by Maisey Yates
She planted her hand on his chest, feeling the heat of flesh and muscle beneath her palm. “I don’t know very many women who could relax with you looking like this. I know I’m not exactly relaxed. Just incredibly turned on.”
A groan escaped his lips and she captured it with hers, sliding her tongue over his, pressing her breasts to his bare skin. She pulled away from him, kissing his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, before traveling lower to his chest.
She traveled lower, lavishing attention on each ridge of muscle, his stomach contracting beneath her lips, his fingers tangling in her hair, working at the pins that held it in place.
She stopped at the waistband of his pants, tracing the line where flesh met fabric with the tip of her tongue. Then she started loosening his belt, pulling it slowly through the loops, watching the effect each movement had on her captive.
The muscles in his stomach jumped as her hand brushed the hardness of his cloth-covered erection, his eyes like black fire, burning into her, his attention rapt on her. There was no disinterest now. No flatness. Nothing veiled, nothing hidden.
She pushed his pants down his lean hips, leaving him gorgeous, naked and aroused for her exploration. She circled his length with her hand, testing the weight of him, the hardness. She squeezed him gently and earned a rough growl of pleasure. So uncivilized. So uncontrolled. So everything she wanted from him.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” she said, on her knees in front of him, a subservient position. Ironic, because in that moment she knew, for a fact, that she was the one with all the power.
“What is that?” he asked. She could hear the strain in his voice, could hear the edge, how close he was to losing his control completely.
And she pushed. She leaned in, flicking her tongue over the head of his erection. Tasting him, testing him. So good. So perfect.
She dipped her head, taking him inside of her mouth, her lips sliding over his length. He pushed his fingers deeper into her hair, her curls falling out of the pins and cascading over her shoulders.
“Dio, Paige.”
Her name on his lips was fuel for the fire. She continued to explore him with her mouth, her tongue, pushing him higher, harder. Pushing herself right along with him. She could feel him shaking, the muscles in his thighs, his hands in her hair unsteady.
“Enough,” he said, his tone pleading. “I can’t hold back.”
And part of her didn’t want him to. But another part, the selfish part that won, wanted to stop so that she could join him in release.
She pulled away from him, moving into a standing position, her eyes never leaving his. In the dim light, she could see the dull flush of arousal staining his high cheekbones, could see his chest rising and falling sharply with each labored breath.
Could see that she was close to uncovering the man beneath the armor.
“Come to bed with me,” she said.
And he complied.
There were condoms in the bedside table, and Dante quickly rolled one on, joining her on the bed, stroking the silken seam between her thighs with his fingers, sliding a finger deep inside of her, testing her readiness.
“Oh yes,” she breathed, the white-hot friction created by his touch sending a streak of pleasure through her each time he brushed his fingers over her clitoris.
“Ready for me?”
She bracketed his face with her hands, her eyes locking with his as she pressed a kiss to his lips. “Always,” she said.
He slid inside of her, his eyes never leaving hers as he filled her, joined himself to her, in the most primal, basic, profound way possible.
This was why they called it becoming one. Because she couldn’t tell anymore where he began and she ended. Couldn’t tell whose pleasure she was feeling, whose desperation.
The need for release pounded through both of them, and each thrust of Dante’s body within hers, each press of hers against his, brought them closer. She moved her hands over his back, felt the tension in his muscles, tension that echoed through her, tightened more and more, unbearably so.
He thrust hard into her one last time and pushed them both over the edge, a rough growl on Dante’s lips.
She lay there, holding him against her body—her world, her defenses, at his feet. Somehow, it wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about her. Not about breaking him down, but being broken in front of him. Of offering him everything, regardless of the consequences.
She ran her fingers through his hair, pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you.”
I love you.
It shouldn’t matter how she felt. Ultimately, it changed nothing. It didn’t alter the plans he’d been making, slowly, since the wedding. Since the moment she’d appeared at the church. Since he’d seen his parents with Ana.
What she felt changed nothing. On one thing, he was sure Paige was absolutely right: her love had no darkness to it. There was nothing in Paige but pure, beautiful light. And there was nothing more than that in her feelings.
She was all strength, determination and generosity.
He was the one who had to be kept on a leash. Of that he was certain. He had the blood of a monster in his veins. He had seen what love had done to that man. How he had let it get twisted inside of him. Love becoming about hurting someone else, controlling her, never controlling himself.
He would never do that. Would never allow it.
He had lost something of his control back in that bed with Paige, but he would not allow it to happen again. The feeling, though, with her, was proving addictive. The temptation to drown in passion, in her arms, was strong.
He gripped the rail of the balcony and looked out at the city below. The air was warm, but he was cold to his bones. There was no need for him to exact punishment on himself tonight, no need to remind himself of the destruction he was capable of.
I love you.
Paige loving him, what it might do to her, that was the cruelty. That was the punishment.
Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe it will keep her with you.
Not a kindness on his part, perhaps, but he had been considering it, strongly. To keep Paige and Ana in his life. In his house. Something to thank his parents for all they had done, a source of stability and warmth for his home. A place for them to be protected and to live in luxury.
Feelings he hadn’t counted on, hadn’t wanted from her. But it wasn’t the end of everything. He could keep her. He could make her happy. And he could do it without endangering her.
Without exposing himself.
It was wrong to want this. But he did.
He turned and walked back into the bedroom, looked at Paige curled up in bed. He slipped beneath the covers with her and gathered her close, pressing a kiss to her hair.
This could work. He would make it work. Tomorrow, when they were back home, he would tell her he wanted her to stay with him. And she would.
She had to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PAIGE was overjoyed to be reunited with Ana, who had grown spoiled overnight in the company of the people who now considered themselves her grandparents. Her heart ached at the thought of what their deception was doing. Over the people it could hurt.
She hadn’t counted on this. On how far it would spread. No, she hadn’t thought at all. And now it had all become one big emotional tangle. Don and Mary Colson loved Ana, and she loved them. Ana loved Dante. Paige loved Dante and she had been foolish enough to tell him so.
And he hadn’t said a thing back. Hadn’t said a thing about it since, not even in denial of it, or rejection of it.
With his parents around, she hadn’t really thought he would. But once they were gone and a very cranky Ana who was coming off being treated like her Royal Highness the Grand Duchess had been put down for her nap, she’d expected something.
Instead, Dante had retreated to the office. Really, it was Tuesday and they both could have gone in, but she’d felt sulky over his behavior, and reluctant to leave Ana, and he ha
dn’t pressed.
Paige put the finishing touches on her sketch and looked out at the ocean. She had another window designed for Christmas, and with only one more main display to concern herself with, she was running well ahead of deadline.
Dante’s seaside house was certainly good for inspiration. Even if the man himself was turning her into a quivering ball of nerves.
She set her sketchbook down on the table and stood, stretching her arms up over her head, then shaking her hands out, trying to get rid of some of the adrenaline that was running through her.
Thinking about Dante had that effect on her. Remembering being in bed with him did that to her. Most especially, remembering that she’d told him she loved him had that effect on her.
She took a deep breath of the ocean air and put her hand on her stomach. Dante’s parents, their feelings, were just a part of the unintended side effects of this whole thing. It was still possible that she was pregnant.
The idea had panicked her at first. The thought of caring for two babies. Of what it might do to the adoption. Now … now she felt like she could do it. Like no matter what happened, it was within her power to handle it.
Because she wasn’t the same person she had been. Or rather, she didn’t see herself the way her family, or the people back in her hometown had anymore. She wasn’t deficient. She had everything in her that she needed to succeed. Most importantly, she knew just how much power love had. How it had changed her. With Ana, and now with Dante.
Another baby would mean more love. And no matter how difficult it might be to manage everything, she couldn’t regret that.
She turned and walked back into the house, and nearly ran into Dante, who was walking through the living room with long, purposeful strides.
“You’re back.”
“Yes,” he said. “I am.”
“It’s before five, so it surprised me.”
“There was pressing business for me to take care of here.”
“What … what’s that?” she asked, sure she didn’t want to know. Because she was sure she already knew. It had something to do with the I Love You incident and while she had wanted to talk to him about it, she found that, as she was faced with it, she was changing her mind.
“I’ve been thinking. The coverage of the wedding in the media has been very positive.”
She grimaced. “Yeah, I hadn’t really looked at it.” Frankly, she hadn’t wanted to see pictures of the moment she’d realized she was in love with the world’s most impossible man.
“I had Trevor send me the highlights. But, as I thought, the wedding, the relationship in general, has had a very positive effect on my image.”
“Well, that’s nice.” This was about as far from feelings as it got, and she found she was more annoyed than relieved.
“There is the possibility you’re pregnant.”
“I’ll know soon-ish,” she said.
“Also,” he said, pressing on as if she hadn’t spoken, “it didn’t escape my notice how quickly Don and Mary took to Ana. And how quickly she took to them.”
Her stomach fell. “Oh. Yeah, I feel bad about that.”
“Why? There’s no reason to. If anything, it confirms what I already suspected we should do.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, not sure she was going to like the answer. Afraid she might love it.
“I think this should be a permanent arrangement.”
She did love it. A rush of joy, of complete and utter joy, filled her. “Really?”
“It seems the best thing to do, all things considered.”
“Yes,” she said, walking to him and throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes.” Her mind went blank of everything, everything but the moment. Everything but him.
He pulled her in tightly, kissing her lips, his hands roaming over her curves. They kissed as they went up the stairs before Dante swung her up into his arms, holding her to his chest, his mouth devouring hers as he set her on the bed, stripping his clothes and hers as quickly as possible.
In the aftermath, she lay there replete, the room spinning, her heart pounding. She rolled over, ready to pull Dante into her arms, but he was already up and getting dressed, his expression tight, shuttered.
“I think we’ve proven that there are even more reasons for us to stay together,” he said, as he tugged his pants on, his tone conversational. “The chemistry between us is incredible.”
“The chemistry?” she said, feeling thick and fuzzy from her release still. Chemistry didn’t sound right, though. It sounded like nothing more than a base, chemical reaction and yet she felt like there was so much more between them. There was for her, at least.
“It’s the best sex I’ve ever had.”
She felt struck by that comment. So bald and so basic. At any other time, she might have found it sexy to hear him say that, felt complimented. But when she’d offered love twelve hours before, and this was her gift in return, no, it didn’t feel so good.
“And is that … all?” she asked.
“There’s nothing more, Paige. Nothing else that matters.”
“Dante …”
“Now that we’ve settled things, I do have more work to do.” He tugged his shirt on and buttoned it with deft, steady fingers. He slicked his hair back with his hand and it was like nothing had just happened between them. As if a storm hadn’t just blown through the room, blown through them.
He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Paige pulled her knees up to her chest and sat there, stunned. She felt … sad. Drained. Used.
She let the feeling wash over her, wash through her. But only for a moment.
Then she remembered the look in his eyes. That awful blank look that she knew so well. Dante was running scared. Trying to have the basest arrangement with her without giving anything of himself. Only his money, his body.
But she wouldn’t accept that. The old Paige would have. She wouldn’t have tried for more.
But this Paige, this woman who was, in part of Dante’s making, was going to try for everything. All she needed was a plan.
Dante couldn’t concentrate on his work. He could concentrate on nothing. He had left work at three in the afternoon, come home and had passionate, intense … It was sex and yet at the same time, something more, with a woman who seemed determined to break him open with a battering ram.
And she was close. Too close.
Three hours on and his body still burned. His chest aching like there was a hole in it.
“Dante.”
He turned and his heart nearly stopped. Paige was standing there, a chiffon gown that had no substance at all wound around her curves, the light behind her showing the silhouette of her body beneath the gown.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his throat tightening, threatening to choke him.
“I’m here to talk.”
“You don’t look like you’re here to talk,” he said.
“But I am. I’m here to lay it out for you, as clear and honest as I can.”
“Lay what out?”
“Everything. What I feel. What I feel for you. I’m not going to do it while I’m half-asleep, while you can pretend you didn’t hear. I’m going to tell you now, to your face.”
She crossed the threshold of his office and came to stand in front of his chair, her blue eyes bright, determined. She cupped his face, her eyes never leaving his as she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“I love you,” she whispered. She kissed his cheek. “I love you.” Then his lips, the touch feather-soft and perfect. “I love you.”
He gritted his teeth, trying to fight against the pain, the need, that was building in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him, to consume him completely. “I’m glad, Paige. If that makes you happy, then I’m glad.”
“Is that all?” she asked, searching his face, demanding honesty.
He gritted his teeth and looked away. “It’s all I have to give.”
“
You’re a liar, Dante.”
Anger flooded through him, unreasonable and hot. “I’m a what?”
“A liar. And not just about this. Your entire life is a lie. Your whole existence.”
He pushed up from his chair and she leaped backward, her eyes wide with shock. “Of course,” he snarled, battling against the pain in his chest. “How could I forget? I’m the Italian bastard, adopted by a respectable family. The one who doesn’t belong. Of course my existence is a lie. I have spent years pretending to be civilized, pretending to be a man of honor, when we both know I am not. I don’t share their blood,” he said, speaking of his parents. “I have the blood of a killer in me. The blood of a low-class, violent coward who abused women. Killed them. That’s who I am … of course this is a lie,” he said, sweeping his hand around the well-ordered, perfect room. The lie he had built for himself.
He stared her down, stared into her wide eyes, waiting for the fear to win. Waiting for her to realize that what he said was true. That he wasn’t the man she thought he was. That he wasn’t the man he pretended to be. That beneath his armor, was a darkness that no one would ever want to touch.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You idiot. You think I don’t know that’s what you think of yourself? You think I buy what the press writes? What you show everyone? Don’t forget I’m the one who dragged you out of that cold shower. I’m the one who warmed you with her own body, so don’t try to scare me now with the same lie you tell yourself every day. Because this is the lie, Dante Romani. That you’re broken. That you can’t love or be loved. Look around you … people love you. Because you’re worthy of it. Don and Mary love you. Ana loves you. I love you. And you won’t let us. Because you’re too damn afraid.”
“Hell, yes, I’m afraid,” he growled, feeling the walls he’d erected around his heart crumbling. “I am half of that man, Paige. Do you know what that means? Passion is poison for me. It could be.”
“It’s not true.”
“You think it’s not true. Why? Because you love me? She loved him, Paige.” He shouted the words, desperate to make her understand, to make her believe him. “That’s why she didn’t leave. She loved him … she thought he could be different. That he could change. Don’t you understand? Love doesn’t fix anything. It hides flaws. Makes people blind to them. But love is not all brightness and sunshine. It can’t heal a damned thing.” His voice broke, the memories of his mother flooding his mind. “It has a dark side. Everything does.”