Page 129 of Vicious Temptation

“Not helping, Remi.”

“He started it.”

“What happened to my shitty stock truck? You think you can beat that?”

“Your words, not mine.” She glances my way. “And you don’t always need mods. Sometimes it’s all about who’s behind the wheel.”

“So not only do you know your way under a hood, but now you’re a professional driver too?”

“Most guys, when they learn that about me, they either get hard dicks or bruised egos. Which one are you?”

I laugh. “Take a guess.”

“Confident answer.”

The light turns green a moment later, and Remi takes off. The rear tires chirp on the pavement as the truck propels forward, throwing me back into my seat. Engine roaring, within seconds, we’re half a car length ahead of the convertible.

She laughs as she shifts, smooth and fast, without taking her attention from the road. I grab the handle above the door.

“I’m never letting you drive again.”

“Well, then I better get my money’s worth.”

The convertible starts gaining on us, its front bumper creeping forward until it’s nearly even with my window.

I look at Remi, expecting her to push harder, but she doesn’t. She checks the mirror, looks ahead, and eases off the accelerator.

“What are you doing?”

“Driving.”

“He’s passing you.”

“I can see that, Braga.”

Remi lets him pull ahead, but there’s no frustration or desperate attempt to catch him. She waits until the road opens up before pressing on the gas again.

The truck shoots forward, and this time, I’m mostly prepared for it.

We’re beside him again in a few blinks, and the man looks over, surprise replacing the smug expression he wore at the light. But Remi doesn’t even spare him a glance.

She keeps her attention on the road, driving a truck she’s never driven before as if she already knows all its limits. There’s nothing reckless about the way she handles it. Every move is deliberate, from how she controls the throttle to the distance she keeps between us and the other cars.

I knew Remi could drive, but I didn’t realize just how fucking good she was.

Waiting until the road is clear, she gives the truck everything it has left. And just like that, the convertible falls behind us. When I check the mirror again, the distance between us is only growing.

“Relax.”

“You’re the reason insurance agents drink.”

Her laughter fills the cab.

The sound does absolutely nothing to ease my concern, but it does plenty of other things to me. I should be annoyed that she just raced my truck through the streets and worried about the possibility of flashing lights appearing behind us.

But I can’t stop watching her.

This is the same woman I found at her range earlier, trying to hide that she’d been crying. Now her hair is whipping around her face in the open window, and she’s laughing as if the last few hours never happened.