Page 75 of Desperate Games

Somehow, this man knows exactly what I’m craving before I even figure it out myself.

Like it’s coded into his blood. Some weird sixth sense that makes me feel both spoiled and seen.

It should scare me.

Instead, it makes my chest ache.

Because deep down inside where I keep my most secret dreams and wishes? Well, there’s one I refuse to even acknowledge in the light of day. One that’s a desperate hope that this could all be real someday.

That Remy, Callie, and the babies could all be mine because they chose me, just like I chose them.

Not because they were tricked. Or cheated.

God, how I wish that were possible.

“Is there anything else?” I ask, still standing awkwardly in the middle of my office, trying to keep my voice level.

This strange truce we’ve been living in since the shotgun wedding is shredding my nerves thread by thread. Remy Falco is a lot—a lot of presence, a lot of heat, a lot of everything.

And being around him every single day is like living inside a storm.

“Yes, I think so,” he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel.

Then he moves.

Chapter Twenty-One-Andrea

It happens too fast for me to react.

One second, he’s standing there, impossibly tall, perfectly put together in that dark suit that makes him look more mobster than bodyguard.

The next, those big, callused hands close over my shoulders.

Heat sears through my thin blouse. My body locks up, confused, anticipating.

He drags me closer like I weigh nothing, and my pulse thrashes.

His palm slides, cupping my neck, tilting my chin up until I’m looking straight into those wild green eyes.

I should step back. I should shove him away. Make a point. Make a stand.

But I don’t.

I have one split second—one heartbeat—to choose. And instead of rejecting him, I let go.

My lips part. My mouth opens. I give, and Remy takes.

The kiss crashes into me like a wave, saltwater and heat, wild and devastating. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding, claiming, ravaging like he’s been starving for me.

And God help me, I cling to him. Fingers curling into his shirt like it’s the only anchor in the storm he’s dragging me into.

The taste of him is sin.

The feel of him is fire.

And my brain goes blessedly blank.

Because Remy Falco is kissing me, and all I can do is submit.