Chapter 20 – Remi
Twenty
Remi
Thiago has a way of making everything around him seem smaller.
His massive frame dominates every space he steps into, and my extra-large sofa is just another casualty.
He sits sprawled across one end of it, one arm draped along the back cushion, looking entirely too good for a man I absolutely should not be letting this close to me.
I don’t know what I was thinking when I invited him up.
Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline from tonight’s shootout, or maybe I just didn’t want to be alone afterward.
That’s bullshit, Remi, and you know it.
I do know it. I could’ve gone to Valentina’s or to my parents’. I could’ve called any number of family members who would’ve dropped everything to be here, but I chose Thiago because I wanted more time with him.
I’ll probably regret that decision the second I wake up tomorrow morning, but tonight, I’m letting myself enjoy his company without overthinking what it means.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What happened back there...”
“I’m fine. We’re good, and that’s all that matters.”
Fuck. I answered too fast.
I know he’s a cop. He sees violence and death more than most people ever will, so he also knows how someone is supposed to react after nearly being killed.
And it probably isn’t reloading and returning fire as if it’s second nature.
I look away and sigh, forcing a slight crack into my voice for the performance. “I just...don’t want to think about it right now.”
There’s the slightest twitch near his eye, as if he catches the bullshit, but if he does, he doesn’t call me out on it.
The room goes quiet again, and within seconds, the silence begins to crawl beneath my skin.
My thumb rolls absently over Papá’s ring until I realize I’m practically grinding the metal into my palm. Before Thiago can notice, I slip it back into my pocket and push to my feet, stretching my arms above my head.
His eyes follow the movement, drifting to the exposed skin beneath my shirt and lingering near my navel piercing.
I like having his attention there way more than I should.
“I have to check on Hannibal and Clarice. Pizza should be here in about ten minutes.”
“Hannibal? Clarice?” He stands even though I didn’t invite him to join me. “Like the movie?”
“Yeah. Exactly like the movie.”
I deliberately slow my pace as I lead him down the hallway, hyperaware of him following me. Every time I ease my steps, the warmth of his body draws a little closer.
“Pets?” he asks.
“Companions,” I correct, turning to lean against the doorframe.
Thiago stops directly in front of me, leaving barely any space between us. Somehow, it still feels like too much. He braces one forearm against the wood above my head and dips his face toward mine.
“I meant what I said earlier.”
My eyebrows knit together. “About what?”
He lifts his hand slowly, giving me time to move away, but again I don’t. The backs of his fingers skim the platinum streak in my hair before he gently traces it.
“This,” he murmurs. “I like this. It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks for the stamp of approval.”
We smile at the exact same time, and that might be the most dangerous part of all this. He’s so damn easy to talk to, charming without even trying. It would be so much easier if he were just an asshole.
He’s a cop, for fuck’s sake. The least he could do is act like one.
But he stands here, looking at me, his curls falling over his forehead, his dark eyes lingering on mine with an interest he isn’t even trying to hide. I know right then that if I stay this close for even one more second, I’m going to do something incredibly stupid.
So I reach behind me, turn the knob, and slip into the room.
I head straight for Hannibal’s enclosure.
He’s curled beneath one of his hides, his thick body coiled lazily as I press my palm against the glass, feeling the faint vibration of the filter beneath my skin.
My eyes close for a moment as soft rock hums from a speaker tucked near the shelves, low enough that I can still hear the buzzing of the heat lamps.
“A ball python,” Thiago says from beside me.
“Yeah.” A small smile pulls at my lips. “He’s a good boy. Likes being held and wandering around sometimes.”
Thiago’s attention then shifts to the second enclosure across the room, darker, with heavy rockwork and twisted driftwood arranged throughout.
“Why aren’t they together?”
“That would be a very stressful and ultimately fatal situation for him.”
“Why?” Thiago drags out the word, one eyebrow lifting with mounting suspicion.
“Because Clarice is a Mexican cantil,” I explain. “A pit viper. She’s highly venomous and extremely aggressive.”
“That doesn’t sound legal.” He takes a noticeably more cautious step toward her enclosure. “Why would you even have this?”
“Reason number infinity why I should never befriend a cop.”
He glances at me over his shoulder, a grin on his face. “So you’re saying we’re friends.”
“I absolutely did not say that.”
I move closer to Clarice’s enclosure. She’s coiled beside a flat stone under the heat lamp, her tongue flicking in the air.
“She’s special to me,” I say. “She was injured when I found her on a trip, so I had her patched up. She fought like hell the whole time.” I watch her for another moment, then add, “Maybe it’s selfish, but I couldn’t let her go after that.”
My eyes linger on the snake. “She reminded me a lot of myself.”
The words are already out there, far more personal than anything I meant to share with him. I immediately question why the hell I gave him that much, but when I glance over, Thiago isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at Clarice, watching how she watches him right back.
“I get that,” he says.
There’s a sincerity in his voice that I wasn’t expecting. I don’t know how he could possibly understand me when he barely knows me.
“Is that the tattoo you have?”
I glance down, then lift the hem of my shirt and tug my waistband lower to expose the ink. A rough sound escapes him, and I pretend I don’t hear it.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “She was one of my first pieces.”
Thiago reaches toward me slowly. Again I don’t pull away.
His fingertips brush along the tattoo, tracing its outline with enough care that every inch of skin beneath his touch feels suddenly sensitive. When I lift my head, he’s no longer looking at the ink. His eyes meet mine, and the question in them is unmistakable.
The world is a special kind of cruel because if he were anyone but Philly PD, my legs would already be wrapped around him. I’d let him put those massive hands wherever the hell he wanted just to find out exactly what a man his size is capable of doing to me.
I’ve never been the type to deny myself a man I wanted when I knew he wanted me too, but Thiago isn’t just anyone. He’s the one man I know I shouldn’t have.
My phone rings, saving me from making a decision I’ll probably regret tomorrow. I let my shirt drop and step away from him.
“Pizza’s here.”
Thiago’s hand curls into a fist at his side before he lets out a slow breath, as if forcing himself to reset.
Same.
“You never did tell me your flavor of choice.”
I move toward the door, and he falls into step behind me.
“Spicy pepperoni, extra cheese, and hot honey.”
A laugh slips out of him. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“It’s cute that you think you know me.”
“I’m taking notes.”
I stop so suddenly that he nearly walks into me. His hands land on my shoulders to steady us both, their weight making me acutely aware of how little space there is between us.
“Is that right?” I ask, tipping my head back to look at him. “And what exactly do you think you know so far?”
His thumbs brush lightly against my skin as he studies me.
“I know you pretend not to care about people nearly as much as you actually do,” he says. “You found an injured snake that probably wanted to kill you and brought her home because you saw yourself in her. And I’ve seen you with Zara. You love hard, Remi. I can see that.”
I don't know what to do with the fact that he sees that so clearly.
“I know silence bothers you because there’s always noise somewhere around you. Or you make the noise yourself.” His mouth twitches. “Then there are the lollipops you keep in crystal bowls like somebody’s grandma.”
I bark out a laugh. “Fuck you.”
His smile lingers as his eyes drop to my hands. “I’ve also noticed you’re always fidgeting with something when you get nervous or maybe get stuck in your head.”
That wipes the amusement from my face.
His gaze returns to mine. “You do it constantly.”
“That’s creepy observational skills for someone I’m definitely not friends with.”
“Occupational hazard,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “I also know you’re reckless enough to invite a cop you barely trust into your home after a shootout.”
“That doesn’t sound very smart.”
“Maybe.” He steps a little closer. “But I think it means you wanted me here anyway.”
I can’t bring myself to give him a smart-ass response.
A man who pays this much attention is dangerous. Thiago is already noticing details I never meant to show him, and the worst part is how much I want to let him keep looking.
“How’d I do?” he asks.
“Barely scratched the surface,” I say, grabbing the front of his shirt.
His grin turns smug. “Sounds like I’ve got work to do.”
I release him while I still have enough self-control to do so and head toward the front door, expecting the doorman to buzz up any second.
“Careful, Officer Braga,” I toss over my shoulder. “Don’t dig too deep. You might not like what you find.” Glancing back, I catch his eyes roaming over me. “Or maybe you will.”