Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Are the guests going to be safe?”
“The place is teeming with soldiers now,” he said, shrugging. “Nothing is going down there that isn’t supposed to. You don’t have to worry about that place right now. You need to focus on recovering.”
“I’m not that hurt.”
“You’re barely staying on your feet right now.”
That was annoyingly astute.
“That’s my own fault.”
“How the fuck is any of this your fault?”
“For not exercising as regularly as I was raised to.”
“As someone who is a bit of an exercise junkie, think the way your family approaches fitness is fucked.”
“Because it’s not about fitness,” I said. “It’s about aesthetics.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re not into your aesthetics?” I asked, gaze tracking down him.
“Not gonna say I don’t like being bulky. It’s good to be strong. Especially in my life. Besides, the more muscle you have, the more fat it burns. So I can stuff my face and not have to worry about gaining weight like I did as a teen.”
“That’s a good point. And with that much pasta, I’m starting to regret not hitting the weight bench for the past few years.”
“Your job is active,” he said, shrugging off my worries. “Working out doesn’t have to be in a gym, strapped to a treadmill for an hour.”
“True,” I agreed. “So, uh, how long do you think everyone is going to be on lockdown?”
“Hard to say until someone figures out who the bastard was who attacked you. But we’re pretty good at figuring things out fast. If for no other reason than our moms and sisters are on our asses day and night about their lives being upturned.”
“Are you worried about them?”
“I’m more worried about you.”
They were simple words, understandable ones, considering I’d just been attacked, but they still managed to make my belly swoop.
“Well, I seem to be pretty safe here.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hazel
That afternoon and evening went by in a bit of a blur. We drifted around the house as Dante told me about his plans, asked for my opinions on paint swatches, different couches, and lighting. Not that he needed my help. The finished parts of his house were breathtaking. I couldn’t design anything more homey if I tried.
After that, I kept Dante company as he moved around the kitchen, making dinner. As a woman who’d never been cooked for before (unless reheated tacos counted—and they didn’t), you could say I was fascinated.
And, yes, turned on. Almost obnoxiously so. Who would have thought a man who knew how to bread chicken breasts and make al dente pasta would be so appealing?
When he dipped a finger into the sauce only to lick it off the tip of his finger, I nearly combusted.
Add on the fact that the food was not just edible, but some of the best I’d ever eaten, and, yeah, you could say I was just barely holding myself back from climbing on his lap when he’d gently unwrapped my hands, checked their progress, and declared that I could take the long bath I’d been dreaming of, so long as I was careful about my palms.
If I were a stronger person, I would have insisted on helping with the dishes first.
As it was, I barely trusted myself to climb the steps and shut myself behind a locked door.
I spent the whole bath (complete with three water changes to keep it warm) trying to rationalize past my desire.
The problem was that I could hear Dante moving around the house. And the water kept teasing across my already sensitive skin.
I drained the tub and climbed out with a sigh, deciding I would just have to suffer through my feelings, since there was no getting rid of them.
When I came out of the bathroom wearing one of Dante’s shirts instead of the ones Sofia bought for me, I saw Dante lingering in the hallway.
“You okay?”
“Just wanted to dip in to get my stuff from the shower.”
“What stuff?”
“Soap, shampoo, that kind of thing.”
“Why do you need it?”
“So I can shower in the guest room.”
“What? No. I’m not putting you out of your own shower. Go ahead,” I said, waving toward the bathroom as I made my way to the bed.
Should I have excused myself, given him privacy? Absolutely. But, yeah, I was not going to do that.
“You sure?”
“Of course.” I made a show of spreading my new blanket on the bed, feigning a casualness I didn’t feel in the least.
With that, Dante moved into the bathroom, closing the door with a quiet click.
What I should have done then was turn on the TV, give him the illusion of privacy.
I didn’t do that either, though.
I took my aching desire to bed with me, turned on the pillow, and listened as the water turned down, then as it got interrupted by Dante’s body, just to slap down on the floor once it glided down each toned muscle.