by Zoey Parker
I hung up and stuffed my phone into my new Louis clutch. “I can’t believe his manners,” I grumbled to Anya. “He sounds like he was raised in a barn!” My nostrils flared, and I tossed my blonde hair over my shoulder. “He probably looks like it, too, am I right?”
“I don’t know,” Anya said timidly. She stood in front of me, her small hands twisting at her sides. “I’m sorry, Katia, do you want me to go with you?”
I glared at her. “I should just send you. But the cop said he wanted me out of the house unless I had someone with me.” I realized Anya was still staring at me with a stupid look on her face. “What?”
“Um, do you want me to stay? Or…?” Anya trailed off, looking at me expectantly. If I hadn’t been in such a bad mood, I would’ve laughed. She looked pathetic, like a dog waiting for its master to say ‘walk.’
“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’ve already proven useless enough for one day. I’m out of here,” I added. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Is this guy going to want to come inside?”
Anya frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, is he going to bitch about coming inside the house,” I said, sweeping my arm through the air. “I want him to stay outside,” I added. “That way he can watch the property and make sure no one tries to break in.”
“Um, Katia, I don’t think he’s going to want to do that,” Anya said. She frowned. “He’s not a dog. He’s a man. He’s going to want to sleep in one of the bedrooms. You can’t expect him to camp outside or something, can you?”
I rolled my eyes and stalked away. “I’m Katia Reynolds,” I muttered under my breath. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
# # #
Of course, the asshole was late. I sat down in a corner chair with my pumpkin spice latte (skim, of course) and waited, staring irritably out at the parking lot. I’d always liked Starbucks’, especially in L.A.—but they were always full of college kids, trying to spot someone famous. Or worse, reporters. This one, in particular, was packed. I glanced around smugly, trying to see if anyone was staring at me.
When I saw a group of college-aged boys over by the window, I licked my lips seductively and lifted my latte towards my mouth. They watched, jaws practically grazing the floor.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a gruff voice said.
I swallowed hard and put my coffee down. “What? And just who the hell do you think you are to give me advice?”
A man lowered himself down into the seat across from me. He was gorgeous—I had to admit. He had long, dark hair that waved around his head and barely grazed his shoulders, perfect tan skin, and gorgeous bone structure that screamed plastic surgery. Dark scruff lined his chiseled jaw, and his dark blue eyes almost certainly had to be colored contacts. He was wearing head-to-toe leather, including an expensive jacket that almost looked like last season Armani.
“I’m Dante,” he said. He winked at me, and I swallowed hard. I wasn’t expecting this guy from a motorcycle club to be so gorgeous. I glared.
“And why do you think you can get off telling me what to do?”
Dante raised his eyebrows and laughed. I saw he was holding a small espresso. “Because,” he snarled in a low voice that sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re being a fucking idiot, and it’s my job to tell you when you’re doing that.”
I sniffed. “I don’t see how flirting with college boys could hurt me,” I said daintily. “They wouldn’t do anything!”
“Honey,” Dante said patronizingly. He leaned across the table, and I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and engine grease. “These are exactly the kind of kids who wouldn’t think twice about sneaking onto your property and taking some pictures to sell to TMZ. You’re worried about a stalker, right? Don’t encourage these little wannabes,” he added. “They’re just kids now, but in a few years, who knows?”
My heart thudded in my chest, and I took a small, controlled sip of my latte. “I guess you’re right,” I admitted grudgingly.
I stared at him again; those dark blue eyes were the most unnerving I’d seen in weeks. Maybe even months, unless you counted the time last month when I saw Bradley Cooper at the grocery store.
“I knew you’d be hot,” Dante said, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me sharply. He ran his tongue over his lips, and I struggled with the hot feeling that rose through my belly. “But I didn’t think I’d actually wanna fuck you.”
This was typical; men always wanted me, usually within a few seconds of meeting me. Back when I’d first moved to L.A., I’d loved the attention. If I was being honest with myself, I still did. But it was so typical, so basic. If a guy wanted me, I wanted him to work for it. I certainly didn’t want him to come onto me in the middle of a coffee shop.
“That’s enough,” I said, shifting in my seat a little. “I need you to work for me,” I said primly. “That’s all. Just work.”
“Yeah, your assistant told my guy something about that,” Dante said. He smirked. “You need a bodyguard?”
I nodded. “I think someone’s stalking me.”
“Any idea who that could be?”
I rolled my eyes. “No,” I said, frowning. “How the hell would I know that? It’s not really like I keep up with the millions of fans or anything.”
“You’ve got a real big ego for an ex-beauty queen,” Dante said lazily. He drained his espresso and set the empty cup down on the table. “You ever think about trying to act?”
“Of course. I’ve done cameos before. But acting is so draining.”
“I bet.” It took me a moment to realize he was being sarcastic. “When do I start?”
“Immediately,” I said dryly. “I need you to come home with me now.”
Dante winked. “Shit. I didn’t think you’d be so forward!” He raised his eyebrows and smirked, sending a shiver of lust down my spine. “My pleasure,” he added in a low growl.
I rolled my eyes. “Good luck, asshole.” I smirked right back at him. “Every single guy I’ve ever met has tried to get in my pants, and most of them haven’t succeeded. What makes you think you’ll be any different?”
It was true. I was so used to guys coming onto me that I barely trusted any of them. All guys wanted was sex. In the past, whenever I’d brought up actually going on a date, most guys had refused outright. That hurt, but it had hardened me up enough that after a while, it almost stopped hurting.
Men like Dante were a dime a dozen. Some scruff, messy hair, and cigarettes. They were all the same—they just wanted to fuck me and run. I knew that, deep down. But as much as I tried to rationalize it away, this time something was stopping me. I knew that Dante was in my power; he was obviously captivated by the sight of me. But right now, I had much bigger things to worry about.
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Dante said cockily. He got up and walked towards the door, and I had to trot to keep up with him. “I get what I want,” he added. “Just like you.” He winked at me, then pushed the door open. “Ladies first.”
As we left the Starbucks together, I hate to admit that I blushed.
Chapter Four
Katia
“Ugh!” I groaned loudly. “Dante! What the hell? Did you just make espresso?”
“Yeah.” Dante grunted. He was sitting at the kitchen table in my breakfast nook reading the paper. “What? What did I do this time?”
I sighed. “It doesn’t fucking matter,” I snapped, unplugging the espresso machine. “Just don’t touch this again!”
Dante laughed. “Princess, I think I know how to work a coffee maker. I’ve been doing it long enough.”
“Just like you know how to sit around, read the paper, and ignore me?” I raised my eyebrows and put my hands on my hips. “You’re damn good at that!”
“Hey! I’m doing my best here, girlie. What do you want? You want me to follow you around like a little dog?”
Dante had moved in almost two weeks ago, and his idiosyncrasies were already starting to drive me crazy. With a sigh, I stalked out of the
kitchen and flopped down on the living room sofa. My whole condo was decorated in complementary colors: ivory, gold, and pink, with gray and pink marble accents.
I wasn’t used to having a man in my space, either, and living with Dante was going to be much more of a pain in the ass than I was willing to admit. For one thing, I wasn’t used to having to wear actual clothes around the home. I loved lounging around in lingerie and pretty little chemises, but with Dante’s prying eyes, I’d been wearing a little more. Like right now, I was wearing my favorite La Perla silk chemise with a kimono on top, and I felt so overdressed!
“Hey,” Dante barked out. “Katia, what the fuck?”
I rolled my eyes when I saw that he’d followed me into the living room.
“Go away.” I sat up on the couch and reached for the remote. “I’m going to watch TV.”
“I’ll sit with you. I bet you’re gonna put on Real Housewives, aren’t you?”
“None of your business,” I said, adjusting myself on the couch. My kimono slipped down one of my shoulders, and I didn’t think to pull it back up, even when Dante’s eyes focused on me and stared.
“Do you always dress like a hooker?”
I turned to him and put the remote down. “Excuse me?”
“I asked, do you always dress like this?” Dante pointed at my chest, then slowly trailed his finger down in the air. I shuddered; even though he was seated five feet away, it was almost as if I could feel his hot touch around my breasts and tummy.
“I do.At least, when I’m at home.” I tossed my blonde curls over one shoulder. “Normally, I wear less,” I added. “But since you’re here, I feel like I should worry a little more about being polite.”
“You’re a real piece of work.” Dante grunted. He reached forward and pulled a giant book off the coffee table. As he flipped through the pages, I licked my lips and kept my eyes trained closely on his body. “What is this?”
“That’s my coffee table book,” I said prudishly. “I wrote it, as soon as I won Miss California.”
Dante rolled his eyes. “I shoulda known,” he grumbled out, flipping the pages rapidly. “There are almost no fuckin’ words here, just pictures of you prancing around in a bikini.”
“Hey! That was a bestseller on Amazon!” I preened and sat up straighter, picking through the ends of my hair with a manicured nail. “I made sure it did well.”
“I bet you did,” he said under his breath. I waited for him to follow-up, but the room stayed silent. With a sigh, I picked up the remote and turned to my saved TV shows. After selecting a rerun of The Bachelor, I pulled my legs up on the couch and covered myself with a woven silk and chenille pink throw that I kept folded up for times like these.
“You’re fucking insipid,” Dante said. His voice was almost cheerful. “You just sit at home all day, rotting your brain with trash television. This is the most boring job in the world.”
“I don’t,” I argued. “I do things.”
“Oh yeah?” Dante stood up. My book fluttered to the floor, and I glared at Dante until he made a show of leaning over and picking it up. “Like what?”
“I go out, I go to the gym, I go shopping,” I said, tapping a finger for each item. “I do things, Dante. Just not like you.” I sniffed. “You’re probably a criminal or something. Anya told me all about your little club.”
Dante snorted. “Yeah, my little club that pulls in a few million each year.” He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “You’d think that someone as spoiled as you would know better, princess.”
“A few million?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t believe that.” I scoffed. “If you made that kind of money, you wouldn’t be here.”
Dante snorted again. “Yeah, right,” he said. “I gotta earn a little side hustle, too. You don’t know anything about me, babe. If you did, I bet you wouldn’t be so cavalier.”
I turned up the volume on the TV and turned away from him. “Whatever,” I mumbled. “Like I even care right now.”
Even though Dante stayed quiet for the rest of the episode, I couldn’t concentrate. Something was really bothering me—and I had no idea what it was. Normally, when I felt like this, I’d go shopping or call Anya and tell her to arrange a party for my friends and me downtown.
Ever since I’d found that creeptastic email, I hadn’t even felt like going out. Clubs were all the same—dark, smoky, anonymous. I didn’t want to take the risk of being out in public if there was a chance I really did have a stalker. A club would be the first place he could grab me.
After the episode was over, I stared at the credit sequence for a long time. I couldn’t even begin to think about what had happened on TV, and I was no closer to figuring out which one of the women Bachelor Ben was going to end up with. It was like I’d wasted an hour just sitting there thinking about Dante.
“You look like you’re concentrating hard on something,” Dante said. “You wanna clue me in, babe?”
“Ugh,” I muttered out under my breath. I stood up from the couch, my kimono falling down into a graceful pile of silk on the floor. “No. I think I need some tea or coffee or something.”
Dante stared at me. “Look, you don’t have to be such a brat.”
He stood up and walked closer to me. As soon as I caught the whiff of tobacco and leather, I began to tremble. I didn’t understand it; I’d never felt this conflicted before about anyone. Part of me wanted to kiss him, wrap my arms around his strong, muscular neck and pull him close. The other part of me wanted to slap that smug grin off his face, and maybe tell him to shave while I was at it!
“I know.” I smiled, aware of Dante’s eyes clinging to my body. “But this is my house, and I’ll act however I want.” My mouth went dry as Dante stepped closer, and I licked my lips. “And you don’t have to follow me around,” I added. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to, I don’t know, stay outside and watch for intruders?”
Dante threw his head back and laughed. “You’ve been watching too many movies, princess,” he said derisively. “I’m not worried about that. If someone wants you, they’re not going to wait until the middle of the night to sneak in. You remember what happened to Victoria Beckham?”
I groaned. “How would someone like you know anything about her?” Victoria Beckham was, admittedly, one of my idols. I loved everything about her. The way she kept her figure after four kids, her collection of Birkins, her insanely hot soccer player husband.
“Remember that time she was on stage?” Dante smirked. “That little red light appeared on her chest?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I tossed my blonde hair over my shoulder.
“Well, maybe you should read the news, honey.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “She was almost shot by a sniper in a crowded amphitheater.”
My blood ran cold as I fully processed the meaning of his words. I blinked. “Um,” I said. “Wh– what exactly are you trying to say?”
Dante walked closer, crossing his arms over his muscular, brawny chest mimicking my stance. “I’m saying,” he said in a low voice, leaning close. “That if someone wanted to hurt you, it wouldn’t matter where you were. They’d have a plot. They’d have a plan.”
My heart began to thump like I was hooked up to a jackhammer. I blinked. “And…?”
“And if you wanna be safe, you’d better trust me.” Dante grunted. He was so close that I could see the golden flecks in his deep blue eyes. “You’d better do everything I say. And I mean everything.”
I licked my lips again. My heart rate showed no signs of slowing down as I swallowed hard and took a step backward. Dante stepped closer, advancing on me.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” I said softly. My voice trembled. “You’re a criminal. You used to sell drugs.”
Dante laughed. “But I’m here now,” he said slowly. His voice was low and soft and sent a tingle of lust down my spine. “And I’m not anywhere close to drugs. Just pussy—the most potent drug th
ere is.”
I leaned forward and pushed him away. “God, grow up!”
Dante laughed from behind me. “You’re such a prude,” he teased. “You can’t even stand hearing the name of your own anatomy.”
I wrinkled my nose and turned back around. Dante was standing with his legs spread apart, his hands planted firmly on his hips. The sun streaming through the windows glinted off his hair and made his eyes look cornflower blue. Even though he was only wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, I had a hard time remembering the last time I’d seen such an attractive man.
Katia, don’t be stupid. You spend your days around movie stars and rock musicians. You’ve seen guys that are hotter than this criminal.
“I’m not a prude.” I bit my lip and looked down at my chemise. I loved the way this one had always fit. My breasts were lifted perfectly up in the air, making me look as though I’d had implants. “I mean, if I were a prude, would I be wearing this?”