“You’re stunning. From the way you lick your lips to the way you smell like temptation itself. Smoky. Citrus. Vanilla.” His voice dropped. “Your scent gives you away—hidden in plain sight. Like you’re begging someone to crack you open and figure out what makes you moan, laugh, cry… scream.”
My breath hitched.
“It would be the best hunt of my life,” he continued, relentless, raw. “Finding every part of you no one’s ever touched. Laying claim to that? Experiencing that?” His jaw tightened. “You think this is just about a drug? No. This is aboutmagnifying what any sane man feels when he’s forced into your presence—feeling inferior, desperate to unravel every layer that makes Tempest Alfero exist. To beg—to beg her to stay.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
No one had ever spoken to me like that.
Men usually kept it simple—you’re hot, you’re sexy, nice body, great kisser.They praised flesh and ignored the soul, like the two weren’t a package deal. I used to love it. Dissociation was easy. Safe.
Until I realized that missing piece—the part I kept locked away—was exactly what I wanted someone to see.
And when I finally did show it… no one wanted it.
Until now.
Louis’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “You’re so pretty,” he said quietly. “You torture men without even trying. What a gift.”
I took a step toward him.
He shot his hand out. “Don’t. I’m serious, Tempest. I can’t do this. We can’t do this—not like this. Please.”
Sweat poured down his face, tracing his jaw.
“I’m trying really hard,” he muttered. “Leave it to me to get taken out by an aphrodisiac and you.”
Slowly, deliberately, I reached for the gun on the table and lifted it.
“Does it count, then?”
His eyes flicked to the weapon. “Does what count?”
“My first kill.”
“In what universe did I tell you to kill me?—”
I fired.
The bullet tore into the soft tissue of his outer shoulder and exited, lodging in the wall. I calmly set the gun back down.
“I meant your libido.”
He groaned, clutching the wound, glaring at me through pain and disbelief. “Fantastic. We’ll tell the family the reason you’remad is because you finally did the impossible—killed a man’s sex drive.”
I smiled. Then I sobered as he slumped, blood spilling fast.
“Little help,” he muttered. “And if I pass out, it’s not you. It’s me.”
I hauled him upright. “’Tis but a flesh wound.”
He gripped my arms. “How dare you quoteMonty Pythonwhen I’m on my deathbed. You’re not allowed to be interesting right now—it makes me want to stay conscious.”
I staggered under his weight, dragging us toward the bedroom. “Good. Because you’re too heavy to carry unconscious, and I prefer your eyes open.”
He snorted. “Creepy. Who kisses with their eyes open?”
“We’re not kissing.”