“For you to stop pretending you don’t want me to.”
She looked away, swallowed hard, then whispered, “And if I stop pretending?”
Dante didn’t move or even blink. “Then I’ll kiss you,” he said, calm as stone. “And we’ll figure it out from there.”
She looked back at him, her eyes open, her breath shallow. But she didn’t stop him.
They talked for hours. About nothing and about everything.
He told her about losing his father. How he’d done it his way, how grief sometimes sounded like silence in a kitchen that used to smell like breakfast. She listened, eyes gentle, never interrupting.
“I owe Ford a lot. He and Julian Dupart tossed me a lifeline. They helped me pick up the pieces and move forward.”
They wandered through a park after lunch. The skies darkened, and a breeze kicked up.
Then the rain came fast, loud, and soaking.
They ran toward the car, laughing like children. Dante’s jacket went over her shoulders. Her hair stuck to her face.
When they reached his hotel, dripping and breathless, neither one hesitated. The door shut behind them with a soft, magnetic click.
Shannon stood just inside,rainwater sliding down her arms, plastering her shirt to her back like a second skin. Her jeans clung to her legs, heavy with stormwater, soaked straight through. She didn’t move. Neither did he.
The room smelled like cedar and ozone. Pale gold lamps hummed to life when the keycard activated the power, casting the king-sized bed and worn leather chair in a soft, inviting glow. The curtains were drawn against the storm. Outside, thunder still rumbled low like a warning. Inside, everything was still.
Dante dropped the keycard onto the console. He looked at her, not the way other men had, not like she was some live wire or an unfinished challenge. He looked at her like he’d already memorized every inch of her, and he was trying to forget that fact just long enough to do the right thing.
Her pulse pounded at the base of her throat. She tugged off his jacket with wet fingers, peeling it down her arms. It hit the floor with a soft splatter.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, coarse from restraint.
“No.” There it was, her vulnerability. Her eyes caught the lamp light and held it. “But I want to be.”
He watched her like a man watching a fuse burn and trying to decide if he should disarm it… or light the next one. Her hair was soaked, curling down the sides of her face. She stepped closer.
“I don’t want to go home tonight.” The words were quiet but certain.
His shoulders rose and fell on a long breath. “Shannon…”
“Don’t talk me out of it,” she said. “Please.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
She stepped into his space, rain-soaked, the pulse at the base of her neck flickering with heat. Her hands dug into her jean pockets, and her toe dug into the carpet. “If you don’t want this, say it now.”
“I’ve wanted you for a long time.” His voice deepened. “Every damn day I had to pretend I didn’t.”
A breath escaped her lips.
He stepped forward.One hand rose to brush the wet strands off her cheek, fingers grazing her skin like it might bruise. The first real touch. Not accidental. Not professional. And it landed like lightning.
She didn’t pull away. She leaned into it.
He cupped her jaw, his thumb resting just beneath her bottom lip. She held still. “I need to ask you two things,” he rasped.
“Okay.”
His eyes searched hers like he’d never had the right to look before. “Are you sure?”
