Page 189 of Vicious Temptation

His fingers glide to the side of my neck, drawing me to him. “I hated every fucking one of them looking at you like that,” he admits.

I lift an eyebrow. “Possessive much?”

“You have no fucking idea.”

“I think I’m starting to,” I say with a grin.

“I’m serious, Remi.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” He cups my jaw. “You told me what you wanted tonight, so now I’m going to tell you what I want.”

I nod and wait for him to continue.

“I want you in my bed, but I want you everywhere else too. I want the mornings when you show up at my apartment with breakfast and the nights you keep me on the phone talking about whatever pops into that head of yours. I want to watch you drive fast and do what you love, even though it scares the shit out of me, and I want to be the person you come looking for when everything gets too fucking loud.”

I go completely still, but Thiago doesn’t stop.

“I want your smart mouth, your stubbornness, and every complicated part of your life you’re convinced should send me running.” His hand moves into my hair. “I don’t want pieces of you when they’re convenient, Remi. I want all of you.”

I don’t know what to say. I stare at him as I take in everything he’s offering, then lean forward and kiss him.

“Okay,” I whisper against his mouth.

His brow furrows. “Okay?”

I smile. “I’m yours.”

* I’m yours, Thiago… all yours.

Forty-Seven

thiago

The soft melody of a familiar song filters into my room, gently drawing me from sleep.

I open my eyes to an empty bed, and panic hits me immediately. She’s gone. She woke up, regretted everything that happened between us, and took back every word she said.

Then the chorus drifts through the apartment, and I recognize it.

Of course.

Tension leaves my body, and I push myself upright and listen. The music is accompanied by the clatter of pans, the opening and closing of cabinet doors, and the unmistakable sound of someone singing with far more confidence than skill.

Remi.

I sit there listening to her, relieved. She’s still here. My flame is still here.

Running a hand through my hair, I pull on my boxer briefs. As much as I want to go straight to her, I force myself to stop at the bathroom first. I take care of business, brush my teeth, and splash cold water on my face. Only then do I head for the kitchen, where the sight waiting for me stops me in my tracks. Remi is barefoot, wearing one of my T-shirts and nothing else. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she sways her hips to the music as she cooks.

I lean against the doorway and watch her.

God, she’s everything.

The thought of waking up to her like this every morning sends my mind racing toward a future I have no business imagining. Without missing a beat, Remi keeps singing, using an egg-coated fork as a microphone while Selena’s “Amor Prohibido” plays in the background.

How tragically appropriate.