“Say it again,” he commanded. His heart was going to explode out of his chest.
She cupped his face in her icy hands.
“I didn’t want to say it over the phone. I wanted to say it in person. I love you, Brick William Eugene Callan the Third. I want this to work. I want us to be together here. I want to live near family and paint in your house and wake up next to you.”
His arms banded around her possessively, and his mouth sought hers.
“You’re making my fucking life, Remi,” he groaned.
“Take me upstairs,” she demanded.
There was so much more to discuss. So much more at stake. But for now, the only thing that mattered was in his arms.
He took the stairs two at a time, making her laugh against his lips. Kicking the bedroom door open, he fell on the bed, catching his weight in one hand so as not to crush her.
“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice harsh.
Her green eyes lit up with something that looked a hell of a lot like love. “I love you. So much—Holy shit. Is that mine?”
Remi pushed against him, trying to free herself, but he was never letting go.
She pinched him hard right on the ass. “You bought my painting.”
He lifted his gaze from her face to the small painting he’d hung above his nightstand. “Yeah. Also, I officially hate that Raj guy. He’s a huge pain in the ass.”
“You bought my first piece,” she said, still staring at it.
He ducked his head to press a kiss to her throat. “I saw it in one of the photographs of you in your loft when I was cyberstalking Alessandra Ballard. It made me think of us.”
Her eyes were watery, and she blinked back tears. “Imagine that,” she said softly.
Remi nudged his chin up so he was looking at her.
“What?”
She wet her lips. “Stop settling for pieces, Brick. Take all of me.”
43
“I got everything,” Remi scoffed as Brick methodically checked each kitchen cabinet.
With a smirk, he reached into the cabinet above the refrigerator and produced a two-inch flat brush and an unopened box of Marshmallow Munchies.
“Shit.”
His mouth curved in wry amusement, making her heart trip over itself. Was there anything sexier in this world than a smirking Brick Callan in uniform? She still couldn’t believe that the burly, bearded, bartending cop was all hers.
Since the official exchange of the “I love yous” something had shifted inside her. She was still terrified for Camille, still concerned about what Warren had planned for them both. But she felt…lighter. More hopeful.
They both had been careful not to talk about “the future,” what would happen after “things” were resolved. No long-term plans beyond what they would bring to Darius and Ken’s place for dinner.
There was too much standing between them and a cleared field to consider options that weren’t real yet. Remi didn’t know whether she wanted to stay in Chicago or on Mackinac. She didn’t know if she’d have a career to rebuild.
And she didn’t want to talk about options with a man who’d been abandoned before. A man who’d finally found a home here.
She appreciated the view when Brick bent to look under the sink, his uniform pants doing wonders for that spectacular ass of his.
He straightened and winked when he caught her admiring glance. “Cleaners will be here in a few. We should probably get out of their way.”
She glanced around at the tidy living space, the tall windows looking out over miles of water. It was April, and Agnes’s first reservation was arriving next week, effectively ending Remi’s tenure at the cottage.
“I’m going to miss this place,” she mused.
Brick slid the handle of the paintbrush into the back pocket of her jeans. “You’re not going far,” he reminded her.
There were a handful of semi-permanent lodging options for her to choose from. Topping the list were snagging a room at the Grand Hotel or moving back into her parents’ house. Kimber’s guest room had been considered and discarded after spending an entire pancake breakfast watching Kyle and Kimber take turns pulling each other into the laundry room to continue an argument that sounded older than either of their children.
“Thanks for letting me crash at your place for a few days until I decide,” Remi said, toying with a button on his shirt.
“About that,” he said, crossing his arms. There was a cocky confidence in his stance that she’d noticed more often recently.
“Having second thoughts?” she asked. She was already in the studio all the time, relearning her way around a canvas. Any time not spent painting or with Brick working, they were cooking, lounging, banging, or sleeping. Mostly at his place. Despite that, moving in together—no matter how temporarily—was still a big deal.
“I am,” he said briskly.
Ouch.
“Uh. Oh. I totally get it. I can stay at my parents’ place,” she said. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been looking forward to sharing a roof with the man. Not until it was taken off the table.
He fisted a hand in her hoodie and pulled her to her toes. “I don’t want you crashing with me. I want you living with me.”
Her mouth fell open, and she couldn’t quite remember how jaw muscles worked to close it. “Uhhh.”
He shot her a bemused look. “You okay?”
“Uhhh.”
His grin incinerated her panties. “Baby, I want you with me. Every night, every day. I want to come home and find you covered in paint in the studio or naked in the tub, or crying over John Wayne movies.”
“Live with as in…not get a hotel room?” Clarification felt essential at the moment.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“Is this because of the articles?”
A series of news articles and blog posts had popped up earlier that week with unnamed sources hinting that Alessandra Ballard had attacked the good senator in the hospital after the accident. So far, neither Camille nor Warren had commented on the speculation.
“Vorhees is a factor,” Brick admitted. “But not the only one. Not even the most important one.”
“What’s the most important one?” A lot was riding on his answer.
“I can’t stand to be any farther from you than I have been. So unless you want to rent a room from a next-door neighbor, I want you home with me. Every night.”
She couldn’t process this fast enough. He had shifted gears on her. He’d gone from slow and steady and punched it into overdrive without any warning.
“Your studio is there. I’m there. Magnus loves you. I love you. What the hell are we waiting for?”
Remi rubbed a hand over her chest. “This feels kind of sudden.”
On a chuckle, he dropped his forehead to hers. “Baby, it’s been almost fifteen years.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed. Too often, the man chose “the right thing” over the thing he wanted.
“Say, yes, Remi,” he growled.
She could see it. Planting roots, for the next few weeks at least. They could test the waters. Together.
“Okay. Yes.”
“Good girl.” He looked smug in his victory, and it made her happy to know she’d made him happy. “Now, let’s get the rest of your stuff moved.”