His eyebrows rose. “We’re platonically dating?”
“Think of it as friends without the benefits. Sex was confusing things.” Hell, it had overtaken everything. “We’re starting over and giving this a real shot. So that means no orgasms until you know I’m interested in more than just certain body parts.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being punished?”
“You’re not,” she insisted, pressing a hand to his chest and reveling in the feel of his heart pounding beneath it. He was so calm on the surface, but underneath was a different story. “You said things…”
“Things like I love you?” Brick tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she shivered at the contact.
“Things that made me stop and think,” she said. “Things that scared the hell out of me. And part of me is still waiting for you to change your mind and back away again. But regardless, I’m in this until the bitter end.”
“Then we use this time for you to convince me you want more than just sex and for me to convince you that I’m not going anywhere this time.”
Him saying the words had her heart tripping in her chest.
“Without sex,” she reminded him.
“Without sex,” he agreed with an arch of his eyebrow.
She gave him a little shove. “Why don’t you go find us a bottle of wine? I’ll get dinner ready.”
She waited until he left the kitchen before sagging against the counter.
She’d seduced and enjoyed. She’d fascinated and dazzled. She could freaking woo Brick. Couldn’t she? As long as she didn’t take the man’s pants off, she could stay focused on the goal: Making Brick Callan realize he was more than good enough for her.
How hard could it be to not have sex with a man she’d spent fourteen years not having sex with?
The sexy son of a bitch returned with a bottle of wine and a smirk. He flashed the label at her, and she recognized it as one of her favorites. Of course the man who stocked Kraft Mac and Cheese for her would also have her favorite wine.
The urge to climb him like a tree flared to life between her thighs.
But it was the look in those blue eyes that stopped her. Hope. He was hopeful.
Remi turned away and swallowed hard. He made her feel so raw it made her hands shake.
Brick watched her silently as he found a corkscrew and went to work opening the bottle. While she fussed over the salad, he poured two glasses and slid one to her.
Their fingers tangled on the stem, and her pulse spiked. Everything about the man drew her in. But she wasn’t going to jump this time. She was going to take it slow. Magnus sprinted into the room, the mouse in his mouth giving her the needed distraction to extricate her fingers and glass.
“What are we watching?” he asked, looking down at her. A flicker of a smile curving those brutal lips. He could tell she was nervous, and she knew he liked it.
“The Quiet Man,” she announced.
He frowned. “I’m not familiar.”
She gasped theatrically, side-stepping Magnus as he wriggled into one of her shopping bags. “The Quiet Man,” she repeated.
“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it.”
“John Wayne is a quiet ex-boxer who moves to Ireland and falls in love with Maureen O’Hara, a wildcat with a wicked tongue and red hair.”
He gave her a sexy half smile that had her cheeks going pink and nipples tightening to points. She took a gulp of wine.
“Sounds familiar. At least the part about the red-haired wild cat with a wicked tongue.”
They both needed to stop talking about tongues. It wasn’t helping her heightened arousal situation. “It’s a classic. Besides you have no choice. Sacrifices must be made when you’re dating,” she said airily.
“I can help you with dinner,” he said. They both watched as his index finger hooked itself in the neckline of her pajama top.
Her heart rate spiked when his finger grazed her sternum.
Yes. Wait. No.
This was a dangerous game. She grabbed his hand. “No sex. Remember? What’s so funny?” she demanded when he gave her the full wattage of the rare Brick Callan grin.
She felt a little light-headed. And also like she’d won the lottery.
“Me touching you with a fingertip makes you think we’re about to have sex.”
“After the past few weeks, can you blame me?”
“Hmm.” His hum was like a caress over her skin.
This was going to be harder than she thought. Dammit! Harder.
She shook her head until her brain sloshed around inside. “Focus. No sex. Not until you feel appreciated.”
“I feel appreciated when you scream my name and lock down around my cock.”
Holy Johnny Cash. Her body unanimously voted for boosting itself up on the counter and spreading her legs as wide as they could go for the man who looked like he wanted to devour her.
But her heart managed a veto.
“You felt used. That’s on me,” she said. “Ergo, it’s up to me to prove to you how much I want the whole shebang. Hebang?”
He raised an eyebrow.
She grimaced. “Forget the banging. My point is, I know there’s more to us than just sex, and I’m going to prove it to you.”
“By not having sex with me.”
She nodded. “No orgasms for me…or you. I don’t think I could control myself if I was making you come,” she admitted.
He closed his eyes like he was in pain. “Jesus, Remi.”
“Just go with it, okay? I want to make this right.”
42
As John Wayne plowed his fist into another man’s face, Brick wondered how the hell he’d gotten so fucking lucky. He’d spent the last forty-eight hours hating himself for what he’d said. What he’d done.
What kind of an asshole says “I love you,” delivers a rough good-bye fuck, then walks out while his girl was still on the floor?
The Brick Callan kind of asshole.
He’d been handed the woman of his dreams naked on a platter, and what had he done? He’d immediately looked for reasons why they wouldn’t work instead of ways they could work.
Remi giggled next to him on the couch. The lights were on low. The fire burning off the chill of the cold night. Snow falling silently outside. Their empty plates were stacked on the coffee table. Magnus was curled up on Remi’s feet under the blanket, exhausted from his catnip high.
It was like a fantasy. Not all of his fantasies had involved Remi naked. Some had been staged just like this. A quiet, snowy night with the woman he loved curled against him, borrowing his heat.
He stroked his hand through her hair, and she let out a sigh that sounded almost like a purr. It was perfect. This moment.
The fight on-screen moved from the pub into the street. Apparently, public brawls were a sport in Ireland. One he understood. He’d fight for Remington. He’d fight any enemy to keep her safe, to defend her honor. He’d fight to show her what was in his heart.