No Inhibitions (The Sinful 3)

She suddenly shook her head, and ducking her chin in embarrassment, she pulled her hand from his. “This was not the conversation we were supposed to have,” she said, her voice a bit flustered. “This was about Maddux and how he got shot and not me and my childhood woes.”

She conveniently shifted the conversation back to Maddux, and for the next few minutes, Remy listened as she told him about her brother’s fourteen-year quest for revenge against the men responsible for her parents’ murders, which had coalesced the night of the fairy-tale ball. Except, things had not gone as planned, and Maddux had taken Theodore’s daughter, Arabella Cole, as collateral of sorts. When Gavin, the man who’d wanted Arabella for himself, kidnapped her with the intention of holding her hostage to lure Maddux to his death, Maddux ended up taking a bullet to save her life.

He shook his head as he tried to process it all. “So, you’re saying that your brother fell in love with your enemy’s daughter?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes.” A light, cheerful note finally returned to Tempest’s voice, chasing away the more agonizing emotions talking about her pare

nts’ deaths had dredged up. “Arabella is incredibly sweet and kind and compassionate, and exactly what Maddux needed in his life, even if he didn’t realize it at the time.”

Tempest was right. It was a crazy story, but he was glad she’d trusted him enough to share something so personal with him. It dawned on Remy that the loss of a parent was something they’d both experienced and understood. And even though hers had been ruthlessly taken from her and her brothers in one fell swoop, and Remy’s mother had opted to walk away from him for what she perceived as a better life, both ways were devastating in their own way. Yet despite all that, Tempest had found a way to be so positive, playful, and upbeat—instead of letting resentment and bitterness define her life or her future.

It was an eye-opening revelation.

As their waitress arrived with their meals and set a heaping plate of food in front of each of them, Remy was forced to admit that he’d harbored a lot of preconceived notions about Tempest Wilder, not to mention all the assumptions he’d made about her and her life, most of which had been wrong and she’d debunked. She’d lived far from a charmed life, and with each new thing Remy learned about her, his respect for Tempest grew. Beneath the sophisticated outer trappings, she was just a kindhearted, generous, beautiful woman who seemed to want to live her life to the fullest . . . and make her brothers proud.

“Holy shit,” Tempest said, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the pub’s Fat Burger—a full one-pound meat patty piled high with layers of cheese, strips of bacon, crispy onion straws, lettuce, tomato, and topped off with O’Brien’s secret sauce, all of which was nestled between two huge buns. Next to that was an insane amount of French fries.

She glanced at him, her expression incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me this burger was the size of my head?”

He chuckled. “Because you didn’t ask, princess,” he said, deliberately teasing her. “I can’t wait to see you try and tackle that burger.”

Her gaze narrowed at his challenge. “Game on.” She shook out her paper napkin, and uncaring who might see, she tucked it into the collar of her pristine white blouse to protect it from spills.

Smart girl, he thought, knowing how messy this particular sandwich could be. He watched in pure amusement as she did her best to pick up the heavy, towering burger, then brought it to her mouth and managed to take a big bite. Grease from the meat patty, along with the sauce, dripped down her fingers and a few drops landed on her makeshift bib, but that didn’t stop her from digging in again.

He laughed and silently applauded her efforts before starting in on his meal. They were each about halfway into their burgers when she put hers down on her plate and wiped her sticky fingers on one of the extra napkins the waitress had brought to the table, exhaling a heavy sigh.

He smirked. “Tapping out already?”

“Not at all. But I do need a moment to breathe,” she said, leaning back in her seat for a moment. “And maybe burp to make more room.”

He chuckled. God, she killed him, that she could be so proper-looking on the outside yet act like any one of the guys in the joint. However, when she did manage to burp, the sound was way more polite than a long, loud belch. But it seemed to free up the room she needed in her stomach, and she went back to work on her burger, taking much smaller bites this time.

“So, let’s talk about that three-year dry spell of yours,” she said, meeting his gaze across the table, her own eyes bright with curiosity.

He groaned. “Let’s not.”

“Seriously, Remy,” she said over her nearly finished burger. “That’s a long time for a guy to go without actual sex . . . and a whole lot of self-love.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised or shocked that she’d brought up the stupid comment he’d made back at the office. Tempest wasn’t one to let an intriguing revelation like that slide by, while he preferred to keep the reasons for his celibacy to himself.

“Self-love?” he repeated with a frown as he chewed off another big bite of his burger. What the hell did that mean?

“Hand jobs,” she clarified in a low voice. “Why resort to that when you’re clearly a man with a strong sexual appetite and needs? Finding willing women can’t be the issue.”

No, he’d had plenty of offers over the years. “Quite frankly, my ex-wife killed my sex drive,” he replied, shocking himself with his honesty. “After the divorce, I had no desire to be with any woman, for any reason, and I focused all my time and effort on rebuilding Lowell Construction.”

Tempest’s eyes grew round at his candor. “Can I ask what happened between the two of you?”

“In a nutshell, I wasn’t good enough for her,” he said, and stuffed a French fry into his big, fat mouth.

“What?” Tempest’s voice was incredulous as she set the last section of her burger down on her plate. “How can you say that?”

“I can say it because it’s true,” he said evenly. “Rachel looked me right in the eyes and said it to my face.”

He’d never discussed his divorce with anyone, or the fact that he hadn’t been able to give Rachel, his ex-wife, everything she needed, so she’d looked elsewhere—then had taken him to the cleaners financially, which had only added insult to injury. And while he should have been annoyed with himself for blurting out the truth to Tempest, a part of him felt oddly relieved to get it out in the open because she was so easy to talk to. Almost too easy when he needed to be careful with his emotions around her.

Tempest pursed her lips, clearly angry on his behalf. “She’s wrong, Remy,” she said adamantly as she stabbed a French fry in his direction to emphasize her point. “You are good enough, and way too good for her.”