Mine (Real, #2)(59)

“You.”

Reaching out, he squeezes me so hard against him, I gasp. “That’s right!”

An odd little laugh leaves me, and it kind of sounded like a giggle. “You will never stop asking me that, will you? Oh, I hate you! Did you hear that? You made me giggle.”

Laughing, he rolls me underneath his big body, and I hit his chest with one fist.

“You f*cking made me giggle, and you didn’t even say anything funny!”

“I f*cking loved it. Giggle again now.”

“Never!” I laugh, and it sounds like a goddamn giggle.

I hate giggling, but the genuine delight in his dancing blue eyes fills me with so much happiness, my chest feels like a detonated grenade as he laughs, and I continue to freaking giggle.

When he’s sober, he surveys my face, feature by feature, and as the air shifts between us, our smiles fade. His body is crushing mine. His pecs smashing my breasts. His weight trapping me. I love it so much, even when it hurts to take a full breath.

His eyes turn liquid with love as he leans over and presses his lips over mine for three delicious heartbeats. We use no tongues, only the pressure of soft, dry lips, so full of love I could almost levitate.

My hands roam up the muscular planes of his back. “When do you leave?” I breathe.

“As late as possible and still be on time for the next match.”

My hurt and disappointment seem to show on my face, for he tightens his hold on me as he eases to his side and brings me with him.

“Are you happy here? Are you treated well?” He nuzzles my temple.

“Nobody treats me or understands me like you. Except Mel.”

“And your parents?”

“They love me” is all I say. I’m about to say they may not be too thrilled about our circumstances right now, but then I look into this man’s eyes and realize he doesn’t have parents who support and care about him, and I realize how very lucky I am. “Did you feel unloved when your parents didn’t come back?” I ask him.

“Not unloved. Misunderstood.”

He speaks casually, like it’s truly nothing to him but a bland fact. A fact that breaks my heart every time I think about it.

“Oh, Remy. I’m so sorry. I hate them for doing this to you.”

He gets up and grabs his lounge pants and I know he’s going to want to go eat—of course. “Why? I didn’t hurt. Why are you sorry? I’m still going to be a good father.” He winks at me. “It’s because they were so shitty that I will be a good father.”

His eyes are brilliant, and I want to cry as we both stare down at my abdomen. We are really happy about this baby even though we didn’t plan it. Maybe we are young and stupid, young and in love, but we are just so hopeful about having a family together. About just being together.

A banging on the suite door makes me frown. He scowls too, then points a finger at me. “Stay.” He goes to open the door and I bury my face in his pillow, loathing that today he leaves me again. I talked to my doctor and she insists that I not travel until the first trimester ends, so there are at least two and a half weeks to go.

When I hear voices, I grab his robe, wrap the sash around my waist, and walk outside. Remington spots me in his boxing robe, and he reacts like he always does: I almost feel him tackling me in his head and f*cking me like we haven’t been able to f*ck since I got pregnant.

Pete looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

Remington is still eye-f*cking me, his lips curled in the pure male satisfaction he gets when I’m wearing his things.

He crooks a finger and slowly beckons me forward. My heart melts and I come over, aware of him watching me as he extends his hand.

I stretch out mine, and he seizes my fingers and brings me to his side, where I impulsively start to rub his bare muscles while he talks to Pete.

But I’m so engrossed, pushing into the hard muscle, that it takes me a couple of seconds to notice the silence. A silence so absolute, you could hear a pin drop in the room.

“What’s going on?” I stop what I’m doing while my gaze ping-pongs between them.

Pete restlessly loosens the knot on his tie. “I’ve got some bad news.”

A kernel of fear settles deep in my gut. “What bad news?”

He looks at the floor and drags his hand through his hair, and I become aware of Remy staring at my profile, his blue eyes watching me with such intensity, the little kernel of fear in my stomach turns to a full-fledged knot.

“It’s Scorpion,” Pete says.

One word and my heart is a jackhammer.

“What about Scorpion?” The creepy crawly sensation on my skin surfaces with a vengeance. I hate thinking about him. Talking about him. I hate his name.

But Remington is here. Safe. He’s safe. Isn’t he? His eyes are boring into me. They look . . . worried.

Shit.

I’m cold. Paralyzed. Frozen.

“Nora spent the night with him,” Pete adds, his voice surreally cold, almost like a robot’s.

His words bother me in such a deep, frightening way, it’s a miracle that I seem to still have enough brain cells to register what he’s telling me.

My sister.

“They spent all this time at a nearby hotel. She came out with him, another woman, and his three goons. On their way to the airport; apparently there’s a ticket in her name.”