Claiming You (A Lennox in Love) Read online

  Claiming You

  (A Lennox in Love, Book 1)

  Second Edition

  Tina Martin

  Copyright @ 2016 Tina Martin. All rights reserved.

  CLAIMING YOU | Second Edition

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, things or events are strictly coincidental. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format including photography, recording information storage and retrieval systems without the prior written permission of the author. No part of this book may be uploaded without permission from the author.

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  Book Synopsis

  Emory (aka, Emmie) is twenty-nine and was living a simple, modest life before she met Remington Lennox, a distinguished gentleman, who’s a decade older than she is. Strictly friends for two years, their bond is strong, but everything changes when Remington feels like his brother is trying to steal her away from him.

  Claiming You is a sweet novella about two unlikely people falling in love and how one man’s past effects his views of women. But then he meets a woman who makes him break his own rules!

  ~.~.~.~

  I hope you enjoy reading this novella as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m truly grateful to my fans who get these stories and appreciate the sweet, heartfelt romances I write.

  ~.~.~.~

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  Happy reading!

  CLAIMING YOU

  A Lennox in Love Novella

  [Prologue]

  “Stop it, Giovanni,” Emory screamed in laughter on a bed a faded green grass, giggling uncontrollably while Giovanni was on top of her attempting to snatch the yellow flag-belt from around her waist.

  Flag football with the fellas is what her Friday night entailed, and Giovanni seemed to be having the time of his life seeing her squirm and wiggle beneath him. The game, their second, was long over, but while everyone else rested, chatted it up and chugged water, Emory and Giovanni were playing their own little game of wrestling on the ground. And they had an audience.

  “Next time you wanna talk smack, you think about this, girl,” Giovanni said, amused by her giggles.

  “Okay. Okay.” Emory panted. “You win.”

  “Tell me you’re sorry.”

  “Vanni…”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emory said, barely able to catch her breath while laughter nearly drowned out her words.

  Giovanni stood to his feet victorious with her flag-belt in his hand, then helped her get up.

  Standing upright, Emory snatched his blue flag-belt and took off running as fast as she could, but Giovanni was right down behind her, locking his arms around her from behind and tumbling to the ground with her, all while she laughed.

  Remington’s eyes burned with envy. Sitting on the hood of his car, he glared at the two of them, mostly at Giovanni, watching the way he toyed with and touched Emory. Why did he have to be so touchy-feely with her? This wasn’t tackle football. It was flag football. And they weren’t even playing a game at the moment, but Giovanni just had to play. With her. If Giovanni wasn’t his brother, Remington would’ve hemmed him up, then and there.

  “Those two seem to be hitting it off lately,” Kenton said after he ran up next to Remington with a football tucked underneath his arm, wearing a white sweated-out T-shirt, skidded with grass and dirt stains. For a while, Kenton had suspected something was going on between Remington and Emory. After all, Remington had convinced Emory to move from Atlanta, Georgia to Bryson City, North Carolina. What woman relocates to a new state at the request of a man without there being some sort of connection between the two of them? And after she moved, they’d been inseparable for two years. Two. Well, that is until Giovanni stepped in to steal her time away from Remington as of late. Judging by the hard frown that knitted and tightened in his forehead, Remington didn’t seem too happy about sharing her.

  “Yeah, looks that way,” Remington mumbled, jumping off the hood of the car. “I’m heading back to the house.”

  “Already? We have another game lined up.”

  “Not feelin’ it.”

  “Come on, Rem. We’re tied. Drake’s been talking trash about how they were going to win the third round.” Drake, their first cousin, was on Giovanni’s team, along with Remington’s good friend, Spencer.

  Remington shook his head. He couldn’t fathom playing another game, watching Giovanni grab ahold of Emory. Seeing the two of them interact bothered him. Why? Simple. Giovanni had an advantage over him when it came to age. Emory was twenty-nine. Giovanni was thirty-two and Remington, thirty-nine. The age difference was one of the factors that kept him from pursuing Emory, but as of late, he was comfortable with it. Whether she would be was the question. He got along with Emory even better than women in his own age bracket. She understood him. Was comfortable with him. He cherished their time together, and she enjoyed spending time with him.

  “You playing or what?” Kenton asked.

  “No, man,” Remington said, opening the driver side door. “I’ll be at the house.”

  Kenton sighed. “All right, bruh. See you in a few.”

  “Yep.” Remington slammed the door after he got in then sped off, kicking up dirt and grass as he did so.

  “Yo…where’s he going? Thought we were playing another game?” Giovanni asked after he ran over to Kenton. Emory was busy brushing grass off of her clothes and out of her hair.

  “We were supposed to play another one,” Kenton said, “Until Remington got pissed that you were all over his girl.”

  Giovanni smirked. He looked across the field over at Emory, then back at Kenton. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that you seem to be getting close to Emory lately, too close, and Remington is in love with her.”

  Giovanni laughed. “What are you high on, Kenton? First of all, Remington has never loved a woman in his life. And Emory and I are just friends. She’s like a sister to me, man. To all of us.”

  “Well, you need to lean back a little is all I’m suggesting. Remington moved her here for a reason, and I doubt it was so he could watch you on top of her, pinning her to the ground, roughhousing her. See you at the house.”

  * * *

  Emory spotted Remington casually sitting on the couch. He left the field early, and she wanted to know why. He looked okay. Hard-nosed. Straight posture with a serious, no-nonsense face. His usual self. So why did he leave? Did he have to take a business call or was it some other pressing matter?

  “Hey, you,” Emory said, sitting on the couch next to Remington with a knee up, facing him.

  Since he arrived ahead of the others, Remington had taken a shower and was smelling fresh, wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He looked at Emory with his honey-colored eyes full of something she had yet to notice.

  Love.

  Fire.

  Craving.

  “Hey.” He plucked off a single strand of grass from her hair.

  She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Taking a moment, he studied her brown skin tone and long, black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her dark, enchanting eyes always did something to rouse him, not to mention those full, divine lips of hers that garnered his attention.

  “Remy?” she said.
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  He heard her voice, read her lips, but he didn’t answer.

  Emory’s eyes narrowed. He was looking at her, so why hadn’t he answered?

  “Remington?”

  He read her lips again and heard her say his name. “Yes?”

  “Are you okay?” she repeated.

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I got three reasons,” she replied. “You want to hear ‘em?”

  He shrugged lazily.

  “Okay. One, you left the field early…didn’t play the third football game, and you knew we were supposed to play three games. Two, you have the appetite of a Smoky Mountain bear but you’re not eating. Three, you’re sitting here staring at the TV but not watching it. Just staring.”

  “Is that a crime?” he asked, mildly amused.

  She balled a fist and nudged him at his shoulder, but Remington barely moved. “No, it’s not a crime, but you’re not usually so quiet. So dish. What’s wrong, Remy?”

  He looked at her briefly, holding the gaze radiating from her widened eyes. That’s another thing he liked about her – how she always knew when something was bothering him. What he didn’t like was the fact that she didn’t know why he was being standoffish and anti-social.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said barely looking at her, hoping she couldn’t detect the lie he told.

  “Don’t lie to me. Just tell me.”

  So much for that strategy…

  He looked at her again, holding acute contact. Her eyes seemed to beg him for an answer, the truth, but still, he said, “Woman, I’m fine.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Okay, I think I know what it is. You’re nervous about your big day tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  He squinted at her. Did she really think he was withdrawn because of the award ceremony? She couldn’t have. He’d given countless speeches in the past. And he’d won business-related awards before. Just last winter, the city recognized him with a humanitarian award for opening up his hotels to the homeless when the shelters were at capacity.

  “Well?” She raised her eyebrows waiting for him to say something, but he never did. Just stared. So she took his hand into hers, laced their fingers together, then placed her other hand on top of his hand. “It’ll be okay. There’s no need to be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous, Emmie,” he replied in a soft monotone.

  “You are. I can feel it…feel it generating through your fingers.”

  What she felt, while holding his hand, had nothing to do with the ceremony or nervousness. It was the effect she had on him, the way his body reacted to her, something she was completely oblivious to and had been for two years. He tried to control it, but lately, he had trouble taming his feelings for her – his tomboy friend who’d awakened amorous yearnings in him he wasn’t aware he had the ability to feel.

  “It’s okay, Remington. I’m the one who should be nervous. I haven’t worn a pair of stilettos in years. Hopefully, I won’t break an ankle.”

  Remington grinned.

  She did too, watching him glance at her lips while gripping her hand tighter. Their eyes locked again. “It’ll all be okay, Remy,” she said, coming to her knees on the couch so she could wrap her arms around his neck. She pulled in a deep, refreshing breath of his soap-kissed skin. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll be astonishing.” She released him and face-to-face with him, she said, “You always are.” She left a small kiss on his stubbled cheek.

  Remington closed his eyes, relishing the delightful feeling of her warm lips touching his skin.

  “I’ll go get you some food before Spencer and Drake gobble everything up.”

  “Okay,” Remington replied. When she stood up, he still had a grip on her hand, slowly releasing it, applying pressure to her fingertips when she attempted to pull her hand from his grasp. And he watched her walk away, heading for the kitchen in her skinny jeans and a plain T-shirt (one of his), and he didn’t stop looking at her until she was out of sight.

  Kenton and Giovanni had been watching this exchange from across the room.

  “Told you,” Kenton said, nudging Giovanni. “I knew something was going on. It’s obvious.”

  Giovanni shook his head. “They’re always like that.”

  “Yeah, but when have you ever seen Remy like that with a woman?”

  Kenton waited for a moment and when Giovanni didn’t respond, he said, “Exactly. You may want to chill with whatever you call yourself doing with Emory because that’s big brother’s girl. He may not have said anything, but when it comes to Emmie, Remy has a weakness.”

  Giovanni nodded. “I think you may be right, but unfortunately for him, he can’t have her.”

  Kenton snapped his head back, looked at Giovanni and raised a brow. What did that mean?

  Chapter 1

  [Emory]

  The tension between us is so thick right now, I’m choking, barely able to breathe. Remington hasn’t said a word to me since we left The Grand Hall. Not one word. That was five miles ago. Five, long, freakin’ miles. He’s not the silent-treatment type. The in-his-chest type. He’s more of the tell-it-like-it-is type. That’s why I’m stumped.

  I don’t have a clue what his problem is, but I know something’s wrong. I can feel it. I feel it in my bones, but Remington is not telling it like it is. He’s quiet, holding everything in. The stale silence between us has my stomach quivering with nervousness. What’s worse is, I’m stuck in the back of his Maybach, wearing a black, overpriced gown covered in sparkly sequins that look as numerous as the stars blanketing the dark sky above. In a way, I’m dressed like a star – one that just left a Hollywood red carpet. But this is not me. This isn’t who I am.

  Say something, Remy. Anything. This silence between us is killing me. Don’t you know that? What did I do? Just tell me. Tell me what I did.

  I’m not comfortable. A tomboy at heart, getting glammed up is not my thing. It has never been my cup of tea, but I did it tonight. For him. For Remington. I even dusted off a bottle of liquid foundation that I didn’t even know I had. I wore makeup for this man – face paint – stuff those vain girls layer on their faces and constantly post images of themselves on picture-sharing, social media sites, seeking approval, likes and comments.

  I grin to myself. I don’t have those kinds of problems. I hate makeup as much as I dislike dressing up. That’s why, as soon as my butt touched the back seat of his car, the first thing I did was relieve my feet of these stilettos and massage my toes. Next came the earrings.

  I sigh, exhausted.

  Oh how I would kill for a T-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants, preferably a pair of Remington’s. And I wish I had a moist towelette to get this makeup off of my face.

  I glance over at Remington. He’s older than I am, ten years older, but he wears his age as flawlessly as those expensive suits lined up in his closet. At thirty-nine, he’s built like a personal trainer, but not too bulky. Bulky men looked fake and unattractive, in my opinion. On the other end of the spectrum, he isn’t flimsy either, like those skinny men who think they’re healthy and in shape simply because they’re as thin as pretzel chips. Remington is in between – athletically fit and toned to precision with hard muscles he’d sculpted over the years. I doubt if he has an ounce of body fat on that lean body of his.

  He’s strong. Impressively so. Once, he effortlessly completed fifty pushups with me on his back, and the man can run mile after mile without tiring out.

  I glance over at him again. I did mention he could rock a mean suit, didn’t I? Like the one he’s wearing now? He’s GQ’d up. He’s GQ everyday but today he stepped it up a notch for this event, wearing a custom-made tuxedo that’s a perfect fit for his broad shoulders and muscular thighs. Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve noticed how mind-blowing his looks are. I notice all the time, but choose not to think about it much because that’s not the kind of relationship we have. I don’t ogle him. Flirt with him. Dream about a man like him being mine someday. To me, he’s just Remington or
Remy (sometimes, Rem) a friend who happens to be the finest, most handsome, distinguished man I know. And the smartest…

  I hear his phone vibrate in the upper left, inner pocket of his jacket where he always keeps it. He ignores the call. With his long legs spread apart, he’s leaning against the left door, gazing out of the tinted window. Ignoring me. Since he’s not in the mood for conversation tonight, I lean against the right door and stare out of the window, pretending nothing’s wrong when I know better. Remington has been acting suspect for a few days now, especially yesterday when he left flag football in a hurry like he had to rush to get home for some reason. I still don’t know the story behind that.

  I sigh, still stressed.

  The driver makes a right turn and I peer out into the darkness trying to figure out where I am. I sometimes get lost in Bryson City when it’s dark out. I’m still learning this small, mountainous city, but I think I know where we are. In approximately ten minutes, I should be home, that is if we don’t run into any congestion. I cross my fingers, hoping it’s smooth sailing from here on out. I need to get home. Need air. Need to breathe. Normally…

  As we progress down the highway, I’m still having a difficult time understanding why Remington’s giving me the silent treatment. We never fight. Never ignore each other. The most we’ve ever argued was when our NFL teams play against each other. Oh, and most recently, I snapped on him for sending a $10,000 backless gown – this very gown I’m wearing – to my house and insisted I wear it to his Businessman of the Year award ceremony tonight at The Grand Hall.