by Angel Payne
“You don’t say.”
She hardened her stare. “I usually don’t have Cordon Bleu-trained billionaires in here either.”
The barb hit home. Dante looked like a man now about to slip his boxing gloves on. “Is that so? So who do you have in here?”
She folded her arms, feeling oddly naked in front of him again. “My brothers, sometimes. But most of the time, just Sami.”
“Sami.” The remainder of his grin drained. His posture stiffened. “Really?” The casual tone was riddled with barbs. “And who’s he? And how often is he here?”
“He?” For a second, she was confused. Then she was tempted, just a little, to string out his misconception. But subterfuge was foreign to her as fried crickets. “Well, she’s usually here a few times a week.” She tapped Sami’s spring school portrait, stuck to the refrigerator with her favorite USN magnet. “Samantha Karena Kouris,” she explained. “Sami for short. She’s my niece.”
His smile returned, only twice as blinding as before. “Ohhhh.” Relief was an obvious wash on his face. “Well, she’s beautiful.”
She touched Sami’s picture lovingly. “She is, isn’t she? I love that kid. We’re working on her science fair project this weekend. She’s redesigning jet fighter engines, to restart in midair.”
He chuckled. “Is that all?”
She couldn’t help but return a smile. “Nothing like a little ambition. But with a dad who flies those planes, there’s no mystery to her intent.”
“Your brother?” Dante asked. She nodded before he ventured quietly, “Why isn’t Sami’s mother helping her with the project?”
Tension returned to her stomach. She didn’t know why. This was a good bridge into walking him politely out the door. “Sami’s mom isn’t around. Apparently, a billionaire in a private jet was more appealing than her soldier in a F-16 Viper.”
Dante scrubbed a hand across his beard, then winced. She didn’t know whether to interpret his action as pissed or stunned. Maybe both. “Shit,” he muttered.
“Oh, yeah. A nice pile of it. I tried to warn Dylan before he put the ring on her finger. There was something ‘off’ about Natalie. She wasn’t real. She gazed at clouds too much. She was too much like…”
“Who?” He spoke it into her weighted pause, his voice gentle as the day’s early light, now peeking through the shutters.
Celina swallowed past the rock in her throat and forced the answer out. “Like Mom.”
She could practically hear the gears sliding against each other in Dante’s brain. “Okay, wait. Your mother ran off with a Trump wannabe too?”
The words, even infused with his amazement, hit her heart like punches. Again, she ordered herself to respond. “I was nine. He was the president of the bank she worked at. Guess she just couldn’t deal with three hellcat boys and a girl who wanted to be like them.” A dry laugh escaped her. “My poor brothers. I can’t cook worth crap. They lived on boxed mac and cheese for years.”
“Damn.” It was a harsh bite of sound. Oddly, that comforted her. His ire on her behalf—it was sweet. Actually, more than sweet. And sweet on the inside, mixed with his just over six feet of hard-core sexy on the outside, was doing things to her inner resolve that weren’t comfortable.
She took a deep breath. She needed to keep this in perspective. She needed to keep him in perspective. Okay, she’d slept with him. And maybe a little more too. That didn’t mean anything had changed. She wasn’t ready to go inviting him back over for Sunday dinner, or sharing more with him besides the coffee. If anything, maybe he would see that now too.
Finally, Dante spoke again. “That certainly paints the picture more clearly.”
“The picture?”
“Of you. Of why you treated me like a criminal last night. Before you even met me, you had me signed, sealed, and delivered as a hump-happy barracuda.”
“I didn’t treat you like—”
She huffed, then went silent. What was she supposed to say? That he was wrong? That he hadn’t hit the nail on the head about everything? That she didn’t stand here and stress, every second, that she was going to be just like Mom and Natalie—especially because she wanted him worse as each of those moments ticked by? That having him so near, eating up the air in the kitchen with his dark, bold perfection, didn’t wind temptation around every nerve center in her body? God, if only his shirt were buttoned. And his fingers, so long and strong, were stuck in gloves. And maybe if there was a paper bag over his face, which halted her breath even now with its accusing glower…
“Look, it was a nice time.” She attempted a nonchalant shrug, then a flippant smile. “You’re not a criminal anymore, okay? So…we’re good?”
She dared to glance up. Big mistake. His jaw worked back and forth. The violet flecks in his eyes were now a wash of fury. “Nice. Huh. Thanks for that. Glad to know you enjoyed yourself.”
“All right, fine. It was better than nice. But—”
“But now it’s time for the barracuda to swim away, right?” He pushed up from the kitchen bar, looking ready to tear the thing out instead.
“Dante—”
He lunged next to her again in two steps. The suddenness of the move literally made her head swim. Damn it, she could actually feel his body heat. “Look at me, Celina. Now. Look at me and tell me again that last night was just ‘nice.’ Or do you always let men pull you out of bar fights, then take you home and spank you before they—”
“Stop it.” She shoved at him. “That’s dirty tactics, Tieri!”
“That’s truth, Lieutenant Kouris.” He wasn’t just ticked anymore. He was relentless. She had to back up as he kept pacing, but finally had nowhere to go when her back bumped the pantry. Dante spread himself around her, surrounding her with his size and scent and strength, locking her gaze into his without a shred of mercy. “You wanna know what I think?” His voice was low and lethal, yet prowling and knowing. “I think last night was fucking amazing—for both of us.” He lifted a hand to brush her cheek with his thumb. “I think you’re a revelation to me, Celina. And I think I may be one to you as well.”
“Dante.” Her pleading rasp was horrific to hear. “Please. Don’t.”
“When was the last time you got to let go? The last time you gave yourself permission to?”
He’d gone beyond slamming nails on the head. Now he was a damn wrecking ball, gouging into her with scary precision. And he was everywhere. His thighs, huge and hard. His chest, rippled and warm. And his gaze, shot with merciless, beautiful tanzanite. She needed to get free. She couldn’t let herself drown in him again.
“Stop it.”
“No.” It wasn’t a response. It was an order. “Tell me. Tell me, Celina. You liked handing it over to me, didn’t you? The permission. The control. You have to keep it together all the time, don’t you? Never any room for error. You’re the good lawyer. The good sister. The good aunt. The good friend. Deviance isn’t an option. Orgasms sure as hell aren’t an option. At least not with someone like me. Someone who’d dare to command you to come—”
“That’s enough!”
Tears broke up her words, but concrete infused her arms. She shoved at him so hard, he stumbled back against the sink. She twisted away, bracing her hands against the cupboards. The panels had glass panes in them, showing off her china, now taunting her with its stark white perfection. Crap. Even her damn dinner plates confirmed what Dante had just said. Her world had no room for deviation. But because of that, it also had no color.
No deep bronze skin. No raging violet gazes. No dark crimson lips, fusing her mouth and opening her senses…
No complications. No pain. No heartbreak.
It was better this way. She just had to keep telling herself that. She’d find a way to breathe normally again. She’d find a way to think normally again. Probably. Hopefully.
“Maybe I should just go.”
His flat murmur made her fingers twist into fists. She heard him push toward her because of it. Panic set i
n. She tensed. He stopped.
She couldn’t let him get near again. Not ever again.
“Y-yeah,” she stammered. “Yeah, that’s—that’s a good idea.”
“Celina—”
“Please go, Dante. Please.”
As soon as he scooped his cell and his jacket up and then quietly shut the door, she heard a car engine start. For a second, curiosity took over her sadness. Did the man have time to buy himself new wheels and have them delivered, while making her a frittata and handling business deals?
A peek out the front window answered that. A gorgeous black Jag sedan idled out in front while Dante climbed into the front passenger’s seat. There was another man in the car with a chiseled face, a military-grade buzz, and a no-nonsense way about him. She pegged him as the oh so reliable Vincent.
As soon as Dante buckled in, the car sped away.
She resisted the urge to sprint after it.
Ha. Like that would be possible, considering how every muscle now dragged her like a lead weight, making the whole house echo with the emptiness of her steps.
“Stop it.”
The words she’d used on Dante two minutes ago were now her self-castigation. She called up her resolve by punching both arms down, then marching to the kitchen and picking up the pan with the frittata. With a harsh sigh, she flipped on the disposal motor and scraped the beautiful mess down into the grinding maw.
Thank God garbage disposals worked on tears too.
* * * *
After the fifteen-minute meltdown, she didn’t think about Dante again all weekend.
Okay, maybe that one wasn’t going to slip past a polygraph. But it wasn’t like she didn’t try. And most of the time, her efforts yielded success. It was only when the unexpected moments sneaked up on her: those tiny torpedoes that barreled her over and pummeled her through the waves of longing once again. Hearing him get thanked on the B96 morning show on her way to the gym. Changing the sheets on the bed and having to smell him everywhere on the air. And worst of all, facing Dylan when he brought Sami over before his duty rotation, and weathering her big brother’s wide smirk. “Well,” he’d drawled. “Somebody’s glowing today. Did my little baklava actually bring home somebody fun from the V-Day party?”
Though he stood nearly a foot taller, she’d drilled him hard enough in the shoulder to make him wince. Sami squealed and cheered her on, clearly wanting blood, reminding Celina way too much of herself at that age. But she couldn’t find it in her heart to chastise her niece, grateful as hell to have the bouncy kid around for the rest of the day and a sleepover to boot. Sami’s presence, even with nocturnal thrashings, was better than the alternative: the empty pillows next to her. The memories of Dante’s dark hair spread against them. The feel of his body around her and his breath against her shoulder…
Remembrances that waited until Sunday night to torture her instead. All night.
Which was why, as midmorning break rolled around on Monday, she joined Eve and Reiley by way of a stop at the coffee cart for a large latte with a double shot.
“Whoa.” Eve tucked a stray red curl behind an ear as she eyed the tall cup. “Fueling up a little early today, Kouris?”
“Rough night,” she mumbled. “And this custody case is sucking it out of me too.”
Rei frowned in sympathy. “Still Lieutenant Braden?”
Celina sipped her drink and nodded. “His wife can’t see past her own selfish ass about this. Just because she’s got some cushy gig and a fancy new CEO boyfriend in Tokyo now doesn’t give her the right to sue for full custody. Zell is a good man. He was special ops, he did shit he can’t even tell me about, but he gave it all up, asked to be reassigned here as a trainer at RTC so Zach could have a stable upbringing. He’s been there nearly every day for that kid. And Cassandra took that as her open invitation to gallivant across the globe with a shitload of playboys. I hear she’s about to sign some new reality-show deal too!”
Reiley patted her hand. “Careful there, cowgirl. Your personal agenda is showing juuust a wee bit.”
Eve chuffed. “I’m more impressed that she used ‘gallivant’ in a complete sentence before noon.”
Celina’s phone saved her from composing a decent comeback to her friend. She looked in the window to check the caller first but rose as she did, expecting it to be the return call she expected from Zell Braden.
She froze. Her coffee slid so hard from her other hand that it splashed a little on the table.
In the window, she read: Global Restoration Incorporated.
There was only one person she knew at GRI. He’d left her house on Saturday morning, fuming like a pit bull—and sucking the atmosphere from the whole place with him.
She clicked Ignore. Then sat back down, unable to hide how her legs shook with the effort.
Eve’s brows lowered. “Okay. You want to tell us who that was?”
“No.”
“No?” Reiley echoed. “Seriously? The color just drained from your gorgeous Greek skin, honey.”
“Nobody important.”
Dante didn’t let her get away with that. The next second, her phone turned into a Mexican jumping bean with a string of texts.
We need to talk.
Friday was significant. I know you felt it too.
Celina, CALL ME.
Dinner. I’m only asking for dinner.
Do you want me to keep this up all day? I’m clearing my schedule now.
“Damn it!” she muttered. He was persistent as a pit bull too, which meant that eventually, he’d get tired of his new “play toy” and move along to something new, probably in the neighborhood of a 36-C chest, a mass of mermaid curls, and hefty stilt heels to hold it all up. But before that happened, she refused to let him toss her around in his frenzy. It was torture. It was heaven.
It was one night that would never go any further.
The phone vibrated twice more before she could delete the other messages. Her teeth jammed together. “How the hell did he even get this number?”
“He?” Eve perked up like a three-year-old tempted with a candy bar. “Whoa. He who?” Before Celina could react, her friend snatched away the phone. “What’re you holding back from us?”
“Eve! Shit!”
Eve’s jaw dropped. “’Shit’ is right. Friday was significant? What the hell? Friday…when? Nothing happened Friday, except at—”
“The party!” Rei finished it off with a voice spiked in excitement.
“But you left,” Eve stated. “You went to the Blue Sax.” She stared in accusation. “You texted and said you’d caught a cab home.”
“Yeah.” She fumed. “And that’s exactly what I did. Give me my phone back, Eve. I’m not kidding.”
“But you weren’t alone, were you?” Her friend looked at the screen again, and her eyes widened. “You went home with somebody! And whoever it was had a pretty great time too.”
“C’mon, Eve. Please.”
“Wow,” Reiley interjected. “This feels big. It was either completely shitty or pure heaven.”
Eve placed the phone back onto the table. The move was slow and solemn. “Okay. Whatever. We’re just your two best friends. If you don’t feel the need to share, then—”
She was interrupted when another call started vibrating the phone. The thing still lay faceup on the table, now visible to all three of them. Celina prayed that this time it was Zell Braden.
Again, the screen flashed Global Restoration Incorporated.
Eye and Reiley gasped in unison.
“Oh my God.” Reiley’s whisper sounded like they stood in the Sistine Chapel. “Right after midnight, Dante Tieri disappeared from the party.”
“Yeah,” Eve concurred. “And fast.” She looked up at Celina with her wide green gaze. “And you were the reason why…weren’t you?”
Reiley let out another rasp. “Holy crap, Cel. You slept with Dante Tieri?”
Eve snorted. “I’ll bet there wasn’t a lot of sleeping going on.”
“And now he wants to see you again! Shit! Cel!”
Celina grabbed her phone and rose, failing at making both actions seem anywhere near calm. “It’s not happening. He’s not happening. And no, I’m not going to ‘share’ about it.” She felt her friends’ hurt curl through the air like acrid smoke. She felt shitty about that, but it didn’t change her determination to push Friday night into the past. The far past. “Things sometimes happen, okay? Anomalies are only that. Nothing more.”
“Anomalies?” Eve tossed a disbelieving glance at Rei. “She did not just call Dante Tieri an ‘anomaly,’ did she?”
Celina rolled her eyes. “Fine. You want a better word? How about mistakes? Yeah, that is better. Mistakes happen, you guys. That doesn’t mean one needs to repeat them.”
Before either of them could hold her hostage again, she grabbed her coffee, then left the lounge without a backward look. That didn’t stop Eve from lobbing a parting shot, directed at Reiley but deliberately loud enough for her to hear too.
“I wish my mistakes made me blush like that.”
Chapter Seven
Dante ordered a fourth Glenlivet on the rocks while finishing off his third. He set the empty glass on the bar and studied the leftover condensation on it, collecting the blue-gray lighting off the back bar. Delilah’s was a perfect pick for tonight, his and Mark’s go-to choice for enjoying whiskey, pool, and conversation without worrying about the social page editor taking dictation on their words. Not that he gave his friend much to go on so far. That didn’t stop Mark from sharpening up the scalpels in his gaze, or hunkering his leather-jacket-covered shoulders in a lame attempt at unobtrusive.
“No reserve chute tonight, eh, Inferno Boy?” Mark finally drawled.
He cocked his head at his friend. The liquor finally started to work, creating a warm fuzz in his head. Well, wasn’t that nice? It did shit for the chill he couldn’t get out of his blood, the emptiness since he’d left Celina’s on Saturday. The void he didn’t even know he’d been living with until the party this guy talked him into throwing.
“You called this meeting, boss, not me.”