Katy Evans - Mine

I like my more than two hundred pounds of reckless, but his reckless still worries me even if he doesn’t seem in the slightest perturbed by Pete’s warnings.

Instead of answering his PA, he turns to me and threads his fingers at the hair on my nape. “Do you want breakfast?” he asks me.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I lean over and drop my voice to spare Pete. “You mean aside from the one that walked out of my bed?” He pinches my nose and now leans to me. “Business called your breakfast out of bed today.”

“I actually feel strangely hungover this morning, I’m not hungry at all.”

“Hungover from what? My mouth?” he asks, his eyes dancing.

I look at his mouth and it is so full and perfect. The way he uses it is perfect. Every measured word he speaks is perfect. Sexy bastard. Of course he gives me hangovers, the kind I’d never met until him.

“You know,” Pete interjects, “I’d feel less concerned about him and what he plans to do if he didn’t know your Kryptonite now.” He nods at me.

“He’s not even getting near my Kryptonite. I’ll break him first.” The quiet conviction with which he says this makes gooseflesh jump on my arms, and I think I’m a little nauseous.

Last season’s final match is my worst nightmare.

“Yet I can totally envision him finding ways to reach out to your Kryptonite already,” Pete says. “Finding ways to push your red button, get you all bothered and reckless.”

Remington turns to me, then he shoves my hair aside and tips my head back to study me, like he knows I can barely hear that man’s name—much less hear them talk about it.

The Black Scorpion is my own personal Voldemort. That asshole hurt my sister, then me. And worst of all, he hurt Remington. At that season final. He hurt him because of me. God, I fantasize killing the bastard.

“He’s gonna tease you, torment you . . .” Pete continues in an ominous tone.

Remy watches me in silence, his chest bare, his neck tanned and strong, and when he turns his attention back to Pete, his voice is more somber.

“Pete, he hasn’t even made a play, and you’re losing your shit,” he tells him.

“’Cause I’m the one left to fix things when you lose it.” Pete smoothes a hand down his black tie. “This season could get downright nasty. We want you strong and prepared, dude. We need to head to the airport in a half hour, tops, but I warn you, Phoenix might not be as calm as we anticipated.”

“I’ll keep it together. Just double our scouts,” Remington says, serious now, then he takes one last swig of his sports drink and sets the empty bottle aside.

“All right, let me call in some more. . . .” I watch Pete head over to the kitchen and punch his cell phone pad.

Now Remington’s voice deepens as he gives me his undivided attention. “You overslept,” he murmurs, cupping my face as he smiles down at me. “Wore you out last night?”

His voice oozes all kinds of sex and tenderness. As I nod, I feel myself go warm inside. “I hear sex gods do that,” I tease.

He laughs softly and strokes my lips with his thumb. “That’s right. You ready to go?”

I nip his thumb and smile as I nod.

“I missed you in bed this morning,” I whisper.

“God, me too. I need to be the first thing those pretty eyes see every morning.”

He presses me to him and buries his face in my hair, and all the tension from hearing the word “Scorpion” and the nausea leaves me when I smell him. I tuck my nose into his chest and inhale him as he inhales me, and the room falls, and the world falls, and in this moment nothing matters. Nothing matters but him, his arms around me and my arms around him. I think a part of him still can’t believe I’m in his arms again, because he’s squeezing me so tight I can hardly breathe, but I don’t want to breathe. I’m so affected by his scent, the feel of his powerful arms around me, when just two months ago I’d stupidly given up on him, I can barely take it.

“I love you,” I whisper, and when he doesn’t respond, I open my eyes and shiver when I see his fierce gaze trained on me. He rubs my bottom lip with his thumb again, then tucks me back into his chest as if I’m precious. He lowers his head, his lips to my ear: “You’re mine now.”

The private jet is Remington’s biggest toy.

The team always takes the first section of seats at the front of the plane, while Remington and I like the bench in the back, which is closest to the enormous wood-paneled bar and flat-screen TV, even though we rarely use either.

There’s excitement in the air today as we board. The season is officially on—and after a taste of Remington’s fight last night, the team is pumped. Pete and Riley even bumped fists with the pilots as soon as we jumped out of the Escalade.

“Things are so much better with you here,” Diane tells me as she settles in her plush, better-than-first-class seat. “I get so excited seeing you two together again.”

“I have to say,” Coach Lupe jumps in, and honestly, since the man is a grumpy-fest all week round, it’s almost odd to see that smile on his bald head, “you motivate my guy more than anything I’ve ever seen. I’m not only glad you’re back, but I secretly prayed for it, and I’m a goddamned atheist.”

I laugh and shake my head as I keep heading down the aisle, and before I can reach the back, Pete seems to have boarded and calls to me, “Brooke, did you see our new Boss suits?” he asks.

Frowning, I swing around to look at Pete, and see that Riley is also already on board. Pete grins at me and smoothes a hand down his black tie as I scrutinize his appearance, and Riley grins and spreads out his arms as though to let me have a good look. I had no idea their suits were new.

They are basically all these guys wear, and today, like every day, they are both ready to be cast in Men in Black XII—or whichever it’s up to by this point.

Pete, with his curly hair and brown eyes, would be some sort of intelligence geek. Riley, with his blond hair and that surfer look, would be the one who accidentally kills demons while slowly opening a car door or something.

“What do you say?” he prods.

I make sure I’m wearing a wow look on my face when I answer. “You guys look sexy!” And squeak when I get a squeeze on my ass, and Remington hauls me by the waist down the rest of the plane’s aisle to our seats.

He settles me down and plops down next to me, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. “Say that again about another guy.”

“Why?”

“Just try me.”

“Pete and Riley look sooooooo—”

His hands fly out and he tickles me under my armpits. “Try that again now?” he prods.

“Ohmigod, your men in black are so fricking—”

He tickles me harder.

“You won’t even let me say the word ‘sexy’!” I squeak, as he stops.

Blue eyes gleaming, Remy’s lips form the most tantalizing smile I’ve ever seen, and coupled with that scruff on his jaw and the dimples, my toes are definitely curling. “Would you like to try that again, Brooke Dumas?” he huskily prods.

“Yes, I would! Because I think Pete and Riley look amazingly—”

He tickles me so hard I kick and flail in the air, and then I gasp for breath and somehow finish up half-sitting, half-sprawled on my seat, my breasts pushing into his hard pecs with every harsh breath. Our smiles fade as a delicious sexual awareness starts crackling between us as we stare deep into each other’s eyes.

Suddenly, he reaches out, and uses his thumb to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ear, his voice thickening as one dimple disappears before the other does. “Say it when you say my name,” he says, and a shiver goes through me as he runs the back of a finger down my jaw.

“Your ego not big enough?” I whisper breathlessly as I memorize his face. The square jaw, the spiky hair, the sleek dark eyebrows over those piercing blue eyes, that watch me with a little mischief and just enough jealousy to make my pussy clench.

“You could say it shrunk sizably when my girlfriend ogled those two dipshits.” He eases back to let me sit up, and as I do, he leans back comfortably in the way sexy guys sit, with his legs spread out and his long, corded arms outstretched on the back of the seat as he watches me with a half frown.

“What was I supposed to say?” I taunt with a smile. “That they don’t look good in the new suits? They’re like my brothers.”

“No, they’re like my brothers.”

“See? And I’m yours, so it’s the same thing.” I shrug and pull my skirt down to my knees. “Now you know how I feel when a thousand women scream at you,” I add smugly as I strap on my seat belt.

He takes my chin and turns me to look at him. “Who cares what they scream when I’m crazy about you?”

Thud. My heart did that. “Same with me then. You don’t have to growl when guys look at me.”

His eyes darken, and he drops his hand at his side and clamps his jaw into a firm line. “Be grateful I have some control in me and I don’t pin them to the nearest lamppost. I fucking know what they’re doing to you in their heads.”

“Just because you do that doesn’t mean that others do.”

“Of course they do. It’s impossible not to.”

I smile, because I know he fucks me in his head tons of times when he can’t do it physically. And I do the same, of course. I bet even a nun who saw him would do the same.

Feeling mischievous, I slide my fingers under his T-shirt and feel the bumps of his eight-pack, savoring the feel of his skin under my fingertips. I worship everything about the human body. Not only because I’m a sports rehab specialist, but because I used to be an athlete and I absolutely marvel what our bodies can do, how they endure when pushed, how they kick into gear with innate mechanisms for mating and survival. . . . But I can fiercely love the human body, and yet Remy’s body is my ultimate church. I can’t even explain in words what it does to my own.

“All the girls undress you when you fight,” I tell him, and my smile fades as a little jealousy seeps in. “It makes me insecure you picked me out of the crowd.”

“Because I knew you were for me. Solely, exclusively, for me.”

My body instantly tightens at the words, so sexy when combined with that confident smile he wears. “I am,” I agree, looking into those dancing blue eyes. “And now I don’t know what I want to kiss most, you or your dimples?”

The dimples fade, and so do the lights in his eyes as he reaches out to rub my lower lip. “Me. Always me first. Then the rest of me.”

My lower lip feels warm and deliciously massaged by his thumb as the attendants finish loading the luggage and shut the plane door, and I’m vaguely aware that the team is talking in their seats, for I hear my own eager whisper, “Let me power down my phone for takeoff. . . . But you definitely owe me a morning kiss. Even if it’s noon.” I nod at him in warning.

His chuckle is low, and I feel it roll all over my skin. “I owe you more than that, but I’ll start with your lips.”

God. Remington? He kills me. He speaks casually, almost boredly saying—Yeah, I’m going to kiss you now. And my systems jack up. My blood bubbles as I start thinking about it, and I quickly pull my cell phone out of my bag to power it off when I spot a text from Melanie.

MELANIE: My best friend! It’s been ages and I really miss you. When are you coming home?

Mel! I straighten to use both hands to text back: I miss you too! So very much, Mel! But I’m so happy! I’m so fucking happy it’s not funny! Or maybe it is! See? I sound drunk! Hahaha

MELANIE: I want a Remy.

MELANIE: And a Brooke! Waaah!

BROOKE: Now that the season’s started I’ll plan a good place for you to come visit! It’s on me! Nora can come too.

MELANIE: But will you still be keeping your place in Seattle?

For a moment, I frown at the question, because when I dropped my life and decided to follow my sex god to the ends of the earth while he kicked up his training regimen and got ready for this season, my rent hadn’t really crossed my mind.

I text Melanie back: I’m really committed to him, Mel, so I will probably not renew my lease when it expires. My home is here now. I’m taking off, but I will text you later. I love you, Melly!!!!!

MELANIE: DITTO!

I turn off my phone and tuck it into my bag. And when I lift my head, my sex clenches when I see Remy holding his sleek silver iPod. Thud. This man seriously knows how to seduce me with music. I watch as his thumb scrolls through the selections, and the slow, sensual manner in which it circles causes a flood of moisture between my thighs.