“Hey, don’t blame me. Blame genetics.”
Duke glowered another moment, then heaved a resigned breath and muttered, “Fuck it. You wanna pay me to go out on dates with a bunch of hot chicks? Suit yourself.”
“Your gratitude is overwhelming,” Remy said dryly.
Duke gave him the finger, and Remy laughed. Working with these men was almost like being part of a platoon again.
As Duke rose to leave, Remy told him, “Do a good job on this one, and I’ll put you on the Norwegian op.”
Duke’s eyes sparked with interest. “Norwegian?”
Remy nodded. “Hot extract. Off the grid. We’ll take a submarine to get there.”
Duke’s face lit up, as Remy had expected. Uncle Sam may have declared him unfit for duty, but Duke was a warrior. Once a warrior, always a warrior.
“Hooyah!”
Remy grinned. “Hell, yeah.”
After Duke left, Remy decided to tackle some of the paperwork on his desk.
Moments later, Mona announced cheerfully from the open doorway, “You have a visitor.”
He glanced up.
At the sight of Zandra standing behind his assistant, he felt a surge of pleasure, followed by a jolt of alarm.
Duke had just left his office. Had Zandra passed him in the hallway?
“Hi.” She smiled hesitantly. “Is this a bad time?”
“For you? Never.” Remy stood, came around the desk and crossed the room to greet her. As Mona stepped aside, he wrapped his arms around Zandra and hauled her close, savoring the honeysuckle scent of her hair and the luscious warmth of her body. She clung to him, pressing her face into his chest, and he wondered if she was as happy to see him as he was to see her.
Drawing back reluctantly, he kissed her forehead and smiled into her eyes. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, yourself.”
Her hair was scooped back into a high ponytail. She wore a pink T-shirt, a fitted denim skirt and flat sandals. She looked fresh and wholesome. She looked like the Zandra of his youth.
His chest swelled as they stood there staring and smiling at each other.
“I’ll just leave you two alone,” Mona said, her voice laced with knowing amusement. She’d always liked Zandra, so she never gave her a hard time about showing up unannounced—which Zandra didn’t do often enough, as far as Remy was concerned.
As Mona closed the door behind her, Zandra asked, “Are you sure I’m not disturbing you?”
She really had no idea, did she? “Positive.”
She smiled. “Good.”
He watched as she brushed past him and strolled across the room, ponytail swinging from side to side. She walked around his desk, sat down in the chair and propped her feet up on the corner, her skirt riding up her thighs just enough to make him salivate. As she crossed her silky legs at the ankles, Remy cocked his head to one side, angling for a better view.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to look up my skirt?”
He gave her a look of sham innocence. “Of course not.”
“Better not be.”
He grinned. He loved seeing her like this, all sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. He knew, even without asking, that she’d just come from the cultural center where she volunteered several hours a week, working with disadvantaged youth through a community arts program.
Remy sauntered over, rounded the desk and perched a hip on the corner. “How’d everything go today?”
“Wonderful.” She beamed. “Those kids are amazing, Remy. So gifted. So much raw potential.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. You should see some of their work. One boy drew a picture of the Buckingham Fountain that was so good, it ought to be a postcard.”
Remy smiled. “Impressive.”
“Very impressive.” Her soft smile held a trace of sorrow. “My mother would have loved working with these kids.”
“I bet,” Remy murmured.
Autumn Kennedy had been an elementary school art teacher and a tremendously talented artist. Her death had devastated Zandra. She hadn’t been the same since, and sometimes Remy worried that she never would be.