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)
“How you brighten the night, my lovely lady.”
Then he kissed me, and I clung to him, his arms a prison I was happy to be in.
He rested his forehead on mine.
“Come to bed with me.”
I didn’t object when he swung me into his arms and headed to the stairs. In fact, I snuggled closer, resting my head on his shoulder.
It felt right there. All of this felt right.
And I didn’t question it.
Chapter Eighteen
DANTE
If someone had told me I would be ignoring my businesses, eating so much cake that I had to increase my daily runs to twice the length and add more time on the machines in my gym, all while obsessing over a woman who baked those cakes for me and teaching her to swim, I would have wondered what sort of drugs they had taken.
If they added in that I was crazy about her, having the most incredible sex of my life, and found myself smiling most of the day, I would have suggested they sign themselves in to a psychiatric ward.
But here I was. Cheering on a twenty-six-year-old woman who had just dog-paddled her way across the pool on her own.
“That’s it, Little Bee. You can do it!” I called, sounding like a pussy.
And I was. For her.
She reached the steps of the pool, standing in the shallow end, flinging her arms up in victory. Her full breasts swayed, the water rolling off her skin, tempting my tongue to follow its path. I should have mentioned the swimming lessons took place in private and suits were not only optional, but not allowed.
My pool. My rules.
Swimming lessons invariably ended in sex. Brianna loved pool sex, and it had become one of my favorites as well.
Every day for the past ten days had been filled with her. Her baking, her laughter, her droll sense of humor. She sang in the kitchen every day. Hummed as she went around the house. I could pinpoint the room she was in simply by the way her voice sounded. I worked from the office downstairs while she baked, but the honest truth was, I watched and listened more than I worked.
I found her endlessly fascinating. Her refusal to swear amused me, and I tried to trick her into it and failed daily.
“Luck,” I whispered. “Suck. Duck.” I bit down on her lobe. “Just words.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, gripping me. “Move, Dante. Cheese and crackers, move.”
I held myself over her. “Fuck.”
“Fudgsicle.”
“Fuuuck,” I said, moving just enough to tease her.
“Frack. Frickle. Forgetit.”
I started to laugh. Then I gave her a physical demonstration of the word.
I loved her silences. The way she spoke without saying a word. The concentration on her face as she decorated another cake for me. The sheer delight when I would take a second or third piece, announcing that this one was now “my favorite.”
They all were, because she made them.
I had never acted like this with a woman. Never said the word please so often. Wanted to make someone smile. I was used to issuing orders, making rapid decisions, expecting people to follow my demands. That didn’t work with Brianna, and although I loved her fire, I disliked it when she seemed hurt by my curtness, and for the first time in a very long while, I tried to curb my impatience. Somehow, because it was for her, it seemed easier.
She was my entire focus most days. I smiled as she paddled toward me, pulling her out of the water and planting a kiss to her tempting mouth.
“Good job. We’ll start on learning the breaststroke next.”
“Okay.”
I touched the end of her nose. “But we need to talk.”
She frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I have to go to Naples. There is some gallery business I have to handle in person. And I have some business meetings and dinners to attend.”
She sat down beside me on the steps, the water glistening on her skin. I was tempted to kiss off the drops, so I did, tonguing them from her shoulder and kissing it. She shivered under my touch, making me grin. She slid closer, her hand on my thigh.
“How long will you be gone?”
“A week.”
“Do you want me to keep baking cakes?”
“That’s something else we need to talk about. You were right. A cake every day is too much. Gia told me the freezer is getting full, even with the smaller ones you’re making. And my pants are getting tight.”
She leaned her head on my shoulder and laughed, the sound clear and loud. “I warned you.”
“Maybe every other day. And those little ones you showed me that we can polish off easier.”
She was quiet for a moment. “And the timeline?” she finally asked.
“We’ll discuss that in a while.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I want you to come to Naples with me.”