Read Remy for Free Online

expression softens when she holds my gaze, and something, something invisible, tugs me to her even as I watch her lean the slightest fraction closer to me. “Yes. It does. You’d understand, right?”
    Slowly I lower her leg, and instead of nodding, I stroke my thumb across her knee, so she knows that I do understand. More than she knows. We both watch me caress her, and, god, it feels so right I want to drag my finger up the inside of her thigh and under her skirt, so before I follow the impulse, I pull back and stretch out my free hand, gruffly telling her, “Do this one.”
    Testing the territory, I slide my arm along the seat behind her as she takes my hand and starts working it. My nostrils twitch at our closeness; she doesn’t pull away. She smells . . . of soap and some sort of berry shampoo, plus her own female scent is sweet and warm in my nose. She probes and searches and I open my eyes and watch her face, soft and yet concentrating. My heart pounds faster.
    She moves to my wrist, and she twirls and then probes into my forearm, and when she closes her eyes with a look of utter concentration and pleasure, I want to groan and tease and laugh at her and kiss her all at the same time. She looks young and innocent, and my hunter-gatherer instincts are in full force. I’ve hunted her and now I want to gather her to me. . . .
    I decide to touch her. Tease her. I want to make her smile. Hell, I want to see her smile at
me
.
    I cup the nape of her neck and I lean in. “Look at me.”
    She opens those gold eyes, lowers my hand, and smiles in bemusement. Fuck me standing, but she was getting worked up with me and every inch of my body knows it.
    “What?” she asks.
    “Nothing.” I smile, but I’m hot and bothered and delighted, all at once. “I’m very impressed. You’re very thorough, Brooke.”
    She grins almost innocently. “I am. And wait until I get to your shoulders and back. I might have to stand on you.”
    She amuses me. So much I poke her biceps with my fingers. Then her triceps, and I say, “Hmm,” and when I place her hand around my biceps, her eyes flare wide. I love it. I know she likes how big and hard it is, but she pretends otherwise and playfully responds, “Hmm.”
    We laugh. We’re laughing when she seems to realize Pete and company have fallen quiet and are watching us.
    She pulls something out from her bag, and I glare at Pete, silently telling him,
Back off, bozo!
    She clears her throat and sets an iPod and headphones on her lap. Curious, I snatch up her iPod and connect my headphones and start going through her music, handing her mine in return. She has tons of recent songs and some earlier older ones I recognize. She drops her headphones and grabs her iPod back, returning mine.
    “Who can relax to that?” she protests.
    “Who wants to relax?” I taunt.
    “I do.”
    I give her back my iPod. “I’ve got to have some easy listening for you. Listen to one of mine and I will listen to one of yours.”
    I scan my iPod, sure of the song I want. I don’t regularly listen to it, but the times it comes on shuffle, I hear every fucking word, and now the need to play it to her is becoming more intense by the second.
    A song plays for me from her library, and it’s sassy, but I’m mostly watching her listen to the one I picked for her.
    She ducks her head to cover her profile with her hair. Her hand trembles on the iPod.
    I can’t take it and lean forward to catch her expression.
    I keep listening to the song she played me. How she won’t write me a love song. That’s okay. She’s still playing me one, really.
    My lips twitch and I chuckle, but she ducks her head to her lap as she listens to the rest of the song.
    My smile fades, my body tight. Fuck, I want her. I want her to get it. I want her to get me.
    She listens quietly to “Iris” from the Goo Goo Dolls, then she slowly removes her headphones and returns my iPod. “I wouldn’t have guessed you had slow songs in