Riley clamps his jaw, and Remington rams his finger into his chest so hard, he forces him back a step.

“I was trying to explain to Brooke, here, that things weren’t as happy as they are now when she was away.” Riley jerks free and glares as he retucks his tie into his stupid new Boss jacket. “Hey.” Remington yanks him back by the collar and makes a fist as if he’s about to lift him. He needed to be pulled out of the fucking dark-” did to him! Something that you will never, ever even so much as comprehend! In case you have forgotten, Rem has a mood disorder. Remember? You left! You left when he was broken in a fucking hospital bed, Pete was babysitting your sister-in drug rehab-and I could barely pick up all the pieces of what your letter. “You don’t get to have an opinion, Brooke. He glances at Remington’s broad back, then he grabs me by the elbow and pulls me aside to the elevator bank. Was he even aware of what he was doing to them?” “Excuse me?” He lowers his phone in complete puzzlement. “How many whores did you bring to Remington’s bed, Riley?” Heart pounding fight or flight, I locate Riley across the lobby, and he’s scanning his phone while I vividly remember him leading a bunch of glittery, beautiful women into Remington’s suite not so long ago-to “cheer” him up when he had a black episode.īefore I can stop myself, I charge over to him like a bullet, my fists trembling at my sides. My insides twist until my lungs feel jammed in my throat as I remember how he tried to pull his respirator off and stop me. His eyes, black and mysterious, looking at me desperately from a hospital bed. And the month I left, he was very, very manic.

When he goes manic, he does not remember, sometimes, what he does. He’s not only fucking Remington “Riptide” Tate-he’s bipolar and he swings from one mood spectrum to the next. Remy in his rawest form, intense and manic, as reckless as he will ever be.īecause he’s not normal. I imagine him thrown across a hotel bed while dozens of women pleasure him, his blue eyes-my blue eyes-watching them come apart for him too.Īnd then, then I think that he might not have been blue.

In my mind, I see his eyes, the way he watches me come for him. I think of the way he moves, like a predator taking me, when we make love. I don’t want to hit someone, I can barely even stand.Įverything blurs as I turn to stare at Remy’s back. then she starts glancing around as if she wants to hide in a fucking flowerpot! “Brooke,” she whispers, her tone apologetic as she backs up a step. My stomach drops, and I mean, drops, when Diane’s eyes widen, and her face loses all color.

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