Page 98 of Desperate Games

I’m Andrea. And maybe I married a man who will never be able to give me that kind of love.

But then I picture the way Remy looks at me sometimes.

Like I’m already his world.

Like he’d burn everything down just to keep me safe.

And my heart twists.

Because maybe I’m already in too deep.

Maybe I can’t protect myself anymore.

By the time we pull into the driveway, Callie still sleeping peacefully, I’m no closer to an answer.

Confront him? Protect myself?

I rest my head in my hands, close my eyes, and whisper the one truth I can’t escape.

God help me, I’m in love with him.

“I really do love him,” I whisper aloud.

The words taste like glass on my tongue.

Sharp. Dangerous. Beautiful.

The SUV hums to a stop in front of the house.

The driver cuts the engine, and silence fills the cabin, broken only by Callie’s soft snores.

I turn in my seat, unbuckling her little harness with fingers that feel clumsy and slow.

Her lashes are dark crescents on her cheeks, her pink lips parted, her small fists curled like she’s dreaming of something sweet.

I ease her forward, and her head naturally tips against my shoulder, warm and heavy.

Something cracks inside me.

Because this child isn’t mine—not by blood—but every beat of her heart against me makes me want to claim her as fiercely as if she were.

She trusts me. She loves me. And I’d kill before I let anyone hurt her.

The same way I feel about the man who gave her to me.

The same man who might already be breaking me.

I swallow, shifting Callie carefully so I don’t wake her.

My pulse is a mess, erratic and desperate, as I wait for the driver to open the door.

But it isn’t the driver.

The door swings wide and there he is.

Remy.

Broad shoulders filling the frame, green eyes sharp and unreadable, his presence hitting me like a thunderclap.