Page 73 of My Favorite Kidnapper

“I don’t know, but I do. Implicitly. You asked. I want you to know me. To hide this from you would be unfair.”

“Why? In sixty days, I’ll be gone from your life.”

He frowned. “You really think so, Little Bee?”

“Should I think differently?”

Silence hung between us, then he spoke quietly. “Time will tell.”

I heard something in his words. The way he murmured them. A promise.

Of what, I wasn’t sure. I was afraid to hope.

But I felt it too.

He stood, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Without the heels I had worn, I was shorter than when we’d danced at Carolina’s wedding. Still, we fit together well. He rested his chin on my head.

“Hum for me, Little Bee. Let me hear your voice.”

I did as he asked, and he moved us around the patio. I shut my eyes, melting into him, letting him guide me without question. I lost track of time as I hummed and sang quietly, choosing some older songs I loved and he seemed to enjoy. When I stopped, he looked down at me, his eyes burning.

“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.