“Well, hell. Since when do they keep it there?” she complained.

Her hair was pulled on top of her head in a fiery knot. Loose strands escaped as if even her hair refused to be tamed. She was dressed casually in another pair of long tights and a cropped sweatshirt the color of fresh grass. It was loose-fitting, the hem flirting with the high waist of her pants. He knew he’d lose sleep that night thinking how easy it would be to slide a hand under it.

She reached out to take the dishes, her fingers brushing his, and he wished for things to go back to the way they’d been before. Before she’d come home. Before she’d walked into his arms. Before he’d seen the shadows.

Before he’d jerked himself off so violently he still felt the damn vibrations of it.

He should be letting go of the dishes. He should be taking several steps back. Not obsessing over the feel of her fingers against his.

Breaking out of his fugue, Brick took the dishes back. “Stop falling off shit,” he snapped.

“Stop telling me what to do.” Her gaze flicked to the doorway and back again. “And stop fighting with me. Everyone thinks we hate each other.”

“Don’t we?” He hadn’t meant it. Not really. He hated himself when it came to her. But he could never hate her.

Old Remi would have punched him in the shoulder and called him an asshole. But this new Remi was an entirely different creature. Watching the hurt bloom in those moss green eyes made him feel like a fucking asshole.

“Remi, wait—”

She shook her head and stepped out of his reach as he juggled the gravy boat. “I’m too tired for the hot-cold routine. Let’s leave it at cold and leave each other the hell alone.”

“What hot-cold routine?” he demanded, trying to keep his voice low. He knew exactly what she was talking about but didn’t want her running out of the room until they were back on an even keel.

“You know what I’m talking about, you monumental ass,” she hissed. “One second, you’re stocking my freezer with your cock hard enough to cut off the circulation to your lower body. The next, you’re telling me you hate me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

“Fuck off, Brick.” She flipped him off on her way out of the room.

He swore under his breath and followed. It was going to be a painful night.

9

“What color is this song, Aunt Remi?” Hadley asked from across the table.

Remi shifted away from Brick yet again. Usually he sat as far away from her as possible. But since she was furious with him, the chances of her flirting with him were nil. She was still dangerous, but it was a safer kind of danger.

Remi cleared her throat as she looked up from the moat of mashed potatoes she’d been poking with her spoon. “It’s all bright yellows and oranges with little explosions of red,” she told her niece.