And I don't like that it's directed at me. Against my will, my eyes flood with tears.
His entire demeanor changes when he sees them. He runs his fingers through his hair and curses under his breath.
"I didn't mean to use that tone with you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
The last thing I expected was an apology from a mafia man. The tears spill, but I quickly wipe them away.
"I'm sorry for snooping," I say. "I don't know what I was thinking."
When he looks back up at me, his eyes are softer than before. He's upset that he's upset me. And once again, I get that feeling. There’s so much more to him than what meets the eye.
There’s more to him than his mafia title.
"There's no other way to say this, Grace, but the less you know about me, the better."
"I can see why you might think that, but I want to know the truth," I say softly. "You're asking me to marry you. I deserve to know what I'm getting into here, even if it’s just for six months.”
"I'm not saying that you don't," he says. "But sometimes ignorance is bliss."
"Maybe I'll decide that for myself."
His eyes trail down my body. I'm wearing another pajama set he got for me—a white cotton top with little hearts on it and matching shorts. His gaze makes my nipples pebble into hard peaks, craving his rough touch.
I can't even blame it on an aphrodisiac anymore.
This is all me.
"If I were to answer your questions, what will I get in return?" he asks.
The hunger between my thighs feels insatiable now.
"What do you want?” I ask.
“I just had to sit through a very annoying business meeting. I think a kiss would make me feel better.”
"Just a kiss?" I ask.
"A kiss wherever I like," he specifies.
We stare at each other for another beat. There's this energy between us. We've been orbiting each other from the moment we met. It's only a matter of time before one of us succumbs.
"Okay," I say. “One kiss.”
"Put the photograph back where you found it," he instructs, walking toward his desk and turning on the computers with his fingerprint.
I crouch down to place the photograph back in the hidden compartment. Before I do, I memorize young Dante's face. The stark difference between the way he used to look and the way he looks now tugs at something inside me.
I want to see that spark in his eyes again.
I stand and walk back toward him. His eyes are on me as he pats his thigh, telling me to take a seat.
My heart is racing as I do what I'm told. I'm surprised by how natural everything feels with this man. I'm surprised by how much I like having his strong arm wrapped around my waist as he pulls me closer.
He leans forward to open the desk drawer. I can feel his muscles shifting against my back as he moves. I'm shamefully wet between my thighs, and I have to bite down on my bottom lip to trap my moan inside my throat.
"Before I share anything with you, I need you to sign something," he says, placing a stack of papers before me. “I had it prepared in advance because you kept asking me too many questions.”
"What is this?" I ask, looking at the expensive cream paper before me.
