“Could have fooled me.” But there’s no bite in my words. The hot water and his unexpectedly tender touches are melting away my defenses, leaving me languid and honest. “It’s strange seeing you like this. Almost human.”
“Almost?” His fingers trail up my side, but the touch remains soothing rather than provocative. “You wound me.”
“You’ll survive.” I trace patterns in the water, watching light play across the surface. “Though I have to admit, this is… nice. In a terrifying sort of way.”
“Terrifying?” His thumb brushes my hip, steadying.
“Everything about you terrifies me,” I confess, blaming it on the steam making me lightheaded. “But especially this. The gentleness. It makes me want to trust you.”
His arms tighten slightly, but he doesn’t speak. We float in the silence, my body betraying me by melting further into hisembrace, closing my eyes. Every stroke of his fingers along my skin feels like acceptance, like permission to just exist in this moment without analyzing every angle.
Chapter 16
The sheets smell like Remy, and I grin like a fool. I drift awake slowly, my consciousness returning in gentle waves. Sunlight streams across my face, and I burrow deeper into the plush covers surrounding me. It takes me a moment to realize I’m in his bed, though I have no memory of how I got here. The last thing I remember is being in the bath, his arms around me, feeling safer than I had any right to.
I must have fallen asleep in the tub. The thought of Remy carrying me to bed, drying me off, and tucking me in should make me feel vulnerable or exposed. Instead, I find myself touched by the gesture. He could have woken me, could have used it as another opportunity to assert control. But he didn’t.
Stretching beneath the covers, I realize I feel more rested than I have in weeks. No restlessness with an overactive mind. No jolting awake at every small sound. Just… peace.
The bed is empty beside me, and the sheets are cool to the touch. Remy must have been up for a while. I sit up and slideout of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. I spot one of Remy’s dress shirts draped over a chair, a reminder that I did the very same thing the night before. I slip it on, the fabric soft against my skin.
Last night’s truce feels like a dream now. The gentleness, the vulnerability—it seems impossible in the harsh light of day. Yet, I feel different. Clearer. Like some of the fog of fear and exhaustion has lifted, leaving me sharp and focused for the first time in days.
I pad toward the kitchen, following the faint smell of coffee.
I pause in the kitchen doorway, taking in the unexpected sight before me. Remy moves with practiced precision, unpacking what looks like enough takeout containers to feed a small army. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing corded forearms as he arranges everything just so. The early morning light catches his profile, softening the sharp angles I’m used to seeing.
He glances up, and that familiar smirk plays across his lips. “You look better,” he says, extending a steaming cup of coffee toward me. “Sleep suits you.”
I accept the cup, letting its warmth seep into my palms. “I think it’s been months since I felt this human.” The admission slips out before I can stop it, but for once, I don’t regret the honesty.
He leans against the counter, all casual grace and contained power. “Then it’s good I took charge and tucked you in.”
I arch an eyebrow at him over my coffee cup but don’t rise to the bait. His tone lacks its usual edge, the words coming across as more playful than commanding. The coffee is perfect—strong and black with just a hint of sweetness.
“You’re very domestic this morning,” I tease, gesturing at the spread before us. “What’s the occasion?”
“Simple.” He indicates the array of containers with an elegant wave of his hand. “You need to eat to fight another day.”
The normalcy of the moment catches me off guard. Here we are, sharing coffee in his kitchen like any other couple on any other morning. Not a dangerous fixer and a journalist with a price on her head. Just two people finding a moment of peace in the chaos. I let my shoulders relax just slightly and take another sip of coffee.
I study him over the rim, unable to deny the pure masculine beauty of the man before me. Every movement is controlled power, from the way he arranges breakfast to how he leans against the counter. My body remembers his touch, the way those strong hands claimed me, and heat pools low in my belly.
But it’s not just physical attraction clouding my judgment. Remy’s mind is like a steel trap—calculating, precise, three steps ahead of everyone else. I’ve read about him manipulating situations with surgical precision and watched him dismantle threats before they fully form. It’s terrifying. Fascinating.
I should hate him. He’s everything I fight against in my investigations—wealth wielded as power, connections used to bury secrets, a moral compass that spins according to personal gain. Yet here he is, bringing me breakfast, caring for me when I fell asleep in the bath. These glimpses of tenderness jar against everything I thought I knew about him.
My fingers tighten around the coffee cup. Trust is a luxury I can’t afford, not with my father’s killers hunting me, not with twenty million dollars hanging over my head. But Remy had every opportunity to collect that bounty. Instead, he saved my life, protected me, and showed me a gentleness I never expected.
His stubbornness infuriates me. The way he took control, handcuffed me and refused to let me run—even knowing it was for my own safety, grated against every independent fiber of mybeing. Yet that same unwavering determination kept me alive when I was too reckless to save myself.
I can’t reconcile the different versions of him in my mind: the ruthless fixer, the passionate lover, this man quietly arranging breakfast because he knows I need to keep up my strength. Each time I think I have him figured out, he surprises me. Each time I brace for the worst, he shows me something new.
It would be easier if he was simply the monster I first believed him to be. It would be easier if this was just lust, just my body’s response to danger and desire. But watching him now, seeing the care he takes in such a simple task, I realize I’m in far deeper than I ever intended to be.
I settle at the counter, eyeing the feast Remy has arranged. There’s everything from fluffy omelets to fresh pastries, colorful fruit, and what looks like eggs Benedict drowning in hollandaise sauce.
“Planning to feed an army?” I ask, reaching for a croissant.
