A date? I always considered dating something couples do before they get married. When the chase is over and the initial thrill wears off, going out grows into something different. The wooing and courting turn into investing time to solidify a relationship. Or, in certain cases, it may be a shot at rekindling a dying flame.
I stare at him. “Why?”
He watches me with a serious light burning in his eyes. “We’ve never been on one.”
My lips part. It takes me a moment to gather myself before I can speak. “We’ve been on plenty of dates.” I hasten to back that up with evidence suggesting that I haven’t lost that part of my memory. “Picnics, movies, restaurants… Walks in the park.”
“Those don’t count. We were sneaking around.” He removes his hand from his pocket and straightens. “I want to show you off. I want to go out with my wife in the open. You don’t have to worry about security. I’ll keep you safe.”
I’m not sure if I should be flattered or worried. I’m tempted to go with the first, which insinuates that my hot-as-sin husband still wants to date me, but I’m too realistic to ignore what the invitation truly means. Just how estranged have we been?
He steps right up to me, forcing me to crane my neck to hold his gaze.
His words are charged, his quiet urgency crackling like static electricity in the air between us. “Do you want me to beg?”
I shake my head. “I just…I…” I bite my lip. “I don’t understand.”
This time, he doesn’t manage to keep up the casual pose or the relaxed attitude. When he smiles again, the strained gesture gives away his tenseness. “One date.”
His eyes are hypnotizing. Looking into them leaves me breathless. There’s so much emotion in their depths, yet so little he wants to show me. “What about Noah? I don’t want to let him stay with a babysitter so soon after my disappearance. He still has nightmares about it.”
He takes the mug from my hands and puts it a safe distance away before leaning his hands on the counter on either side of my body and caging me in between his arms. “Are you asking me to wait?”
Bending backward, I escape his unsettling proximity. “Wait for what?”
“For you.”
“We’re married,” I whisper.
For some reason, my answer doesn’t appease him. “I waited, Tatiana. You have no fucking idea.”
I place a hand over his heart, letting the steady beat ground me as my confusion grows. “Dante.”
A switch flips inside him. I see it in the darkening of his eyes and in the heat that makes the golden flecks in his irises leap like flames.
He studies me with that intense gaze, a dark promise riding on his statement. “Don’t make me wait longer.”
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but the question freezes on my lips when he reaches for the belt of my bathrobe and pulls on one end, slowly untying the bow. He concentrates on the work of his hands as he brushes the robe open unhurriedly, unwrapping me like a long-awaited gift.
Heat gathers between my legs. My nipples pebble behind the silk.
“Dante,” I say again, not sure if I’m protesting or begging.
He cups my waist and lifts me with a swift movement onto the counter.
“What are you doing?” I catch my weight on my arms. “Someone can walk in on us.”
He continues as if he hasn’t heard me, watching me with that penetrating, hungry stare as he slides his hands over my knees. He smooths those broad hands up over my thighs, curling his strong fingers around my flesh and raking his calloused palms over my sensitive skin.
Taking the nightgown with him, he bares my legs inch by inch until he’s exposed my silk panties. I can’t help the shiver that runs through me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When he hooks his fingers into the elastic on the sides of my panties, I lift my ass.
A smile flirts with his lips as he moves the underwear down my legs before freeing my feet. “Good girl.”
His deep voice penetrates flesh and bone to reverberate in my core. I shouldn’t like his praise so much, but I have an inexplicable desire to please him. My heart skips a beat when he pockets the panties. He’s always been keen on taking trophies. I have no idea what he does with those keepsakes. I’ve never asked.
Pushing my legs apart, he steps between them. I’m spread open, vulnerable with the night streaming through the uncovered window at my back and a powerful and dangerous man in front of me, a man who wants me… and I find that I like it.
Holding my gaze, he goes down on his haunches. The path he kisses up the inside of my thigh is torturously light. Teasing. The roughness of his stubble scrapes my skin. By the time he reaches his target, I’m soaking wet.
