She shouldn’t have asked why. Not when she really didn’t want to hear it all.
“Am I suitable to you?” he asked, his tone incredulous.
“No,” she said. “No, you’re rude. And obnoxious. And you don’t know how to laugh.”
He took a step toward her, his dark eyes intent on hers. “And you are disorganized and scattered.”
“I must not be too bad since you keep me on here. Clearly I know how to do my job.”
“As do hundreds of my employees, but that does not mean they would make a good spouse for me.”
She took a step toward him, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “I’m sure they feel the same way about you.”
He reached out his hand and took a lock of her hair, her pink hair, between his thumb and forefinger. “I would clearly never become involved with a woman who has pink hair.”
She leaned in, up on her tiptoes, trying to make herself eye level with him. “And I would never become involved with a man who’s more starched than his shirt collar.”
He reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her up against his hard body. She squeaked as her breasts came up against the muscular wall of his chest. “You think I’m too serious, is that it?” She nodded mutely, no words coming to her. “That I don’t know how to have fun.” His fingers flexed against her back, sending little pops of sensation from the point of contact all throughout her body.
“Yes,” she managed, heat flooding her.
He dipped his head so that his lips were nearly touching her cheek, his breath hot on her skin. “I think I might surprise you.”
She was trembling, actually trembling, and in danger of having a knee-buckling experience. No man had ever held her like this before. With such purpose, with such strength. No man had ever made her feel so wanted. No man had ever made her want to arch against him, press her breasts harder into his body.
And most especially, no man had made her want to kiss him while she was angry at him.
But here she was, quivering with the need to touch Dante, even while thinking murderous thoughts about him and his autocratic behavior.
Dante released her suddenly and she stumbled back, trying hard to catch her breath. She looked at him, searched his face for some sign of what he was thinking. To try to figure out if he was as affected, as shaken, as she was.
But he wasn’t. He was just standing there, his hair smooth, his suit crisp, as though he had never taken her into his arms. As though he hadn’t just held her so close she could feel his heart beating, hard and heavy against her chest.
“You had better figure out a way to forgive me,” he said. And that was when she realized that he was affected. Because he might look as smooth as ever, but his voice was rough, his shredded control evident in each word he spoke. “Because at the end of the day, you’re coming home with me.”
CHAPTER SIX
DANTE’S home was his most prized possession. The lawn was immaculate, cut perfectly and kept in top condition by his team of groundskeepers.
The house itself was a triumph of architecture. Clean lines, an open design, windows that made the most of the ocean view. The interior was white, the carpets, the walls, the furniture. Evidence of how orderly it was.
Evidence of the control he now held over his life.
And as Paige, with her glittery high heels, walked over the threshold, carrying a bright-eyed baby girl with drool running down her chin, he felt a pang of absolute dread hit him in the gut.
There was nothing orderly about either of them, and he could feel the hard-won control of his surroundings slipping away from him.
“This is…” Paige looked around, her mouth open, her blue eyes round. “This is incredible. Gorgeous. I don’t…I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I had it built five years ago, shortly after the control of Colson’s passed to me.”
“I’m thinking the social worker will like this place better than she liked mine.”
“Probably,” he said, thinking of her cluttered little apartment. “I apologize for my lack of boxed wine. I suppose something from the cellar with have to do.”
“Now, now, nobody likes a show-off.”