There are gleaming parquet floors, stately floral arrangements, and crystal light fixtures galore, but I only have eyes for him as he rises from a wingback chair and crosses the room.
This might be the first time I’ve seen him dressed semi-casually, with the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone and the sleeves rolled up, accentuating his muscular forearms. No tie, no jacket. It’s sexy as hell.
He immediately takes my hand and pulls me in for a kiss. My heart flutters at the feel of his lips. It’s like kissing him for the first time all over again, but a different version of him. One who actually loves me.
“I’m sorry to say that we won’t be in the best suite tonight,” he says.
“Oh no,” I say with mock horror.
“Apparently there’s a visiting dignitary residing in the Presidential for the month, so we’ve been accommodated in the St. Regis Suite. Alas, it is only the second best.”
“The nerve!” I grin and nudge him with my shoulder. “Howdareinternational politics get in the way of our fuckfest.”
Dante actually barks out a rough laugh. I can’t help but grin. It sounds a little rusty. I made a silent vow to myself to help him get more practice at it.
He takes my small bag and my hand and leads me to the elevators. The car is empty when we step inside. The second the doors close, he pulls me in for a deep kiss. I let myself fall into him, savoring his lips, his tongue, the taste of him.
I’d been daydreaming of nothing but Dante ever since I left the Bellanti estate earlier to pick up Livvie from school and drive her back to Charlie’s. My little sister caught on to my changed mood immediately and eyed me suspiciously, but the only comment she’d made was to wonder out loud what had happened to Rico. When I shrugged, she didn’t push further.
Charlie was understandably interested in how the meeting at Bellanti Vineyards had gone, but I simply said that we were still working on negotiations—and that I’d be spending the weekend with Dante. That earned me a few raised brows, but when Livvie hugged me goodbye, she’d whispered, “Good luck,” in my ear.
I wasn’t just being coy—I didn’t want to give my sisters false hope about what was going to happen to our winery. And I also needed to see how things went with me and Dante before I made any final decisions.
With a ding, the elevator opens onto a wide hallway. The colors soothing and neutral, with baroque gold mirrors and matching sconces spaced out along the walls. Dante leads the way to our room, swipes the key card, and pushes open the door.
Soft light fills the space as we drop our things in the marble entry and step into the posh room. The first thing I notice is the wall of windows in the living area, which offers a stunning view of downtown San Francisco. The city is lit up in all its brilliance, so close it looks like you could reach out and touch it. There are even a few stars twinkling in the sky.
I press my hands against the glass and drink in the view. “Dante, you need to see—”
But he’s already there, right behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His cheek presses against the side of my head and he whispers in my ear.
“It’s a beautiful view.”
I nod and relax into his embrace. There’s no urgency right now. This is our time—time to be together. To be close. We’ve never done this before, but I’m glad we are now. He finally pulls away and gives me a kiss on top of my head. “I’ll put our things in the bedroom.”
I watch his tight ass as he walks away. I’m tempted to follow him, but I take a quick look around instead. The walls are done in a soothing shade of lavender that brings a smile to my face. There’s a textured cream rug over the dark wood floors and sleekly modern furniture upholstered in shades of natural and merlot linen. I move from the sitting room into the bedroom. A massive bed sits in the center flanked by marble-topped end tables. Artwork with an equestrian theme graces the walls, and a plush chaise nestles against a pair of arched windows that look out toward the water. My eyes are drawn again to the bed. Dante catches me looking.
“Hungry?” He arches a brow.
“Starved,” I say suggestively, grabbing his ass with a little squeeze.
He cracks a smile, almost laughing again at my corny joke. “I’ll order room service.”
We end up eating on the couch, sharing a light supper of scallops with roasted squash, parsnip puree, and wild rice as we take in the city lights and talk.
“This is nice,” Dante says, gesturing between us. “Ever since I can remember, we had to eat all our dinners at that long-ass formal dining table. Seven sharp, every night. If you were late, the door would be locked and you’d have to go to bed without a scrap.”
“Jesus,” I murmur.
“Dad didn’t believe in having conversations while eating, either,” he adds. “Said it was low class. Rude. So it was usually dead silent. Not to mention all the other rules he enforced. Elbows off the table, both feet flat on the floor, napkin in lap, use the correct fork…all that shit.”
“Wow.” I had noticed that Dante and his younger brothers weren’t big talkers at the table, but I assumed it was just personal preference. Not something that had been drilled in them.
“Yeah,” he goes on. “It wasn’t so bad when my mom and sister were there, but after we lost them…it was down to just my brothers and our dad. Dinner always felt like a last meal, you know? Though I guess we all got impeccable table manners out of it. How about your family?”
I have to think back to remember what it was like having dinner as a family at our house.
“My mom…walked out on us when we were little,” I tell him slowly. “So it was just my sisters and our dad, too. Except he wasn’t around for dinner all that often, and when he was, he was usually under the influence.”
