My heart hurts when I think of how much effort it’s going to take him not to let this f**k with his head. I want to whisper reassurances, but I can’t even seem to speak, I’m so pissed at life for throwing me a curveball again.
Suddenly, he starts kissing me softly, first the top of my ear, then my earlobe, then the center nook, his hot breath sending shivers through me as he part breathes, part growls out words that seem to be wrenched from out of him. My eyes burn and I’m sure I’ve got a dagger sticking out of my chest as he tells me, “I’m going to miss you . . . I’m going to need you to be good . . . take care of yourself . . . I need you . . .”
My throat feels so swollen I can only nod as I watch him reach into his jeans and pull out a platinum credit card.
“Use it,” he whispers.
I suppose Melanie would die if a man gave her a credit card, but I don’t want to go on a shopping spree or something. I don’t want . . . anything but my life. I want our baby to be all right. I want us to be together. I want my new life, on tour, with him.
“Brooke,” he warns, and I feel him tuck the card into my palm. “I want to see charges. Daily,” he warns. He looks down at me with half a grin, his black hair standing up more than usual, his scruff even darker this morning because he didn’t shave, and how can you love someone so much that it burns through you? I love the way his sooty lashes frame his blue eyes, and the exact slant of his eyebrows. I love his hard forehead, cheekbones, and jaw, and how his mouth manages to look both plump and soft, but firm and strong.
Raising my arm, I drag the tips of my fingers along the square line of his jaw. “When I came back, I promised myself I’d never leave you.”
“I promised myself I’d never let you go. What else do you expect me to do?” His eyes are dark and tortured, and I know he didn’t sleep.
He paced all night, curling and uncurling his fingers as he asked me if I felt any pain. Yeah, I did. I felt little stabs in my heart, and said, no cramping. He returned to bed to gather me close, kissing me like he wanted to devour me. I remember every movement of his tongue on mine. The temperature of his breath on my face. And how many times he tore his lips away, kissed my forehead, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Because we’re not allowed to make love either.
So our last night together, we spent kissing. And the several times he took a cold shower, I spent crying into my pillow.
Now he brushes loose strands of hair behind my forehead, his eyes holding mine. “We’re going to be all right, little firecracker,” he whispers to me. He runs his gaze down my body and spreads his hand open on my stomach. The proprietary gesture makes my heart burn with love. “We’ve got this.” He rubs me softly through my cotton shirt, looking down at me with tender blue eyes. “Don’t we?”
“Of course we do,” I say, with a sudden surge of determination. “It’s just two months, right?”
He tweaks my nose. “Right.”
“And it’s not like we can’t communicate in other ways.”
“Exactly right.”
Sitting up, I rest my forehead on his shoulder, and he slides his hand around my waist as I massage his muscle. “Let your body rest. Ice yourself after your workouts. Warm up properly.”
He buries his face in my neck and pulls me closer, and I hear us both scenting each other with the deepest breaths possible. His hand clenches on my hip bone, and suddenly he licks my neck, his voice guttural when he rumbles in my ear, “I can’t let anything happen to you, Brooke. I can’t. I had to bring you back.”
“I know, Remy, I know.” I run my fingers through the back of his head because he sounds so tormented. “We’re going to be all right, all three of us.”
“That’s the point of all this.”
“And like you say, we’ve got this. We really do.”
“Damn right we do.”
“You’ll be back before we even have time to feel sad or miss each other too much.”
“That’s right. I’ll be training and you’ll be resting.”
“Yeah.”
When we fall silent, we stay close and embracing for a long time, and I can almost hear the minutes ticking by, like little bitches intent on ruining my life. Remington scents me again, as if he wants to get enough of my scent to last him two months, and almost frantically, I do the same, inhale his scent and close my eyes, feeling his shoulder muscle under my fingers, so strong and solid, as I start to massage him lightly again. “I left some arnica oils in your suitcase. If you have any muscle soreness or any pain.”
“Are you still seeing blood?” he asks quietly, and when I nod, he brings me to his lap, where I cuddle closer and press my temple into his jaw.
“Every time a cramp starts, I feel like it’s going to come out of me.”
He strokes his hand down my back and presses his lips to my forehead. “I know it’ll kill you not to run. Stay off your feet for me.”