Page 169 of Vicious Temptation

“I hate that that makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” he says as he settles smugly into his seat.

“Don’t be obnoxious about it, or I’ll drop you off on the side of the road.”

“No, you won’t.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance, and a much better idea comes to mind. “You’re right,” I say. “I’d never do that.”

Just as his shoulders begin to relax, I take a sharp right into an empty lane, downshift, and slam my foot on the accelerator. The car launches forward, throwing Matteo back into his seat.

His fingers latch onto the handle above the door with a grip that could probably crack bone. “Remi!”

I bark out a laugh. “Relax.”

“Relax? You’re trying to kill us.”

The engine climbs through the gears as we surge past a line of slower-moving traffic.

“The store I’m trying to get to closes in thirty minutes. Measures are being taken.”

“There are always cops on this road. Slow down!”

“Oh, enjoy the ride, Matteo.” I roll down the window and let the wind rush in. It whips through my hair and brushes against my skin.

I know staying away from Furia is the right call for now, but I miss the adrenaline, speed, and freedom that come with pushing a car to its limits. And right now, I’m craving a fix.

“Remi, there’s a red light ahead.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” I take a hard left onto the next street, and the tires protest with a sharp screech against the pavement.

“Fuck, Rem.”

I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. “You’re a terrible passenger.”

“I’m a normal passenger.”

“Then act like one.”

Matteo mutters a curse in Italian and tightens his death grip on the handle, which only makes me laugh harder. I have no idea why he keeps getting into vehicles with me, but I suppose that’s what friendship is. You make questionable decisions, and the people who love you stick around anyway.

I’m not a frivolous spender unless the purchase involves cars or the latest imports, so spending this much on a custom costume makes me grind my teeth. The price won’t hurt my bank account, but that isn’t what bothers me.

It’s the principle of it.

I’m standing here, spending an obscene amount of money on a costume for a charity ball I swore I wouldn’t attend, all because of a man I’ve spent weeks trying to convince myself is nothing more than a friend. The lengths I’m apparently willing to go to for him are equal parts irritating and alarming.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, running my hand down the leather, unable to stop myself from smiling.

Damn him, because if I’m being honest, it isn’t the costume making me smile.

It’s the thought of Thiago’s face when he sees me in it.

Forty-Three

thiago

“Where’s your girl?”