Remy pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her abdomen, murmuring raggedly, “I don’t wanna fight, Z.”
God, neither did she. She was tired of fighting—him, herself, ghosts from her past. She was exhausted. But fighting was the only way to survive, and one thing she knew was survival.
Still, she didn’t resist as Remy stood and swept her up into his arms and carried her over to the sofa. He sat down and settled her on his lap. Her head found a familiar place on his shoulder as his arms curved around her waist, gathering her close.
She shouldn’t have felt so safe and protected, like nothing and no one could ever harm her as long as he was holding her. It shouldn’t have felt so good. So damn perfect.
She closed her eyes, savoring his heat, the strength of his chest and arms, the hard muscles of his thighs beneath her bottom.
He brushed the tears from her cheeks, his touch gentle. “Talk to me,” he murmured, his deep voice rumbling against her ear. “What’s going on with you? Hmm?”
Zandra swallowed tightly. She was so tempted to tell him about her father’s visit and the devastating things he’d said. But she wasn’t a child anymore, running to Remy’s house and crying on his shoulder after one of Landis’s violent outbursts. She was an adult now, more than capable of handling her problems on her own.
“It’s been a long day,” she answered without opening her eyes. “I’m still interviewing girls to replace Lena. I’m planning a showing for a new artist that I’m sponsoring. I had a ton of paperwork to catch up on. Like I said...long day.”
“So nothing else is bothering you?” Remy probed.
She shook her head.
She knew, even without seeing his face, that he didn’t believe her. He’d always been able to read her like a book.
She waited, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue.
“Things have changed between us, Zandra,” he said quietly, “and our relationship will never be the same again. But I hope you know that no matter what happens from this day forward, I’ll always be here for you. Do you believe me?”
Zandra hesitated, then nodded. She did believe him.
“Good.” He kissed her forehead.
Snuggling closer to him, Zandra slid her hand up his chest, soothed by the strong, steady thud of his heart beneath her palm. Even after a long day, she could still smell soap on his skin. He smelled clean, warm and masculine. He smelled like Remy.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” he murmured against her temple.
She smiled, opening her eyes to stare at the rugged curve of his jaw. “Of course I remember. Do you even have to ask?”
His lips curved. “Tell me what you remember.”
She sighed. “Hmm, let’s see. I had just moved into your neighborhood at the end of the summer. On the first day of school, I was walking home when some knuckleheads from my class started following me and taunting me just because our teacher had made a big deal about me skipping the second grade.”
Never one to back down from a fight, Zandra had thrown down her backpack and put up her fists, knowing she was outmatched but not caring. Just as the ringleader shoved her, Remy had appeared—materializing out of nowhere, it seemed.
Even then he was tall, towering over her and the other kids. His dark eyes flashed with fire as he stepped between Zandra and her adversary.
“Aw, man, you gonna fight a girl?” he demanded, his raspy voice filled with disgust. “What a punk.”
“I ain’t no punk,” the ringleader protested. His comrades had grown silent, watching the exchange from a safe distance.
“Then fight me,” Remy challenged, leaning down until his nose nearly touched the boy’s. “Whatsa matter? You scared?”
“Nah, man,” the bully insisted, the denial contradicted by the tremor in his voice. “This ain’t none of your business.”
“It is now.”
The boy hesitated, casting a furtive glance to his friends for support.