Real

“That’s the last time you call some tramps when he’s like this,” I say, sticking a finger out threateningly, my heart pounding in pure rage and protectiveness. “I realize I’m in no condition to make decisions here, but neither is he. He doesn’t want them!” I cry.

The men, both of them completely sober and always quite sharp in their “bodyguard-looking” suits and ties, except Pete who lost form tonight, they just stare at me in utter confusion, making me feel like I’ve gone mad.

Well?

Have I?

I’m not sure. But my chest aches for the man in the master bedroom and my breasts heave from my fast breaths as I fight to stand my ground. I know what these guys are thinking. I know they want to know why the hell I won’t let those women in. They think I want to fuck Remington, and that I think he truly wants me. And maybe I do. I desperately do. I not only want to fuck him, I may possibly have gone all out and have deep complicated feelings for him.

But the thought of anyone touching him makes me want to breathe fire. I don’t care that he’s not mine. I care that right now, Pete just shot something up his veins, his beautiful body is on standby, and his brain is shot. If I can stop this nightmare from happening, I will, and I just did.

“I’m not drunk now,” I state to the men when they only keep staring at me.

Both of them sigh. “I’m going to bed in case he starts up when it wears off,” Riley says, and stalks to the door.

“Don’t go in there,” Pete warns to me, signaling at the master. “Sleep in the other room. He’s possibly not going to remember anything you say right now, and if what we gave him wears off too soon, he can get more difficult than you can imagine.”

“Fine,” I lie, and go to other room to get into my sleep shirt, but I just can’t leave it at that. Only Remy and I are sleeping in this suite, and when the door shuts after Pete, I know we’re alone.

Winding my way through the minefield of glass everywhere and shoving aside the compulsion to clean up, I go into the master bedroom. My pulse is a frantic drum pounding at my temples as I take in the scene. The drapes are partly open, and I feel a rush of possessiveness and protectiveness surge through me as I spot his shadowed form on the bed, briefly illuminated from the city lights. I tell myself I just want to make sure he’s okay. But I’m so wired and worried, I’m afraid seeing him won’t be enough and I’m going to need to search for a pulse or something.

Easing quietly inside, I trap my breath in my throat and soundlessly close the door behind me.

Silently I remove my shoes, then approach with light steps on the carpet as my eyes adjust to the shadows. He’s face down on the bed, and when he groans, my heart goes crazy with pain. The sheets rustle and the mattress squeaks as he shifts, and I’m so crazy about this man, I just want to eat him up with a spoon and do a whole lot of other things I’ve never wanted to do with anyone else.

The bugs flutter all over my stomach as I remember him telling Pete and Riley for me not to see. Does he worry about what I think of him? I really want to tell him he’s still “all that” to me. I want to tell him a lot of nice things. How well he fought. That I think he’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. That he’s had me walking on cloud nine all night just with his kisses. I know that I too, needed to hear this when my world came crashing down, my body broke and my spirit caved in, and Mel held my hand and told me I was still her number one. I want Remy to know I would also proudly hold up a poster that says I’m his #1 fan. But I just can’t talk through this ball of emotion in my throat. I’m so worried to see him like this it’s eating me. And my liver isn’t coping so well so I’m experiencing about a thousand emotions I don’t even know how to deal with right now. I think I just want to caress and cuddle him, but I’m afraid he’ll kick me out if he knows I’m here.

Nervous as I lean over, I set a hand on his big bare shoulder. His warmth seeps from his smooth skin and into me as I bend to the shell of his ear and softly buzz my lips along his earlobe, like he did to me in the plane.

The scent of his shampoo and the natural smell he emanates that drives me mad with lust seeps into me, and I can’t help but slide my fingers down his back, over the round curve of his buttocks. He’s so beautiful, my body weeps with longing to know his.

I understand the protocol of working “off” some extra energy. Athletes compete better with sex beforehand in many proven cases. These weeks with him have been intense for me too, and every day I feel more desperate and unbalanced from the pain of sheer sexual denial.

Lightly, full of regret for our lost night, I touch up the curve of his back and shiver at the contact of his warm skin, silken and smooth, sliding under my fingers. My pussy grips with pure longing, and a selfish part of me desperately wants him to open his eyes, see me, and pull me into his arms until we’re both out of breath and exhausted from what’s been building.

But another part of me dreads that he will send me away.

There’s such a high probability that he will. I don’t even know why I’m still here when I was so clearly warned to stay away. Maybe I’m weaker than Remy is. Maybe I’m crazier. I just want to be next to him tonight. He’s sedated, big and helpless right now, and I just know he would never hurt me.

As quietly as possible, I edge to the side of the bed and spread my body next to his. Suddenly he groans softly and rolls over fully to his back, and I hold my breath as the complete expanse of his beautiful muscled body is exposed to me. My breath just goes.

His nakedness in the moonlight makes me wet in the mouth, and between my legs, legs which feel like cotton now. I can see every muscle in his body, see where each adjoins to the next, and how his skin coats perfectly tight over every inch. I could delineate each muscle with a pencil. He’s so perfectly virile, I’m blazing hot and drenched between my legs, and I’m just desperate to feel his lips under mine, his tongue grazing mine.

I want him to wake up so I can tell him that I want him, in my mouth, inside me. I want to strip off my clothes and glue every inch of my skin to his golden one. I want to bend down and touch and kiss him right there, where he’s just as big and hard as the rest of him. Right there, where he’s so much … man.

Briefly, I allow my eyes to caress him, the length of his muscled legs, his narrow hips, his beautiful cock, so thick and long and velvety … up the sexiest star tattoo I’ve ever seen, up higher over his washboard abs, his hard chest, his thick, powerful neck, and to his gut-wrenchingly handsome face.

His eyes are closed, his lashes two dark moons against his high cheekbones, his jaw perfectly square, even at rest. I stroke a finger across the scratchy stubble there.

“You’re so beautiful, Remy.”

He groans and turns his face into the touch, and I wrap my arm around his waist and cover us up, listening to his breathing, his big chest rising and falling as I press my body to his for warmth.

Eventually I must have fallen deeply asleep. By the time his cell phone alarm goes off at five a.m. neither of us hears it, and it is ten a.m. when Riley wakes us up, clapping and laughing to get our lazy asses out of bed because Rem could use going to the gym today.

Riley actually seems delighted that I appear to have “slept” with Remy. He was probably eager for Remy to work off whatever “it” was, either with those prostitutes or with me.

The man totally misses the way we both jump to a sitting position when he leaves. Remington looks anything but groggy the instant he notices me across the opposite side of the bed. I think my hair is tousled and I must look every inch as trampled as I feel, but I can’t help noting his beautiful body is fully naked and the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen by daylight.

We take each other in for several heartbeats.

Heartbeats where every kiss he gave me last night swells in memory in the flesh of my lips.

The sunlight streams into the room, and the bed is undone, and we’re both in it, and our eyes are wildly going up and down.

A desperate urge to jump his sexy bones rushes through me, and I notice the primitive alertness that settles in his eyes as he quietly rakes me, top to bottom, as my body shakes in lust inside an old Disney World t-shirt courtesy of one of Melanie’s yearly “stay young” trips.

His eyes look so dark this morning I swear to god there’s not a fleck of blue in that hot-deviled gaze anymore.

Before Remy can even ask what I am doing in his bed, I hop to my feet and briskly go to change, insanely aware of his eyes tracking my movements across the room.

But he never comes after me.

“It’s normal, when this happens.” Pete shrugs at the gym, when Remy doesn’t appear after two hours. “You might want to do something with your day, Brooke. There’s no point in you not enjoying yourself and getting a little sun.”

Really, after a night of drinks, the word “sun” is not as welcoming as it is usually to me, but I nod and walk a little of Miami, trying to soak up the amazingly vibrant cultural mix of Latinos and more, but I just don’t have the energy for it.

I’ve never been hung over in my life.

It’s definitely an experience I don’t ever want to repeat.

I’m parched no matter how much water I drink, and I’m also nauseous and foggy-headed, weak and unwell, and I can barely open my eyes wide enough to see where I’m going.

But I still make an effort, and decide to call my parents from my cell phone as I head down the shops at Midtown Miami.

“Where are you now?” my mother demands. “Your father wants to know if you’re going to that famous restaurant, What’s-it-Called, the one where the movie stars go?”

“Mother, I’m working,” I tell her. “This isn’t a vacation to me. And if you told me the actual name of What’s-it-Called, I might have a clue about what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, never mind! But we got a new postcard from Nora! She’s in Australia, and she sends all her love. You should see the beach in the picture, goodness! Now that’s paradise. I wonder if she’s seen any real alligators. Or is it crocodiles that live there? Crocodiles or alligators?”

“Crocodiles, Mom. And I think there are some here in Florida, as well. Hey, I don’t want to run out of battery, I’ll call you next weekend, all right? I just wanted to check up on you.” I hang up, because it was seriously not a good idea to call my parents today. They’re great and I love them, but they’re my parents.

They’re nosy and opinionated and they naturally get on my nerves.

I especially resent the fact that their dreams for my worldwide stardom shattered the day that my knee did, and I know that they don’t truly believe that I will ever be able to live a “full” life now.

It would be so much easier to deal with them if Nora would do more than just send a monthly postcard too.

Heading back to the hotel, I spot Diane at the gift shop, and we share a quick lunch.

“Pete tells me our guy isn’t doing well today,” she says, her tone both questioning and sad.