Page 48 of Late Harvest

“Her name is Arabella Remington. And let them speculate. We can provide a statement later, but not yet.”

He reached over and absently stroked a hand along Chicane’s back. Her lop purred and chattered in pleasure at his touch. Sort of like Remy just a few minutes ago in her driveway.

Her cheeks burned at the memory, while desire that had been smothered by the paparazzi reignited in a burst of achy flame. Remy clenched her thighs. If not for that ardor-cooling intrusion, how far would they have taken things? How far would she have allowed it to go?

Remy was stunned and disturbed that her honest response was…all the way.

“A statement about what, Bash?” The barked question thankfully yanked her attention back to the conversation happening around her.

“I’ll get to that in a bit. Tell me what they’re saying.”

“I’ll send you a sample,” the woman responded and Bash’s phone chimed a few times. He tapped the screen, his face frustratingly neutral.

‘Show me,’ Remy pantomimed, and Sebastian moved to sit next to her, handing her his phone.

Fuck my life. In vivid color was a photo of her choking—mouth open, her face white, and eyes practically bulging out of her head. Sebastian was behind her, a look of fierce concentration on his handsome face as his arms wrapped around her body. It was a hideous picture of her, but Sebastian looked like a freaking bespectacled action hero. The headline read, ‘Life imitates art: Bad Boy Bash saves mystery girlfriend.’

She caught his eyes as she swiped to the next photo. He had his arm protectively around her, guiding her to her car. Below it was the caption, ‘Who is the mystery woman?’

And the final one was the pièce de résistance. She gasped aloud and covered her mouth, Chicane announcing his discontent with her sudden movement.

The picture was clearly taken from Lila’s yard and it told no lies. Jerome had caught her and Sebastian during their passionate embrace. Remy’s face heated at the memory. Only the back of her head was visible, but Sebastian’s strong hands were cradling her head, strands of her hair woven through his fingers. Another headline. ‘Bash breaks the blonde mold with older woman.’

She dropped the phone into Sebastian’s lap, horror suffusing her body. Of course Remy knew he was a famous celebrity, but she failed to anticipate the harsh kick of the media.

“Who was that? Is it the chick?”

“Her name is Arabella, dickcrud, and she’s not a chick. She’s a badass surgeon. So watch your damn mouth.” Tension radiated off Sebastian’s body and he gripped her free hand.

“You’re fucking a doctor?”

“I’m not—” Sebastian began and sighed, dropping back against the couch as he released her hand to run his hand through the loose waves of his tousled hair. She’d initially assumed he preened for ages with hair product to achieve that style, but all it took was one—eventful—lunch with him and its after-effects to realize it was just his natural look. “I’m not fucking her. I’m dating her.”

“You sure looked mighty comfortable with your tongue down her throat.”

“Shut it, Slash. You’re pissing me off.”

Remy could see Sebastian’s frustration starting to boil over into anger. She braced herself out of hardwired habit, then relaxed. She didn’t really know Sebastian from Adam, yet despite the clear physical signs of growing temper—taut body, clenched fist, increased breathing rate—Remy had a gut-deep instinct that she was safe with him.

Sebastian caught her eye and winked, a soft smile playing on his lips, somehow telegraphing to her that everything would be alright. She found herself returning the smile—and for such a rare expression, it felt perfectly natural aimed at the man next to her.

“I’m with Slash in his office,” The woman cut in. “I’d just gotten out of hot yoga down the street when he called, and I came flying over. We need to address this, Bash. You’re about to sign for that four-part comic book-based franchise, and we need to carefully control your exposure.”

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Working on a Sunday, Slash?”

“Days of the week don’t matter when you’re repping Hollywood’s biggest star. I’m going over the contract from the studio so you can sign it when you get here tomorrow.”

Sebastian leaned forward again, resting his forearms on his legs as he spoke into the phone he’d placed on her reclaimed wood coffee table. “I’m not signing that contract, Slash.” His voice was eerily calm, belying the anger coming off him in waves.

“The fuck?” Slash countered.

Remy was not having a favorable first impression. In fact, if he were one of her residents, she’d have already eviscerated him with a tongue lashing for his assholery.

“I’ve verbally committed to the role in Paradise. I talked with Walter Pennyrose yesterday.”

“You what?” Slash’s roar burst from the speaker. “You talked with that arty-farty old dude about his pissant film without speaking with me first?”

Remy instinctively flinched at the burst of anger, pressing herself into the corner of the couch, wanting to get as far away from the source as physically possible. Her logical brain knew Ass-Slash wasn’t a physical threat to her, but her PTSD didn’t give a fuck. Even Chicane squeaked, burrowing into her.