Page 49 of Breakaway

The three women seemed in no hurry to leave.

“Can we get pictures with you?”

They pulled out their phones and took turns taking pictures. Then they paused and looked at Remi, as if they’d just noticed her. “Could you take one of all of us?”

Christ. “Sorry, ladies, but that’s all I can do. My girlfriend and I are just finishing dinner.”

The three women shot baleful looks at Remi and finally left.

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching across the table for her hand. “That never happens.”

“Really.”

She didn’t sound convinced.

“Well, it happens sometimes. I’m sorry, Remi.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” But she looked pissed. “And I’m not your girlfriend.”

“I had to get rid of them somehow. Let’s go.” He rose from the table and held out a hand to help her up. They emerged from the restaurant to a flash bursting in front of their eyes.

Oh, no. Not again.

Chapter Eight

“It’s okay.” Jase turned her from the photographers. He muttered under his breath. Jesus. What were they doing hanging around Navy Pier, for God’s sake? He never would have anticipated they’d be there, looking for someone to photograph. And Remi was already annoyed. “I guess we’re done here.” Damn. They’d been having such a great day.

“Yeah. I guess.”

He shot her a sideways glance, walking down the sidewalk, holding her hand, remembering the last time he’d tried to take her back to his place. “Will you come home with me?”

She stopped. They faced each other. She looked so pretty with that big scarf wrapped around her neck. “Will the paparazzi follow us there?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced over his shoulder. They seemed to have dispersed. “I don’t think so.”

“Will you wash that phone number off your hand?”

After a blink of his eyes, he burst out laughing. “Yes.”

She inhaled a long slow breath, then nodded and relief slid through him. “Okay.”

The elevator pinged and the doors slid silently open. They stepped in and he punched a button for his floor, then as the doors closed, he lifted her against him, effortlessly, and kissed her.

If she’d been standing, her legs likely would have given out, it was such a turn-on to be held aloft like that, against his chest, his mouth hot and hungry on hers. His strength turned her on. His mouth turned her on. His everything turned her on.

They kissed like that, wet, sliding, open-mouthed kisses until the elevator opened onto his floor and he carried her down the carpeted hall to his door. Only then did he gently lower her feet to the floor and she leaned against the wall, panting, while he unlocked the door.

He shoved the door open and they practically fell into the foyer, grabbing for each other, frantic, hot, hungry.

“It’s been so long,” he panted.

“I know.”

He unwrapped her scarf, shoved her jacket down over her shoulders and she wrestled out of it as he got rid of his jacket, tossing it into a pile on the floor. Then he picked her up again, this time straddling him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked to the bedroom.

She caught a glimpse of his apartment—stunning and modern with a wall of windows overlooking the glittering Chicago skyline, a couple of pieces of black leather furniture and a big screen television—before it disappeared from view as he strode into the bedroom. Dark. Shadowy.

He carried her over to the bed and stood there kissing her, hands beneath her ass. She tightened her legs on him and kissed him back, threading her fingers through his soft dark hair.

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