Page 57 of Dante

Heat gathers between my thighs as I remember how I caught him looking at me earlier.

I know I looked good. My dress isn’t especially revealing, but it shows off my small curves to good advantage.

And the black color highlighted my blonde hair in a sea of dark-haired women.

Dante also noticed almost every male eye giving me the once-over.

Well, I think to myself. There’s no time limit on seduction. If not in the limo, the fresh restart begins in the Penthouse.

CHAPTER 21

GINA

When we reach the penthouse, everything is dark.

Usually, Ciro is here to greet us. He helps remove Dante’s jacket and asks if we want anything to drink.

But not tonight.

Good. I’m glad we’re alone. It will help with my seduction plan for the evening.

I’m too new to this marriage to know how to tell my husband I’m interested in sex.

But if he hasn’t guessed it from the way I touched him in the car…

“I’m going to take a bath,” I announce, walking to the kitchen to fill Biscotti’s bowl with water.

I glance over at Dante to see if he has any reaction to my statement. But he’s still scrolling his device.

Ah, well. I head down the hall to my bathroom, disrobe, and run water in the tub. I pour in extra lavender bubble bath because I deserve it.

When I step in and sink into the warm water, Biscotti yips. Then he puts his little paws on the side of the tub to watch me.

A few moments later, the bathroom door opens.

Dante enters, wearing a long silk robe that accentuates his powerful figure and dark good looks.

Biscotti turns to him and yips sharply.

“Time to get out of the tub,” Dante tells me, his tone an order. “And that dog of yours needs to leave.”

Maybe it’s his threatening tone. Or maybe the words themselves. But Biscotti turns and exits the bathroom with as much dignity as a puppy can muster.

Dante closes the door and picks up a big, fluffy, white bath towel. He holds it open for me.

Finally, the iceberg is melting.

I step out of the tub, relishing the feel of soft terrycloth against my wet skin.

Dante’s hands linger at my shoulders as he tucks the corners of the towel in just under my collarbone.

“Let me dry you off,” he says, his voice low and husky.

He spends a long time moving the warm towel in slow circles over my skin.

His hands linger on my breasts, cupping their weight through the terrycloth.

Delicious tingles shoot through my body. Then his thumbs brush my nipples until they harden.