by T. K. Leigh
I chuckled as my tears subsided, the levity at the table returning. “You have issues.”
She shrugged, biting into her burger. “It’s who I am.” Then she grinned deviously. “It was hot, wasn’t it?”
My ears heated as I remembered leaning over the ledge of the balcony, waves of a body-numbing orgasm crashing through me as the city of Los Angeles slept below us. I could almost feel the wind on my face, the fire in my core, the quiver in my muscles.
“Dangerously so,” I answered.
“God, I hate you.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“HEADING OUT ALREADY?” QUINN asked as I strode down the hallway a few minutes after five that evening, my bag slung over my arm.
“Yeah. Do you mind? I know I usually stay later, but—”
“Relax, Ellie.” He grabbed my biceps, running his hands down my arms. “You’re the one who makes me look bad when you stay until eight or nine most nights.” He dropped his hands, stepping back. “Enjoy your evening. See you tomorrow?” He lifted a brow, questioning, the gesture taking me by surprise.
I knew it had to do with the news spreading like wildfire all day long that I was Dante Luciano’s girlfriend. I guess everyone expected me to just quit my job and let him provide for me. I couldn’t do that. My mother gave up her career to support my father in his, and she was the most miserable person I knew. I refused to let that be my life, too.
“Of course.”
He beamed, displaying his perfect white teeth. “Great.”
“Great,” I mumbled, turning from him, making excuse after excuse to much of the staff about why I couldn’t stay to answer their myriad of questions about what Dante Luciano was like.
When I finally stepped outside and drew in a welcome breath of fresh air, I came to an abrupt stop at the sight that greeted me. As much as I had a lot I needed to think about before I could promise Dante any sort of future with me, I couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face as my eyes feasted on him leaning against a silver Chevy Volt. He wore dark jeans, a black button-down linen shirt, and flip flops. The dark sunglasses added a hint of mystery to the seductive man stalking toward me.
“What happened to Bradley?” I asked, sauntering up to him. “Did you get a rental or something?”
“You could say that.” There was a hint of hesitation in his voice.
I immediately pulled back, eyeing him skeptically. “What is it?”
“Don’t get mad.” He clutched my hands in his. “I know you’ve got this thing in your head that you can’t accept help from anyone, and it’s admirable, but I went to get your car out of the impound and I’m pretty sure the fees were more than that car is worth.”
“But it’s my car, Dante. You don’t get to decide what I do with my things. You don’t get to—”
“And it’s still your car.” He ran his hands down my arms, soothing my outburst. “I had Bradley drive it back to your apartment. You can do whatever you’d like with it, but I’d feel better if you drove around in something a little safer.”
“So you bought me a Volt?”
“I almost got you a Tesla.”
“I’m not impressed by your money.” I glowered, increasing the distance between us and crossing my arms in front of my chest. My reaction was probably childish, but my independence was important to me. Sure, most other women my age would be over the moon if their hot, rich, celebrity boyfriend bought them a brand new electric car. But I’d just finally gotten out on my own. I didn’t want Dante to think I was incapable of caring for myself, that I needed him. I didn’t.
“I know you’re not. And that’s why I love you.”
I remained unmoving, doing my best not to look at the car’s sleek lines, almost able to smell that new car scent all the way out here on the sidewalk.
“Eleanor, please,” Dante begged when I didn’t say anything. “Don’t be mad about this. I know the past several months have been difficult on you. I want to do everything I can to make sure the next several months are better. Okay?” He closed the distance, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. “Please?”
I lifted my eyes to his, struggling not to smile at the playful and imploring expression on his face, his eyes bright. He looked years younger than he was, and as much as I wanted to refuse his gift, I really liked the car.
Exhaling a long breath, I relaxed my standoffish posture. “I really want to hate you for this.”
“Don’t hate me. Not over this. You can hate me over what I’m about to show you, but not over this.”
I eyed him with intrigue. “And what exactly are you about to show me?”
His grin only grew wider as he stepped toward the car, opening the passenger door for me. “You’ll see.”
“You bought me a car, yet you want to drive it?”
“You can drive if you want, but I know where we’re going. It’s kind of a surprise.”
“Fine,” I huffed, stalking toward him and sliding into the front seat. “But don’t think I’m going to make a habit out of this. When we’re in your car, you can drive. My car, I drive. Got it?”
“Of course.” Leaning down, he placed a warm kiss on my temple, forcing a whimper to fall from my throat. Then he closed the door and ran around the car.
The heat of his lips on my skin lingered for a long moment, soothing the storm that had been raging inside me all day. It was so simple, so innocent, so easy, yet calmed me in a way nothing else in my life could. Maybe this was the sign I needed that I was on the right path. Maybe Dante was the right path.
With a contented sigh, I relaxed against the dark leather seats, breathing in that new car smell. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, it would be a relief to be able to get behind the wheel every day and not have to say a prayer the engine would start. This was everything my old car wasn’t. Power everything. Bluetooth capabilities. Satellite radio. Heated seats. Individual climate control. Reverse camera. Blind spot detectors. The works.
While I hated the idea of accepting a handout from anyone, Dante wasn’t just anyone. This was a man who loved me. He wasn’t buying me a car to assert his control over me, like was always the case with Brock and my parents. He did this because he wanted to do something for me, to keep me safe. And considering the amount of money he had, buying me a car was akin to most people getting flowers.
“Ready?” he asked once he had situated himself behind the wheel.
“Where exactly are you taking me?”
“You’ll see,” he replied with a sly smile as he drove away from my office building and hopped onto the 101, heading in the opposite direction of Beverly Hills.
After a peaceful drive through heavy traffic, where Dante regaled me with random facts he knew about this area of the state, he pulled off the freeway, heading toward Malibu Canyon. The roads wound and curved along with the mountain as we climbed higher and higher. I’d always loved this scenic drive, particularly once the mountain peaked and you could see the California coast sprawled out below. And tonight was no different. As we crested the top, the glimmer of the sunshine hit the ocean, making it sparkle like a rare gem. And that was what this place was.
He soon turned right instead of continuing down the canyon and driving into Malibu, where I thought we’d be heading, perhaps to one of his favorite restaurants no one else knew about. He loved spots like that.
I immediately snapped my head to the left. I’d grown up just a few miles from here. I knew this area well. There was nothing but residential neighborhoods up this way.
“Dante, where exactly are we going?” I asked again, unease filling me.
“Patience, passerotta.” Keeping his eyes on the narrow, snaking roads, he reached across the center console, finding my hand and clutching it in his. “You’ll see.”
He made a few more turns, heading farther into the mountains. We passed palatial estates set on acres and acres of land, a stark contrast to the small plots and cookie-cutter houses that made up most of suburban Los Angeles. Aft
er a few more minutes, he slowed the car, pulling up to a gated entrance. He punched a code into the box and we were granted access.
My heart caught in my throat as he navigated up a long driveway, coming to a stop in front of a sprawling two-level home, ivy tastefully crawling across the brick façade, the style reminiscent of Dante’s house in Italy.
“Why are we here?” I asked warily as he killed the engine.
“Just humor me for a minute.” He winked, then jumped out of the car, rushing around to open my door. He held out his hand and I grabbed it, my gaze shifting between the grin on his face and the extravagant house in front of us. I remained quiet as he led me up the walkway toward the entrance. He retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. When he pushed it open, I entered before him, albeit a little cautiously.
I couldn’t help but find myself amazed and overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding me as I stood in the foyer. The ceilings had to be forty feet high, an iron chandelier hanging overhead. My eyes floated to the winding staircase leading up to the second-floor landing, the dark wood of the railing matching the hardwood floors we stood on.
I looked at Dante with guarded eyes. He gestured past the entryway, indicating he wanted me to continue farther inside. As much as I wanted to put a stop to this entire charade right now, I couldn’t. If the entryway was a hint at what elegance this house contained, I needed to see the rest. And my instincts were correct. Off the entrance was a formal sitting room where I could picture displaying a twenty-foot Christmas tree in front of the high bay windows. I could almost smell the cookies, hear the laughter, feel the warmth.
We walked past the staircase, a pair of French doors leading to what could be an office or playroom. At the end of the corridor was an open living space. The kitchen was any chef’s dream and overlooked an ample back yard, which was complete with custom swing set and playscape. We stepped outside, past a built-in barbecue and wet bar area, as well as the pool and spa, climbing up a short hill where we came to a stop at a wrought-iron fence on the edge of the property.
“Wow,” I breathed, speechless at the view of the canyon and ocean below us. “This is amazing.”
“Wait until you see it from the master bedroom.” He winked, then grabbed my hand, leading me back inside and pulling me upstairs. He showed me four bedrooms before opening the door to the master suite, which was probably double the size of my whole apartment. Large windows filled the wall opposite where a bed would go, the view of the ocean glistening below us even more mesmerizing.
“What do you think?” he asked, grabbing my hips and turning me toward him as the setting sun behind us turned the sky a beautiful orange hue.
I peered into his eyes, overwhelmed. I couldn’t imagine waking up to this view every morning, yet I knew that was precisely why Dante had brought me here. I opened my mouth to tell him how perfect it was, but all I heard was my mother’s voice in my head, reminding me that Dante didn’t care about me, that he’d just use me and toss me out. I wished I could forget those hurtful words, but she’d simply given voice to thoughts I already had. I slept with this man before I even knew who he was. From the very beginning, our entire relationship was based on sex and lies. I thought I loved him. But maybe I was just confusing lust for love.
“Eleanor…”
“I can’t do this.”
I abruptly turned from him, hurrying down the stairs, wanting to get as far away as possible. This house was perfect, as if it were plucked right out of my imagination and built to my precise specifications. I’d already lost so much. I didn’t want to lose anything else. I needed to get my head and heart out of the clouds, to return to reality, and this was not reality. At least it wasn’t mine.
“Whoa! Slow down, Eleanor,” Dante bellowed, rushing after me, grabbing my arm as I approached the foyer, preventing me from going any farther. He forced me to face him, concern filling his eyes. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?”
“What am I thinking?” I licked my lips, my thoughts a scrambled mess. “What am I thinking?” I repeated through the growing thickness in my throat. “I’m thinking this house is gorgeous, Dante. I love everything about it. I can picture myself waking up in your arms every morning as the sun begins to shimmer on the ocean. I can imagine you making love to me as the sun goes down, then we can sit on the balcony under the stars and talk about our day.”
Confusion crossed his brow. “Then what’s the problem? If you’re not happy with the area, I’ll look somewhere else. I know traffic on the 101 can be a nightmare, but you’d only have to be on that for ten miles to get to work. The rest are backroads.”
“Dante…,” I began, overwhelmed. The car was one thing. But a house like this in the Malibu Hills? This would run him close to ten million dollars, maybe more.
“Talk to me, Eleanor,” he urged, running his hands down my arms. “What is it?”
“You want to buy me a house?” I asked, disbelief and perhaps disapproval heavy in my voice.
“No. I want to buy us a house,” he clarified. “I want to prove to you that I’m serious about what I said earlier. If you want to stay here, I’ll stay with you. I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his body.
“Dante, please.” I freed myself from his embrace.
“What?” his voice grew harsh as he peered down at me, his jaw clenching. “Please what? What do you want from me, Eleanor? I ask you to move to Italy, you resist! I offer to move here and start over, you resist that, too! What can I do to make you happy?”
“It’s not supposed to happen like this!” I insisted, my voice rising. “People don’t meet, then decide to live together!” I began pacing in front of him, tugging at my hair, the events of the day coming to a head. “Look at us, Dante! Really look at us. I propositioned you in front of the Trevi Fountain. We were just supposed to have a one-night stand, then you asked me to spend the week with you.”
“So what? We had a somewhat different beginning from most couples. Who cares? Not everything in life goes according to plan.”
“I know that!” I shot back, growing more frustrated with each word I spoke. “But…”
“What?” he pushed. “Just spit it out, Eleanor! Tell me what you want from me! Tell me what I can do to make you realize I’m serious about a future between us.”
“I want you to date me! All right?" I stopped pacing, turning my fiery eyes on him. "That’s what I want from you!”
He stilled, taken aback, his brow furrowed. “Date you?” he repeated, as if unsure he’d heard me correctly.
“Yeah.” I blew out a breath, shrugging. “You’ve never taken me on a real date. Sure, we had the gala and last night, but that’s not the same. We’ve never exchanged awkward glances as you walked me to my front door, wondering if I’d get treated to a goodnight kiss. I guess because you always knew I was a sure thing, that I’d always end up in your bed. Yes, we’ve shared parts of ourselves with each other, things we’ve never shared with anyone else, but I want more. I want to laugh until I’m blue in the face over a story about how awkward you were as a teenage boy. Because all teenage boys are. I want to hold your hand as we play stupid carnival games at the Santa Monica Pier.”
I stepped closer, my eyes becoming hooded. Raising myself onto my tiptoes, I circled my tongue against the scruff on his face that was slowly growing back. “I want to sit in the back of a movie theater and jerk you off as you finger me.” His grip on me tightened, but I freed myself from his hold, increasing the distance between us. “We need to date each other first, Dante. Then we can live together.”
He studied me for a moment, then said, “So you’re not saying no.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m saying yes, either. Let’s slow down.”
“And date,” he clarified.
“Yes. Date.”
He drew in a long breath, then exhaled loudly. “I’ll be perfectly honest with you. I haven’t taken a woman out on a date in ov
er a decade.”
I laughed at the vulnerability that crossed his expression as he seemed to consider the prospect of dating again. “I haven’t been on a date with a guy since Brock, and I’m not sure that really counts since he didn’t feel like picking me up or dropping me off. I had to meet him wherever we were going.” I shifted my eyes, chewing on my lower lip.
Dante gripped my chin, forcing my eyes back to his. “You deserve better than that. And I promise to do my best to date you.”
“That’s all I want.”
“Okay then.” He smiled, leaning toward me. “Let’s date.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“WHAT ARE WE DOING here?” I furrowed my brow when Dante pulled my new car into my apartment complex. We’d stopped for some fresh seafood down in Malibu before heading back.
“I’m taking you home,” he answered as he parked next to my old piece of crap automobile, then killed the engine.
“Home? You’re seriously okay staying in a shitty studio apartment?”
He looked at me as he unclipped his seatbelt, then opened the door. “I’m not staying.” He stepped out of the car and shut the door before I could utter anything in response.
“Wait. What?” I frowned, gathering my things and fumbling for the handle just as he opened the door for me, holding his hand out. “Why aren’t you staying?”
“It’s not because you live in a small studio apartment.” He helped me out of the car, then closed the door. “You’ve seen where I grew up. I don’t need luxury items to make me happy. As long as you’re with me, I’m the richest man in the world.”
“Then why—”
“You said you wanted me to date you.” He smirked. “This is all part of that, isn’t it? How can I date you when we’re living together?”
“You’re seriously not going to stay?”
“I’ll walk you to your door, but that’s as far as I go. For now.” He shot me a mischievous wink, placing his hand on my lower back, steering me toward the building in the large complex where my apartment was located.