He was a gambler at heart, but not an irresponsible one. He knew where to draw the line, how to measure the stakes and to raise or lower them when he needed to.
And he was a firm believer in the golden rule of gambling: he only ever lost what he could afford to lose.
Besides, he’d already suffered the worst loss of all. Losing his parents so suddenly had been shattering. He still remembered the crushing sense of loss when Rafe had told him about their parents’ accident: the panic; the fear; the terror. It had made Remy feel that life was little more than a roll of a dice. Fate was a cruel mistress. Your life could be perfect and full one day, and terrifyingly empty the next.
Remy looked down at Angelique who was trying to disguise her fury at the little ‘proof of virginity’ story he’d spun her. He wondered how long he could spin it out. She looked so infuriated he thought she was going to explode. She probably had no idea how gorgeous she looked when she was spitting at him like a wild cat. He wouldn’t mind having those sharp little claws digging into his back as he rocked them both to paradise.
Are you out of your mind?
If you sleep with her you won’t be able to annul the marriage as soon as you get home.
Right. They would have to share a room—there would be no avoiding that—but he could always sleep on the sofa.
There had better be a sofa or you’re toast.
‘Right.’
Angelique looked up at him and Remy realised he’d spoken aloud. ‘Pardon?’ she said.
‘How’s your headache?’
She looked at him blankly for a moment. ‘My...? Oh yes; terrible. Absolutely excruciating.’ She put a hand to her temple again. ‘I’m getting blurred vision and I think I’m seeing an aura.’
‘We’d better get you to bed, then.’
The words dropped into the silence, suspended there, echoing with erotic undercurrents that were impossible to ignore.
‘To sleep,’ Remy said. ‘Just in case you were getting the wrong idea.’ Like his body had. It was already hard. Getting harder. Deep breath.
She angled her head at him suspiciously. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re playing with me?’
He wanted to play with her all right. His body said yes but his mind kept saying no, or at least it was saying no so far. But how long would he be able to keep his hands off her? Theoretically she was the last woman in the world he wanted anything to do with. She was too high-maintenance. Too wild.
But, theory aside, when it came down to practice, well, he was only human. And she was hot. He normally preferred blondes but there was something about Angelique’s raven hair and creamy skin that had a touch of old-world Hollywood glamour about it. She walked into a room like a movie star. He didn’t think it was put on or something she’d learned on the catwalk. He’d seen her do it since she was a kid. She made an entrance. It was like she was making a statement: I’m here. What are you going to do about it?
She was here all right.
She was right, smack bang in the middle of his life and he couldn’t wait to get her out of it.
‘You take life too seriously, Angelique.’
‘That stuff about the sheets...’ She chewed her bottom lip for a moment. ‘That’s not really true, is it?’
Remy felt a sudden urge to ruffle her hair or pinch her cheeks like he would a little kid. She was so cute when she let her guard down. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her look that vulnerable and uncertain before. Angry, annoyed, irritated, yes—but vulnerable? No. If she felt it, she covered it well, but then who was he to talk?
‘Why?’ He kept his face deadpan. ‘Aren’t you still a virgin?’
She gave him a pert look. ‘Aren’t you?’
He laughed. ‘An emotional one, maybe, in that I’ve never been in love. But I’ve been around a few times.’
She gave her eyes a little roll. ‘I can just imagine.’
‘How many?’
‘How many...what?’
‘Lovers.’