“Maybe you can finger paint till then?” he suggested.
This time she did look at him, and he was relieved to see a little spark in those green eyes. “Maybe,” she mused.
“I can clear out most of the outdoor equipment to give you more space,” he said when she got quiet again.
What. The. Fuck? Christ, five seconds with the woman and all his carefully made plans tumbled like a house of cards.
They would both be better off with as much distance as possible between them. But he was worried about her, and until he figured out what was wrong and how to fix it, he’d have to suck it up and deal with the proximity.
“You don’t have to do that. I just need a little corner with good light. Besides, this is just temporary until I figure out…some things.”
“Are you okay?” Sleep-deprived Brick had the self-control of a four-year-old. He wanted to kick himself for asking the question. He wanted to keep asking questions. To keep pushing until he had real answers. Something was wrong, and he didn’t like it.
Why wasn’t she in any accident reports? What had caused her asthma attack? Why had she suddenly materialized on Mackinac? Why did her lights stay on all night? Why was she lying?
Things weren’t adding up, and he was starting to get the feeling that Remi was in trouble. And if there was anything more irresistible than Happy, Playful Remi, it was In Trouble Remi.
Her gaze skated away from him. “Sure. I’m fine.” She said it with a little, careless shrug and then turned to look out one of the windows.
It was the opposite of convincing. She could look anyone in the world in the eye and lie to their face. Except him.
“Would you tell…anyone if you were in trouble?” Would she tell him?
He watched her cover up the fatigue, the worry with a facade of bravado. Her smile, while still a punch to the gut, didn’t come close to her eyes. “Now, when did you go and get a big imagination, Brick Callan? Everything is fine. I’m fine.”
Remington Ford had never once in her entire life been fine. She’d been wonderful. She’d been devastated. She’d been on top of the world. She’d been shattered. But never something as flat or normal as fine.
If he was going to find out what the hell kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into and fix it, he was going to have to keep her close. Or he could just step back and let her deal with it herself.
Fuck.
“Remi—”
She cut him off. “If I do paint,” she said, looking down at her cast. “I don’t like anyone seeing my work before it’s done. I’m superstitious about it.”
He almost said he’d respect her privacy, but that would be a lie. Maybe he wouldn’t peek at her work, but he sure as hell would be digging into whatever the hell was going on with her. So he nodded instead. “I can get you a couple of tarps. For the floor, and you can use one to cover your work.”
“That would be great.”
“I can lock the door to the house, too,” he offered. Maybe a locked door between them would help his sanity.
“Now you’re just being silly.”
He was never silly. Rarely ever even funny.
“So is that a yes?” she asked. “You’ll rent me the space?” She made a show of pressing her palms together under her chin as if she were begging him.
“Yeah. You can use it,” he said wearily.
Some of the tension left her shoulders. “Thank you, Brick. Once again, you’re there with exactly what I need.”
He decided the best reply was a non-committal grunt.
“Oh. One other thing,” she said. “I paint naked. I hope that’s not a problem.”
He turned away from her so swiftly he jostled the table behind him, sending a tackle box to the floor. On an indignant yowl, Magnus sprinted toward the door. Fuck. There was no amount of fish bait he could think about to relieve the swelling in his cock. Short of untucking his uniform shirt, there would be no hiding it from her.
“Geez. Tough crowd. I’m kidding, big guy. I’m not going to prance around your house naked,” she said behind him.
For fuck’s sake. Stop saying naked!
“I’ll get you a key,” he said as he focused all his attention on bending over to pick up the tackle box without cutting off circulation to his stupid, throbbing erection.
“Need a hand?” she asked.
Hand. Mouth. Hot, wet pussy. Fuck fuck fuck.
“Nope. I got it,” he rasped. He stood, holding the box in front of his crotch.
“So I guess the only thing left to do…”
His mind went wild for a moment, fantasizing about folding her over the table and dragging those leggings down her thighs. He imagined what it would be like to see his handprint pink on one of those ivory globes.
She was looking at him expectantly as if she’d said something that required his response.
“Sorry. What?”
“The only thing left is to agree on the rent.”
“Rent,” he repeated. Looking at her was only making him harder.
“Yeah. You know how rent works, right? You give me space? I give you money?” Her smile, though small, was a little warmer.
He shook his head, aiming some of his annoyance at her. “I’m not taking your money.”
“Don’t be so old-fashioned. Name a price.”
“I mean it,” he said sternly. He set the tackle box down and tried to pretend that a hard-on wasn’t hell-bent on tunneling its way out of his pants.
“Now you’re just being—”
Of course she looked down. Those green eyes locked onto his zipper and her pink lips parted in a sexy little O.
“Now I’m just being what?” he prompted.
“Just being…grouchy?” She was still staring. And he was starting to like it.
“You’re asking me if I’m being grouchy?”
“What?” She gave a little head shake and dragged her gaze away from his pants. “I mean. Food. Cooking. Well, baking. I’m pretty good at baking things.”
She was looking at the ceiling now, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. He wanted to order her to look down again, then realized he was being a masochistic idiot.
“Fine. Baking. I’ll walk you out.” And wrap his hand around his dick the second he shut the door behind her.
He led the way, in a hurry to get her out of his house, out of his head. At the front door, he spotted the bag on the floor and grabbed it.
“You look tired,” she observed. “Are you okay?” She was looking at his crotch again. Only this time, her tongue darted out, and she licked her lower lip.
His cock twitched in reaction, and she made a strangled little noise. A man could only take so much torture.
“Fine. Great. Good.” He held the bag out to her. “Here.”
“What’s in the bag?” she asked, looking as if she was addressing his dick.
“Meat. It’s for you. Pickings are slim this time of year. Figured you haven’t had time to stock up.”