He’d branded her inside and out, and she felt possessed. Adored. Protected.

37

They spent the better part of a week having sex, showering off the sex they’d had, and then having shower sex.

Remi was in twin, perpetual states of full-body soreness and bliss.

They’d spent every night together and most of their waking moments as well. When Brick was working, she was painting.

With Spencer gone, they’d explored kitchen counter sex, bent over the dining room table sex, and lots and lots of oral sex in front of the fireplace. Brick’s tongue was just as talented as the rest of his spectacular body.

Since they’d been naked for almost an entire week, they hadn’t made any public appearances together. Remi hadn’t seen her parents, which meant she also hadn’t discussed the Brick or Warren situations with her mother. A plus in her mind.

But Kimber also hadn’t called or texted. And since everyone on the damn island knew she and Brick had finally knocked boots, there were only two conclusions Remi could draw. Her sister was either still really pissed at her or she was embarrassed.

While it was a pleasant respite chock full o’ orgasms, she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding her family. Not on an island this small. And if she and Kimber were going to repair what was left of the bridge to their sisterhood, it was going to have to be Remi’s doing.

With Brick working the lunch shift at the Tiki Tavern, Remi decided it was time to pay her sister another visit. Preferably on neutral ground.

Fortunately, thanks to Mackinac Visits online calendar, she knew exactly where Kimber would be.

* * *

Remi straightened her shoulders, pasted a bright smile on her face, and tried not to look like a woman who had spent most of the previous night being ravaged.

The door opened, and one brown eye peered out. “What’re you selling?” a wheezy voice demanded.

“Makeup, food storage, and sex toys,” Remi said, holding up the plate of fresh chocolate chip cheesecake bites.

The man harrumphed and threw open the door. Lars Hyne was only two inches taller than Remi. He’d lost an eye in a boating accident twenty years ago and had relished the pirate appeal the eye patch gave him.

“Lars, when are you gonna stop torturing our visitors?” A lithe Alaskan woman with an edgy pixie cut and purple highlights crossed her arms over her chest behind him.

“Hi, Kirima,” Remi called back.

“Come on in,” Lars beckoned, snatching the plate of goodies out of her grasp.

The Hyne home was an eclectic timeline of their life together. World travelers in the spring and summer, the Hynes perversely called Mackinac home all winter long. The living room’s large jade floor tiles were covered here and there with thick woven rugs that somehow both clashed and matched. The walls were painted a deep shade of peacock blue. Treasures from their travels crowded shelves, crammed in between books, photos, and plants.