Page 41 of Viktor’s Temptation (East Coast Territory #2)
“Get out,” she said, her voice trembling with tightly leashed fury.
Did he listen? Of course not. Marcus Tinsley had never been the kind of man to take orders, especially not from her.
Instead, he sprawled lazily on her pristine white sofa, his tailored suit jacket flung over the back of a cushion as if he owned the place.
He loosened his tie with deliberate nonchalance, his fingers unbuttoning the top of his shirt collar, revealing just a hint of tanned skin.
“Nice slippers,” he said, his deep voice dripping with amusement, his sharp blue eyes glinting as they swept over her from head to toe. “They scream ‘powerful witch.’ Very intimidating.”
Sorcia’s fists clenched tighter, her nails digging into her palms. “Don’t you dare mock my slippers. At least they’re practical. Unlike that ridiculous silk tie, which probably costs more than most people’s rent.”
Marcus smirked, leaning back further into the cushions, completely at ease. “It’s Italian, if you’re wondering. But I wouldn’t expect someone in fuzzy, rabbit-shaped footwear to appreciate the finer things.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “They’re cats , you pompous ass.”
He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly sexy. “Ah, of course. My mistake. Cats. Very ferocious.”
“You’re about to see just how ferocious,” she snapped, lifting a hand and summoning a crackle of magic between her fingers. “Now, for the last time, get out .”
But Marcus simply stretched an arm along the back of the sofa, completely unfazed by the threat. “Aren’t you even curious why I’m here?” he asked, his voice as smooth as aged whiskey.
“No,” she spat, though her body betrayed her with its treacherous reaction to his presence—her pulse racing, her skin tingling under the weight of his gaze.
She hated how vividly she remembered every detail about him: the faint scar near his jawline, the way his hair always seemed perfectly tousled, the subtle scent of cedar and spice that clung to him. It was maddening.
“Liar,” he said, the smirk deepening as his eyes roamed over her face, reading every flicker of her expression. “You’ve always been terrible at hiding your curiosity.”
Her hands twitched, ready to hurl him out the window with a flick of her magic, but before she could, he spoke again.
“You’re in trouble.” His voice had dropped, the teasing edge replaced with something harder, more urgent.
The words hit her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. For a moment, she faltered, the weight of his statement cutting through her anger and leaving only raw, unsettling tension.
But she refused to let him see that. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow. “The only trouble I see is you ruining my sofa. Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean arrogance out of upholstery?”
He laughed again, low and rumbling, and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as his gaze locked with hers. “Sorcia, you can glare at me all you want. But we both know you’re going to hear me out.”