If you have not yet discover the wonder that is this series and the utter sexiness of Remington Tate then enjoy this little taste of amazingness ;) You can also check out my reviews for Real and Mine here and here.
This excerpt follows on from the first 15 pages of Remy that Katy Evans shared in her newsletter. If you haven't read that yet you can do so here.
Remy by Katy Evans
Synopsis
Underground fighter Remington Tate is a mystery, even to himself. His mind is dark and light, complex and enlightening. At times his actions and moods are carefully measured, and at others, they spin out of control.
Through it all, there's been one constant: wanting, needing, loving, and protecting Brooke Dumas. This is his story; from the first moment he laid eyes on her and knew, without a doubt, she would be the realest thing he's ever had to fight for.
Exclusive Excerpt
Bingo.
Scrolling down,
I scan several articles about Brooke Dumas. Ones claim she’s a sports rehab
specialist who interned at a Seattle academy. Prior ones mention her being a
track athlete. A sprinter. Odd things happen in my chest. I reread that part,
and, yeah. A sprinter.
Now I understand
why she’s so lean, athletic, and fast. But she has some curves, the kind of
curves I’ve never seen on a sprinter before. I curl my fingers into my palm as
I replay how her small, perky breasts rose and fell as she looked up at me. My
mouth waters as I remember the way she smelled. Fuck me. On YouTube, I find a video of her during some sort of
tryouts. My heart starts whacking hard again when I pull off my headphones and
click play. She wears little shorts. Her hair in a ponytail. And I see her
long, lean, muscled legs. My cock swells, and I shift uncomfortably and bend to
get a closer inspection as she gets into position. The group shoots off. She
starts fast—
Then one of her
legs buckles. And she falls. She lays there, on the ground, and starts sobbing
as she struggles to stand.
My chest does
something weird.
Shit, she’s
crying so much her body shakes with it.
Forming fists, I
watch her try to hop out of the track on her own, while the asshole spectator
who recorded the video just keeps repeating, “Man, her life is over,” again and
again.
Camera zooms in
on her tear-filled face, and I quickly pause the screen and stare at her.
Brooke Dumas. She looks just like she did today, but a little younger, and a
whole lot more vulnerable. There’s a little dimple in her chin from her
expression, and those gold eyes are so drowned in tears, I can barely see their
pretty whiskey color. I start to read the comments beneath the clip, of which
there are quite a few.
Iwlormw:
Rumors have it she’d been doing cross fit against the advice of her coach and
had already tweaked that knee!
Trrwoods:
That’s what happens when you don’t prepare properly!
Runningexpert:
She was good, but not that great. Lamaske would’ve still kicked the shit out of
her in the Olympics.
My stomach
boils.
I watch the
video again, and my stomach boils even more.
With an angry
growl, I toss my sports drink across the room and hear it slam against the
wall. I want to destroy every one making fun of her.
She’d stood
there tonight in my arena, trying to raise her walls up to me, and she’d looked
proud as a warrioress, like she hadn’t already endured the world watching her fall
once already. My chest twists so hard, I can’t breathe right again, and I growl
and slam my laptop shut.
Pete raps his
knuckles on my door and pushes it open a little. “Rem, you sure you don’t want
to partake?”
He widens the gap
and gestures at the trio of women behind him, their expectant eyes peering into
my bedroom. They collectively sigh and one murmurs, “Please, Riptide . . .”
“Just once?”
says the other.
“I said get rid
of them, Pete.” I crack my knuckles, then my neck. The door closes and a sudden
quiet settles in the suite, until Pete comes back and pries the door open again.
“All right,
dude. But I really think you should’ve gone for them. . . . Anyhow, Diane wants
to know if you want dinner in here.”
Shaking my head,
I carry my iPad to the dining room and settle down to wolf down the contents of
my plate on autopilot while Pete makes some phone calls confirming our hotel
reservations in Atlanta next week.
While I’m
eating, all I see are gold eyes, and parted lips, and the way Brooke Dumas
looked at me, like a doe who’s just realized there’s one predator after her
that won’t give up until she’s caught.
I want to make
her mine.
Mine.
I want to smell
the fuck out of her cause it gets me all cranked up and nothing has ever
cranked me up like her scent just did. I want the joy of looking at her and
touching her and I want. To make. Her. Mine.
Grabbing my
iPad, I look her up on the Internet again as I chow, stopping on a picture from
her sprinting days. She’s like a gazelle, and I’m going to be the lion that
catches her.
“Pete, you think
I need a sports rehab specialist?” I ask.
“No, Rem.”
“Why not?”
“You’re an
asshole, dude. You hardly let the masseuses massage you for more than twenty
minutes.”
“I need one
now.” Pushing my iPad over to him, I tap the screen and signal to the name
below her image. “I need that one.”
Pete lifts an
interested eyebrow. “You do. Do you?”
“I need a sports
rehab specialist on my payroll. I want her to tend to me every day. In whatever
ways they do.”
He smirks. “They
don’t do blow jobs, I’ll tell you that.”
“If I wanted a
blow job, I could have had three just now. What I want . . .” Once again, my
finger taps over her name. “Is this
sports rehab specialist.”
Pete’s eyebrows
fly up to his hairline, and he leans back and crosses his arms. “What exactly
do you want her for?”
I chomp down the
rest of my food, then take a long gulp of water so I can speak. “I want her for
me.”
Isn't it amazing! The rest of the book is equally awesome. Luckily there isn't long left until the release of Remy and it is up for pre-order also :)
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