“No exploring when you were at that exclusive boys’ boarding school with your brothers and cousins?” she teased.

  “Only with my right hand.”

  “No anal sex there either?”

  “No.” Sinclair’s gaze had narrowed. “You’ve become something of a handful, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe.” Remy gave an unapologetic shrug. “But from what I’ve observed today, your private life could do with a bit of a shake up.” She knew Malachi thought so too.

  “Not so much it gives me a heart attack,” Sinclair drawled.

  She gave his chest a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry, if you give me a chance, I’ll be gentle with you.”

  He gave a shake of his head as he lifted his hands to cradle her face. “I have a feeling I’ll regret giving in to this.”

  “But it just might be worth that regret if you get to come without the use of your right hand.”

  “Jesus, Remy!”

  She chuckled at his shocked expression. “I really am all grown up, Sinclair.”

  “You really are.” He studied her face for several more seconds before his head lowered and his lips pressed gently against and then parted and explored hers.

  There was nothing gentle about him as he kissed her over and over again, tasting and then lightly biting her lips before soothing that sting of pain with the moistness of his tongue.

  Remy felt completely boneless, and it was only her arms about his waist beneath his jacket keeping her on her feet as she returned those kisses with the same hunger.

  She’d fantasized about being kissed by Sinclair all her adult life but the reality of having those stern-looking lips soften as they thoroughly explored her own was exhilarating. The feel of his tongue sweeping her lips apart before thrusting into the heat of her mouth aroused Remy beyond any fantasy she might previously have had about the two of them ever being together.

  Sinclair’s hands no longer cradled her face but now moved restlessly up and down her back and hips, before his fingers gripped the cheeks of her bottom and pulled her hips flush against the hardness of his.

  Making her fully aware of the long length of Sinclair’s fully engorged cock pressing against her as evidence that he was as aroused as she was.

  Kissing and touching her had caused that reaction, Remy marveled.

  She groaned low in her throat as their kisses became deeper, hungrier, her arms up about his neck now, her fingers becoming entangled in the thick hair at his nape.

  It was sublime. Heaven. Everything, everything, Remy had ever dreamed of or hungered for. Sinclair was everything she had ever wanted.

  She realized in that moment that Malachi had been right and her youthful infatuation for Sinclair no longer existed.

  It was more than that.

  So much more.

  Because no matter how many years it had been since she last saw Sinclair, or how he chose to live his life now, being kissed and held by him told Remy that Sinclair was Her Person.

  The One.

  The only one for her.

  That he always had been.

  Remy had no time to dwell on that earth-shattering realization, because Sinclair’s hands had now tightened on the globes of her bottom before he lifted her. Her legs instinctively wrapped about his waist, the two of them continuing those hungry kisses as Sinclair easily carried her across the room before placing her on the desktop and stepping between her parted thighs.

  Her neck arched when he broke the kiss and his lips moved down the column of her throat, his breath warm against her as he sipped and tasted that sensitivity. A shudder ran through her whole body when his teeth lightly bit into the flesh where her neck and shoulder met.

  Why had she never known that was an erogenous zone?

  “Your skin is as soft and smooth as silk,” Sinclair admired gruffly. “And you taste like ripe, juicy apricots.”

  Remy barely registered what he was saying. She was too lost in the wonder of being in Sinclair’s arms, of being kissed and touched by him, to be able to think of anything else, let alone make a verbal response.

  Instead, she pulled him even closer, her throat angled in invitation for his lips to move lower to where her engorged nipples were aching to be touched too.

  “I have a report back on Gary, surname Smythe, and he checks out. Gabriel has also just sent— Oops. Sorry,” Malachi added belatedly when he realized what he’d interrupted.

  Remy gasped when Sinclair pulled away and then released her before stepping away completely.

  She looked at him from beneath the shadow of her lashes. He might still be dressed in the formality of a three-piece suit, but his hair was tousled from where her fingers had been entangled in it just seconds ago. His cheeks were flushed. His lips were also red and fuller from the force of the kisses they’d shared.

  Remy decided, as she slid from the desktop to lean against the heavy piece of furniture, not to look down any farther to see if there was still physical evidence that Sinclair had been as aroused by those kisses as she had.

  He was no longer looking at her, but at his brother standing in the doorway. Malachi’s expression was one of mild curiosity, despite his apology for having obviously walked in on their intimacy.

  He’d also said something about Gary… “What do you mean Gary ‘checks out’?”

  Malachi shrugged. “All evidence says he’s exactly what you said he was.”

  “Evidence?” she echoed sharply.

  “I sent a couple of men to have conversations with other colleagues at your school. They stated he’s a workaholic with zero charisma. A check of his finances by Casper showed there hasn’t been a huge amount of money mysteriously appearing in his bank account, either.”

  From that, Remy took it to mean that Gary hadn’t been involved in distracting her for the evening while someone broke into her parents’ house.

  “What about Gabriel?” Sinclair demanded.

  Malachi gave Remy an apologetic smile before answering his brother. “I sent him instructions earlier to go and take a look at Ralph and Gina’s house. He’s just reported back. He also sent several photographs,” he added with a knowing look in Remy’s direction.

  “You had no right,” she accused, already knowing what this man Gabriel would have seen and photographed.

  She’d finally found the energy to start sorting through the destruction of her parents’ home yesterday afternoon, but within ten minutes, there had been tears streaming down her cheeks as she picked up the pieces of some of family photographs that had been kept in the drawers of the dresser in the hallway, a lot of them ripped into several pieces.

  “I had every right,” Malachi dismissed her objection. “The lock on the front door of the house was broken, and the door itself is barely being held in place by a few loose screws in the hinges.” He turned his phone so that Sinclair could see an image of that door on his screen.

  “I couldn’t get a carpenter or locksmith to come to the house until Monday,” Remy defended.

  “You would have if you’d reported the incident to the police,” Sinclair growled.

  “I told you why I didn’t,” she snapped.

  “As for the inside of the house…” Malachi ignored their exchange to click onto another image.

  Then another.

  And another.

  More and more images that all caused Sinclair’s expression to become darker and then darker still.

  What the fuck!

  Sinclair hadn’t made a habit of taking an interest in home invasions, but even so, there seemed to have been an excessive amount of damage done to the home of Gina and Ralph Mitchell.

  It certainly didn’t look like the “normal break-in” Remy claimed it was.

  “You slept in the house after this happened?” he questioned abruptly.

  Remy’s cheeks became flushed. “I wouldn’t say I actually managed to sleep—”

  “Remy!”

  She scowled. “I’ve already said that I did, yes.”

  “The minute we’re alone together, you’re going to have your arse spanked for rank stupidity,” Sinclair ground out from between clenched teeth.

  “Don’t call me stupid!” she came back heatedly.

  “I said stupidity—”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it really isn’t,” he insisted. “You’re obviously a very intelligent woman. It’s your reckless behavior outside your career that I’m questioning.” He included her wanting a sexual relationship with him in that reckless behavior.

  He really wanted to administer that spanking right now, and to hell with Malachi’s presence. But knowing his brother, Mal would probably stand and watch and then applaud him.

  No, Sinclair would prefer it if they were alone when he chastised Remy. Kissing her a few minutes ago had only succeeded in making him hungry for more. All he could think of now was how pleasurable it would be if he was taking that “more” when he also happened to be spanking her arse. His leaking cock indicated approval for the idea too.

  Sinclair closed his eyes as he imagined Remy lying across his thighs, arse in the air—no, bare arse in the air so he could stroke her rapidly reddening flesh in between those spanks.

  And when had he become such a kinky bastard?

  Since meeting Remy again, it would seem.

  But she was a grown woman now, and by her own admission she wasn’t an innocent. She’d had lovers, some of them men even older than he was. The fact Sinclair hated even thinking of another man’s hands on her was on him to deal with, not her.

  His immediate problem was to ensure Remy didn’t return to her parents’ house, after which he needed to set in motion discovering who was responsible for completely trashing Remy’s childhood home.

  All while inwardly questioning what the hell his ex-brother-in-law had gotten himself involved in this time.

  And whether or not the helicopter crash that had killed Ralph, Gina and the pilot, had been an accident at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “It all looks the same.”

  Sinclair gave a nod to acknowledge the two security guards standing either side of the electrically operated gates into the Kingston estate. Remy was sitting in the SUV beside him as the two of them waited for those gates to fully open.

  Sinclair had insisted on Remy coming to the estate with him while Mal had left to join Gabriel at the Mitchells’ house. His brother would report back to him later on what he had, or hadn’t, found there.

  Sinclair glanced at Remy. “Did you expect it not to?”

  “I don’t know what I expected.” She looked at him. “So much has happened and changed to and for all of us, I thought this would have too.”

  Everything had changed in Sinclair’s life since Remy was last here, but he knew from the outside the estate did look exactly the same. The gardens were pristine either side of the gravel driveway as they drove to the front of the house. The many windows in the large, once fortified gray manor house reflected back the sun as they stepped out of the SUV.

  The main changes had been made inside the house itself, in the form of a state-of-the-art security system that Sinclair monitored from his suite of rooms in the west tower. Most of the cameras, normal and infrared, weren’t visible to the unsuspecting eye. There weren’t any in the private suites of his brothers or cousin.

  Many of the rooms inside the main house had been redecorated or refurnished since Remy was last there, but the general tone of understated wealth still held true. It wasn’t as colorful as it used to be, probably because it had been the home of seven single men for the past few years. But no doubt, once Rosie and Max and Cara and Adam returned from their honeymoons, the two sisters would want to make some changes inside the house for when they were all staying here rather than their apartments in London.

  In the way same way that Cathy had voiced her decorating preferences when the two of them were married.

  Could Sinclair really now be thinking of having a physical relationship with Remy, Cathy’s niece?

  Strictly speaking, the relationship had started the moment he first kissed this all-grown-up Remy.

  But he didn’t have to take it any further. He could tell her he’d changed his mind.

  As if aware he was wavering, Remy looked up at him. “I’m looking forward to my spanking.”

  Fuck!

  Sinclair felt light-headed as all the air whooshed from his lungs at the same time as his blood rushed south to give him the quickest erection he’d ever experienced.

  The teasing glint in Remy’s eyes as she watched him drawing in several necessary and calming breaths told him she’d meant to cause a reaction. Maybe not one where Sinclair almost had that heart attack he’d mentioned and his fully engorged cock was almost bent double inside his boxers, causing him severe discomfort. But Remy had definitely wanted to shake him out of whatever second thoughts he might be having.

  Sinclair bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. “Not as much as I am.”

  Remy laughed, her eyes glowing the same color as the clear blue sky overhead, her hair a midnight swath about her shoulders, her throat long and creamy.

  She was so fucking beautiful, she took his breath away.

  Sinclair reached out to grasp one of her hands in his before walking purposefully toward the large solid oak arched front doors.

  “Oops, I forgot my backpack.”

  Sinclair doubled back to collect Remy’s backpack from the front of the vehicle. “You aren’t going to need clothes for the next twenty-four hours,” he assured when he rejoined her. “Maybe longer if I decide we aren’t ever getting out of bed.”

  “If you decide?” Remy gave a chiding shake of her head. “You really are a complete Neanderthal, aren’t you?”

  “That’s probably an insult to the Neanderthals,” he dismissed without apology for his caveman attitude.

  “There aren’t any clothes inside my backpack, just my laptop, cell phone, and wallet.” Remy followed him inside the house. “Because I didn’t expect to be staying anywhere but at my parents’ house again tonight.”

  “You really thought Mal and I would let that happen now that we’ve seen the extent of the damage inflicted on the house?”

  “I thought I still had the autonomy to make my own decisions, yes.”

  Sinclair grinned unrepentantly. “Silly you.”

  “Silly me,” Remy acknowledged dryly. “I— Where are we going?” she demanded when Sinclair turned sharply left and began ascending the wide staircase there.

  “My suite of rooms.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve lived in the west turret for the past five years.”

  “Oh.” Remy didn’t question why he’d made that move.

  Which was just as well, because Sinclair very much doubted he would have given her the answers she was expecting.

  Dear God, was he really thinking of doing this?

  What the hell did he have to give, if anything, to a vibrant and beautiful young woman like Remy?

  Nothing. He had nothing. Because he was nothing but a collection of defective human cells programmed to destroy other, even more defective human cells—

  His self-destructive thoughts came to an abrupt end as, having reached the top of the first staircase, Remy turned and used the momentum of her body to force Sinclair into stepping backward until he was up against the wall.

  She pressed the front of her body against his. “I’m not going to question the reasons why you’ve become this person who doesn’t allow any of the softer emotions into your life. But don’t ever, ever,” she repeated vehemently, “dare to presume to decide what my emotions are or will be, or how they influence my decisions.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I saw it in your face, Sinclair.” She moved closer still. “Now, I doubt Malachi will have anything to report for several hours, so in the meantime, the two of us are going to take a shower together, and then you’re going to spank me, after which we’re going to ‘explore’ the hell out of each other. Are we clear?”

  Damn, Remy’s take-charge attitude was hot.

  Deluded, but very hot.

  He nodded. “We’re clear.”

  Remy’s self-confidence lasted as long as it took to reach the clinically tidy suite of rooms in the west turret Sinclair now called home.

  The brick of the walls remained exposed, the carpet on the floors was gray, with black-and-chrome furniture in the sitting room and the bedroom Sinclair took her through to reach the ensuite bathroom. Large and luxurious as it was, even this room was white with gray tiles and chrome fittings on the bath, shower, and double sink.

  The whole suite was decidedly lacking in warmth of any kind.

  Nor had she seen any personal items on show, such as books or photographs when they walked through the other rooms to the ensuite bathroom.

  In fact, the suite looked barely lived in, and yet from all that Remy had learned when she’d tried to meet with Sinclair the past few days, he had spent the majority of his time here for the past five years.

  “Strip.”

  She turned to give Sinclair a startled glance, her eyes widening even further when she saw that he had already removed his shoes and socks, discarded his jacket, tie, and shirt. He was now barefoot and bare chested.

  His formal clothing had only hinted at the muscles beneath. Now Remy could see he was more muscular than he used to be, his body no longer that of a swimmer, but of a man who kept himself fit and didn’t have an ounce of superfluous flesh on his chest and arms. There were also numerous scars on his shoulders and abdomen that Remy knew hadn’t been there in the past when they’d all swum in the family pool. Most of the scars looked like healed cuts or knife wounds, but several round ones looked as if they might be the result of bullet wounds.

  The thought of Sinclair being shot was enough to send a chill down her spine.

  She reached out to lightly touch the ridged skin of one of those scars. “How…?”

  “I’ve…done things, during the years since we last met,” Sinclair admitted flatly. “Some of them I can never tell you about in specifics because then you might feel obliged to report them to the police.”