I groan again. I’m naked. Hard as marble. I don’t even have the energy to jack off, and my balls are in fucking misery.
Sometime later Pete comes in. “How are you doing, Rem?”
“Why was Brooke in my fucking bed?” I demand into the crook of my arm.
“He talks,” Pete croons laughingly at me. “Our boy is doing well then.”
“Where is she now?” I growl, twisting my head with a glare.
“I let her take the day off and relax some.”
“You let her see me like this, dipshit,” I growl, smashing my palm as hard as I can manage into his shoulder, which still jerks him aside.
“Ouch! Watch that, you’re still you, you know! And the entire fucking city saw you like this.” He sighs as he paces to the window. “She signed a contract, dude. She’s not leaving you if she sees you like this or not.” He spins around and levels me a somber stare. “Look, I promise you I won’t let her leave until her term is over and you guys have sorted whatever it is you want to sort out between you.”
The thought of her leaving fills me with anxiety. “What did she see last night?” I push up on my arms.
“She saw you in your famous Destructor mode.”
God, I hate myself. Groaning, I bury my face in the pillow.
“We hired some girls for you last night, Rem,” Pete tells me, like I give a shit.
I roll over to my back with a grunt, cross my arm over my face, and fold it over my eyes. The sun bothers me. Pete bothers me. My fucking life bothers me.
“But Brooke wouldn’t let those hookers in,” Pete adds.
It takes my sedated brain like a whole fucking minute to process what he’s telling me. Then it takes another minute for me to tame the urge to chase after her.
“Ex-plain,” I enunciate.
“All right. She’s into you, Tate. She was pissed last night because I sedated you and she got all protective.”
The thought of Brooke getting protective over me makes me feel doubly as protective of her, and half-crazed with the urge to claim her. But it has to mean something. It has to mean enough to her so that when she finds out I’m not . . . right . . . she’ll still be with me.
“All right, Rem, recover. Text me if you need me. I’ll go ahead and hang the DO NOT DISTURB, ALREADY DISTURBED HUMAN BEING INSIDE sign out the door.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, and roll to my stomach.
Don’t want to eat.
Don’t want to move.
Don’t want to fucking live.
Then I notice the pillow smells of her. I sniff all of Brooke Dumas on the fabric, and my dick jerks in excitement, so I exchange my pillow for hers and fall asleep.
♥ ♥ ♥
HOURS LATER, I hear movements out the door. Brooke! my brain screams. My cock jumps to attention. I groan in misery once more.
I force myself to take a shower and come back to bed. The sun is setting in the horizon, but I can’t sleep. Setting my headphones on my head, I click SHUFFLE on my iPod. Song after song plays in my ears, but I don’t listen. I don’t feel them for shit.
I spend exactly two hours lying in bed, replaying the image of her in that Disneyland T-shirt. She was in bed with me like she belonged here, like a part of her already belongs to me.
I spend another hour on Scorpion, and how I can’t lie here like a loser for long. I’m not letting him take what I want from me again, am I? He provoked me and made sure I couldn’t box again—but now he’s got me in his territory, and I’m marking it as mine every single season. Points-wise, I’m on top, as usual, but I can’t allow myself to miss more than a couple of fights, even when the last thing I want to do is fight right now.
I. Want. Her.
Pushing to my feet, I ram myself into a pair of pajama bottoms, then stalk across the suite and open the door to her room. My eyes almost bug out of my head as they run over her silhouette on the bed. With a rustle of bedsheets she sits up and her startled gaze finds me at the door, watching her.
“Are you all right?” Her voice is whisper soft, and for the first time in my life I realize a woman is worried about me. Something twists hard inside my chest.
My voice comes out rougher than I intend, gruff and slightly drugged. “I want to sleep with you. Just sleep.”
For a moment, nothing happens. Brooke just sits there . . . as if waiting. My pupils are adjusted to the dark, and I see every inch of her on that bed. And I want everything I see. I want it so much my frame is tight with barely checked need. Inhaling slowly, I walk over, scoop her up in my arms, and carry her to the master bedroom and to my unmade bed.
She clings to me like I was made to carry her somewhere. She weighs next to nothing, her little muscles tight and tiny compared to mine. I set her down and join her under the covers, pressing her face to my chest and my nose against the top of her head.