My heart stuttered in my chest. The medication was making him loose-tongued, saying things he probably wouldn’t say otherwise. I should’ve ignored it, written it off as drug-induced rambling.
But I couldn’t.
“You don’t mean that,” I said softly.
“Yeah, I do,” he replied. “My father wanted me to marry your sister. To force her to have children with me.”
My gut twisted at the thought.
“But when I saw your picture,” Dante grinned, his eyes still closed. “You looking so handsome in your hat and boots. I knew right then that I’d do whatever it took to make you mine.” He paused. “To… To make you like me.”
His lips curved into a small smile, and within seconds, his breathing had evened out into sleep. I sat there watching him, this man who’d turned my entire world upside down. His face looked different when he slept—younger, more vulnerable. The hard edges that usually defined him had softened, and I could almost see the person he might’ve been if he’d grown up somewhere else, become someone else.
His words had more effect on me than I wanted to admit. My pulse had picked up, and my stomach was filled with this strange fluttering sensation. I remembered it from high school, this lingering sensation of a crush developing, of catching the gaze of someone you liked. But this one was different. It had a different color, a different shape. And I found it strangely intoxicating.
I stood up carefully, intending to head to the living room and give him space. But as I turned to leave, his hand shot out, catching my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip for someone half-asleep.
“Don’t go,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. “Stay.”
“Dante, I?—”
“Please.”
That one word, spoken so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, broke something inside me. I looked down at his hand wrapped around my wrist, at the way his fingers trembled slightly, at the vulnerability he’d probably hate himself for showing when he woke up.
“Fuck it,” I muttered under my breath.
I kicked off my boots and carefully lowered myself onto the bed beside him, staying on top of the covers. Dante’s hand slid from my wrist to my hand, his fingers threading through mine. Even in sleep, he held on like I was the only thing keeping him anchored.
I stared at the ceiling, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it would wake him. This was dangerous. This was exactly what I’d sworn I wouldn’t do. But lying here beside him, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I’d told myself I was doing this because he’d asked, because he was injured and vulnerable. But that was a lie. I was doing this because some traitorous part of me wanted to be here, wanted to feel his hand in mine, wanted to pretend just for a moment that this arrangement between us was something more than a business deal.
His breathing deepened, the pain medication pulling him under completely. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, careful and shallow to protect his ribs. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden light across his face.
I should’ve been out checking the cattle, making sure Angelo hadn’t fucked something up, planning the next round of vaccinations. Instead, I was lying here like some lovesick fool, holding hands with a man who’d bought me like property.
Except that wasn’t quite fair anymore, was it?
He hadn’t forced himself on me like I’d feared. He’d given me space, respected the boundaries I’d set even when the contract said he didn’t have to. He’d learned the ranch, gotten his hands dirty, tried to fit into this world that was so foreign to him. And then he’d thrown himself in front of a charging heifer without a second thought.
That wasn’t the action of a monster. That was something else entirely.
My thumb brushed across his knuckles without me meaning to, tracing the scars there. His hands were getting rougher from the ranch work, calluses forming where soft skin used to be. He was changing, becoming something that belonged here in ways I hadn’t expected.
And God help me, I was changing too.
I closed my eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with me. Just a few minutes, I told myself. I’d rest for a few minutes, make sure he was settled, then I’d get up and handle the evening chores.
But his hand was warm in mine, and the bed was soft, and I was so damn tired of fighting this thing between us that I didn’t fully understand.
Just a few minutes.
I let myself drift, the sound of Dante’s breathing lulling me toward sleep. Tomorrow I could go back to keeping my distance, to maintaining the walls I’d built. Tomorrow I could remember all the reasons why this was a bad idea.
But right now, with his fingers tangled with mine and the Montana sun warming the room, I let myself have this one small thing.
I let myself stay.
