It was too weird even for her.
Deliberately, she turned her back on the board. She could either spiral into a cycle of confusion and helplessness or she could do something productive.
She was just putting the finishing touches on three towering turkey sandwiches when her skin prickled with awareness, with anticipation, with dread.
Brick.
Once she looked at him, she’d know if it was the man who had taken her to bed or the one who hadn’t wanted her.
“Remington.”
She closed her eyes at the rough caress of her name.
He stepped into the kitchen, and she followed his progress toward her without turning around. Her heart kicked into overdrive as he closed the distance.
“Hungry?” she asked, keeping her tone light.
He stopped just behind her. Not touching her, but close enough that an intense longing unfurled inside her.
One night with this man and her body was on high alert.
Then his hands were on her shoulders, and he was forcing her around, nudging her chin up.
“Starving.” He looked rumpled and tired and undeniably sexy. He looked hungry.
She wasn’t used to seeing him up close like this, to having his hands on her. It took her breath away. “I made sandwich. A sandwich. I made you a sandwich,” she enunciated carefully, willing her brain to start functioning again.
Those lips that had only the night before whispered dirty promises and doled out unbridled pleasure quirked. But the almost smile was gone just as quickly.
“I’m looking into Warren Vorhees.”
Remi sighed, wishing she could live a life without that man’s name in it. “I knew you would.”
“Camille made that statement about the accident being your fault to appease him, didn’t she?”
She blinked in surprise, then nodded. He’d always been intuitive. “I believe so. Her survival depends on proving to him that she’s loyal.”
“And in order to do that, she has to ruin you.”
“She has to try.” It was an important distinction.
“He keeps underestimating you,” Brick said as his fingers slid into her hair with something like reverence.
“His mistake,” she said softly, melting into his touch.
“At some point, he’s going to realize that. And he’s going to stop underestimating and start trying to eliminate the threat.”
His soothing touch helped insulate her from his words.
“I know.”
“Then I need you to know, he’ll have to get through me first.”
“I don’t want that, Brick. I’m not going to ask people to put themselves in danger.”
“You didn’t ask. You just need to accept it. You’re standing for Camille. I’m standing for you. This Vorhees asshole doesn’t know it, but he’s breathing his last few free breaths.”
She looked at him, into eyes the same depthless blue as the ocean. “Do you really think we can put him away?”
He cupped her face so gently she felt like she was made of glass. “Yes. I need you to trust me.”
She trusted Brick Callan with her life. But could she trust him with her heart?
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
“I like finding you here,” he said finally.
“That better not be some crack about a woman’s place being in the kitchen,” she said, eyes narrowing.
He distracted her by tracing his fingers down her neck to her clavicle. “This room always made me think of you.”
“Me? Why?” she asked, feeling a little breathless.
“This is where you got my grandfather to eat mac and cheese and play tic-tac-toe,” he said softly.
The memory made her smile. “You remember that? It feels like forever ago.”
“I remember,” he said, very, very seriously. “That was the same day you ruined Spence’s favorite shorts. On purpose.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How do you know it was on purpose?”
“I may have been outside that door a little longer than I let on,” he confessed, tilting his head in the direction of the porch.
“You were eavesdropping? What could your grandfather and I have been talking about that young Brick Callan would have found interesting?” she teased.
“You were telling him to give me a chance. That I wasn’t my father.”
Remi glanced down. “Oh. That conversation.”
“You used that Remington magic to make him see me in a different light. I never forgot it.”
She tried to cross her arms, but there wasn’t enough room between their bodies, so she settled for stuffing her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Pop was as stubborn as they come. Blaming you for something you had no control over when really it was his daughter he was disappointed in.”
She thought of the postcard again. A backhanded gesture, a belated recognition, yet he still hung it in a place of honor. It made her heart hurt. He deserved more than that. He deserved someone who not only remembered his special moments but actively celebrated them.
Had Audrey been that someone?
“That was the day he started trying,” Brick said. “You convinced him to give me a shot.”
“He would have eventually. A person can only be around you for so long before discovering your ridiculously big heart and your Dudley Do-Right complex.” Testing him, she poked him in that mile-wide chest. “Do you miss them?” she asked. “Your grandparents.”
He nodded, toying with a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “I do. I didn’t have a lot of time with them, but I’ll always be grateful for the space they made for Spence and me. They gave us a home when we needed it. Paid for Spencer’s college when I couldn’t.”
She caught the note of shame and zeroed in on it.
“You were twenty-four, Brick. What twenty-four-year-old can afford to send their little brother to college? Hell. What twenty-four-year-old is capable of raising a teenager?”
“Spence was my responsibility.”
She shook her head. “He was your parents’ responsibility. And when they couldn’t or wouldn’t step up, you did. You two were meant to come here. Meant to build a relationship with your grandparents.”
He studied her but said nothing.
“Pop gave you the money to start up the Tiki Tavern because he loved that you fell in love with this place. They left you their home because they knew it was your home. They were so proud of you. Remember the summer you named a sandwich after Pop and a drink after your grandma? They went in once a week just to order their namesakes and support you. Mackinac is where you belong. Whatever brought you here was just showing you the way home.”
“Come with me,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Where?”
He cupped her face in one hand, crowding her against the counter. “I need a shower.”
“I already had one,” she whispered, mesmerized by the way he looked at her. “Not—not that you were inviting me to join you. Unless you were?”
His head dipped lower, and he brushed his nose against her cheek. “I just need you close.”
She didn’t know what was more terrifying, the prospect that he’d changed his mind or the fact that he hadn’t. Yet.