Page 58 of Late Harvest

He barked a laugh, nudging against her. “I hear it’s the best for my…pole position.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Fear doesn’t stand a chance when she’s in the room.

—From Remy’s Affirmations for a Badass

Remy

Sebastian laced his fingers through hers and pulled Remy back to the living room.

But not for what she expected.

Instead of picking up where they left off, except in a more comfortable location, he gathered up Chicane under his other arm and guided the three of them to the couch. Where he proceeded to…talk logistics.

Remy wasn’t sure what to make of it. On one hand, she appreciated his restraint and respect for her, as well as the need to iron out some of the specifics of their…arrangement.

The other hand? It very much wanted to be wrapped around Sebastian’s cock, preferably while his hands roamed all over her.

Remy sneaked a quick look. He appeared to be on the mediums. She couldn’t stop the snicker.

“What? What was that for? Do I have pizza sauce on me?” Sebastian looked down at his shirt.

“No, no.” Remy held up her hands. “I just had a little internal joke and it made me laugh.”

“Oh, those are the best.” Sebastian nodded approvingly. “You sure it wasn’t at my expense?”

“Nope. Just an F1 joke.”

Sebastian cocked his head, a flirty smile dancing across his face. “A filthy F1 joke?”

“Maaaaybe.” Remy was astonished at how easily she slid into teasing with him.

“Ha! You love a dirty sport, and now you won’t be able to watch a race without hearing my voice in your head.” Sebastian unleashed a villainous laugh—he really was a natural actor—and Remy cast a quick glance at Chicane, worried he might freak out at the intimidating sound. But her bunny simply chittered away, clearly as entertained by Sebastian as she was.

“The idea of your voice in my head is appalling.” Remy shook her head, trying to get used to the sensation of a natural smile on her lips. To the pleasant comfort of Sebastian’s company.

Other than her time with Etta and Tasha, Remy had never experienced a happy house. Could she be so lucky that perhaps this bonkers arrangement would bring some genuine, if short-term, happiness?

“I can just picture it. You’re in surgery, and you’re all tunnel visioned, doing your thing, and then you hear—in the world’s sexiest voice, of course—‘Outstanding work with the scalpel, Scrub Angel. Your ass looks amazing in those scrubs, by the way. Also, your bunny loves me more than he loves you. It’s my…animal magnetism. Which reminds me…where did the rabbit go for a trim? The hare dressers.’”

Remy barked out a laugh. “Oh my god, Sebastian. The idea of your stream of consciousness in my head at any point, much less a surgery, is truly…terrifying.”

“Fabulous,” Sebastian said at the same time.

For long moments, they just grinned at each other, chuckling periodically. It was, in fact, one of the sexiest, happiest moments of her life.

Please let this be genuine. Let this not be Sebastian acting—a means to achieving his most prized end.

Her smile fell at the notion of Sebastian faking his attraction to her.

Watching her, Sebastian scooted closer, concern etched across his face. He handed her Chicane, somehow knowing she needed the lop’s soft, comforting weight. “What was that, my queen?”

“Nothing. Just—nothing.”

“Non, non, non, ma reine. I do not believe you,” Sebastian continued with what sounded like an on-point French accent. “Veuillez expliquer.”

“I don’t even know what you just said.” Remy managed a small smile.