“We danced to this at your sister’s wedding,” he said.
“I know. Crank it loud.”
He did as he was told and watched as she began to sway to the beat. “Good song,” she said again, her body seeming to loosen with every note.
She didn’t reach for a brush immediately. Instead, he watched as she started organizing colors. Pinks, reds, oranges. Cocking her head at the ceiling, she added blue and purple.
He watched in fascination, wishing he could see what she saw. Wished he could be inside her head. Maybe then he’d finally feel close enough to her.
She danced and hummed and swayed to the song as she organized her tools. Brushes, palette knives, jars of cleaner. Her palette was a thin slice of acrylic stained from all the other music, all the other paintings. A rainbow-colored echo of creativity.
Brick watched as Remi dribbled the colors one by one onto the palette and then dragged a long thin brush through the orange and white, swirling until the color got lighter and lighter.
He held his breath as she stretched her arm toward the snowy white canvas. The clean, blank space. With a deft flick of her healed wrist, she swooped a four-inch swatch of tangerine across the white. Just like she’d done with his life, his blank canvas, she added color, layering it, texturing it, turning the void into something more beautiful than he could have imagined.
It was like witnessing a miracle unfold.
His hands fisted on his knees. He wanted to be part of the miracle. Needed to touch her. He rose without making the decision to and closed the distance between them.
It hit him when he saw the painting straight on.
She put the palette down and cocked her head, studying what she’d created so far.
“It’s like the one upstairs.” His voice was hoarse.
She stood there in his t-shirt, looking smug. “Of course it is. It’s the same song. I’m just a lot more talented now.”
She’d painted their song before. She’d remembered dancing with him. Had wanted to commemorate that moment. She’d loved him then and now.
Brick sank to his knees and pulled her to him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered as he pushed the hem of her t-shirt high. He groaned when he realized she hadn’t even bothered putting on underwear.
“Let me love you.”
Swiftly, he hooked her leg over his shoulder and pressed his mouth to her smooth, soft folds.
Her gasp went straight to his dick, which was suddenly as hard as steel. She was already wet.
“You’re ready for me,” he said in wonder, letting his tongue flick out to taste her. “Does painting turn you on?”
Above him, Remi sucked in a breath and shook her head. “You watching me turns me on. It makes me feel…possessed.”
He growled against her sex, and her legs began to shake.
There was nothing in this world that felt more like home to him than Remington Ford’s tight, wet pussy. He slid two fingers into her wet opening and hummed out a prayer of gratitude as he began to tongue her slick folds.
Her flavor was intoxicating. And it belonged only to him. She’d made him a fucking king.
A jagged moan ripped free from her throat, and his cock swelled. He freed himself from his sweatpants with one hand while he worked her hot little cunt with his other. Precome flowed from his crown, dripping onto the drop cloth as he fucked her with his fingers, worked her with his tongue.
“Oh my God.”
Her broken, breathy sob had him fisting his shaft in an iron grip.
She was bucking into his face now, the silky leg over his shoulder angled to open her wider for him. He rewarded her with a third finger, stretching her tight.
He danced his tongue over her clit with exactly the right pressure.
“Brick,” she whispered. “You’re gonna make me come.”
He couldn’t help himself. He ached for her. His hand jerked up from root to tip, releasing another thick bead of moisture, this one pooling on his fist. He groaned, the vibration taking her pleasure to another level as her legs quaked.
Stiffening his tongue, he went to work on her clit as his fingers pumped into her hard and fast. He jacked himself at the same speed with a vise-like grip.
He felt her needy muscles quiver on his fingers and nearly came himself.
There were so many things he should be doing, so many preparations to make, details to take care of, but in the moment, nothing but Remi’s orgasm mattered.
She shattered around him, her cunt clamping down hard on his fingers as she came. He was right there with her, the first spurt of his release burning its way up his shaft, erupting like a geyser.
He licked and fucked her through her orgasm and wrung himself dry in the process.
Reminding them both exactly what was at stake.
“Got a minute, Sergeant?” Chief Ford asked.
Brick glanced up from the plate of pancakes he was sharing with a sated, loose-limbed Remi. “Sure.”
She jerked her head toward the side porch, and he followed her outside.
“We’ve got a strong case,” she said. “She’s got six months of photographic evidence documenting injuries. A diary of each incident.”
“Smart.”
“I’m going to lean as hard as I can on the Illinois boys to move fast for an arrest.”
“But?” he asked, reading between the lines.
“I think you and I both know how that will go.”
He nodded. A man like Vorhees had power and money. Which meant he also had people. The justice system didn’t exactly move swiftly, even without those added complications. And professional courtesy only extended so far when it came to a police chief on some tiny island in another state. Even if they could get him arrested, he’d be walking on bail in less than an hour.
“There’s something else,” Darlene said, turning around to study him. “Our vic hasn’t just been recuperating at home since the accident. She’s been doing a little digging on her own. Seems she got the idea from my daughter.”
Brick closed his eyes. “What are we dealing with?”
“She’s got some information the Federal Election Commission might be interested in.”
“Campaign finance violations?” he asked.
She nodded. “And some election fraud.”
“Evidence?”
“Enough for an investigation. Hell, there might already be a Matter Under Review happening. The FEC doesn’t exactly broadcast their cases.”
He crossed his arms over his chest as a little flame of hope began to burn inside him.
“Does it ever piss you off that a person gets a stricter sentence for financial crimes than abuse?” Darlene mused. “If she gets that protection order and he violates it, it’s a slap on the wrist. Not even a year behind bars. But buy yourself an election, and suddenly the legal system cares.”
“What do we do next?” Brick asked.
“I’m gonna head back and type up the report. I’ll make some calls before I send it on its way and then brief the mayor. If shit’s going down on Mackinac, we need to be ready.”
“It can’t come to that. We have to get him at home,” he said.
“I know. Tell you what, you write the report while I see if I can get someone in Chicago and in the FEC to answer the phone.”