Remi frowned at the post date. It was several weeks after his birthday, and his mother had only gotten around to dropping him a postcard? Her own parents called her every year at the exact time she’d been born. 5:58 a.m.

She peeked at the Christmas card next to it.

To my favorite ex-husband. Try not to be too bah-humbuggy.

Love, Audrey

Unsure of how she felt about that, Remi let the card flip shut. One night together didn’t give her any claim on Brick. He’d pursued, proposed to, and married Audrey. Meanwhile, his track record with her…well, if history repeated itself, he’d walk through the door any minute now and either withdraw from her completely or awkwardly explain that he’d changed his mind.

There was a tightening in her chest and she tried to ignore it. Audrey wasn’t here now. She was. That had to mean something.

Blowing out a sigh, she eyed the cards again. Brick Callan had been abandoned by his mother, the one woman who never should have left him. Yet he inspired the loyalty of his ex-wife, someone who had every right to move on and leave him behind. Now the woman he’d spent a decade and a half rejecting was standing in his kitchen snooping on the other women in his life.

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?”