Her cheeks flush. “You’re not even my husband. You don’t owe that to me.”
I don’t know how to make her understand. I brush her hair away from her face, cupping her cheek in my palm. “I’m not doing it because I owe you. I’m doing it because you are everything to me, Frankie. I’ll pay any price.”
Something in her face changes. Her expression melts into one of relief, of realization. “I’m going to hand over my share of the Abbott Winery to you,” she says. “I know it’s realistically already yours because my family owes you that debt, but I want to give it to you beyond the debt. I want you to have it because I love you, and I trust you. I want you to have it because I want…because I want you to have all of me.”
“What a gift you are to me,” I say.
I crush her to me, my heart so full I can barely breathe.
25
Frankie
Is this really happening?
Have I finally found a man that I can rely on? One who actually solves problems instead of causing them?
After the whole Rico situation blew up in my face, I never even dreamed of finding a man who didn’t cause more trouble than he was worth, but I’m starting to believe that such a thing is possible. As Dante holds me, I realize that I can trust Dante not just with my life, but with Livvie’s as well, and Charlie’s if it comes down to it. He’s going to take care of us.
Not out of obligation or for personal gain, but because he wants to.
Because he loves me.
“I love you, Dante,” I whisper, my head pressed against his chest so tightly that I can hear his heartbeat. “I love you so much.”
He leans down to kiss my forehead, my eyelids, my jaw, my throat, every soft press of his lips drawing tingles over my skin.
“I love you,” he says into my neck. Then he pulls back to look into my eyes. “Ineedyou. In my life. In my bed. In my heart. I love you, Francesca Bellanti.”
My eyes are tearing up, but I manage a bittersweet little laugh. “I don’t have your name anymore, remember?”
He begins unbuttoning my blouse. “You have all of me. All of me. Always.”
I’m tempted to help him undress me, but I hold still and let him do the work. I love the brush of his fingers against my skin and how intently he focuses on each button, clasp, and zipper. His movements are careful today—no ripping fabric or popping buttons. Closing my eyes, I absorb the sound and feel and scent of him as he strips me bare.
“Now you can watch me,” he whispers as he trails a finger along my jaw.
Happy to obey, I take in the glorious sight of him reaching across his body and pulling his T-shirt over his head. My gaze devours his sculpted torso, the mouthwatering ripples of his tight abs, the light trail of hair leading down the waistband of his pants. A hot ache twists at my core as he works the waistband over his narrow hips, down his muscled thighs, and then finally steps out of them.
His perfect, rigid cock is like a work of art, something I’ll never get tired of seeing.
“You like that?” he asks, a smirk on his face.
“Why don’t you put your clothes back on and do it all over again,” I tease.
Laughing, he spreads me out on the bed, then gazes down at me appreciatively. I raise myself up on my elbows so I can do the same to him.
“What else do you like, Francesca? What do you want me to do to you?”
I don’t get the chance to answer before he begins kissing his way up my body, oh so slowly. Kiss by kiss, caress by caress, ankle to knee to the curve of my hip. A thorough study.
He runs his tongue around each areola while his palms skim over my ribs, down my belly, and back up to cup my breasts. Then he moves his mouth over my nipples one at a time, licking and sucking, tugging softly with his teeth. I can barely breathe I’m panting so hard, grabbing the sheets as I squirm with need. His touch is the biggest aphrodisiac.
By the time his lips finally reach my own, I’m a puddle of need. I arch my hips, pushing up against his erection with desperate thrusts, but he holds himself back on purpose.
“Give it to me,” I beg.
“Tell me what you want,” he commands.
