In the dead center, right through one of the headlights, was a perfect little hole. Vorhees had put his own mark on her painting by shooting a bullet right through it. Curious, Remi turned around and spotted a piece of tape on the wall marking another hole.

When she turned back, Brick was standing at the top of the ramp. Sweatpants slung indecently low on his hips, his chest bare. Hair standing up in tufts.

Her heart swelled in her chest.

He crooked his finger at her, and she shook her head, beckoning him.

His eyes narrowed at the challenge as he stalked toward her.

He ignored the tarps and barreled into her like a freight train. Bending at the waist, he tossed her over his shoulder.

“Wait!” she laughed. “Look at my painting.”

He whirled around, making her head spin and her stomach feel giddy.

He leaned in to examine it and grunted.

“He shot a hole in it,” she said, in case he’d missed the telltale circle.

“I see that,” he said dryly.

“I think I know what I’m going to do with it now.”

He grunted again and started for the ramp.

“The painting, I mean,” she said, trying to lever herself up.

But Brick merely landed a stinging slap on her ass.

She wriggled against his shoulder, biting her lip as arousal swept through her.

“Where are we going?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Back to bed.”

“There’s a picnic at my parents’. We’re supposed to be there at six.”

He didn’t acknowledge any of her speech. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time and carted her back to the bedroom and unceremoniously tossed her on the bed. She bounced once, laughing.

And then he shoved down his pants, and she wasn’t laughing anymore. Brick grabbed her feet and spread them wide.

She felt alive, excited, adrenalized. Loved.

He climbed onto the bed between her thighs, his erection thick and hard. With one swift thrust of his hips, he slammed into her, holding at the bottom until she writhed and relaxed around him. When the final inches slid into her, he paused, holding himself over her, buried to the hilt.

She locked her legs around his hips as he stole her breath.

When he didn’t start to move, she opened one eye and then the other.

“Remington,” he said, his voice serious.

“What?”

Grimacing, he went down on one elbow and reached for the nightstand drawer.

“It’s a little late for a condom, buddy,” she gasped.

But the object he held between his fingers wasn’t a foil packet. It was a ring. Stunning brushed gold with the sparkle of multicolored gemstones.

“Marry me,” he rasped.

She felt her mouth fall open. “Oh. My God.” He shifted his weight, this time moving inside her. “Oh my God,” she repeated for different reasons. Her inner muscles were contracting around him, greedy for more. Needing to find fulfillment with him yet again.

“Say yes,” he demanded. “Say you’ll be my wife. Say we’ll figure out the family thing. That you’ll give me a lifetime. That you’ll let me keep you safe.”