I head to the kitchen for water, not bothering to turn on the lights. The moonlight through the windows is enough to see.
That’s when I see him.
Dante is sitting at the kitchen island in the dark, shirtless. His body is all carved muscle and lethal grace, with a glass of what looks like whiskey in his hand.
And those grey eyes immediately lock onto mine…
14
DANTE
It’s been two weeks of holding back and I’m at my breaking point now.
I’m sitting in the dark kitchen at three in the morning with whiskey burning down my throat, trying to drown out the awareness of her sleeping two floors above me. But it’s not working. Nothing works anymore.
Every day I watch her walk through my house with that graceful fluidity. Hear her laugh with our son. Argue with her over breakfast and dinner and every moment in between. Watch her refuse to back down, refuse to be intimidated, refuse to do anything that’s not her will.
And fuck…fuck, I want her. God, I want her so badly it’s making me insane.
Not just physically, though that’s there too, constant and demanding. I want to own her. Possess her. Keep her so close she can’t breathe without me knowing it.
I pour another drink and stare into nothing. This is dangerous territory. I’ve come this far by being in control and never letting emotion override logic. On making calculated decisions that benefit my position.
But there’s nothing calculated about what I feel for Scarlett.
There’s nothing logical about how I’ve held onto the memory of one night for six years. How I searched for her like a man possessed. How having her here now, within reach but untouchable, is slowly driving me out of my mind.
The whiskey isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making it worse.
I should go to bed, get a few hours of sleep before Luca wakes up wanting breakfast and stories and all the things I never knew I needed until I had them.
But I don’t move, I just sit here in the dark like some pathetic fool waiting for something I can’t name. That’s when I hear footsteps on the stairs.
My body reacts immediately, every sense sharpening. It’s three in the morning. Nobody should be awake except the guards on patrol.
Then she appears in the kitchen doorway and every thought in my head goes silent.
Scarlett stands there in a thin tank top and sleep shorts that show entirely too much skin. Her hair is messy from sleep, falling around her shoulders. No makeup. No defenses. Just her, soft, feminine, rumpled and absolutely perfect.
Those green eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my chest growl. For a second neither of us moves. We just stareat each other across the kitchen, and the air between us heats with something electric.
She’s debating whether to run. I can see it in the way her body flares, ready to bolt.
“Stay.” My voice comes out before I can stop it. “That’s not a request.”
Her chin lifts in that defiant way I’ve come to know so well. Always ready to counter me. “I came down for water.”
“Then get it.”
But she doesn’t move toward the sink or the fridge. She just stands there looking at me like she’s trying to decide something.
The silence stretches between us, neither of us ready to break it.
I should look away and give her space to get her water and leave. Should maintain the distance we’ve been carefully keeping for two weeks. But I don’t.
I just sit here and let her see exactly what I’m feeling. Let her see the hunger I’ve been trying to hide. Let her see that my control is hanging by a thread and that thread is about to snap.
She, on other hand, is not left out. Something shifts in her expression, like a decision being made. Then she moves.
