Page 24 of Vicious Temptation

His laughter follows me outside.

The rational thing would be to take one vehicle, but fifteen minutes alone with him in an enclosed space seems like an unnecessary test of my judgment.

When he follows me into the lot, I stop beside my car and turn to face him. “Think you can keep up?”

He nods, catching the message without making me spell it out, then looks over the car behind me. “Where’s that sweet GT-R? Still giving you problems?”

“The car is fine,” I lie.

“Good. I was starting to think I’d have to rescue you twice.”

“Careful, Texas. You’re already wearing a shirt three sizes too small. Don’t embarrass yourself any further.”

The drive to my favorite spot passes quickly. Thiago stays a few cars behind me, his headlights remaining in my rearview mirror most of the way.

At the first red light that separates us, they disappear. I check the mirror, then I check it again. His truck eventually comes around the corner, and I turn my attention back to the road.

Ridiculous.

I wanted space, and apparently even an entire car between us isn’t enough to keep him out of my head.

I pull into the lot and cut the engine, pushing the door open before the sudden silence gives me another chance to question what I’m doing. Thiago is already out of his truck, parked closer to the front doors than I am, but instead of waiting there, he jogs across the lot to meet me.

“Mexican?”

“What? Are you surprised?” I ask without slowing my stride.

“No. I love it. Is that where your family’s from?”

His obnoxiously long legs have no problem catching up with me.

“My mom was born there.” I glance over at him. “What about you, Thiago? Where are you from?”

“My parents were Brazilian. They met in Miami and had me a few years later.”

He told me the night we met that his father died when he was young and his aunt took him in. I hadn’t given much thought to what that meant for his mother, but the past tense grabs my attention now.

There’s obviously more to the story, but I don’t ask. I know better than most how complicated family can be, and whatever happened is his to tell if he ever wants to.

I slow as we reach the double doors and turn toward him. “I have a feeling you’ll like this place. They make the best chilaquiles I’ve ever had.”

The claim lasts all of two seconds before Estela’s version comes to mind.

“Okay, second best.”

Thiago opens the door for me. “I can’t wait.”

Marie, the longtime hostess, greets me with a smile that immediately shifts to Thiago. I can’t blame her. The man already sticks out among the regular human population, and the impromptu crop top isn’t exactly helping.

“Hey, Remi! Just two?” she asks, already grabbing a pair of menus and motioning us toward a table before either of us can answer.

Thiago rests a hand lightly against the small of my back as we follow her toward the booth. It’s barely a touch, but I’m aware of it until the moment he pulls away and waits for me to slide into my seat.

“JB will be by to take care of you in just a bit,” Marie says.

She steps away, and the second she’s safely behind Thiago, her mouth falls open. She looks from him to me, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Jesus.