
God, it was so fucked up, and he was furious at himself and his own loss of willpower, that he’d come on strong to Tempest for all the wrong reasons. Because what had started out as making her question the darkness in him, and the rough, aggressive, damaged man he was beneath the surface, had only backfired.
“Remy?”
It was a soft question, laced once again with concern. As if she knew he was putting up that guard again and erecting emotional walls. And he was. He needed to, for her sake as well as his own.
“I need to go,” he said abruptly, and didn’t miss the confusion that furrowed her brow and flashed in her eyes, chasing away the glow of the orgasm she’d just enjoyed. But he wasn’t in a place to reveal what had set him off. And honestly, he didn’t want to explain, because his humiliating past was something he didn’t openly share with anyone.
“Call me when you’ve got your property,” he said, then turned and headed for the elevator, knowing as he stepped onto the lift and his gaze met Tempest’s as the door closed in front of him that he’d never be able to forget the vulnerable look in her
eyes at his rejection.
He was an asshole, not just for letting things go this far but for walking out afterward, and she deserved better. And once she came to her senses, she’d thank him for doing the right thing.
Chapter 5
The two months since the night of the fairy-tale ball had been an upheaval of emotions for Tempest—starting with that evening with Remy that had ended on a hurtful and confusing note she was still trying to make sense of.
As she sat at her drafting table and absently sketched an idea for an upcoming piece of lingerie for Wilder Passion, her thoughts wandered back to that night, replaying it over in her mind for the umpteenth time. Everything had been fine between her and Remy . . . until Kyle had unexpectedly arrived at her apartment. All she knew was that something about the situation with Kyle had set Remy off in a major way, and the change in him after he’d kicked Kyle out of her place had been shocking to see from a man who’d always been so composed around her.
The entire atmosphere in the apartment had shifted in those moments, along with Remy’s demeanor. She’d been concerned at first, and when he’d lifted his head and she’d met his dark gaze, there had been a surprising amount of possessive jealousy in the depths of his eyes, but she’d also glimpsed something more haunting that reminded her of an animal who’d been provoked and was lashing out.
Her fingers fluttered to the base of her neck and she shivered as she remembered the way his big, strong hand came up to her throat as he pinned her against the wall, and all the sexual energy and the unequivocal need that had vibrated off him in waves. All the heat and potent virility. She hadn’t been alarmed or afraid. No, there had been something thrilling about the assertive, dominant man who’d kissed her so aggressively after years of resisting her . . . something so breathtaking about the wicked, indecent way he’d touched her when she’d shamelessly begged him to . . . and God, the soul-awakening way he’d made her body come alive with such hunger and intense need, as if everything inside her had lain dormant, just waiting for him to tap into all the erotic things she yearned for.
