Mine (Real, #2)(7)
“What do you say?” he prods.
I make sure I’m wearing a wow look on my face when I answer. “You guys look sexy!” And squeak when I get a squeeze on my ass, and Remington hauls me by the waist down the rest of the plane’s aisle to our seats.
He settles me down and plops down next to me, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. “Say that again about another guy.”
“Why?”
“Just try me.”
“Pete and Riley look sooooooo—”
His hands fly out and he tickles me under my armpits. “Try that again now?” he prods.
“Ohmigod, your men in black are so fricking—”
He tickles me harder.
“You won’t even let me say the word ‘sexy’!” I squeak, as he stops.
Blue eyes gleaming, Remy’s lips form the most tantalizing smile I’ve ever seen, and coupled with that scruff on his jaw and the dimples, my toes are definitely curling. “Would you like to try that again, Brooke Dumas?” he huskily prods.
“Yes, I would! Because I think Pete and Riley look amazingly—”
He tickles me so hard I kick and flail in the air, and then I gasp for breath and somehow finish up half-sitting, half-sprawled on my seat, my breasts pushing into his hard pecs with every harsh breath. Our smiles fade as a delicious sexual awareness starts crackling between us as we stare deep into each other’s eyes.
Suddenly, he reaches out, and uses his thumb to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear, his voice thickening as one dimple disappears before the other does. “Say it when you say my name,” he says, and a shiver goes through me as he runs the back of a finger down my jaw.
“Your ego not big enough?” I whisper breathlessly as I memorize his face. The square jaw, the spiky hair, the sleek dark eyebrows over those piercing blue eyes, that watch me with a little mischief and just enough jealousy to make my * clench.
“You could say it shrunk sizably when my girlfriend ogled those two dipshits.” He eases back to let me sit up, and as I do, he leans back comfortably in the way sexy guys sit, with his legs spread out and his long, corded arms outstretched on the back of the seat as he watches me with a half frown.
“What was I supposed to say?” I taunt with a smile. “That they don’t look good in the new suits? They’re like my brothers.”
“No, they’re like my brothers.”
“See? And I’m yours, so it’s the same thing.” I shrug and pull my skirt down to my knees. “Now you know how I feel when a thousand women scream at you,” I add smugly as I strap on my seat belt.
He takes my chin and turns me to look at him. “Who cares what they scream when I’m crazy about you?”
Thud. My heart did that. “Same with me then. You don’t have to growl when guys look at me.”
His eyes darken, and he drops his hand at his side and clamps his jaw into a firm line. “Be grateful I have some control in me and I don’t pin them to the nearest lamppost. I f*cking know what they’re doing to you in their heads.”
“Just because you do that doesn’t mean that others do.”
“Of course they do. It’s impossible not to.”
I smile, because I know he f*cks me in his head tons of times when he can’t do it physically. And I do the same, of course. I bet even a nun who saw him would do the same.
Feeling mischievous, I slide my fingers under his T-shirt and feel the bumps of his eight-pack, savoring the feel of his skin under my fingertips. I worship everything about the human body. Not only because I’m a sports rehab specialist, but because I used to be an athlete and I absolutely marvel what our bodies can do, how they endure when pushed, how they kick into gear with innate mechanisms for mating and survival. . . . But I can fiercely love the human body, and yet Remy’s body is my ultimate church. I can’t even explain in words what it does to my own.
“All the girls undress you when you fight,” I tell him, and my smile fades as a little jealousy seeps in. “It makes me insecure you picked me out of the crowd.”
“Because I knew you were for me. Solely, exclusively, for me.”
My body instantly tightens at the words, so sexy when combined with that confident smile he wears. “I am,” I agree, looking into those dancing blue eyes. “And now I don’t know what I want to kiss most, you or your dimples?”
The dimples fade, and so do the lights in his eyes as he reaches out to rub my lower lip. “Me. Always me first. Then the rest of me.”
My lower lip feels warm and deliciously massaged by his thumb as the attendants finish loading the luggage and shut the plane door, and I’m vaguely aware that the team is talking in their seats, for I hear my own eager whisper, “Let me power down my phone for takeoff. . . . But you definitely owe me a morning kiss. Even if it’s noon.” I nod at him in warning.
His chuckle is low, and I feel it roll all over my skin. “I owe you more than that, but I’ll start with your lips.”
God. Remington? He kills me. He speaks casually, almost boredly saying—Yeah, I’m going to kiss you now. And my systems jack up. My blood bubbles as I start thinking about it, and I quickly pull my cell phone out of my bag to power it off when I spot a text from Melanie.
MELANIE: My best friend! It’s been ages and I really miss you. When are you coming home?