The bottom drops out of my world.
“I think he recognized your voice, you idiot!” I hiss under my breath, tugging Mel’s skirt so that she sits back down.
But he’s not looking at Mel. Oh, no. Remy is staring at me. Feet braced apart, his chest heaves as he suddenly lasers in on me. Me and only me.
His blue eyes bore into me, curious and questioning, and I am suddenly excruciatingly aware of everything I am wearing. The kohl around my eyes, the ridiculous red lipstick, the plastered-on makeup . . . I pray, quietly and fervently, that it’s enough to shield me from him.
I expel a breath when his eyes slide to my right, to Melanie, and she adjusts her wig and breathes, “Shit on a f**king stick.”
And if I thought I was free and clear, I completely, completely, underestimated him.
He looks at me again, and then, slowly, he shakes his head.
My heart clenches so hard I think my chest will have some permanent interior damage.
He drags a hand through his hair and restlessly paces around for a moment; then he lifts his head again, and when his eyes sear into me and he shakes his head again, this time with a sudden flash of his beautiful dimples, I think I come.
Electricity courses through me as his eyes darken with heat, his lips curl sensually, full of that male knowledge of his that I, contrary to what any of his fans say, I am his number one fan.
He knows exactly who I am. I can see chastising amusement in his eyes and can almost hear him say . . .
You little shit, I know who you are.
I see you.
I f**king see you!
I want to rip off this stupid costume, and just run up to him and climb him like a tree. Grab that hard jaw in my hands and kiss his mouth and drown him with my kisses and all the love I have for him that’s been drowning me for weeks.
He curls his fingers at his sides when another fighter is announced, and as he takes the ring, Remy keeps looking at me, clenching and unclenching his fists, and the heat in his gaze, I can feel it burn in every part of my being, down to my toes.
The bell rings, and Remington winks at me, a wink that makes the crowd roar.
Melanie squeaks and squeezes my hand. “Tell me again how much he doesn’t want you, you dopehead!” She points at herself. “This girl right here is horny on your f**king behalf! Ohmigod! He’s completely doing you in his head!”
I almost moan when the fight begins.
Remington looks invigorated. He punches the new fighter repeatedly, jabbing, hooking, ducking, and he turns to me in between punches, just to see that I’m looking.
I am.
I see him.
I feel him.
I want him.
I f**king love him more than anything or anyone in this world.
The man doesn’t stand a chance against him, and I watch in utter and complete fascination.
All these weeks, with all these hormones, missing him like crazy, wanting him like crazy, loving him like crazy . . . He’s as close as I’ve ever had him in weeks, and I am dying for him so badly, I’m gripping my chair so tight my knuckles are white. I want him inside me like I want my next breath. Right now it’s all I can think of—all I can think of is that he is mine, and I am his, that I am not letting him go, that I will make him want me again if he ever stops wanting me, and that there will never be a moment of my life when I will let go.
With every win, his name is called, his arm is raised, the crowd roars, and those blue eyes find me in my ridiculous outfit and his jaw tightens and his body tenses, as if he can’t stand to see me without touching me. My entire body responds and I tremble in my seat with the way he looks at me. I may look awful, but he still wants me. Lust burns in his eyes, and the promise that he’ll take me dances inside those irises. My heart throbs. I remember him.
I remember his skin, his calluses brushing over me. His breath. I see his body up on display, glistening with sweat, every cut and ripped inch perfect, and I can almost taste it, feel it slide against mine.
All night I am a mass of happiness, excitement, nerves, and quaking, overwhelming need.
“Mel, I don’t want him to come see me in this costume,” I tell her, for the first time regretting my clothing choices. I look ugly, whorish, unclean, and ridiculous, and this is not how I wanted Remy to see me tonight.
“All right, let’s get you home and make him come to you,” she mutters. She starts pushing me, and suddenly I hear the voice bursting through the speakers. “KNOCKOUT! Yes, ladies and gentlemen! Our victor this evening, once again, I give you, Riptide! Riiiptiiiiiiide!!!!!!!!”
His name echoes around me as the public chants, “Riptide! Riptide!”
“Of course you’d do the exact opposite of what I asked you to,” a guttural, insanely deep and sexy voice whispers behind me; then I see a muscular torso move in front of me, and I’m lifted into a pair of deliciously sweaty arms.
Remington turns to Melanie instead of to me, and I hear him tell her, almost growl, “I’m taking care of this fireball. Riley can give you a ride home.”
His scent spins around me and completely disarms me. I want to hit his chest and tell him to let me go, because I’m still a little angry, but my fingers have linked at the back of his strong neck in my fear of falling, and I’m motionless in his hold—absorbing the feel of his arms around me. Good. Scary good. His bulging biceps pressing into my sides, his thick forearms glistening with a sheen of perspiration, like the rest of him. The rest of beautiful, infuriating, complicated him.
“Have fun, Brooke,” Melanie says with a twinkle in her eye as she comes to pat my shoulder, whispering in my ear, “Dude, in my life, I’ve never seen that glimmer in a man’s eyes before; he’s going to f**k you so bad.”
In the locker rooms, Riley greets me with a beyond-thrilled grin on his face. “Hey, Brooke! Since Rem’s got you tight, I assume you are Brooke?” he says as he hands Remington a small duffel bag.
Remy nods and whispers something to him, then he carries me outside and summons a cab and, instead of taking me home, gruffly tells the driver the name of a hotel two blocks away. He’s dehydrated, and he unzips his duffel, takes out a smartwater and starts gulping it down as he uses his free arm to haul me onto his lap.
His grip tightens around my waist when I try to move from my spot, and my heart hammers crazily in my chest when he tucks the water back into his bag. He ducks his head, and takes the deepest, longest inhale of me he’s ever taken. Lust spirals through me. I’m still a little bit angry, but between my thighs, my cl*t pulses to the point of pain. He grabs my face, turns me, and nips my earlobe, breathing heavily, completely aroused under my butt as if he wants me. As if he desperately wants me.
“God,” he rasps into my ear, his arms clenching around me as he f**ks his tongue into my ear. A tremor of need races up my body and makes me bite back a moan. I’m torn between hitting and kissing him because he’s killing me. My panties are drenched, my br**sts hurt, my heart hurts, every part of me hurts as he dips his tongue into my ear, outside the shell, behind it, with that same desperation I feel.
When we arrive at the hotel, I’m stewing in my own anger and at the same time simmering with lust because of the way Remington has worked himself into a crazy arousal in the back of the taxi. Rubbing his hands on me, licking and nipping me. Scenting me like he’s starving for air.
He picks up a key from the front desk and then we’re riding up in the elevator, and I say, “Put me down,” in a thick, alien voice.