Sinclair instantly realized his mistake in asking Mal to leave him alone in a room with Remy when that space suddenly seemed too small and filled with both her presence and her essence—those soft and tempting curves, and that citrus, pine and underlying female musk.
He was already far more aware of Remy than he wanted to be, and now he’d once again placed himself in that personal hell of desire and arousal he continued to feel in the presence of this beautiful woman.
“You knew better than to stay at your parents’ house when it had been broken into,” he bit out harshly.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Then why did you?”
“Because I couldn’t leave!” she admitted emotionally, her hands clenched at her sides. “It took me weeks to be able to go there at all after…after…” She gave a shake of her head. “But once I’d moved in, even temporarily I couldn’t bring myself to leave again,” she choked out, seeming to shrink in on herself. “To just walk away from all there is left of them and the life we once led together,” she added softly, tears glistening in her eyes.
Sinclair knew what that felt like, because he’d felt the same way when he’d moved from the suite of rooms he’d shared with Cathy during their marriage in the house on the Kingston estate and into the turret suite. It didn’t matter that he’d needed to do it for his own sanity, he’d still felt as if he was turning his back on all the years they’d spent together.
The tears now glistening in Remy’s eyes filled him with that same sense of his having let her down, when all Remy was asking for was his help. Remy wasn’t Ralph, Sinclair told himself firmly, and she didn’t deserve to be treated this way.
He nodded. “You now feel as if the break-in has violated that safe space.”
“Yes.”
“I can understand that,” he told her briskly. “I’ll put out feelers to see if any of my…informers have heard anything about the break-in and who did it.”
She stared at him. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because, until Malachi reminded me, I’d forgotten.”
Remy shook her head. “Forgotten what?”
“That you’re family.”
“No—”
“Yes.” Sinclair was unable to stop himself from stepping forward to take Remy in his arms.
His intention was to comfort her, to reassure her, because she looked so vulnerable right now. But the moment he touched her, all he could feel or see was the beautiful woman in his arms. Because every inch of Remy was a woman now.
A woman he was starting to want more than the necessity of taking his next breath. “Remy…?”
Her hands rested against his chest as she looked up at him through that waterfall of unshed tears. “I was so scared, Sinclair.” Her bottom lip trembled. “So scared,” she repeated shakily. “But I still couldn’t leave.”
He had no idea if it was the fact someone had dared to frighten Remy or that her curves and scent were sending his senses into a frenzy, but he immediately wanted to direct the strength of his anger toward whoever was responsible for having shaken her so badly she no longer felt safe in her childhood home.
His feelings toward Ralph Mitchell might still be ones of dislike and distrust, but Remy had always been innocent of any wrongdoing.
“You’re safe now,” Sinclair soothed.
She eyed him quizzically. “How can you know that?”
“Because you’re with me.”
She gave an incredulous and tearful laugh. “Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound right now?”
He shrugged. “It can’t be called arrogance if it’s the truth.”
The pleasure of hearing her husky laugh went straight to Sinclair’s balls, followed by his cock deciding it wanted in on the action by becoming completely engorged until it was rock hard and throbbing inside his boxers. Something he doubted Remy, as she was standing so close to him, could remain unaware of for long.
The flush in her cheeks and the heat building in her gaze as she looked at him, along with the nervous way she flicked her tongue across her lips to moisten them, told him that Remy was completely aware of his physical response to her proximity.
The fact she wasn’t pulling away made it impossible for Sinclair to resist the urge to hold her a little longer.
Damn it, he couldn’t resist.
Fuck it, after five years of celibacy, he didn’t want to.
Nor, when his arms and his senses were so full of everything that was Remy, could he think of a single reason why he should.
She gasped, her gaze becoming searching as, having nestled her hips closer to his, her heat and softness caused Sinclair’s cock to physically throb against her. “Is this for me?” she prompted. “Or because, as Malachi just said, you’ve been living like a monk for the past five years and you’d react the same way to being this close to any woman?”
A moment of truth.
One Sinclair, if he’d thought of it at all, had never imagined he would be making because of an unexpected physical response to Remy Mitchell, of all women.
He could lie, of course.
Or you could fucking man up and tell Remy the truth, Mal’s calm voice berated inside his head.
Problem was that the truth was…disruptive and disturbing.
Disruptive to the even tenor of Sinclair’s life.
Disturbing, because he could never remember feeling this depth of primitive desire to not only claim a woman, but keep her.
He and Cathy had both been nineteen when they’d met at university. They’d hung out with the same group of friends, and within weeks of that first meeting, they’d slept together. Contrary to what his family thought, the two of them hadn’t been exclusive during those years. Both of them had experimented with other partners, but always came back to each other, the sex between them easy and enjoyable. It was really only once they’d both attained their degrees, with the prospect of parting and the possibility of not seeing each other again, that they’d decided to share an apartment. Sharing the apartment had led to an exclusive relationship, the decision to get married and have a family and live happily ever after.
Unfortunately, they had only achieved one of those things.
Their beginning might have been a bit wild, but Sinclair had been faithful during the years of their marriage, and he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman with physical interest since Cathy died.
Until now.
So, truthfully?
He’d never wanted anyone in the way that he’d been craving to explore and claim Remy since seeing her again at the hotel earlier.
So tell her that, Mal’s voice ordered.
And what happened if he did?
Yes, Remy had come to him for help, but that didn’t mean she felt the same desire for him that he did for her. In fact, she’d already told him that she was over her infatuation for him.
Out of self-defense, you dick, Mal’s voice told him impatiently. No woman with an ounce of self-respect and pride would own up to still fancying you when she hasn’t even seen you for five years because you chose to absent yourself from her life. And Remy has a lot of both those things. So stop being a dick and own your feelings instead of denying them.
Sinclair really would have to have words with his conscience for choosing to use Mal’s practical voice of reason when it chastised him.
But not now. Now he had to find a way to answer the beautiful woman currently pressed so temptingly against him.
“A little of both, I suspect,” he answered cautiously.
A caution Remy didn’t appreciate from the glitter in her eyes as she accused, “Coward.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “A little because it has been five years since I so much as touched a woman, and a lot because the woman I’m now touching is you.”
A blush slowly crept up the smoothness of her cheeks as she admitted. “I like the last part of that statement.”
Strangely, so did Sinclair. “Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I’m in the least like the young men you usually go out with.” His voice sounded accusing rather than explanatory.
Probably because he didn’t like thinking of the men Remy had dated since he’d last seen her.
“What sort of young men would that be?” she prompted lightly.
He shrugged. “The sort that enjoy going on dates like the one you went out on two evenings ago. Or to nightclubs and dancing. Dinner. Giving compliments. Sending flowers.”
She snorted. “Most men nowadays would rather not bother with the date, but just take a woman straight to bed. I’m not into nightclubs either. Although a slow dance in private might be…enjoyable. Very few men bother with compliments either. Also, not too many men, young or old, go to the trouble of sending flowers anymore.”
He scowled. “You’re deliberately missing the point.”
Her mouth quirked. “Because, considering we’ve only been reacquainted again for a couple of hours, you’ve managed to make quite a leap about what you think I do or don’t need or do or don’t want from a man. As it happens, I’ve been out with more men who are older than ones my own age.”
Somehow, that pleased Sinclair even less. “How much older?”
“The last two were forty-five and forty-seven.”
The fuck…! “That’s even older than me.”
Remy shrugged. “What can I say? I prefer more self-confident men.”
Sinclair scowled. “Probably because you had a shitty father.”
“What?” Remy pulled back slightly so she could look him fully in the face. “I’m not looking for a Daddy, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Was it? Truth was, Sinclair had been thrown by the thought of Remy with those older men. Men, as it turned out, who were even older than his own age of forty-one. So much for thinking he was too old for her.
As for being a Daddy, with a capital D, he had absolutely no interest in becoming one, to Remy or any other woman. No offense meant to anyone who enjoyed those relationships; it just wasn’t for him.
“Then what were you looking for?” he prompted huskily.
She drew in a deep breath before looking him straight in the eye and answering him. “You.”
Sinclair froze, actually ceased breathing as he stared down at her in disbelief.
“You asked for the truth. I’m giving it to you.” She obviously sensed his stunned reaction. “I go out with older men because I’m looking for someone like you. Want to know what I’ve found so far?”
Sinclair shook his head, this moment feeling too fragile, the expression on Remy’s face too vulnerable for him to risk speaking and destroying it. Or her.
“There is no one like you, Sinclair,” she admitted huskily.
He released a shaky breath. “Hero worship can be—”
“Oh please!” She gave him a scathing glance. “I got over any hero worship I might have had for you long ago.” She shook her head. “How could I possibly think of you as being anything more than a total shit after you just disappeared out of my life in that cruel way all those years ago?”
He winced. “It wasn’t you I was leaving.”
“But you did it anyway.”
He could clearly see the hurt in her expressive blue eyes. “I don’t know how to respond to any of this.”
She shrugged. “Then don’t respond.”
“I think I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because, as you can feel, I want you.” There was no point in his even attempting to deny the physical evidence of his desire.
And fuck if just saying those words out loud didn’t feel as if a huge weight of guilt had been taken off his chest. Guilt, as Malachi said, Sinclair had no reason to feel when he’d been alone and lonely for so long.
He grimaced. “But what we want isn’t always good for us.”
“Or we could be exactly what the other one needs at this point in our lives.”
With the physical evidence of his reaction to her between them, Sinclair didn’t believe that Remy was going to let this go. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to.
How the hell this had moved so quickly, from Remy asking for his help to the two of them contemplating acting on the heat of desire that now surrounded them, he had no idea.
But he didn’t know how—or if—he had the physical strength to stop it.
His throat moved as he swallowed. “Physical desire isn’t love.”
She gave a husky chuckle. “I never for a moment thought it was.”
“Then what do you want from me?”