I pull at the corner of the cloth, squirming. “I’m sorry, I tried to make you breakfast but burned the eggs.”
“And you’re burning the toast too.”
I ditch the idea of modesty, slapping the cloth on the island as I rush to save the toast. It’s beyond saving, though. I turn the toaster off, throwing away the charred bread.
Dante crosses the room, his bare feet tapping on the tiles. He grips my waist and hauls me off the floor and onto the kitchen island, the marble counter cold under my butt. “Both mine and Julij’s people are part of the security detail, Layla. All know the access code. Any one of them can walk in here at any time. Don’t parade around the house in your underwear.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
He hangs his head low for a moment to suck in a deep breath. When he glances back into my eyes, there’s no sign of nerves. He looks better than yesterday after we arrived back from Texas. Despite Rookie taking the wheel, Dante didn’t sleep. He spent the ride in the back, cuddling me to his chest like a little girl, kissing my head as he encouraged me to sleep. The warmth of his body, the familiarity of his scent, and the calm rhythm of his heart I felt under my fingertips helped me doze off. Not for long... whenever I fell asleep, the car crash replayed in my dreams, waking me up drenched in sweat.
Dante leans closer, tracing his lips along my neck. Pajama pants hang low on his hips, and he smells ofme,thanks to sleeping with my limbs wrapped around him as if he were a tree and I were poison ivy. “Don’t do it again.”
“You mean,don’tcook?”
Amusement dances on his handsome, rested face when he straightens up. “That too. Also, don’t leave the bed without permission and don’t show this body to anyone who isn’t me. Understood?” Satisfied with my energetic nodding, he returns to the previous task, nipping the skin in the crook of my neck. “Good girl.”
We’ve spent most of our time in bed since we arrived back home, but I’m still thirsty for him. I can’t get enough of his closeness, warmth, and smell. The roughness of his calloused hands worshiping my body. The barked orders, filthy, mesmerizing words, and the bombs detonating in my body every time an orgasm hits. I love feeling his lips on my collarbones, shoulders, and the nape of my neck.
He pauses to check the time on his wristwatch.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“Carlton will be here in an hour to check you over and the maid is due any minute.” He slides my nightdress off my non-injured shoulder. “Come on, baby, we’ll take a shower.”
“Subtle.” I wrap my legs around his middle, urging him to carry me upstairs. A minute of jumping under the smoke detector didn’t do my stitches any favors.
“Too subtle for you? Fine.” He bites my earlobe. “I want to be inside you right now. In your mouth first, so you better be on your knees for me in the next thirty seconds. Then, I want to watch the water drip down your naked body, and I want you to scream this fucking house down when you come.”
Check, check, and check... twice.
Forty minutes later, I stand in front of the closet, my legs weak. The intense orgasm from ten minutes ago lingers in the base of my spine. I wore nothing other than the nightdress or lingerie for the last twenty-four hours. I dug out both from my suitcase that Jean kindly packed and delivered to the hotel before we set off from Dallas. Now, I stand in the walk-in closet, scrunching my nose because I don’t recognize the clothes hanging neatly alongside Dante’s shirts. They’re new, and none of my old clothes are here. The question about the whereabouts of my old clothes lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I decide not to ask. The answer is obvious. I’m not sure if I can stomach hearing Dante tell me he threw them away because he wanted nothing to do with me.
“When did you have time to go shopping?” I ask instead, reaching for a plain, straight-neck white dress so Carlton can easily access my dressings. I grab a long olive-green cardigan to keep warm too.
Dante sits on the bed, strapping on the wristwatch I gifted him for Christmas. Droplets of water fall from his hair to the white, long-sleeve jersey he wears. Strong, woodsy cologne hangs in the air, indulging my obsession with the masterpiece of a man before me. In Dante’s world, wearing anything other than a suit is a rarity. Sometimes he wears sweats and a t-shirt when we’re alone, but ninety percent of the time, he favors his suits. Now that he’s in a white jersey and a pair of black jeans, I can’t peel my eyes off how perfectly the jersey hugs his hard, chiseled pecks and broad arms. The dress-down look doesn’t belittle the authority and power he emanates; it fails to decimate the aura of ruthlessness. It’s visible in his eyes and how he carries himself with undeniable confidence.
“I sent Grace shopping when we were in Dallas.”
“Grace?” I twirl around. “Who’sGrace?”
A satisfied smirk is his first response. “Hide your claws, Star. She’s our new maid. Marie quit.”
“Where was thisGraceyesterday?” My eyes narrow into slits as he strides across the room to help me slip into my cardigan. “And why did Marie quit?”
Dante shrugs, ever so casual, spins me around, and brushes my hair away to kiss the nape of my neck. He snakes his hands around my chest, rests his forehead on the back of my head, and exhales slowly, making the hair on the back of my neck stand. “Why are you afraid of me, Layla?” His hold on me tightens. “Have I scared you? What did I do?”
I swallow the lump in my throat that lodged in there, like swallowing too big of a bite. “I’m not afraid of you. Where did you get that idea?”
“Don’tlie.” He spins me back around. Annoyance tugs at the corners of his eyes. “You were afraid at the hospital. You were afraid at the hotel, and you fuckingflinchedearlier when I found you in the kitchen.”
I wriggle out of his embrace and sit on the bed, my heart pounding against my sore ribs. The time has come to talk, explain, and leave the past where it belongs. I’m entirely unprepared for this conversation but aware it has to happen.
“You no longer disagree with everything I say, baby. You don’t talk back. You haven’t even rolled your eyes at me yet. You didn’t complain when I told you to sleep in that see-through nightdress.” He sits beside me and pulls me into his lap as if sitting side-by-side isn’t close enough. “You’re afraid of me, but I don’t understand why. It’s driving me crazy, Layla.”
My eyes dart to the cream carpet and stay there while I search for the right words, untangling the web of thoughts to explain my reactions the best I can. “I’m not afraid of you,” I say quietly. Dante curls his fingers under my chin, so I’ll look him in the eyes. “I’m just scared to be without you. I’m afraid I’ll do something that will push you away, even by accident.”
“I won’t put you out the door because you burned the toast. Not because of that and not because of anything else. Not now and notever.”