Page 22 of Vicious Temptation

“I’ve been called worse,” I say with a grin, backing away as I toss the soiled towel in the trash.

“I don’t believe that.”

“You’ve seen me pull a gun twice, and you still have doubts?”

He stands, towering over me.

I’ve never liked being crowded, especially in a confined space. Usually, I’d already be putting distance between us. For some reason, I don’t.

“Thank you,” he says, bracing a hand on the doorframe above me as he leans closer. “For helping me out. You didn’t have to do this.”

My back meets the wall. “Well, I guess you didn’t have to stop that night either, so consider us even.” I slip past him into the office before I can find out what happens if I stay there.

I’ve never been one to play coy or shy away from what I want when it comes to men. Thiago shouldn’t be any different. He’s gorgeous, built like a damn brick house, and I know exactly where this kind of attraction could lead.

But walking away with him tonight feels a hell of a lot more complicated than taking him home.

“You have your own office?” he asks, wandering around shirtless with his arms folded across his chest.

I watch his biceps flex before dragging my attention elsewhere. The urge to reach into my pocket hits hard enough that I curl my fingers into my palm instead.

“I told you, it’s my place.”

“Nice. You must get a lot of target time, then. Are you a pretty good shot?”

I scoff. “I thought that was obvious by now.”

“Fair.” He looks through the large window overlooking the range. “Maybe we could shoot together someday.”

“Oh, so you’re a masochist?”

His laugh comes easily, and damn if I don’t like the sound of it. “Why, because you think you’ll bruise my ego?”

I push off the desk and join him by the glass. “No. I know I will.”

“Talk is cheap, Remi. Unless you’re scared I’ll outshoot you even with one arm down.”

The way he says my name is distracting enough without him attaching a challenge to it.

“Are you trying to bait me like I’m some kid? What’s next, calling me chicken?”

His eyes shift to mine, and without warning, he clucks.

The man actually fucking clucks.

I stare at him for a second before I burst out laughing. “What the hell was that?”

I never would’ve imagined a sound like that coming from a man standing about six foot six. He does it again, somehow worse this time, and I laugh even harder.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re avoiding the challenge.”

“I’m not avoiding anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

I look through the glass at the empty range, already imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that smug look off his face. Then I remember I still don’t know why he showed up here tonight. I brought him upstairs because he was bleeding, patched him up, and that should’ve been the end of it. Instead, I’m standing here laughing with him and considering spending even more time with a man I’m not entirely sure I believe.