Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“You’re a lunatic,” she said. “A complete lunatic.”
“No, perfectly sane. I simply know what I want. And I want you.”
She blinked. Looked around. Blinked again. Then once more, she did the most extraordinary thing.
She bolted.
She was up and racing away from the table as fast as she could possibly go. She even left her coat behind. I sighed in frustration. She would have to learn to stop running from me.
I finished the pie and coffee, giving her a head start and a false sense of victory. I knew where she lived. It was right behind the diner. She no doubt thought that she’d lock herself inside and would be safe from me. That I would forget about her, or she would try to convince herself she had misheard me.
She really had no idea who she was dealing with.
But she was about to find out.
BRIANNA
My entire body shook under the blanket, and I couldn’t get warm.
It hadn’t been a joke. He had paid off my debts. As soon as I got home, I checked my accounts. They all showed a zero balance.
How was this possible?
What was going on?
And the most important question—what did Dante really want?
I had no idea why I’d blurted out the comment about my virginity. I swore I was the oldest living virgin in the world—or at least in Toronto. Sex felt intimate and bonding. Lasting. I had never cared enough for anyone to have sex with them. The truth was, I had never met anyone I felt enough desire for to have sex with them.
I ignored the little voice in my head that said that was before I met Dante.
He was sexy. Insanely sexy.
But off-limits.
He was older, lived in another city, and obviously was crazy.
Who paid off a stranger’s debts, then asked them to bake them some cakes in return?
I wondered if Carolina knew how crazy her godfather was. I glanced over at my purse then cursed when I realized my phone was in my coat pocket, along with my spare key. Which I’d left in the restaurant.
With Dante.
I dropped my head into my hands.
I wasn’t very good at this escaping from him thing.
As if to solidify my thoughts, I heard a key slide into the lock, and my door opened. Dante walked in, carrying my coat. I stared at him, somehow not shocked to see him. He shut the door, hung my coat on the hook, then proceeded to remove his shoes and coat and come into the apartment.
“I didn’t invite you in.”
“Leaving me your keys suggested you expected me.”
“I left them in a panic.”
He pursed his lips. “Amazing what our subconscious does for us. You wanted me to come to you.” He waved his hand. “Not that it mattered. I would have gotten in.”
“Of course.”
He sat down on the ottoman and looked around. “This is a god-awful place, isn’t it?”
“Hey,” I snapped. “Show some respect. It’s my home.”
He flashed his teeth. “Oh, you’ve made it charming, Little Bee, but you deserve so much better than a basement apartment. Is this even legal? Can you get out that window if there were a fire?”
“I have no idea.”
He tutted.
“Why are you here?”
“We weren’t finished our discussion,” he replied, as if all of this was normal. Then he frowned. “You’re shivering.”
He stood and went to the tiny kitchen, opening my cupboards. He pulled out the can of Ovaltine and plugged in the kettle. He looked at ease, waiting patiently for the water to boil. He carried over the cup and handed it to me.
“Drink. The sugar will help.”
“You’re not having one?” I asked stupidly, as if he were a guest.
“I’m not the one in shock. I should have been a little more circumspect with my words.” He tucked the blanket tighter around me. “Drink it,” he repeated.
I did as he said, the hot drink warming me.
“That isn’t a beverage I would associate with you,” he remarked.
I shrugged, not wanting to explain. “I have one every night.”
He ran a finger over his lips. “Interesting.”
When I was calm again, I drew in a long breath and spoke.
“You paid off my debt, and now you want me to bake you some cakes,” I said slowly. “To repay you.”
“Yes.”
I began to laugh. “Gold-filled ones?”
“No. Your usual kind. I will pay you for each cake. Five hundred dollars. You’ll come out ahead.”
I gaped at him. “Are you insane? Are you under medical supervision? No one pays that much for a cake!”
“Your customers do. Your fancy wedding cakes fetch a much higher price.”
“So, you want me to make you—” I did some fast calculations in my head “—sixty wedding cakes? Planning a marriage-divorce spree, are you?”
“No, just regular cakes.”
I shook my head. “Certifiable. You are completely certifiable. Do Carolina and her family know you’re off your rocker?”
He ignored me. “There are stipulations.”
“Which might be?”
“I will provide everything you need to make the cakes. However, they must be made in my kitchen.”