Any Way You Want It (Brand Clan #2)(67)
Zandra’s heart constricted painfully. She pushed to her knees, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, absorbing his pain and anguish as if it were her own.
When he lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes were bright with unshed tears, and so full of sorrow her heart broke.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered fiercely.
His nostrils flared with suppressed emotion.
“Do you hear me?” Zandra urgently cupped his face between her hands. “It wasn’t your fault, Remy.”
He stared at her another moment, then made a muffled sound deep in his throat and threw his arms around her. Tears flooded her eyes. He clung tightly to her, and she clung right back. Nothing could have separated her from him at that moment.
He’d finally opened up to her, giving her the missing piece to the puzzle he’d become over the past three years. She was devastated for him. Devastated for the innocent people who’d paid the ultimate price that harrowing night. She was grateful that Remy had finally entrusted her with the painful secret that had been slowly ravaging his soul. Right then and there she vowed she’d do whatever it took to help him find peace and healing.
She didn’t know how much time passed while they clutched each other. It didn’t matter.
When Remy eventually drew away and exhaled a shuddering breath, she kissed his forehead and whispered, “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded silently.
He helped her to her feet, then Zandra took him by the hand and gently led him back to the bedroom.
As they climbed into bed, she pulled him into the cradle of her arms. Her heart swelled to aching as he curled his big body into hers and tucked his head beneath her chin. She held him close, rubbing her cheek back and forth against his soft, low-cut hair.
They didn’t speak. Words would have interfered.
But when his breathing had grown deep and even, she brushed her lips across his forehead and tenderly confessed, “I love you, Remington.”
And tomorrow, when he was awake, she would tell him again.
Chapter Nineteen
“Did you know that vibrators were once used by doctors to induce orgasms in female patients suffering from hysteria?”
The audience for Zandra’s impromptu lecture on antique vibrators included Remy and an elderly couple wearing matching T-shirts emblazoned with the American flag, brand-new white sneakers and bulging fanny packs. The couple looked as out of place in a museum of sex as two nuns at a biker convention.
Remy, on the other hand, looked like a badass who’d feel right at home at a rowdy gathering of Hells Angels. He wore a black T-shirt that showed off his tattooed biceps, black jeans and black combat boots. His eyes glinted with wicked fascination as he watched Zandra deliver her spiel while handling the antique vibrator.
“That’s right,” she continued as the elderly couple exchanged shocked glances. “In Victorian times, it was believed that the way to cure any disease was to induce a crisis during the course of the illness. So if you had a fever, sweating would break the fever and you’d feel better. Well, the crisis that supposedly cured female hysteria was hysterical paroxysm—known today as an orgasm.” She held up an unwieldy metal device. “Before the vibrator was invented, doctors had to use their fingers to manually massage their patients to orgasm.”
The old man chortled. “Not a bad gig.”
His wife shot him a lethal glare.
Smothering a grin, Zandra held out the vibrator to her. “Would you like to touch it, ma’am?”
She shrank back from Zandra, looking scandalized. “Absolutely not.”
Her husband gently patted her arm, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter as he thanked Zandra for the “informative lecture.”
As he and his wife shuffled off, Zandra didn’t have to wonder whose idea it had been to visit a museum of sex that day. When the old man glanced over his shoulder and winked at her, she chuckled.
As she returned the antique vibrator to the glass display case, Remy sidled close and murmured in her ear, “You’ve been a very bad girl.”
Zandra gave him a cheeky grin. “What do you mean?”
“Come on,” Remy gently guffawed. “Are you gonna pretend you didn’t notice the way that old dude was checking you out during your presentation? Wearing this tight little blouse and short black skirt. Hell, he probably didn’t realize his old dick could still get that hard.”
Zandra choked out a laugh. “Will you stop that?” she whispered, glancing around at the crowd of people browsing about with audio-guide phones pressed to their ears and studious expressions on their faces.
Remy grinned. “I’m just speaking the truth. His wife should send you a thank-you card, because if that smile on his face was any indication, they won’t be needing any Viagra tonight.”
“Stop it,” Zandra laughingly scolded, ushering him toward the next exhibit.
“How did you remember all that stuff anyway?” Remy marveled, briefly stepping out of character. “It’s been almost thirteen years since you worked here.”
“I know, but I’ve always been good at memorization. Spend a year lecturing tourists about antique vibrators and ancient sex practices, and after a while the facts just roll off the tongue.” She winked lewdly. “Pun intended.”
Remy laughed.