“Not in the least.” Anger seemed to churn in his voice. “I don’t want you terrified.”
Remy didn’t even know her. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t particularly like to be terrified. I think most people feel the same way.”
A muscle jerked again along his jaw. “I have a deal for you.”
“A deal? I was sort of hoping for a ride.”
“A ride to a destination that you haven’t even decided yet. Doesn’t sound like the best plan to me.” His gaze pinned hers. “We’ve now established that you were running from someone. I’m offering you protection.”
This couldn’t be happening. She opened her mouth to tell him that very thing, only to hear the loud, echoing ring of a bell. A doorbell.
“Company,” Remy murmured. He didn’t look away from her. “What are the odds that our early-morning visitor is here for you?”
She lunged toward him. “Please, do not turn me over!” Her hands curled over his arms.
“As far as I know, you’re running from a man who terrifies you.”
The doorbell rang again. Yes, she was running from a man who utterly terrified her.
“Maybe we should talk about our deal a bit more,” Remy added.
“What’s the deal?” Frantic, she looked toward the den. And the door that was just beyond that den.
“You be my muse—my model. Don’t worry, you can keep your clothes on. If that’s what you want.”
Her grip tightened on him. “Remy…”
“I’ll give you room and board in exchange for you being my model, and, depending on how long I need your services, we can also work out an hourly pay scale. But you must know, I’m demanding.”
The doorbell chimed again.
“I’m also a bit of a bastard,” he continued, not seeming to be bothered at all by the chiming bell that grated on her nerves. “I keep odd hours. I don’t take breaks, and I will expect you to hold the same pose for extended periods of time.”
“You won’t turn me over?” To whoever was at the door. To whoever had been sent after her.
“Not if we have a deal.”
The doorbell seemed to be ringing constantly now. “Yes! Yes! Please, just—don’t let him know I’m here. Say you’ve never met me. Just…help?” A plea.
Remy nodded. “Why don’t you go back up to the bedroom? I’ll handle our visitor. While I’m dealing with him, check the closet up there. You should find some clothes in the brown trunk.”
She didn’t let go of him. The bell echoed around them.
Remy’s lips thinned. “Our visitor is quite persistent. And obviously, a total asshole. Good thing I know how to handle his type.”
“Promise you won’t turn me over?” A breath. A whisper.
He leaned toward her. His mouth moved to her ear. “I promise.” A whisper in response. His breath teased the shell of her ear.
A shiver slid over Jacqueline. “Then we have a deal.” Her head turned and, because they were so close, when her head turned, their mouths were almost touching. It would take no effort at all to brush her lips against his…
The doorbell chimed again.
She jerked back.
Remy sighed. “Perhaps we shall revisit that little near development later, hmm? But for now…” He marched for the den. “I have an asshole to send on his merry way.”
Chapter Three
Remy waited until he no longer heard the sound of Jacqueline scurrying up the stairs, and when he was sure she’d safely made it to the second floor, he glanced through the small peephole in the door. He also made a mental note to install one of those doorbell security cameras, ASAP. He hadn’t exactly been planning to stay in the cabin long term, so he hadn’t taken many security precautions. With Jacqueline’s arrival, things needed to change.
A man in a cheap brown suit glared at Remy through the peephole. The man’s hair had been buzzed, and he wore black-framed glasses. He was also reaching out to ring the bell yet again.
Remy swung open the door. “Morning, sunshine.”
The man froze with his hand extended.
“Want to tell me who the hell you are and why you’re on my doorstep at…” He looked at his wrist. No watch. “Helluva-early-thirty?”
The man jerked his hand down, only to shove it toward his coat.
Remy stiffened, anticipating an attack, but the guy just shoved up a wallet. No, an ID.
“FBI,” the man said as he jutted out his slightly pointed chin. “Special Agent Tim Palmer.”
Remy took the ID. Studied it. “Wow. A real, live FBI agent. I’ve got goose bumps.”
“What took you so long to answer the door?”
“Took me so long?” He looked up. Furrowed his brow. “How long were you ringing the bell?”
Tim’s lips tightened.
“Sorry.” Remy wasn’t. Not even a little bit. “I was working in the back. Painting.” He had the flecks of paint on him to prove it. “When I work, I tend to turn my music way up. Didn’t realize you were even out here until I took a break to grab some coffee.” He smiled his most innocent grin. “Something I can do for you?” Then he whistled. “The FBI. Man, must be something to work for them. Are you like, a real badass?”
“Yeah, I’m a badass.” Tim poked his ID back in the coat.
I don’t think you are, my friend.
“I’m looking for a wanted fugitive,” Tim announced as he jutted his chin up a little more.
“Is there any other kind?” Remy wanted to know, genuinely curious.
“Excuse me?” Tim’s brow furrowed.
“A fugitive,” he explained easily. “Aren’t they all wanted? Doesn’t that go along with being a fugitive?”
Anger tightened Tim’s features.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Remy nodded. He also rocked back on his heels and casually took in every part of the man’s appearance. Cheap brown coat and pants. Too tight dress shirt. Tennis shoes.
Tim attempted to peer around Remy. Remy moved his body to make sure that just wouldn’t happen. “I’m happy to inform you that there is no fugitive in my home.”
“I’d like to search the premises.”
Remy laughed. “Yeah, that’s not happening. My artwork is everywhere, and I’m not letting you prance around inside and potentially damage my masterpieces. You’re just gonna have to take my word for it—no fugitive is hiding inside.” Conspiratorially, Remy couldn’t resist adding, “I think I would have noticed him.”
“Her.”
“What?” Remy scratched his chin.
“I’m looking for a woman. About five-foot-six, one hundred thirty-five pounds. Dark hair. Green eyes.” He reached into his coat once more, and this time, he hauled out a picture of Jacqueline. A picture that showed her from a bit of a distance, as if the photo had been taken without her knowledge.
The plot thickens. Remy let loose a low whistle of appreciation. “I would know if a woman like her was in my cabin.”
“She’s dangerous.”